Kings or Churches

Ever wonder how a king is made? I mean, how does a monarchy come to be? How does it get its power? Who makes those gold calf crowns? I know. I know. History tells us that monarchs usually are rich, have even more rich friends, including lots of wannabe rich people–and then there are the rest who simply can’t get enough of the lure of The Kennedys, Diana, royal weddings. Hence monarchies exist. Poof! Seriously, dear worst-reader. I’ve been living in #eurowasteland for too long. You wanna know the thing that really gets under my skin after living in this place so long? The answer, btw, is the one thing that makes Europeans so relatable to Americans, hence Americans inventing monarchies in the form of deformed families aka The Kennedys. The thing that gets under my skin are Euro monarchies–even though I live in a Euro-Borough that supposedly doesn’t have a monarchy. Accentuate the supposedly. I’m almost sure, if given the chance/opportunity, the Huns would find themselves a monarch toot-suite. That said. Come on. It’s twenty-fucking-fifteen. Monarchies still strap Europe to the waste-heap of history like nothing else. If you look long and hard at these jovial houses of inbreeding, it’s a wonder that Europe has lasted this long while trying to assume its new role as alternative #1 consume-heaven (to #americant). And do you know why these monarchies have lasted this long? The answer lies somewhere between the Jungian monarchial archetype and the yellow press with page three big tits. That’s basically it. The plebes need something above and beyond their measly lives that give them at least some form of meaning. And now that the Euro is practically a failure, at least a failure in the Burroughs with monarchies (gee, where’s that irony come from) what’s left for Europe–and its plebes? The people in Europe and America are nothing more than working stiffs day-in and day-out. Other than the work done, the money earned, people today are nothing more than Automatons–they are the blue-dressed Winston Smiths. What is there for these people to do above and beyond breathing, peeing, procreating? Indeed, dear worst-reader. The females justifies their existence by perfectly surfing a juxtaposition between lust object and breeder. The male justifies his existence by keeping his mouth shut and doing what his job tells him what to do so that he can maintain a license for putting that damn penis somewhere every once-a-once. And so. What does all this have to do with the article linked below–which motivated this post? Everything and nothing, dear worst-reader. For you were warned on my About page. This site is maintained by compulsion. And not just the compulsion to write as though I hate every teacher that tried to teach me (to write). No. Indeed. The compulsion is something very different. It is, perhaps, something Jungian. But not as Jungian as Eurowasteland monarchies. That said, it’s always been a question lingering in the back of my head regarding the conflict in Northern Ireland. How is it that this conflict can go on for hundreds of years and yet so few people must face it? We all face the conflicts in the middle-east. Heck, we all face the conflicts of the cold-war. We’re even facing the conflicts in Ukraine. And we do all this more than we face Northern Ireland. Why is that? Could it be because all the conflicts mentioned here ultimately have nothing to do with monarchies–but Northern Ireland does? Down with all monarchies. Humanity, please, get over yourself. Move on. Get rid of these inbreds and freaks. Find your own meaning. Or maybe not. But I digress. Rant on.

Where the Bodies Are Buried – The New Yorker.

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Tom

Just another expat blogger.