Big kids.

At last. The early starts have ended. Balloon Woman has done something that has brought my resignation forward a week but more on that later. Tonight is a return to whisky.

I have a bottle of Ben Bracken, not the finest of vatted malt whiskies but pretty damn good for the price. The label suggests that it isn’t really a vatted malt, but is a malt blend that is mixed when the malts are young and then aged in oak as a blend. Seems an odd way to do it and a risky way – you can’t taste whether your blend has worked for 12 years! What if you end up with a warehouse full of crap?

Well those supermarket own-brands have to come from somewhere I suppose.

Anyway. Suitably fuelled at last and with the red mist of rage now subsided into the freezing fog of vengeance (much better for the calculated approach, I find), I can set my mind to other things. This will be incomplete because I still have day-lag.

I have noticed that the young are pretty much allowed to do as they please these days. Fortunately most of them have not succumbed the Thug Life temptations and are pretty decent. You never hear about all the decent ones, just as you never hear about the majority of white men who are neither rapists nor paedophiles.

For those who choose thuggery there is little to dissuade them. Parents who have taken on the Progressive Message believe they are giving their children a good start in life by trying to reason with them while they eat the curtains and lacerate the dog with cheese wire. No punishment beyond ‘Tut-tut, little Lucifer, you know, I don’t think the dog really much likes being flayed alive’.

Then those same parents act all surprised when they wake in a bath of ice to find their offspring has sold their kidneys to the local butcher for a bag of sweets.

As these Ferals grow and target non-family members, the courts take the view that well, he’s just a child, he doesn’t understand that a knife between the ribs can actually hurt people. It’s all the fault of video games and fast food.

These days it must come as a nasty shock to turn 18. Suddenly you cannot smoke where you please any more. You have to pay for booze and you have to abide by limits. When you get arrested they actually send you to jail! You’re not a child any more. You’re an adult now. Where the child has the freedom to do as they please, the adult is tightly restricted by rules from all sides.

I remember when it used to be the other way around.

Digression: It occurred to me that in the Satanic version of the Bible, the last book is probably called the Book of Regulations. In which the Four Horsemen appear in hi-vis vests and write out fixed penalty notices. End digression.

People no longer grow up. They grow down.

I saw a child recently, I suppose about nine or ten, out with her mother. The child was dressed in a onesie. This seemed reasonable, she was just a child and children like to dress up. I had a Dalek suit as a child, fully equipped with a sink plunger and a painted stick. “Die, shitface” was followed by a sudden pain in the side of the head and the instruction that the correct term was ‘Exterminate’. That’s a big word for a little council estate kid but I learned it anyway. Maybe the Daleks originated in the Penllwyn estate. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. The whole Dalek thing could well be my father’s fault. It might also explain why the head-parts of the final Daleks were not made of easily belted PVC.

Now there are adults in these onesie romper suits (that is what they are, let’s face it) proudly strutting about like three-year-olds with a new dress-up toy. They drink from trainer cups, plastic lids with a hole in so they don’t spill it all over themselves, or from those babies’ bottles renamed as ‘sports bottles’.

Adults now accept every regulation thrown at them and demand more. They want to be controlled. They want to know the limits of their lives whereas real adults have no limits (beyond the obvious ‘harm nobody else’ limit). If a real adult wants to ignore the warnings on a product and enjoy it anyway, then a real adult can do so. A child cannot.

Any antismokers who are about to say somethng along the lines of ‘your rights end at my nose’ can go straight to Hell without passing ‘Go’ at this point. If thy nose offends thee, cut it off. Then you will have no more problems. Well, apart from the problem of finding someone who likes you but if you’re that rabid, you already have that problem anyway. So there’ll be no change. Nose removal renders you immune to second hand smoke and if you ask the NHS for it and tell them why, they’ll do it. Because they are just as stupid as you.

Children look for boundaries. We all did it. We pushed at the boundaries until something hurt and then we stopped pushing. This far and no further. This is a comfortable thing for a child, to know where the boundaries are. To know the limits of what you can and cannot do.

