Fugger first blogged on this day, six
years ago. That's six years of words arranged in grammatically dodgy
order for reasons best known to absolutely no one, least of all me.
All I know is that six years is a lot of words. Too many words. But
what the Hell, it's Fugger's birthday so here are some more...
For this anniversary post, I thought
I'd do something special and let you know about the word quota.
Everyone has a certain amount of words assigned to them for use in
their lifetime. Did you know that? Yeah, there's a word depot that
stores a limited amount of words for each person's use. Once you use
up your words, you can no longer speak or write. You are struck dumb.
You never get to communicate again - beyond pointing and waving or
using facial expressions or nodding and shaking your head. Consider
that next time you waste a load of words complaining about the shite
on telly. You might run out of words before you've said what you really want to say. It happens. Having said that, I'm not sure if running
out of words is a bad thing at all.
Words drain life of value. Honestly. When you recount an experience in words you reduce that
experience to just words. You even start to consider the experience
as a story that you tell and forget the actual sensation of the
experience itself. Emotions become syntax. Then you start to
embellish things, to add a bit of sparkle to what inevitably
becomes a jaded narrative. You might even discard reality completely and make
something up. I'm not sure if anyone knows for certain why
we do this. Maybe we do it to entertain others so they'll like us.
Being liked feels good. Being liked makes us feel safe. Being liked sometimes brings rewards
or gives us a chance to procreate. Or maybe it's not about being liked at all. Maybe we exaggerate just because, you know, because. For reasons we can't put it into words. We're a funny species, sometimes on purpose.
To keep experience authentic, the less
you say the better. The only way you can properly convey an
experience is through telepathy and we can't do that, yet. Once we
master telepathy, we'll consider words as insufficient and
rudimentary a means of communication as smoke signals. Dishonest
smoke signals at that. With telepathy we'll know exactly how each
other feel and we'll understand each other's motivations and no
longer have a clutter of words clouding our mutual comprehension. Despite the odd embarrassment, this will be for the best. There'll be
a certain amount of awkwardness because people you dislike will know
that you dislike them and, worse still, people you love will know
that you love them. Your silly preoccupations and insecurities will
be on show for all to see, but then so will everyone's. This will
probably lead to a lot of empathy in the end. We'll all see how silly
we are and have a good laugh. You might even stop disliking those
you dislike and come to love them, now that you've come to truly
(This post isn't very good is it? I
should be putting a narrative on all this and packaging these
concepts in some kind of amusing scenario, with a set up and a pay
off. There'll be a funny bit at the end, I promise, but it should be
less of a slog getting there shouldn't it? I should try harder to
hold your interest. Holding your interest is my aim I suppose
because, you know, just because. For reasons I can't put it into
But where was I, oh yes, the word
quota. Some people, those who talk too much or write a lot, like
yours truly, often exhaust their word supply before death. If you
keep an eye out, you sometimes see these wordless people around the
place. You might see them paying for items at a checkout and smiling
politely but saying nothing when they are handed their change. Most
are elderly, but some are younger, living out decades incommunicado.
I've a theory about these people. I reckon they find it liberating to be without
words. I can't say for certain of course because wordless people
aren't able to confirm it, but their knowing smiles and zen
demeanours could well be down to their word
lack. They look free to me, whenever I see them. They seem
unburdened. I say 'hello' and they just nod sagely.
Anyway, this brings me to the funny
part of this sixth anniversary post. 'At last,' says you. OK, so,
there was this fella right, and he was always going on about this and
that and whatever and never shutting his yap and it's his first day
at work in a new place and he really needs a shite. He's busting to
go, absolutely dying, but the building is huge and he can't find the
jax so he goes to ask where it is, but then he finds that he's run out of
Life isn't to be enjoyed. It's to be
tolerated. I think that's undeniable. You can breakdown in the face
of this truth or you can man up. If you choose to man up, you get
your head down. You get your head down and you get your work done and
you pay your way. There isn't much joy in it, but there is dignity in
it. Don't be a freeloader. Don't expect anyone else's share. Take
care of yourself. It's about competition, not cooperation. The only
time you cooperate is to beat the competition. We're all rivals and
you know it. Deep down, you know that only too well. Sure, the minus
is that no one owes you anything, but the plus is that you don't owe
anyone anything. Just get your head down, provide for yourself and
try not to die in too much pain.
