Magnetic Gandhi

I read an interesting article the other day in which Stewart Lee raises a terrifying argument about Scottish Independence; a point summed up succinctly in the sub heading: The loss of 5.5 million Scots would mean 5.5 million fewer voices to say no to Cameron’s cronies. As you may know, there are more pandas in Scotland than Tory MPs.

Now I was living in Glasgow last year and I voted for Alex Salmond’s SNP, thinking it a good thing as I’d recently walked up the Wallace Monument and had rekindled a healthy sense of colonial guilt; instead, it turns out I was shooting myself and every other red-blooded English liberal in the foot.

But then, during a lecture today, we were asked to take the Political Compass test, whereby I was reminded that there is no such thing as left-wing in English politics anymore; that Thatcher was more right wing than Hitler; and that despite what I believed to be pretty hardcore beliefs regarding rights and punishment, it turns out I’m more of a left-leaning pansy than Ghandi, and more of a libertarian nut-job than Ayn Rand (possibly).

So there I am, my core beliefs as synonymous with His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama’s, as the British National Party’s are with another famous vegetarian. Not that Hitler was vegetarian, after all, but let’s not hold that against him.

Another matter brought up today was how the proliferation of social media is changing the way companies decide who they employ; the point being, if you’ve been tagged lording it up at that bukkake club in Amsterdam, potential employers may not feel that such an individual has a place in childcare.

The same goes for swearing, bigotry, dodgy behaviour and largely just being an arsehole; our online persona will be used more and more as an extension of our CV, and only a fool would tweet, blog, upload or be identified in questionable content.

Well, future prospective employer, let me tell you, I’ve had a few jobs in my time, and I’ve upset my fair share of motherfuckers like yourself. In the past I have stolen, rallied dissent, and generally behaved in a manner both insubordinate and unashamedly apathetic. I will drink, abuse substances, and with a libertine’s approach to the fairer sex upset and offend in the most pathetic manner appropriate.

My true allegiance is not to state or crown, countryman or employer; it is to humanity as a whole, to the fragile system that keeps us breathing on this rock of ours, and to the libraries and museums that future children will gasp in wonder within.

Chances are, I’m down on my luck and looking for a job in your restaurant, my pithy dreams of writing for a living dashed by my urges; and here you are, wondering if this hirsute degenerate is worth the pocketful of coins you’ll leave him with once he’s drunk enough of your watered-down pish to forget the day’s work and your terrible face.

You think yourself quite the auteur don’t you, staring into your screen; Detective Cuntybaws is on the case, sorting the wheat from the chaff. I bet you bought a new car that runs on petrol/diesel didn’t you, even though you don’t drive enough during the day to warrant it. Could have paid a little extra and gone for an electric car but no – not flash enough was it. Small cock? Fat and barren? You dick.

I hope future generations clone hordes of you from the scrap of unmourned bones in a pauper’s grave bearing your epitaph and set this army of bastard pigfuckers to work terraforming whichever distant, dusty ball people like you have forced our species to emigrate to.

Oh, and I’m also not above knocking out a giggety in the employee bathroom and adding it to your lunch.

But hey, me and the Dalai Lama. Wow.