There are still parents who instil discipline and there are children who accept that for what it is. A boundary. There are parents who go too far but there always have been some and always will be. Those parents are just rotten people.

It seems to me that the modern rise of the progessive parents are worse than the drunk and violent ones. The progressives teach their children that they can behave as they please while the parents follow every rule and regulation to the letter. Is that preparing children for adult life?

Being knocked about is, I think, a much better preparation for adult life than being told that nobody will ever be better than you. Not that I think walloping kids for no reason is a good thing, it is not. Yes, children want some boundaries but set those boundaries too narrow and you are nurturing a future psychopath.

Have no boundaries at all and you are growing a sociopath.

Speaking – erm,. writing – as a biologist, it all looks to me like the domestication of a species. Every successive generation is more compliant and more easily trained than the one before. Paying the stupid to breed is all part of it. The human race is being turned into cattle and the human race is clamouring for it.

Wild dogs rarely bark, they communicate with low grunts. Wild cats do not want their tummies rubbed. Try it, but don’t bill me for the bandages. The young of those species do those things and domestication means keeping them child-like. They see you as a parent and in a terrible cycle of despair, people with dogs and cats now see themselves as the animal’s ‘dad’ or ‘mum’. And the progressive ones treat those animals as children and try to reason with them when they eat the curtains or flay Auntie Ethel with teeth or claws.

Wild animals can see the advantages of domestication. Free food and a warm place to sleep. What are the government offering their favoured ones?

As for me and those who read here, well, what does the domestication breeder do with the failures?


48 thoughts on “Big kids.

    • While she was in the shop, showing Frankenstein’s First Attempt what the morning shift entails (not much, judging by the other two she’s sent out to cover – one of which is Sitting Down Man and the other is the cousin the Addams family don’t talk about), she was mouthing off that Mopman and myself were ‘lazy buggers’. Well, then, we won’t be missed, will we? She is one of those managers who see shop staff as fixtures, not as people. That kinbd of manager does not imagine her cleaners speak with, much less make friends with, the other staff.

      Mopman has a job interview elsewhere and I’m just quitting. By the end of August it is likely that the cleaning crew will resemble the Munsters and be as effective as a rice-paper condom.

      I will give it a month and then visit Local Shop as a customer.


  1. Bloody kids. And don’t forget, that these days they never leave. Great big lump of a son sitting in my chair drinking all my beer. I’d like to beat him but as he is taller and tougher this option presents a problem. I suppose I could hit him with a pointed stick but frankly this is not what I’m like. What do you reckon the chances are that he will look after me in my dotage? Kindly pass the whiskey, to me.


    • My parents didn’t throw me out, but looking back, they made it gradually more and more intolerable to live there. My father is especially good at that, and it’s hereditary 😉


      • I couldn’t wait to get out, and not because I didn’t like my parents, but because I hankered after shedding the shackles of parental care. So by the time I was seventeen, I was several thousand miles away, on the Indian subcontinent. And I never went back, except to visit.


  2. “If thy nose offends thee, cut it off.”
    I like that.
    It’s mine now. 🙂

    Funny thing about smell, it’s the only sense that causes so much offense. The other senses are used mostly for information or pleasure.
    As someone with a poor sense of smell, I’ve often noticed that I seem to have the advantage.

    Neoteny is indeed the secret of successfully domesticated species.
    The missing component for domesticating H Sap is selective breeding (or culling). Until they find a way to rehabilitate Eugenics, there’ll be new rebels in every generation. Is there a mechanism that I haven’t noticed? “Paying the stupid to breed” would have a gradual effect, but is stupid enough? What they’re really after is “smart but docile.”


    • Selective breeding/culling/sterilising the unworthy has been tried (eugenics, as you say) but unless they can cage us like lab rats it’ll never work. Oh I’m sure it’s occurred to them, and also sure that they keep trying to find a way to do it.

