Just cut out the middleman and let rich people sponsor a poor person. There would be less waste in the long run, jobs for council workers (the OKCupids of wealth patronage!), and a powerful social impact.
After all, why give your money to charity when you can give it to your own impecunious client?
I mean, it worked for the Romans.
Sean Gabb, director of the Libertarian Alliance and prolific author and commentator on British politics and society, has written a novel of mayhem, adventure, and alternate history: The Churchill Memorandum.
I don’t know Sean Gabb personally, but I have read other works on his recommendation (notably those of Richard Blake), so when the review copy of his novel arrived, I dove into it with great anticipation and devoured it in one afternoon, taking assiduous notes between incredulous outbursts of ‘He just… did he really just do that? WTF?’ Anyone who has read the novel will probably recognise this frequent reaction.
Even though this was several weeks ago, I waited to publish this review because I had a feeling, which turned out to be correct, that the novel would be somewhat controversial. In that interval, Gabb has been accused of being, variously, anti-American and an English national socialist, all because in his novel the United States is a fascist horrorville and Hitler wasn’t a mass murderer. As an American myself, I’m rather more sensitive than others to whiffs of anti-Americanism, and I didn’t get any as I was reading. I certainly don’t think Gabb is an apologist for Hitler or the Nazis. And I suspect that to make these sort of assumptions about an author based on the characters or settings in his novels is to indulge in more than one cognitive bias.
Sometimes, a novel is just a novel.
Or, in this case, a crazy drug-trip into an alternate universe where Hitler dies in a car accident in 1939, the pound sterling is still sound money in 1959, and Winston Churchill ‘did nothing big after Gallipoli.’ Be thankful for this back-cover exposition, because you, the reader, are a genius. If you know nothing about Europe of the Second-World-War era, expect to spend half your reading time delving around the murkier recesses of La Wik.
Our hero is half-caste Anthony Markham, historian of the feeble sideshow that is Churchill in this universe and unwitting possessor of a document that numerous plotters, including Germans and Indians who smell persistently of curry, desperately want to get their hands on.
Why do I characterise the book as a crazy drug-trip when others have described it as ‘Hitchockian’ and ‘noirer than noir’ (which I’ll also buy)? It’s hard to say without giving too much away, but here are a few bullet points to whet the appetite, or bring smiles to the faces of those who have read it:
The importance of the titular document is wholly drowned in the gunfights, the multi-transport chases and escapes, the sheer insanity of staid types you once knew and loved such as Harold Macmillan—who, incidentally, tries to corral the main character just as said hero has been mistaken for a Labour Party candidate in a town hall meeting and is delivering a triumphant speech:
‘Brothers, let it never be said that the Labour Party was at all exclusive in its welcome to speakers. You’ve heard me put the socialist case for our national future. If you want to hear the other side, be aware that our Foreign Secretary—Harold Macmillan himself—is standing just outside this room, and is waiting to answer all your questions in person.’
Cue the mob.
Markham’s publisher’s daughter and a mysterious Major who doesn’t officially exist are also part of the dastardly plot, and Enoch Powell turns out to be the shadowy badass whom all the plotters fear.
Y’all, this book is further down the rabbit-hole than Alice, and I dearly wish that instead of a review wherein I praise the author for his audacity and imagination, I was publishing verbatim the notes I took. You would not believe this book.
That said, there are some deep author-avatar moments, and without doubt Gabb can create characters who are horrifyingly realistic. Markham, protagonist and first-person narrator, is a remarkably unsympathetic character, callous and cowardly by turns and buffeted along by events entirely out of his control. His attempts to take refuge in a sense of loyalty or duty to his country are constantly shown up as stupidity by people who possess neither, and his actions neither drive the plot nor resolve it. Much like real people, in fact, warts and all. And the realism is necessary in light of the fact that most of the other players stepped straight out of a Bond film.
More importantly, the more you hear from Markham, the more you realise that despite having access to his internal monologue, you do not know this guy at all. There is no mention of friends, family, background, previous life, or romantic involvements (apart from whoever gave him Chekhov’s Buttcheek.) His thoughts revolve around two things: nebulous politics and immediate circumstances. He’s like a random guy in a pub telling you a random story, and when you stagger out you’re none the wiser.
To me, this makes him possibly the most unreliable narrator in fiction. This is what really makes the novel worth reading, though of course it is exciting and inventive as well. But I feel compelled to draw your attention to the fact that the insanity all starts in chapter six, and when you remember what Markham does at the end of chapter five, well…
…that’s my theory. And I’m sticking to it.
There is a crash of thunder. Enter Lord Piotr Manhandlebum.
Manhandlebum: Now is the winter of my discontent
Made quite frankly irksome by this glorious son of Marx.
But did I hear the clown say sooth
That Tony of Blair is here within the castle walls in truth?
I am not in his good books and my own book is not good.