You see, you've got to be a tough guy
in this world because this world is tough, guys. You don't measure
the worth of your world with intangible notions like personal
contentment and a sense of community. That stuff isn't quantifiable.
You don't see that shit on graphs. Community can be best validated by
measurable collective economic stability. That way we keep the road
to the workplace smoothly tarred. Anything else and you're on your
own. You've got to man up and compete. You've got to generate the
income to partake of resources. There isn't enough to go around so
you've got to earn your share. There's a scarcity and even if there
isn't a scarcity, we should act as if there is or else there will be.
Way back in the way back when, F.W.
Taylor knew that internal gratification didn't get us anywhere. He
knew that external reward is the way to go. You're not a craftsman,
you're a cog, but you're a cog that gets paid a heck of a lot more
than a craftsman and shit gets made quicker too. Where would we be
without quick shit? Waiting, that's where. It's about efficiency
guys. Efficiency trumps all and if you're efficient you get paid more
and you can spend your pay on quick shit.
Of course, I know what you're thinking.
You're complaining that your income has been cut despite your hard
work. If your income has been cut you man up. Work harder! The
frontiersmen of old didn't bitch when their crops failed. Oh no. They
steeled themselves for a hungry winter and tried again next year.
People died, yeah. People die all the time. The cog gets rusty and
it's replaced. Big deal. The machine has to keep running and that's
all that matters because without the machine, well, without the
machine we'd all have to go without wouldn't we? Yeah, we would. We'd
all just be spare parts with no purpose. We'd have no reason to get
our heads down and we'd have to look up and look around and if we did
that then who knows what we'd see. What would we see then? It could
be anything. Anything under the sun. The thought is too awful to
contemplate. Just get your head down, that's the only way. For the
love of God, whatever you do, get your head down and don't look up.
Don't look up, just man up! Man up and get your head down!
Do you remember those mad cartoon characters The
Technocrats? They were on every Saturday after the ThunderCats. They wore well-cut
suits and expensive watches. They always had mildly bored
expressions on their faces and pushed their glasses up their noses.
They overcame sovereignty with their powers of austerity. At every
commercial break, you'd be reminded to stay tuned when The Technocrats pointed at you from the screen and told you to 'stick with the
programme!' Ah yeah, The Technocrats were
mad. Do you remember them at all?
They had a robot that was the comic
relief. The robot was called KEN-E. KEN-E was a clueless sack of mechanical crap
that barely worked. The Technocrats were always playing tricks on
him. In fairness, KEN-E was a very loyal robot. Even though The
Technocrats didn't take him at all seriously, KEN-E would always obey their commands. 'The Technocrats demand my loyalty,' KEN-E would
say, 'I must stick with the programme.'
The Technocrats had all these enemies
too. Alexis Feckless was the worst. He was always coming up with
stuff so he could escape paying his way. He wore a leather jacket
with the collar turned up and he had a shiny bald head. He looked
really evil in a lazy kind of way. He was terrible. We'd boo and hiss
him when we were kids. We all joined The Technocrats Club too. You'd
send away your name and address and then you'd be billed for all
sorts and sent budgetary advice. They'd
tell you how to spend your pocket money and recommend that you sell
all your toys to wealthier kids and then rent them back. After a
while of renting the toys back you'd run out of the money you made
from selling them. Then you'd write to the club requesting
further advice and you'd get a letter back telling you to 'stick with
the programme!' That's all the letter said.
'Stick with the programme!' This was just
advice of course. You didn't have to do what the letter said, but if
you didn't you'd be thrown out of The Technocrats Club and no one
wanted that. All the other kids would laugh at you. You'd have a bit
more pocket money for sweets though.