      There is a way. It’s in Panoptica. I’m not going to say what it is yet because every time I reveal any aspect of that story, it comes true.


  3. “Suitably fuelled at last and with the red mist of rage now subsided into the freezing fog of vengeance…”

    Learning to forgive makes for an easier life. Being enraged for hours doesn’t affect the guilty one, so to get inner peace, you either have to forgive him or flay him or eat his curtains.

    “What are the government offering their favoured ones?”

    People truly believe they have ‘democracy’ (even though the concept is pretty horrendous in its literal form: mob rule), so they can’t complain, as they choose the government. They’ve yet to work out that all parties’ strings are pulled by the same puppeteers.

    But roll up, roll up…. we’re getting loads of free stuff. Free healthcare. Education is free, innit? You can say what you like about nanny state, but it just goes to show how much they really care about us, even if none of us do like it, but us children need to have boundaries.

    Each generation has been getting more infantilised and domesticated for many decades. There will soon be creches in supermarkets where wives can drop off their husbands to play in a big net filled with balls.

    The goal is global government, the end of nations and of freedom; total serfdom for all of humanity apart from a tiny elite. No real man or woman would put up with that (they’ve fought against it for millennia), so we have to be domesticated and dumbed down. I received an email from a Chinese company trying to sell me their wares (it happens all the time) and I decided to have a political discussion with the woman, who said that the state is like a mother, but makes mistakes sometimes. It’s how the majority has come to view our government. ‘They’ delivered us, they taught us first through television with incomprehensible garbage from the likes of Bill and Ben and the Teletubbies (the latter having many alleged subliminal messages), they ‘educated’ us for 12 or 13 years in school, they treated our every illness, they’ll pay us enough of a pension to eke out our last days in poverty (if we live that long) and they’ll remove us from sight as soon as we’ve breathed our last, never to be seen by friends and family again in most cases. Because “The Firm” takes care of everything now.

    But anyway, despite being adults, we’re not supposed to smoke or drink. We must eat our vegetables. We can’t have too many sweets. Our opinions are rubbished or we’re just ignored. We’re dreamers like children. I used to look through my mum’s catalogues and fantasised about being allowed two items from every page – after the clothing sections, although in my teenage years, the lingerie pages had a certain appeal, but by that time I had outgrown the choosing of two from every page…

    Nowadays, adults fantasise about what they’ll do when they win the lottery. Even Orwell writes about the importance of it in ‘1984’ to keep the proles preoccupied.

    “…what does the domestication breeder do with the failures?”

    That would be you and most of your readers who have seen through (some of) the lies, don’t like the way society’s going and want to change it. Then there’s the ‘obese’ and the mentally ill and the aged – the ones who some ‘experts’ have called a “drain” on resources and some of them ‘let the gene pool down’. Agenda 21 will sort us out.


    • “The goal is global government, the end of nations and of freedom; total serfdom for all of humanity apart from a tiny elite.”

      It’s already here but it’s wearing different masks… for now.


    • I won’t use violence. I’m not very good at it and she has a definite weight advantage as well as a backup crew straight from the Island of Dr. Moreau. Instead I will set up slow and long-term humiliations. These will still be taking effect long after I leave.

      As for fantasising abpout winning the lottery, whenever I am in such a conversation I am asked what car I’d buy. To which I reply ‘Why would I need a car? If I was that rich, I wouldn’t have to go anywhere. People who want to see me would come to see me. especially since I’d buy a pub, close it and smoke in it.’

      The State is father and mother to all children. No need for parents. That’s the future.


      • especially since I’d buy a pub, close it and smoke in it.’

        Now THAT would be a good wheeze! It would have to be on a busy high street with clear windows. Invitation only, no money crossing the bar, ashtrays on the bar and all the tables and full of smokers enjoying a pint and a smoke. In full technicolour view of everyone passing by. The antis would be wetting themselves with righteous indignation! Oh what fun! That would truly be worth blowing a bunch of money setting up. You could even call it “The Happy Smoker” or something, and hang a pub sign outside! Delicious!


