The Looter's Prayer

Richard Goode's picture
Submitted by Richard Goode on Wed, 2011-09-07 07:17

I got this in my email today.

Our Father,
who art in prison,
my mum knows not his name,
thy riots come,
read it in "The Sun",
in Birmingham, as it is in London.
Give us this day our welfare bread.
And forgive us our looting,
as we are happy to loot those who defend stuff against us.
Lead us not into employment,
but deliver us free housing,
for thine is the Facebook,
the Blackberry & the Twitter,
forever and ever.

It's been a month since the England riots. Liberty Scott had a good commentary (and some harsh words for Russel Norman) at the time.

[Cross-posted from Eternal Vigilance.]

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I think...

Ross Elliot's picture

...I said it somewhere here a very long time ago, that you have this exquisite machine, capitalism--and I meant that in the fullest sense of the word--shiny, bright and glorious, churning away, illuminating the world with its manifest goodness, yet increasingly under the maintenance of a bunch of hairy, misbegotten apes: cajoling it yet shitting and pissing upon it, wondering why it refuses to answer their lamentations; using it and abusing it, sucking at its tit and chewing upon its sagging carcass all at once: wondering why their world is starting to stink like a sewer.

Welcome to the underside, the rocky shore of Rand's Wave.

I'm glad ...

Lindsay Perigo's picture

... someone has twigged to the awful irony of exquisite technology being a repository for dregs. Faecesbook, etc. To go to those places is to encounter Ayn Rand's "drooling beast":

Listen, what's the most horrible experience you can imagine? To me—it's being left, unarmed, in a sealed cell with a drooling beast of prey or a maniac who's had some disease that's eaten his brain out. You'd have nothing then but your voice—your voice and your thought. You'd scream to that creature why it should not touch you, you'd have the most eloquent words, the unanswerable words, you'd become the vessel of the absolute truth. And you'd see living eyes watching you and you'd know that the thing can't hear you, that it can't be reached, not reached, not in any way, yet it's breathing and moving there before you with a purpose of its own. That's horror. Well, that's what's hanging over the world, prowling somewhere through mankind, that same thing, something closed, mindless, utterly wanton, but something with an aim and a cunning of its own."

To paraphrase my friend John Ansell, we now have "the Dregification of Everything."

This dregification will bring us ("us" being western civilisation) down before Islamogoblinism or Obamanomics do, though it will be a close-run thing.

You simply cannot have such large numbers of aliens prowling so brazenly through mankind so ubiquitously quacking and mumbling such fathomless banalities and touting such incomparable scum as Slayer on so large a scale without something really, really bad happening. The dregs deserve it, and frankly I hope it happens rather soon. To them.

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