I'll never forget the shocking final
episode when Alexis Feckless revealed that The Technocrats were
completely broke. He was a real dick about it. 'You're all broke,' he
said laughing. 'I've got the proof and you're all completely
penniless and always were. You're
all a sham! A complete and utter sham! YOU'RE ALL JUST A LYING,
CRIMINAL, TYRANNICAL, SCUM SUCKING SHAM!' Then the show got cancelled
so we never discovered how The Technocrats got out of that spot of
bother. I'm sure they figured something out though. The Technocrats
always came up with crazy plans. Some would say outright deranged
plans, completely fucking demented plans. But, whatever happened, The
Technocrats always looked like they knew what they were doing. Even
if they didn't have the slightest notion what they were at, they
always looked like they did. That was their main power. I'm sure they
were OK in the end. We never found out though. The whole series was
scrapped and I've since heard that every episode was taken and
incinerated and the ashes were flushed down a toilet because the
people that commissioned the show found the whole thing really
embarrassing and shameful. Actually, the animation was a bit shit now I come to
think of it. The plot continuity was all over the place too. But when
you're a kid you don't mind that stuff too much. You're naive and
pretty stupid and you'll accept any hopeless old God forsaken shit
that's peddled to you. That's why the kids were so fond of KEN-E.
They identified with him. KEN-E liked
the reassuring demeanor of The Technocrats. I suppose the robot was
comforted by their certainty. No matter what half-arsed bollocksology
was afoot, us kids and KEN-E always stuck with the programme. We
remained loyal. That is, until The Technocrats show got scrapped,
burned and flushed down the fucking crapper where it rightfully belonged.
We don't make history anymore. History
just occurs. It kind of spills out all over the place and we have no
say in it. History is like a pint that gets knocked over by some
really drunk fella. It lands on his lap and makes it look as if he's
pissed himself. Sometimes it leaves a stain in the shape of a
Nobody is in charge anymore, for good
or ill. It's all just cause and effect, but we're not sure what the
cause was and we don't know how to deal with the effect. A lot of
people are talking but nothing is being said. Most people are arguing
about things that may or may not have happened and the factors that
may or may not have caused these things to happen or not. I doubt
anyone really cares though. Just as long as their opining is heard.
As long as they are seen to stand out from the herd ...for whatever
reason. No one knows a thing. We are all just caught up in a domino
effect and we don't know who pushed the first domino and we can't
tell which one will be next to go.
Take the example of ISIS. I really
don't know who ISIS are. I don't think anyone does. ISIS themselves
don't even know. All they know is that they are history, occurring.
They are just delighted to be 'trending'. This is humanity in
entropy, where being click bait is the sought after currency. ISIS
are like the rest of us but instead of doing the Ice Bucket
Challenge, they chop off people's heads. The Islamic Wahhabi
state matters about as much to them as whatever charity the Ice
Bucket Challenge was in aid of mattered to us. By the way, did we
#GetKony in the end? No, I didn't think so. That met a sorry
conclusion. Naked on the road, wanking and roaring.
We are all Jason Russell. Remember him?
You probably don't. History quickly fades these days.
Future historians will look back at our
times and try to figure out what happened. They're going to have to
pick their way through an abstract mess. The course of history by
Jackson Pollock. A tangle of twine and you can't find where it starts
or where it ends. And what an end. Might this be the end? Or is it
just a stupid transition? Maybe we'll wake up, like the pissed fella
that spilled his pint, and feel a bit disgraced and look out the
window and see a brand new day and swear never to do it again.
My sitcom about a writer of superhero
comics who aspires to be the next John Dee has been commissioned. It's called
In episode one of Incorporating Alan,
Alan hilariously sets out to prove thatPaul Daniels is not a
In episode two of Incorporating Alan,
Alan is unamused to discover his publisher merchandising plushies of one of his
edgy rapist characters.
In episode three of Incorporating Alan,
Alan struggles to find a polite way of getting his friend Warren to stop
dressing like him.
In episode four of Incorporating Alan,
Alan struggles to find a polite way of getting his friend Grant to stop
pretending to be him.
In episode five of Incorporating Alan,
Alan refuses to partake in a Q and A at a Batman convention unless it is
entirely conducted in Enochian.
In episode six of Incorporating Alan, Alan
is at loggerheads with his publisher when he decides to kill off their most
popular character again.
In episode seven of Incorporating Alan,
Alan kicks off his two-year stewardship of the Pokémon comic by placing Snorlax
in Chapel Perilous.
In episode eight of Incorporating Alan,
Alan is infuriated when a critic describes his new experimental writing style
as 'Krypto the Super Doggerel.'
That’s it for the first series. I was
asked to produce more episodes but I referred the broadcaster to the occult properties
of the number eight, saying that any other amount would exhibit preternatural