They want your brain and your house.
First up, houses. They won’t get mine. They won’t want it anyway, it’s a death trap full of so many levels of smoke and whisky vapours that the drones could die just by looking at it on Google Streetview. The mere sight of such a den of iniquity will melt their eyes. Hot needles will shoot from the screen, needles dipped in cancer and calories that will pierce their empty heads and leave them with a slow, lingering death, so slow they won’t even notice until it’s far too late.
(pause while I have a bout of Joker-laughing here)
No, they won’t get mine because it’s a well-worn-down repayment mortgage. There was an endowment component but that’s gone now. If I die before it’s paid off well, they can have it. I wonder how long it will take them to find the wall insulation made out of dog-ends and ash?
Many, many years ago I bought a little flat, with an endowment mortgage. Only about 20K. I was only in it for a few years, then a new job at the other end of the country meant I sold it off. Didn’t make a profit, didn’t have it long enough and didn’t make the mistake of buying again. It’s not a smart move when you are on three-year contracts. I rented from then on until the final permanent job. In fact, I rented for the first years of that one too. Finally it reached the point where the rent cost as much as mortgage repayments anyway so I thought, hell, might as well get something for all this money.
Through all those years I kept the endowment policy going. So when I bought this place, I took it on a repayment mortgage with 20K of it on interest-only, covered by the endowment. That would pay out part-way through, and it did.
The endowment cashed in a few years ago. It produced 18.5K. If I’d still been in that flat I’d have had to find another £1500 – a nuisance but not impossible, especially as I had a few years’ warning that the policy was a dud. If I’d still been in that job I could have saved that in a few months. Now? It would take… somewhat longer… but it could be done.
This did mean that £1500 of the interest-only part of my current mortgage wasn’t covered. This turned out to be no problem at all. The mortgage company simply added that to the (much much larger) repayment component and my monthly payments went down because I had paid off 18.5K in one go. Now it’s all repayment so it gets a bit smaller every year.
Many people just trusted those endowment policies and it seems a few million still do. This is stupid. The warnings have been out there for years now. Find out what your shortfall is likely to be and start stuffing the mattress.
Maybe there’s no need. Maybe you had kids and they have now grown up and left home (or maybe they are still lounging in your lounge playing computer games, smelling of old unwashed clothes and scratching themselves in places that should be scratched in private). Maybe, before the mortgage ends, you’ll sell up and buy a smaller place. Then it might not matter. Pay off the mortgage company with the proceeds of your house and use the reduced annuity to buy a tent or a camper van. Or go on a long holiday and drink yourself to death. Or visit North Africa and experience ebola before it becomes extinct. Might be your last chance. Bring it home, share it with your friends. Retirement has so many possibilities.
Or just move in with your kids and sponge off them. See how they like it.
Anyway, it looks like there are soon going to be a hell of a lot of repossessions, even after all that fuss about people getting compensation for their dodgy endowment policies. It must have taken a long time to sucker so many into the long-term game, but then that’s what makes zombies scary. They move very slowly but they just keep coming. You might feel superior because you can run faster but you have to rest and sleep sometime. They don’t.
And they want your brains. Oh, the ideal way to make sure you don’t escape the house-stealing part of this zombie apocalypse is to have you declared mad. Then you can’t possibly raise the extra cash you need.
Dementia is all the rage at the moment and guess what? It’s all caused by your lifestyle. The terrible terrible lifestyle that has kept you alive long enough to experience brain failure.
Here it is again. You live long enough to get age-related brain decay and it’s all because your lifestyle will make you die young. Doublethink couldn’t even rationalise this one. Negative correlation equals causation once more. How do they keep this stuff in their heads without becoming utterly deranged? Oh. I see.
Look at this test. Just look at it. It is testing nothing. Nothing at all. This is not any kind of test of brain activity or mental acuity. It is a test of drone compliance. Fail the test and you must be locked away for your own good. Kruschev would have been enraptured. Oh, and that house you are struggling to pay for? We’ll take care of that for you. We’ll sell it and keep the money to pay those ‘carers’ who leave you lying in your own urine and then beat you up for peeing yourself.
This is no country for old men. Or old women. This is a country where the health service, until recently, routinely killed the old with the ‘Liverpool care pathway’ which meant they starved you to death. When they were found out, when their death-mill was stopped, they had to think of something else. This is it. Dementia. If you are not living exactly as directed they will lock you away and let their thugs finish you off in a ‘care’ home.
Then again, the care-home-killers are being outed now. They will have to think of something new. My guess would be home-don’t-carers with instructions to search for hidden cameras and make sure they are out of shot when the bruises happen.
If you are not living the drone life, then Public Health wants you dead. And they will go to any lengths to kill you off. It’s worth their while. They get your house and pretty much everything else you have worked for all your life.
Dick Turpin had it wrong. No need to hang about on cold highways and hold up coaches. All he had to do was call himself Dr. Turpin and he’d have retired on a massive pension paid for by his victims.
There is a horde of Dr. Turpins now.