Fry-Quacking as a Harbinger of Western Civilisation's Demise

Lindsay Perigo's picture
Submitted by Lindsay Perigo on Fri, 2019-12-06 06:17

Fry-quackers currently rule the world. They are ubiquitous and inescapable. Their aural pollution is a much greater existential threat than "climate change" (which isn't a threat at all, and of which fry-quackers, fittingly, are the most screechingly irrational proponents). They are the likes of Occasional Cortex and Jihadi Jacinda, who could as easily be twin sisters as Yawon Bwook and George Sowos could be twin brothers.

I am in a minority of one in pointing to the tyranny of fry-quackery, along with the related collapse of the attention span, as indicative of the imminent collapse of Western Civilisation. It is an integral part of the assault on objectivity, and with it, decency.

Here's a challenge to moronnials in particular in both respects. A protracted in-depth discussion between humans for whom ideas are supreme and speech is an art form. Contrast this with the Zero IQ sub-human fry-quackers on CNN et al. And observe how prescient Muggeridge was:


Mr_Lineberry's picture

humour to demonstrate this decline of civilisation...


Mr_Lineberry's picture

to laugh at "...the TV channel previously known as TV3.." and "..I even heard a Radio New Zealand reporter recently say "everythink".." - but yes, this does make you want to cry doesn't it?

The reason for the decline is simple: we have allowed the lower orders, whose ancestors all toiled in 'dark satanic mills' (and were rightly ignored), or got machine gunned on the Somme (in order to avoid breeding people like themselves), now run things having had schoolmistresses and university lecturers assure them they are brilliant! (words fail me). The fact they are as thick, unsuited, unsuitable, ignorant, and ghastly as said ancestors cannot be changed merely by repeating preposterous nonsense indefinitely. Isn't egalitarianism fun?

There is a very good reason why men like Rockefeller, Ford, Howard Hughes, Edison, Jobs, Gates, or Trump are not just dragged in off the street (or from somewhere like Papatoetoe or Wairoa) at random. The good news is that nothing underpins the current status quo; these ghastly people (unfortunately for them) are what they are, and sooner or later the inevitable will occur.

I shall leave it to Shelley to explain what happens next...

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away

Someone Else Gets It ... Almost

Lindsay Perigo's picture

Karl du Fresne blames Jihadi Jacinda and America. Both are guilty. but that's far from being the whole story. Karl doesn't quite get the civilisation-destroying enormity of what he's talking about:

Orwell Heard in 1948 What No-one Can Now

Lindsay Perigo's picture

What was slightly horrible was that from the stream of sound that poured out of his mouth, it was almost impossible to distinguish a single word. Just once Winston caught a phrase—" complete and final elimination of Goldsteinism"—jerked out very rapidly and, as it seemed, all in one piece, like a line of type cast solid. For the rest it was just a noise, a quack-quack-quacking. And yet, though you could not actually hear what the man was saying, you could not be in any doubt about its general nature. He might be denouncing Goldstein and demanding sterner measures against thought-criminals and saboteurs, he might be fulminating against the atrocities of the Eurasian army, he might be praising Big Brother or the heroes on the Malabar front— it made no difference. Whatever it was, you could be certain that every word of it was pure orthodoxy, pure Ingsoc. As he watched the eyeless face with the jaw moving rapidly up and down, Winston had a curious feeling that this was not a real human being but some kind of dummy. It was not the man's brain that was speaking; it was his larynx. The stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words, but it was not speech in the true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness, like the quacking of a duck.

1984, published in 1948.

Ben Shapiro is as bad as Occasional Cortex. The assault on civilisation begins not just with the hijacking of language, but the way it is spoken.

Hilarious take-down of repulsive moronnial fry-quacker

Lindsay Perigo's picture

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