The Turd Man has pricked New Labour’s rose, and pricks
Are all the rage at Arsinore. I should know.
I’ll to the chamber and position myself behind the arras.
No change there then.Exit pursued by a bare man.
I urge you to read the whole thing. It’s a treat.
Iowahawk. Go. Read.
I gather that few others found this as funny as I did:
Fundamentally, the remit of any new localized ‘cell-based’ but centrally co-ordinated publication, whether electronic or hard copy, will be the creation of an effective interface between the existing ‘lifeworld’ and the development of an appropriate register of anti-hegemonic discourse.
By ‘lifeworld’, I refer to the post-Husserl Habermasian conception (‘Lebenswelt’) of a set of socially and culturally sedimented linguistic meanings, shared in their current form by the working class and its hegemonized identities (and sets of identities).
Into this existing set of shared understandings of how the world operates, it is necessary to ‘infuse’ the appropriate set of Marxian conceptions both around the essential nature of capital/labour relations and the consciousness of the working class as an objective entity in relation to capital. In turn such conscientization will lead to the development of a renewed ‘Lebenswelt’ in which class struggle becomes both more desirably and feasible through solidaristic local and then wider action.
Displaying a startling lack of self-awareness, one commenter blithely bypasses the main point and thus demonstrates a complete absence of appreciation for the author’s craft:
I think my approach here would have been a little simpler: sheerly ripping the piss out of these so-called libertarians. Several of them make comments which demonstrate that they didn’t read your article, particularly as regards where the funding comes from for your blogging endeavour.
Another misunderstands the definition of satire:
You can self-satirise Frankfurt school jargon, rampant bureaucracy and heavy-handed control-freakery all you like, but this is how the Left operates.
Ah, well.
One of the things that’s always puzzled me is that, in this current struggle between ‘right’ and ‘left’, each side is convinced that the other is the hegemonic group. This suggests that, in reality, neither is.
So who’s actually in charge, then?
UPDATE: Anna Raccoon has also picked this one up. I can only echo the remark of commenter Katabasis:
What makes the joke even funnier is that the satire is sufficiently subtle that not all of his fellow travelers will get it.
And the same person who, on the original post, misunderstood satire again levels accusations of FAIL at Anna’s place, because apparently, Lefties really are like that. Seriously.
*le sigh*
From Anna Raccoon, a timely parody of one of my all-time favourite poems:
“O Voters!,” said Old Cyclops,
“You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be voting Me again?”
But answer came there none–
And this was scarcely odd because
He’d pissed off everyone.
This is rather an old post, but everything about it is funny to me, including the title: Hands Off My Loaves and Fishes, Hippies.
26But Libertarian Jesus was great in wrath, and did goeth on at great length about negative liberty and natural law.
27And on.
28And on and on.
29And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, and the Pharisees begged Libertarian Jesus to holdeth his peace, but to no avail.
30And lo, presently the Legion came upon Libertarian Jesus, and gave him a bloody good crucifying.
31And there was much rejoicing and loud were the hosannas.
32And Libertarian Jesus looked down upon the Pharisees and said, Forgive them LORD, for they know not the principles of Minarchism.
Iowahawk strikes again:
But there’s a problem: as the worker researchers attempt to store each raw datum into the neat honeycomb hockey stick structure provided by the hive’s Alpha Grantwriter, they discover that few will fit. The infrared shows them growing cool with fear. This signals the climate researcher’s instinctive behavior to begin viciously beating, rolling and normalizing the data into submission. According to Dr. Nigel V.H. Oldham, professor emeritus at Oxford University’s Centre for Metascience, this violent data dance is what makes climate researchers unique among breeds of scientists.
Professor Nigel V.H. Oldham:
Like other species in the order homo scientifica, the climate researcher gathers and organizes data to lure grant money to the hive. In contrast to those other species, however, the climate researcher has evolved a set of complex violent behaviors to insure any data leaving the hive is perfectly adapted to nature’s most lucrative and sweetest grants. It really is a marvel of natural selection, and explains why the climate researcher continues to thrive in any kind of weather condition.
Truly, Iowahawk is a giant among satirists. Do go and read the whole thing.
Gangland Julius Caesar offers some advice to President Obama:
And believe me, nothing boosts an imperator’s public approval rating like turning the opposition into lion snausages. Your loyal plebes will love it, and after the games you can hand out free bread. And healthcare.
Shit, I dunno, maybe I’m being to hard on Obamacus. The big problem is that the punk don’t know how to pick a posse. Look at his Senators. Jupiter H. Cripes, I thought that crazyass Caligula was straightup psycho for appointing his horse to the Senate, but that thing had more brains than half these muthafuckers. Combined.
…
I know you be thinkin’ you’re some kind of stone cold Claudius, layin’ down some phat oratory at the Forum and plowing your enemies’ fields under with salt. But you still a teleprompter punk, and you gotta know what you don’t know…Lesson one: rule first, deification later.