      • You must have an even sadder existence than I had thought. You’re a foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, presumably aged fool. That’s just my opinion, but it’s how you come across. So, your way’s not working, is it? You’d waste decades thinking about revenge? What a plonker! I’d rather move on and live without shoulders full of chips weighing me down and making me a foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, old fool.


        • Ah, the ad hominem attacks begin! Off-topic by a country mile too.

          And this invokes the so-called “Mote & Beam” department: I hope no-one feels the need to point out your own deficiencies Stewart.


        • “A foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, old fool.”
          I assume that was meant as an insult, though I don’t think FT will find it particularly offensive. But why “foul mouthed”?
          I often disagree with FT’s robust opinions, but I’d be surprised and disappointed if he gives a fuck.


        • XX So, your way’s not working, is it?XX

          Oh yes it does.

          Ever had the satisfaction of arresting your ex maths teacher, and see her go down for 18 months for drunk driving ten years after you left school?

          I can ASSURE you, it WORKS.


          • As an unsuccessful Merseyside police probationary, you never had the power of arrest which your assertion implies.

            Only a police officer is empowered to make an arrest following a failed breath test/test refusal.on the part of anyone driving, attempting to drive or in charge of a motor vehicle.

            As an unsuccessful human being, you have yourself to blame.


            • I do not think you know exactly who you are on about dip shit. But your description appears to be some LSD trip. Take some charcole and go and lie down in a dark room for a few hours, it MAY wear off.


              • ‘Furor’ (phonetically conjuring-up another sick character) is a former Aberdeen fish gutter and internet troll, who assumes Mitty-like characters.

                AKA Ragnar Von Spreuth, this porridge cretin was was employed by Merseyside Police as a ‘probationary’. Characteristics of his crude and offensive manner are evident in curious misspellings and deviant syntax. Indiscriminate use of obscenities and capitals feature alongside the use of XX as quotation marks. He moved to Germany where he is presently dependent on Federal benefits. It is not difficult to imagine him in a WW1 pickelhaube whilst waging war from the safety of a keyboard bunker.


                  • This is a good game innit? I remember people deducing that I must be an asylum seeker of Czechoslovakian extraction, based on my handle. The reality however is a little different on account of “Budvar” was chosen on account I was drinking a bottle of beer here at my desk at the time.


                  • I have no grumbles. My present Institution being the best so far, Ragnar.

                    I get to keep my fancy dress stethoscope (providing it isn’t misused for probing or draining) and the large ‘I am a Doctor’ badge ist schön.


      • I don’t think so. If you mean the Scottish one, it’s been around for a while, has it not? It won’t hurt the UN’s goals. That’s why they want diddy little emperors like Salmond running EU ‘regions’ and introducing such measures.


    • “There will soon be creches in supermarkets where wives can drop off their husbands to play in a big net filled with balls”
      The balls will all look like bOObs!
      Hmmm…A bOOb pit, you’d never get some of us out! 🙂


  4. Oh yes, a couple of years ago the horrid little bastard spawn of Satan next door was giving me some abuse. I just calmly replied “Aye keep it up, you see you wont be a minor forever, and speak to me like next year when you turn 18, and I’ll knock your bleedin teeth out”. “Oh will you?” says he. “Well we’ll see won’t we” says I.

    Turning 18 must have hit him like a train crash, they soon wise up really very quickly, the neighbours were all queuing up to sort this little shit out. Now long gone are the days of “You can’t tell me what to do, so fuck off you fat cunt” and the “You touch me and I’ll have the law on you”. No more with the squaring up to you, oh no, that’s all stopped.

    These days you hardly ever see him, and not so much as a peep out of him. You see him on the street, and he wont even make eye contact and just scurries past.


    • That’s how it works. Give them total freedom to be utter bastards while they are children and then impose total control as soon as they are adults. They have, by then, enraged so many people that when they are no longer untouchable, they spend the rest of their lives in fear.

      In Panoptica, the age is 21.


