Sunday, 18 January 2009

Early release for the multiple rape-murder connoisseur


The good Doctor has decreed that a week on the Wheel is equivalent to two without food water or light. Whilst my multitudinous fractures settle down into some semblance of a human physiology I am at liberty to type a missive one broken-fingered character at a time. Has our practitioner of the Hyppocratic Oath ever shown such lenience, I doubt it, he is truly a God amongst amoeba, single-celled creatures being what he would define as his 'Society'. So whilst the strains of his favourite music (8-bit computer game soundtracks - particularly Sinclair Spectrum's Jet Pac) seep tinnily into my gloaming dungeon I have painfully penned the following screed.

It has come to my attention that the world of business is populated by a growing menace - the career incompetent. These individuals move from position to position spreading their ordure of disorganisation and misdirection. They often rise to unheard (and heretofore non-existant) ranks within a company, garnering titles like war medals scuttled from pawn shops. Such appellations as Head of Fun, Director of Strategic Explosions, Grand Master of Winnovation, Chief Lunch Officer have become commonplace among dynamic, passionate, thought leading, global facing, client focused organisations.

Thank God for the oncoming nuclear winter of the economy, we may see a return to the simple days of honest labour, where a man could lurk in the shadows outside an East End pub waiting for the staggering click clacking of a lonely whore. The lesser missed members of our congregation are ideal customers of the service delivered by this honest son of the soil. Nostrum's need for fresh corpses is unremitting. I rub my hands in glee at the thought of the forthcoming festive season when the blind drunk outnumber the sober by 10 to 1. This is real toil, not the shuffling of papers and the pinging electronic mail, but the short slash of a cut-throat and the hefting of a now lifeless body onto bowed shoulders.

My job title has always been a subject of some vagueness, however in response to our all-encompassing industrial dumbocracy I shall take on a new moniker. I shall be Head of Vitality Redistribution. Now go and enjoy your weekend and keep off the backstreets in Whitechapel if you value your vitality.

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