The Number of the Beast

In the Good Old Days success generally meant you had achieved something.

Nowadays it seems to be measured by the number of “likes” you get on Farcebook or the number of “followers” you have on Twitter. 

Yes, I have a Farcebook page.  In fact I have two of ’em.  There’s my original one and there is one I set up in an idle moment of madness for this here site.  To give you an idea how often I visit the latter, I just went into it [to see if it was still there] and it happily announced that I was a new visitor.  A stranger in my own land, as it were.

The Rambles page has apparently got 98 “likes” which surprises me.  Of course in the grand scheme of modernity you are no one unless you at least have a “k” after the number but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. 

So then I toddled into my own Grandad page.  Now that doesn’t have “likes” as far as I judge and the yardstick here is apparently the number of “friends” I have.  119.  Again, I am a complete loser unless I have a number running into the tens of thousands, but just to twist the knife in myself I am happy to say I have considerably fewer than 119 friends.  Those in Farcebook consist mainly of family and quite a few who are real people who I have met and some I meet reasonably regularly.  However, I confess I haven’t a clue who most are and would probably [definitely] pass them in the street without even knowing they were a “friend”.

That paragraph above is going to see my number of Farcebook “friends” drop to single digits?  Heh!

And then there is Twitter.

I rarely visit Twitter thee days.  My only real use for it is to announce on an unsuspecting world that I have had another brainfart.  The odd time I will get a mail to say someone has replied to one of my “tweets” and of course I then visit and reply.  I’m quite polite in things like that.  Then there is the little badge I have on the sidebar here – my little animated vulture friend Cedric – I’m quite proud of him and would be loath to condemn him to the bin.

Once again you are a person of no consequence on Twitter if you have less than a million “followers”.  This apparently is so vital to people’s existence on the planet that they are prepared to actually pay for extra followers which baffles me.

I used to have a hundred or so “followers” on Twitter.  The figure ebbed and flowed but I didn’t pay it much heed.  Then something happened last year and I seemed to gather “followers” like rats to a swamp.  The figures shot up, which I confess was mildly pleasing as it at the very least meant people knew I existed, and maybe even one or two of them might have a chuckle at my garbage.

The figures have stopped rising.  For the last while they seem to have stuck at the same number, maybe varying up or dawn by one or two but the mean figure stays the same.

666.

Is there a significance here?

Footnote: I see this post is number 66656.

I’m getting worried.

The end of the world is on Thursday

The Doom Merchants are out in force today in Ireland.

They say we are to expect Arctic weather by the end of the week.  They even mention the terrible prospect of snow!l  Have these people not seen the news lately?  The Mediterranean countries in the middle of a deep freeze and covered in what I would call snow.  The stuff we get here is a mere smattering by comparison and will only succeed in bringing our roads to a standstill.  For some reason, Irish motorists are terrified of the stuff and a flurry of snowflakes out of a blue sky is enough to grind the country to a halt.

But not content with this impending doom, we are all supposed to succumb to the “flu epidemic” that is seemingly sweeping the country.  It is expected to reach its peak over the next week or two.

Already there is talk of shutting down schools which seems to smack of the Stable Door Syndrome.  If there is already an epidemic then the damage has been done.  This has been countered by “experts” who say it is better to stay outdoors if you want to avoid the flu as staying indoors means closer contact with others.  I don’t know where these “experts” live but if I stay indoors I am just stuck with Herself and the dog.  If you really want to catch the bug then go to work and mingle with dozens of others and most important – send your kids to school where they are guaranteed to bring home every nastiness going.

The “experts” are also imploring me to go for a vaccination.  I am in a “vulnerable” group [i.e. over 60] so if I don’t get the Jab, I’ll die.  They can fuck off.  There is no way they are going to inject God knows what into my bloodstream just to make them feel better.  Don’t they know those vaccinations contain Formaldehyde used for embalming bodies?

Anyway they are too late.  I think I already have it.  Restless night last night, peeing all the time [why does a bug make me pee more frequently?], headache, sore throat and general aches all over.  Whatever it is, it’s a little over and above the normal aches of daily life.  Am I worried?  Am I fuck!  A couple of Aspirin and the dog can do without her walk.

It also means I have to have an extra whiskey or two tonight for medicinal purposes of course.

Do you hear me complaining?

 

PC in the WC

I came across a little piece the other day over at The Foggy Mirror.

Apparently pubic toilets should be renamed.

Now this isn’t some gesture to remove the confusion between Toilets, Lavatories, “Restrooms” [I could never understand that one – who the fuck wants a “rest” in there?], the Jax or one of the many monikers applied to what an architect would call a WC.  No, this is down to providing non-gender specific names for specific genders.

What the fuck?

I have touched on this strange topic before.  This topic that there used to be just two genders, but now there is apparently more genders than you can shake a penis at.  We now have males and females.  We also have males who want to be females and females who want to be males.  We have the really confused ones who don’t know what the fuck they are or even think they are neither.  There are those who swap over to the other side on weekends only and those who have gone under the surgeon’s knife.  There are those who think that by dressing as the other sex they become the other sex and those who just do it for the laugh.  And there are those who decide in the morning which gender they are going to be for the rest of the day.  All in all it is not only confusing but is becoming more than a bit of a bore.

Of course in these days of Political Correctness we have to pander to these poor little cheesecakes and we have to recognise every variety and flavour of gender they dream up.  Hence the problem with toilets.

Of course these delicate people can’t cope with the simple concept of Male and Female.  They feel slighted, neglected and persecuted because we “don’t understand” or some such bollox.  What we need [apparently] is toilet signage which is somehow non-gender specific while catering for the vast majority who are simply male or female.

This isn’t as easy as you might think.

Let’s start off with two toilets – Number Ones and Number Twos.  I think that’s a good start?  But then there are those who wish to stand and those who wish to sit within the Number Ones category.  So maybe there should be three doors – Number Ones Standing, Number Ones Sitting and Number Twos.  I am assuming there aren’t many within a Number Twos Standing category but you never know these days?  Of course Number Ones Sitting could be combined with Number Twos as the facilities are similar so we are back to just two doors again [and maybe one for wheelchairs – they at least are genuine].

There is of course another alternative.

Stick with what we have: Ladies and Gents, and a third door marked Others.

The third door naturally leads outside to a field.

Let them pick their own bramble bush or bed of nettles.