      • You’re going to have to get your finger out on this one LI old son, as at this pace, it’s going to be not so much a futuristic tome intended to give you the creeps, but a sodding manual…


  5. There’s some slight resemblances here and there between your own career and mine. Working in a Major Supermarket as a shelf-stacker was an eye-opener. Besides the abysmal pay, it put you at the mercy of all kinds of petty tyrants. (And it must be said, a quite nice 70-year old lady mentoring my bread-stacking who fondled my arse every few minutes; and they had –gasp! — a smoking room, where I learn to smoke to an olympic standard — this was over 10 years ago. There was real comradeship in that room.) Petty tyrants didn’t seem to get any degree of off-the-scale sarcasm, and I got what vengeance I could by overstacking chiller cabinets so as to destroy thousands of pounds of ready meals.

    Being on a till was horror beyond imagination. Nowadays I make a point of being particularly appreciative and cheery as the supervisor has to come over for some poor bastard to scan through my budget-price alcohol. Probably creeps the hell out of them, but my intentions are good,
    as Eric Burdon put it.


    • I have heard strange things from the till operators too.

      There have been frequent bizarre things where Mopman and/or myself were cleaning tills. Usually we try to get this done just before closing time because there is a lot to do afterwards.

      Someone will arrive at a till where we are ‘deep cleaning’ (taking it to bits and cleaning all the bits) and unload a trolley onto a belt that is wet and not moving. At the other end of the till, one of us has the scanner unit pulled out and the other has dismantled the scraper bits at the end of the belt. The till could not be more obviously out of use. It’s in pieces.

      We used to stop them and tell them ‘we don’t drive these things, we just clean them’, and I had a whole set of explanations as to why I no longer had a till driving licence (cashing up without due care and attention, scanning items in the wrong direction etc.) but now the game is to see how far they will unload before they realise nothing is going to happen.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Imagine, if you will, a foyer of an IT building. Further in there is a PC cluster, students for the use of. It is summer, so the annual cluster refurbishment is in full swing and the doors to the aforesaid room are closed and locked.

        In a spirit of merriment and hope we who man the helpdesk in said foyer have put up signs that simply read “CLUSTER CLOSED” in six inch high letters. I say merriment, for everyone knows that students do not read signs.

        One student not only didn’t read any of the half-dozen signs, but also failed to comprehend the meaning of the safety barriers in front of the door (we do so love to ram a point home here), failed to notice the closed and locked nature of the doors and trotted straight into the locked doors nose-first.

        After an audible thump came concerted hilarity from ourselves; manning a helldesk is boring so you take your amusement where you find it. Said unfortunate student picked himself up off the ground, paused to let the room cease spinning and tottered over to ask what was going on. We drew his attention to the signs at that point, and when he asked as to their meaning told him to work it out for himself. Well, this is a university, and we are in the business of educating people…

        Liked by 1 person

      • It’s a pity the conveyor belt cannot be put into reverse. You could wait until they’d unloaded it all, start the belt and watch all their shopping fall off the end onto the floor. But that might involve more cleaning, so perhaps not.


  6. “Then those same parents act all surprised when they wake in a bath of ice to find their offspring has sold their kidneys to the local butcher for a bag of sweets.”

    Not a hope Legs, they’re worth a small fortune in parts. This is one reason why I strenuously object to the smoking ban. It places far too many vulnerable people at very serious risk – and I dread to think of what’ll happen in Russia as well as China, where the market is massive for black market organs.

    The link tells of $40,000 for a kidney and $250,000 for a pair of lungs. Almost irrespective of age we’re worth close to $800,000 on the hoof. Lots more for a teenager who has a decent heart. Indeed, even an aborted female fetus is worth a cool $25,000 just for her eggs.


    • Local radio has been advertising a ‘Cash for Kids’ charity drive. I thought it sounded like a good idea and wondered how much cash you’d get. Did they do it by weight? Was it worth rounding up the fat ones?

      Sounds like it’s better to break them up for spares.

      Liked by 1 person

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