Iowahawk has breathed new life into my Friday afternoon. Go read the whole thing; everybody knows regular blogging on a Friday snuffs out around 2 pm.
His take on the Waxman-Bullshit Cap and Trade Attainder is absolute class.
An Act to make provision for and about the temporary and specific waiver of contract law, the acquisition and nationalisation of pension funds relating to Sir Fred Goodwin, the carrying out of deprivation, the use of executive power and the acquisition of the means by which Sir Fred Goodwin was to be compensated; to provide for Commissioners and a tribunal of public opinion with functions and jurisdiction in relation to those matters, to the seizure of any and all such funds and related funds as unwarranted remuneration of failure, incompetence, and general arrogance; and for connected purposes.
[2nd March 2009]
Be it enacted by the Queen’s most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:—
Something I wrote in the previous post reminded me of this stupid shit that appears to have been shelved for the foreseeable future because it was stupid shit, and I wondered how I might construct a pledge of allegiance for the UK along the lines of the one we have in the US (which school-aged children are made to recite every morning for thirteen years).
Here is the American version:
I pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America,
and to the republic for which it stands,
one nation, under God, indivisible,
with liberty and justice for all.
And my UK version:
I pledge allegiance to the symbolic representative item*
of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland,
And to the parliamentary democracy** for which it stands,
many nations, under the European Union, devolved,
with equality and social justice for all.
*The British flag has racist and overtly Christian connotations; the Queen of course represents outdated class privilege, and the monarchy in general is symbolically anti-democratic.
**’government-by-ministerial-fiat’ is too much of a mouthful.
I invite anybody else to have a crack at it, as I freely admit my own attempt is rather lame and half-assed.
A new version of the Hail Mary, over at Lambeth Palace. I liked it so much, I’ve put it into Latin:
Ave, Gordon, gratia carens,
Dominus non tecum.
Vituperatus tu in hominibus
et vituperatus fructus laborum tuorum, recessio.
Nefas Gordon, pater incompetentiae,
interveni usque non adeo pro nobis civibus
nunc et in hora mortis perduellionis.
Amen.
Today comes the news that yet another Obama appointee, Nancy Killefer, finds herself in a spot of embarrassment over her taxes.
First, we had Timothy Geithner, Treasury secretary nominee, who:
didn’t pay Social Security and Medicare taxes for several years while he worked for the International Monetary Fund, and he employed an immigrant housekeeper who briefly lacked proper work papers.
The article also cites ‘a series of other tax matters,’ but declines to describe them in detail.
Then, we had Tom Daschle, who ‘made mistakes on his taxes‘ to the tune of £120,000 and has now withdrawn his bid to become Heath and Human Services secretary. He said:
“My failure to recognize that the use of a car was income and not a gift from a good friend was a mistake,” said the former Senate majority leader. “When I realized the mistake, I notified officials and I paid the tax in full.”
I am floored by this statement, mainly because I have never heard of anybody having to notify the IRS of money owed. Three years ago, the bastards tracked me down in a foreign country to collect from me (and I know this because I’m consulting their threatening notices now) back-taxes of $13.16.
Nancy Killefer, picked to become Obama’s chief performance officer, has withdrawn her name from consideration for the post, ‘citing unspecified problems with District of Columbia unemployment tax.’ God only knows what that’s all about, but I’m sure it wasn’t that she overpaid.
What the fuck are these people playing at? Are the American people really supposed to believe that a string of tax irregularities in highly-placed Democratic officials is the result of coincidental mistakes and oversights?
Iowahawk has this to say:
Here at the IRS, we realize that many well-meaning taxpayers like you can be distracted by various family illnesses, baseball pennant races, political campaigns, and so on. The rules for late filing can be surprisingly flexible if you have the right qualifying circumstances. According to IRS guidelines, you are eligible for the 306(b)(19) “I Forgot” amnesty if the following applies:
(1) Your total adjusted gross income in the “I Forgot” years was equal to or greater than $8,528,000; and
(2) You are a nominee to head a cabinet-level federal agency.If you answered “yes” to (2), or both (1) and (2), then you are in the clear. If you answered “yes” to (1) but “no” to (2), mail 10% of the total to the Democratic National Committee and request a cabinet appointment. If you answered “no” to both, then I’m afraid you are shit out of luck. Turn yourself into your local IRS authorities, who will assist you in computing appropriate penalties, interest, and parole terms.
UPDATE: I’m not the only one who thinks this is fishy. There seems to be a suggestion that Daschle in particular has withdrawn in order to keep Obama from looking bad. I must say, I’m impressed: self-flagellating politicians falling on their swords to preserve the reputation of one of their own? Repent, for the End is nigh…
Every time I read Iowahawk, I laugh like a fucking drain.
First, the classic Tale of the Asse-Hatte.
Now, the Idiossey.
If he writes another one of these, I won’t have any kidneys left to burst.
No. 265:
No. 90:
