You’ll only be the beautiful person you were always meant to be when you refuse to be the person you are not – the person that others want you to be or decide to perceive you to be, so….
Don’t try to be like the skinny models in fashion magazines. They’re fake, a product of Photoshop. forty fags a day and a diet consisting of cotton wool balls and shredded paper.
Don’t give into the ‘group think’ of the age. God gave you a brain, use it. If someone is telling you again and again that something is right or is this way or that way then they’re probably wrong. Or lying.
Don’t believe what you see on the TV or read in the press. Journalists work for very wealthy people who have a very dark agenda and they deal in propaganda, not truth. They are as criminal as the corrupt oligarch-owned political class they support.
Don’t be fake. Say what you mean and mean what you say and say it from the heart and if others choose to mock you for that – more fool them for it was Plato that said: ‘strange times are these in which we live when old and young are taught falsehoods…and the person that dares to tell the truth is called at once a lunatic and fool.’
Don’t be blind to injustice and don’t be quiet to it, instead shout it from the rooftops. Even if no-one wants to listen, even if you’re not in a position to change anything you will at least save your Soul and, ‘six degrees of separation’ like, your words may reach the ears of someone, somewhere, who can do what you cannot.
Don’t bother with social media. It’s no more than a means of spying on what you say and think, manipulating and mining your data to sell you even more bling/crap/stuff that you don’t really need. Oh, and real friends are flesh and blood, not bits and bytes.
Don’t spend so much time on that bloody smartphone. Don’t let its blue light blind you to the beauty of the real world. Put it down, look around you, talk (really talk) to people (real people). Experience life as thinking, feeling flesh, blood and bone, not by digital proxy.
Don’t consume as much. Really, don’t. You don’t need to upgrade this or upgrade that, you don’t need ‘labels’, you don’t need the latest style, you don’t need the latest piece of pointless technology. Your worth as a person is not defined by how much stuff you own.
Don’t trust politicians or anyone who seeks to authority over you – they’re all weird and dysfunctional individuals. But you know that all already, don’t you?
Don’t do what you’re told. At least not until you’ve had a bloody good think about it yourself and come to your own decision.
Don’t be mean, judgemental, callous, prejudiced, ignorant, uncaring or ungenerous but do guard yourself against the many people you’ll meet in life who aren’t worth your time, who have nothing to give you but who seek to take much from you.
Don’t let people belittle you or tell you that you’re not good enough – you are more than good enough and certainly better than those who attack you.
Don’t be normal. Normal people never achieved or made or changed anything whilst the ‘not normal’ people were philosophers, poets, discoverers, inventors, explorers, writers and visionaries. Normal is dull, dull, dull. It’s also an entirely abstract concept that doesn’t exist in reality.
Do be brave.
Do be real.
Do be different.
Give yourself permission to be you.
Give yourself permission to be beautiful!
…this little snippet is taken from my forthcoming book ‘More Extraordinary Tales’, out first week December. The first book in the series ‘The Curious Little Book of Extraordinary Tales’ is available to download from Amazon now.
“We are ruled by psychopaths. Our political and economic system is a giant criminal enterprise run by them for their benefit and their benefit alone. To them human life has no value, we are simply a commodity to be exploited, our sole function is to be consumers, tiny cogs in a huge, unsustainable machine that is powered by raping the planet. Our ‘free press’ is nothing but a peddler of propaganda and our democracy is a bought and paid for pantomime and a lie. Whoever wins, nothing ever changes. The Greedy One Percent always win for all candidates are their candidates. We are ruled by psychopaths, they are The Devil’s Children and they are driving the world to destruction.”
– The Good Politician, excerpt from his final speech made to a crowd of thousands in the Park Of A Thousand Joyous Souls in the city of Anywhere just two days before his strange and unexplained ‘accidental’ death.
The Strange Tale of Killary Hinton
Authors note: this story could equally be called The Strange Tale of Gorge Shebu, or Barrage Obomber, or Nodeal Rump for the Devil’s Children have, as previously stated, many disguises, all interchangeable and indistinguishable from each other.
Once upon a time… many, many years ago in a world long since forgotten, there was a country called Anywhere. And in the land of Anywhere there was a fine and prosperous city called Anyplace and in this city there lived, during the times of the ascendancy of the destructive and rapist Greedy One Percent, a politician called Killary Hinton.
Killary was a hugely corrupt and evil woman, most definitely one of the Devil’s Children, someone who had developed a fine mind but at the expense of her humanity; that was an empty space, a void that had been filled by naked ambition, greed and the reckless and dangerous needs of a dysfunctional sociopath.
From university, she entered the legal profession and soon, by dint of the fact that she was a good actor, an adept liar and lacking a social or moral compass she, not surprisingly, did very well in her chosen career and was soon a Promising Young Lawyer.
It was at the Promising Young Lawyer stage that she was spotted by members of The Greedy One Percent, who were always on the lookout for bright, morality-free, personable young men and women they could manoeuvre into positions of Responsibility And Power.
And so the inducements began. Having a Feral Ability to sniff out Bad Character, The Greedy One Percent recognised Killary’s dysfunctional and strange sense of self-regard, her greed for money and power and sociopathic nature. They suggested to her that she might enter the World Of Politics where, should she but do their bidding, she could be very useful to them and they could offer to her in return fame, power and lots and lots of money: a huge advance for a book of her memoirs at a later point in the future, a Guaranteed Income Stream from speaking tours (addressing members of The Greedy One Percent), lucratively paid non-executive directorships on the boards of Banks And Corporations, well-rewarded contracts to write articles for The Means Of Communication…these were just some of the inducements offered to Killary to do The Greedy One Percent’s bidding.
Killary accepted everything offered gladly: she was, and always had been, fascinated by the extremely wealthy and was desperate to join their ranks.
Mentored by The One Percent, quietly supported by their money and noisily supported by their tame journalists in The Means Of Communication, Killary rose quickly in the Political Sphere, soon becoming Leader of her party and then Leader Of The Country.
Killary now proved her worth to The Greedy One Percent. If a law needed changing or abrogating to allow them to pursue a business that had previously been seen as unconscionable or illegal, Killary changed it. If a (rare as Trolls teeth) honest politician or journalist needed to be blackmailed or bludgeoned into silence, Killary wielded the club. If corrupt policy had to be justified by lies, Killary lied. If the Public Services or Benefits And Welfare had to be cut to impoverish The Ordinary Folk, Killary did the cutting. If an Illegal War needed to be started in a Far Flung Land to enable The Greedy One Percent to steal that land’s resources and (extra bonus) make even more money selling arms…well, Killary started it.
In short, Killary proved to be an Invaluable Servant of The Greedy One Percent. If anything, they came to realise that they had, in fact, underestimated her greed for money and power and the depths of her sociopathic leanings: Killary not only did what they wanted but during the course of her time as Leader, she managed to prostitute the entire Office Of Leadership to the sole purpose of enriching herself and her Owners.
I suppose it could be argued that The Ordinary Folk of Anywhere had some blame in the rise of Killary Hinton. Perhaps they should have noticed that the Cloak Of Liberalism she wrapped herself in was as threadbare and as transparently fake as that of her predecessor to the Leadership, Barrage Obomber. Perhaps they should have realised that her infuriating habit of smiling whenever she was talking was in fact a form of “Distraction Theft;” the cheesy grin distracting your eye whilst hands sneak round the back of you and steal your wallet, your Life Chances and the Lives Of Your Children. I suppose I would then have to say, how can people make informed decisions when The Means Of Communication function as a 24 hour, 7 day a week, 365 days a year Propaganda Mouthpiece for the wealthy and powerful?
Whatever the rights and wrongs and who was to blame, Killary accumulated vast amounts of Blood And Treasure and became a happy woman. And if her incredible success was built on the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Brown People in Far Flung Foreign Lands and the impoverishment of others in her own country…well, then, what of it? You Ordinary Folk are but A Detail Of History.
Now one particular day, three years after stepping down as Leader Of The Country, Killary (now an immensely wealthy non-executive director of numerous corporations and banks, columnist, after dinner speaker, author, property investor and, irony of ironies, Peace Envoy) was giving a speech (for a very nice fee) to a Select Group of Greedy One Percent Individuals. Comfortable and pompous, she stood there on stage, pontificating from behind a lectern. Then something very, very strange happened.
Killary had spent a good half hour lauding the Wonderful And Generous Nature of the fabulously Wealthy and their Inestimable Contribution To The Nation, extolling the virtues of the Magick of “Trickle Down” theory and was just about to start telling a series of Vile Lies about the Leader of a Far Flung Foreign land, that being to lay the ground work for Propaganda in the next day’s Means Of Communication that would eventually become justification for another Illegal War, when her Soul decided it had had enough.
For, oddly, despite spending a lifetime in Killary’s corrupt body, her Soul had remained Pure, close to God and In Equilibrium With The Universe. But as it saw yet more Filth And Lies coming down from Killary’s diseased and crazed mind, filth aimed at starting yet another war in which yet more Innocents would die, that Soul decided enough was enough. It had always tried to do its God-Given duty, had spent decades telling Killary, No Don’t Do That It’s Horrible. Always it had been ignored, always squeezed out by Killary’s lust for money and power, by her complete lack of regard for others. It could no longer abide listening to the screams of thousands of innocent men, women and children who had died in Killary’s wars. It would not be party to, once again, sending brave and idealistic young men and women to fight and die in wars that served no purpose other than to line the pockets of Ugly, Perverse Old Men who were already fabulously wealthy but Whose Greed Knew No Bounds. It was time to accept defeat and save itself from the Rampant Corruption that this woman, this Child Of The Devil, represented. It was off, it was out of here and on to That Which Lies Beyond.
As Killary uttered the first of her lies about the Leader of the Far Flung Foreign Land, her face became very red. Sweat broke out on her forehead and poured down her face, she paused as she spoke, discomfited by the intense heat that had flared up inside her. Then she moaned in pain as more heat bubbled up from somewhere deep, deep down. Steam came off her in great waves. She rolled her head back and screamed as her eyes turned completely white, like egg yolks in a frying pan… clouds of smoke billowed from her mouth, nostrils and ears and she suddenly, and explosively, burst into flames, fire consuming her body as she stood at her lectern.
Terrified by such a spectacle, her Rich Guests ran screaming from the room, sparing them the site of Killary’s flaming head exploding into tiny fragments as her Soul made its exit from her Vile Body, a fast-moving Incandescence, shooting upwards, smashing through the nearest window, out into Fresh And Sweet Air, making its escape across a Broad, Bright Blue Sky.
What was left of Killary’s body collapsed to the floor, lying smouldering by the lectern. And at that point the ground around began to shake and tremor and a large hole opened up in the ground by Killary’s remains. It was hole so deep that it reached down to Hell itself and from it issued Flame and the Nauseating Smell of Brimstone, and out of the Hole crept a Large, Scaly, Red Hand which snatched away the remains of Killary and dragged them down to Hell: the hand of the Devil himself, come to reclaim one of his Special Children.
And the moral of this tale is: never trust those who seek to put themselves in positions of authority above you. They are strange and twisted people – sociopaths, deviants, thieves and rapists, and they seek only to benefit themselves and their dark desires.
This tale taken from my book ‘The Devil’s Children’ a collection of stories that show how we are, indeed, ruled by psychopaths.
“We are ruled by psychopaths. Our political and economic system is a giant criminal enterprise run by them for their benefit and their benefit alone. To them human life has no value, we are simply a commodity to be exploited, our sole function is to be consumers, tiny cogs in a huge, unsustainable machine that is powered by raping the planet. Our ‘free press’ is nothing but a peddler of propaganda and our democracy is a bought and paid for pantomime and a lie. Whoever wins, nothing ever changes. The Greedy One Percent always win for all candidates are their candidates. Let me say it again…we are ruled by psychopaths, they are The Devil’s Children and they are driving the world to destruction.”
– (The Good Politician). Excerpt from his final speech made to a crowd of thousands in the Park Of A Thousand Joyous Souls in the city of Anywhere just two days before his strange and unexplained ‘accidental’ death.
Welcome to Anywhere…a world very different from, yet very similar to, your own.
Once upon a time…many, many years ago in the land of Anywhere, in a world long since forgotten, there was, at one time, a kind of Golden Age. It was not, it has to be said, an age that was Perfect but it was agreed by almost all that it was an age that was much, much better than That Which Had Gone Before.
You see, after Generations Of Struggle against Social Injustice and two Catastrophic And Immensely Bloody Wars with the nearby land of Anotherplace, in which the Ordinary Folk had died and suffered to a catastrophic degree, it was decided by all except the Rapaciously Rich that Things Had To Change.
From that point on, Ordinary Folk were given access to Free Education, Free Healthcare, Pensions, Benefits to help those who fell upon Hard Times and all the advantages of what you would know in your world as a Welfare System. New taxes were introduced to redistribute some of the vast sums of money accumulated (mostly from Stealing, Cheating and Aggressive Tax Avoidance) by the Wealthy and the Aristocracy (known in the land of Anywhere as The Greedy One Percent) over the years and Political Reforms introduced to break their stranglehold over the Political And Economic Life of the country. Additionally, the Right to Vote was given to all.
And the land of Anywhere blossomed, for it was found that a populace Free From Hunger And Illness, that was properly Educated and Cared For, produced huge numbers of Talented men and women who previously had Languished due to Poverty And Lack of Opportunity. These Talented men and women drove the land of Anywhere to new heights of success, founding businesses, employing people, making a mark in the worlds of politics, science, medicine and culture. Slowly but surely, the Dead Grip of The Greedy One Percent, who had dominated and controlled the land of Anywhere for as long as anyone could remember, was broken.
And the psychopathic Greedy One Percent, the Devil’s Children, hated this new world and all it stood for. They vowed to destroy it…
We truly are ruled by psychopaths. Read more in my book ‘The Devils Children’:
On the twelfth of May 2021, the bureaucracy of Heaven (a bit cumbersome and creaky at the best of times, it has to be said) was plunged into total chaos. The cause of this chaos was events that had taken place down on planet Earth just two days earlier in the form of a judgement handed down by the Special International Criminal Court sitting in Madrid (much of northern and eastern Europe now being a nuclear-blasted, radioactive wasteland).
Said sentence was delivered by the Court against a character you probably know well but whom I shall call only The Politician. The Politician was a former President of the Former United States of America (much of which now resembled much of northern and eastern Europe), who had become an internationally reviled and hated war criminal. For playing a central role in bloodshed and conflicts the world over and, most particularly, the short lived but catastrophic Nuclear War of 2019, The Politician was sentenced to death: ‘to be hung by the neck until dead’.
And so it was that The Politician’s corrupt, self-serving and immensely destructive life was extinguished at the end of a rope. And as the body swung lifelessly in the air, its soul exited the earthly remains. Upon which event, highly specialised computer systems somewhere in a far off, dusty corner of Heaven (at the least those are the best terms I can think to describe what happened, for the mechanics of Heavenly Bureaucracy are beyond the whit and ken of mere mortals) sprang automatically into action. The celestial and spiritual equivalent of bytes and megabytes were crunched, reams and reams of data analysed in a flash. A life was balanced, weighed, judged and a passport was issued for The Politician – a passport straight to Hell:
Dear Recently Departed,
Congratulations on your death and thank you for your interest in joining God and his Angelic Cohort in Heaven. Regretfully, I have to inform that on this occasion your application has not been successful. However, alternative accommodation has been found for you in Hell.
We very much hope you enjoy your stay.
The Heavenly Bureaucracy.
So far, so good, you think, an evil individual dispatched to Hell. That’s as it should be, is it not?
For you see, upon reaching Hell, The Politician, rather than being terrified and suffering, found it all rather convivial. Everywhere The Politician looked pain and suffering could be found. People being boiled alive, people being forced to watch as their intestines were ripped out, people rolling boulders up never-ending hills whilst being ferociously whipped, people being savagely raped by horse-hung and hugely tumescent demons and, worst of all, people chained to the spot and having to listen to ‘One Direction’ songs played on a continuous (continuous as in forever) loop…
As both a connoisseur and expert in pain and suffering and someone who had developed and enjoyed extreme appetites in all senses of the expression, The Politician found this fascinating, exciting and really quite wonderful – forgetting the humiliation of a political career ending in abject failure, imprisonment, sentencing and the terror and pain of hanging and the irreconcilable strangeness of death (which, it seemed, wasn’t really death), The Politician decided that dying hadn’t actually been that bad and that being sent to hell was, basically, hitting the jackpot!
And The Politician followed The Politician’s nature and got to thinking. Here was a chance to take the habits of a lifetime into death and beyond, for The Politician’s nature was that of all of that kind, the kind that set themselves to rule over others. The Politician was a psychopath, a creature that always, always wanted more. A creature of vile and despicable desires. A creature that would always put itself first at the expense of others, a creature obsessed with power and its own greed – one that lived and functioned solely to satisfy these needs, oblivious to the consequences for ordinary people who are, after all, but a detail in history. Sheep to the slaughter. Chickens for plucking.
How best then to slaughter these particular sheep, pluck these particular chickens?
How best to take advantage of the wonderful, and obvious, opportunities that Hell presented to inflict pain and misery?
Once upon a time… many, many years ago in a world long since forgotten, there was a country called Anywhere. And in the land of Anywhere there was a fine and prosperous city called Anyplace and in this fine city lived man who had two children, two boys, brothers born one year apart. For simplicity’s sake, let’s name the younger brother The Good Brother and the older brother, The Bad Brother.
Now this man was a Wise Man. Not “wise” in the sense of Kindly And Knowledgeable but wise as in the sense of Wise To The Ways Of The World and one of the ways in which he was wise to the ways of the world was that he had come to the understanding, at an early age, that this life (take careful heed of the words ‘this life’ or this Tale may drown you in despair before you reach its end) rewards not the good but rather those who are selfish and greedy and who take what they want when they want it without regard to the thoughts, feelings or needs of others.
Indeed he had come to the conclusion that Selfishness, Greed and a Lack Of Care for others were the keys to a happy life.
He determined that he would inculcate this philosophy into his two boys.
So again and again throughout the boys’ childhood and adolescence the father told his children not to listen to what they were taught at school or elsewhere about Being Nice To Others, or Being Helpful, or Caring…it was all nonsense and would lead to a life of poverty and misery. Instead, he told them, they should be Greedy, Selfish and put their own needs above those of others. There was no Judgement in this World, no Reward for Being Good. Never, he said, think of anybody before you think of yourself, never offer a Hand In Help to another person, never miss a chance to stab someone in the back or kick a man when he was down, never concern yourself with the Feelings Of Others. Take what you want when you want from who you want. Always seek to gain power over others and use that power to hurt and exploit. Never be reluctant to cause damage. This, he said, is the way to Fulfilment And Happiness and a Prosperous and Successful life. When not lecturing the brothers about the wonder of wealth, the rightness of ruthlessness and the prioritization of power he would sprinkle his conversations (such as they were, for his actual interest in them was fairly limited) with the boys with what he considered to be useful ‘mottos’ such as:
“The value of a man is determined by how much he owns.”
“The poor are poor because they are stupid. Punish them for it.”
“To satisfy one’s own desires at the expense of others is Divine.”
“The law does not apply to the rich.”
“The tears of others are as balm to your soul.”
As a consequence of his philosophy of life the father had, like many bad men before and since, chosen the world of financial dealings as his preferred area of work – buying and selling commodities futures, basic foodstuff to be precise, making much money for himself and other wealthy individuals at the price of poverty and hunger for others. After all, the poor are poor because they are stupid. Punish them for it.
Both brothers listened to the father’s oft repeated advice, but not both believed it. The older brother, The Bad Brother, believed and accepted, for he was very much The Son Of The Father, handsome and intelligent, but with an air of callous ruthlessness. Had you met him, you would have felt there was certainly something a bit dark about him, a Touch Of The Troll, as it is said in the lad of Anywhere – that saying being a gross calumny against the Troll race, Trolls, in reality, being gentle and loving creatures unless called upon to protect Goodness and the harmony of the Universal Law Of Equilibrium.
The second brother, The Good Brother thought completely the opposite. He simply could not accept the father’s advice; he was more The Son Of The Mother for it was an act of Good Fortune (for the father, not the mother) that the boy’s father had, by accident, married a Good Woman. This poor woman he would treat in truly appalling fashion throughout their married life, humiliating her time and time again with his philandering, lies, abuse, violence and perversions. Whilst handsome and intelligent like the older brother, the younger brother, The Good Brother, had inherited a gentle and caring nature from his mother. Had you met him you would have thought he was a very nice man, though perhaps a bit of a fool (a judgement people come to all too often when they meet a good person).
With the inevitability of the Cycle Of Life, adulthood, as evidenced by the dark hair now sprouting above their top lips, called for the brothers and, at a certain stage, they assumed full manhood (or at least that which society judges to be those things that make a man) and went out Into The World to Build Lives for themselves, The Bad Brother applying the philosophy of the father to all things, The Good Brother rejecting it completely and simply being caring, kind, happy-go-lucky.
And now we come to one of those points in one of my Tales from Anywhere at which you, dear Reader, expect a particular kind of ending. But, as I’ve said before, this is no fairy tale, this is real life and real life, like nature, is bloody in tooth and claw.
What you want me to say is that after initial success from the application of Ruthlessness And Selfishness the The Bad Brother eventually had to pay a price for his wicked ways and ended up poor, alone, a broken man, whilst The Good Brother, after some initial struggles, eventually reaped the rewards of his Kindness And Compassion, became rich, married a beautiful woman, had gorgeous children and lived happily ever after.
No. Sorry. That’s not how things worked out. This is real life, remember. This is how events really unfolded…and it’s a sorry story to tell.
Both brothers went into the world of business. Both being bright and hardworking, both did well. But The Bad Brother capitalised on his success and, just as the father taught, was Ruthless And Selfish, took what he wanted when he wanted and was happy to tread others into the dirt, to kick a man when he was down, to plunge a knife between the shoulder blades. He became a very, very rich man who was feared if not respected. He married a beautiful woman (who he treated like dirt just as his father had done to his mother), had gorgeous children (in whom he showed some interest but had no real love for), indulged perverse and excessive desires that ruined the lives of The Young and The Innocent. He trod all over people, used, cheated, lied, stole, damaged and raped. And had a fabulous time of it all and lived happily ever after.
The Good Brother, the Kind Compassionate One, never managed to take full advantage of his success in business; he was always thoughtful of the feelings and needs of others and never quite ruthless enough to Take The Necessary Hard Decisions. What’s more, being a Kind Fellow, he was always trying to help others who found themselves in difficulty. Seeing such Kindness And Compassion, people around him (for the reasons we’ve already established) considered him to be Stupid and Foolish, not a man to be feared or regarded – so they cheated him, used him, stole from him. As a consequence of his Kindness, which others exploited as Weakness, The Good Brother would end up emotionally and financially drained, he would lose his business, his home, his family, his prospects and at the comparatively young age of 43 he would, in despair, end his life by throwing himself from a high window of The Asylum For The Strange And The Different.
And the moral of this particular tale is: The Devil really does have all the best tunes and he absolutely does look after his own.
Or does he?
Now, this is real life, remember…
And maybe I haven’t been telling the whole truth?
Maybe I’ve been acting as journalists do, who in the land of Anywhere (just like in your own world) have long since forgotten that the duty of journalism is to search for the truth and present facts in an unbiased fashion. Instead, journalists long since came under the thrall of The Greedy One Percent (just like in your own world…), prostituting their independence and ability to think critically (or even to think) and confabulating fact and fiction to produce not news but blatant propaganda, always framed in a way that advances whatever the desired agenda of their Greedy One Percent owners/masters/pimps might be.
Maybe I’m an unreliable witness, my independence and credibility undermined by my own wish for money and influence? Maybe I’m a propaganda-peddler, not a truth-teller? Maybe I’m someone who writes for a living; in which case why the heck would you expect me to tell the truth about anything? I mean, come on, making stuff up is what I do!
Here, finally, is the real truth of real life. And it’s far from plain and certainly not simple. The version of the bothers’ story you have just read is indeed propaganda. It is the one told by The Greedy One Percent to their children as part of their education in how to become effective, society-killing sociopaths ready to assume their natural position in life: ruling over, and living off the blood, sweat and tears of, The Ordinary Folk.
Here is how the life (and death) of the two brothers really unfolded….
Once upon a time…many, many years ago in a world long since forgotten, there was a country called Anywhere. And in the land of Anywhere there was a fine and prosperous city called Anyplace and in this fine city there was a very, very wealthy man, a member of the Aristocracy and the Greedy One Percent.
As is the way with Aristocrats he was a deeply unpleasant man: he came from a long line of Stupid but Brutal and Cunning Sociopathic predecessors who had robbed, lied, cheated and murdered their way to great riches. Why, then would you expect him to be anything else but a Pig Of A Man? After all, stupidity, brutality and a lack of compassion and even Basic Social Skills are common to all Aristocrats; a result of the Gross Inbreeding of their Limited Blood Lines and a Political And Legal System and Macro-Economic Environment that allows them to easily hold on to their stolen money and possessions despite their extra-ordinary ineptitude.
Anyway, this man, let’s call him from this point on The Aristocrat, had a younger sister who was as different from him as Chalk was from Cheese. You see, the sister’s birth had been witnessed by a Faerie who had just happened to be passing through that particular time and space, doing her usual work of checking up on the Doings Of Humanity.
Whilst entranced by the Eternal Beauty And Miracle of a life continuing its cycle, the Faerie had been more than a bit disgusted by the stench of Corruption and Ignorance emanating from the Souls of the child’s Extremely Ugly Parents… and looking into the Soul of the newly-born child she was saddened to see that the girl would grow to be an adult like the parents: she would become an Ugly woman, bereft of Intelligence, Grace and Care.
Feeling desperately sorry for the girl, she cast a Faerie spell that would ensure the child would, instead, grow up with all the qualities so missing from her parents, and crossed her wings that her spell would not turn out to be too double-edged.
And so it was that the Faerie spell came to pass. The Child reached adulthood as a Beautiful and Intelligent young woman, so unlike other female Aristocrats with their podgy, shapeless bodies, buck teeth, crossed-eyes, big ears, fat noses and inability to String A Simple Sentence Together. Even more strangely (for a member of the Aristocracy), she was a kind and compassionate woman and could even hold a conversation with the Ordinary Folk and relate to their lives and problems! Indeed, she spent much of her time with the Common People and became deeply involved with Charities And Organisations that were involved in their welfare.
Not surprisingly such a bright, attractive, intelligent and caring lady, a real and solitary jewel floating in the cesspool of Aristocracy, garnered much attention, soon becoming very popular with the Ordinary Folk and a darling of The Means Of Communication. From there, it was not long before this wildly liked and unusually attractive Aristocratic young lady was spotted by the Royal Family of the land of Anywhere. They decided that such a beautiful woman, so beloved by the Ordinary folk and The Means Of Communication, would make an ideal wife for their oldest son, The Prince, who being dense and strange even by Royal standards, needed a good marriage to improve his profile and standing with the Ordinary Folk.
And so, quicker than a Troll can run, the marriage was arranged. Truth be told, our sweet young lady, who we shall now have to call The Princess, did not want to marry The Prince; she considered him an unpleasant and ignorant man with very strange ideas and poor personal hygiene. But, being a Good Girl with a strong Sense Of Duty, she did as her family bade and married the strange and dysfunctional Prince.
Alas, the marriage was not to be a happy one. If the Prince and Princess had been buildings he would have been a claustrophobic, grey Mausoleum housing the dead whilst she would have been a Dance Hall full of light and music. Both partners soon grew apart, for they had absolutely nothing in common. The Prince took an older, less attractive and far more stupid lover, with whom he felt more comfortable, whilst The Princess threw herself even more into her Charitable Works and even began to campaign for better treatment of, and land rights for, the Troll Community! She, too, took a lover and many years later it would be revealed that of the two children the marriage produced one was, in fact, not fathered by The Prince but by a dashing Army Officer: to give you a clue as to which child that was I shall only say it was not the ugly and stupid one but rather the better looking and more interesting one.
Eventually it became difficult to hide from The Means Of Communication and the Ordinary Folk how unhappy the Prince and Princess were and this, together with the fact that the Princess had become even more popular and was totally eclipsing her miserable husband in the eyes of all, became a source of great embarrassment to the Royal Family. Not to mention her campaigning for land rights for Trolls…that being in direct challenge to the interests of the Banker Class who covet Troll land for Lucrative Re-development Purposes. Unacceptable!
It was decided that Princess had become a problem about which Something Had To Be Done. Putting their almost empty heads together to Collectively Utilise their limited intellect the Royal Family and their Greedy One Percent advisors (who actually did all the thinking) hit upon a solution. One which had always worked for their type in the past.
The Princess had to be killed.
And so it was that Orders Were Issued to Shadowy Government Departments and, in an operation overseen by the Evil Politician, Mass Murderer and War Criminal, Bonty Liar, the Princess was Tragically Killed in a Sad And Freak Accident.
Following the Princess’s death there was a howling of outraged pain from the Ordinary Folk and criticism by them of The Royal Family for the Ordinary Folk felt that The Royals, who were simply acting in their usual dead-eyed, soulless way to the pain of others, were not showing much sadness at the passing of such a Beloved lady (in truth, The Royals were cock-a-hoop that this troublesome Princess was dead but the Common People were, of course, not aware of that).
Indeed, dis-satisfaction with The Royals reached such a clamour that a call went out from The Powers That Be to the tame Means Of Communication and the Owned Political Class to Co-Opt The Pain of the Ordinary Folk and save the reputation of The Royal Family.
Various Royal Idiots were wheeled out (sometimes literally) to express their sadness at the death of the Princess, even The Prince was made to stand up and read a speech (written for him and transcribed in phonetics so that he would be able to, semi-intelligibly, speak what he saw) about his love for the Princess and how much he missed her. The Means Of Communication communicated on a twenty-four hour a day basis, day in day out how Dreadfully Missed was The Princess, how loved she had been by all, particularly by her husband and The Royal Family.
This Process Of Propaganda worked (as propaganda is wont to do) and soon The Reputation Of The Royals Was Rehabilitated
To fully placate The Ordinary Folk a lavish State Funeral was held for The Princess. At the funeral many Artfully Empty tributes were paid to The Princess by equally Artfully Empty people.
And at this point, I bring back into my little Tale the Princess’s brother – The Aristocrat, he who was a Pig Of A Man. For he, too, gave a speech at The Princess’s funeral. He stood up and talked about his sister in gushing and entirely false terms (actually he had accepted a very large sum of money from The Royals to supply intimate personal details about The Princess that were of vital use in planning her murder, but what else would you expect from one of his class?) speaking of his deep “love” and “respect” for her. He then announced that, as her brother, he would be Custodian of Her Body and Her Memory. He would build a fine mausoleum for The Princess in which her body would lie permanently In State on an island in the middle of a lake on one of his estates. For a small fee, The Ordinary Folk would be allowed to cross the bridge to the island and visit the mausoleum (The Aristocracy will always try to make money in any way they can, no matter how gross or crass).
There was one other attendee at the funeral that day. Unbidden and unknown, fluttering quietly away high above The Princess’s coffin, was the same Faerie that had bestowed a spell upon The Princess at her birth. She had kept a keen eye on The Princess over the years and had been very proud of the way she had Turned Out, had come to love her for her Grace, Humanity and Humility. Her Princess had been a proper person and not a Piece Of Filth like the rest of her Loathsome Family or, even worse, the Family Of Monsters she had married into. The Faerie was, then, understandably distressed by events, more so because she had Faerie Insight of the disgusting Plottings And Machinations that had gone into murdering The Princess, a barbarity that even her own brother, the Pig Of A Man, had been party to.
Upon hearing The Aristocrat’s plan to bury his sister’s body on an island and charge admission she was less than amused and resolved that this was something that was simply Not Going To Happen. And with that, off she flew to consort with some friendly Trolls who owed her a favour or two.
By and by, the money-grubbing Aristocrat built his tasteless (and very cheaply done) mausoleum and installed his sister’s body there. But the mausoleum was to be a very short-lived business venture, for the night before it was due to open to Paying Customers, it was tragically (at least to The Aristocrat who mourned the loss of a Potentially Lucrative Income Stream) attacked and utterly destroyed by a mass Troll Depridation. Even worse, said Evil Trolls stole the body of The Princess, no doubt to use for Nefarious Purposes.
This incident was presented by The Means Of Communication (faithful servant as ever to the Bankers) as yet another example of the Vileness Of Trolls, yet another reason to never trust The Other and the Wickedness Of Those Who Are Not Understood.
In fact there was, of course, nothing wicked in what the Trolls had done. They had been doing as our Faerie had requested of them, the aim being to give The Princess the Peace And Dignity in death that she had been denied in life: and the Trolls had done it gladly for The Princess, being one of the few humans to ever speak in their favour, had been much Loved and Respected in the Troll community.
Following the Faerie’s instructions, the band of Trolls carried her body far into the wild countryside of Anywhere, climbing a high hill until they reached a beautiful, green and windswept plateau.
Here on this plateau they were met by a Mass Convocation Of Faeries and a huge crowd of Trolls, all having gathered to give The Princess a Proper Burial. The Convocation of Faeries hummed the Rhythm Of Life, a Faerie song (or humming, rather, for Faeries cannot sing) as old as time itself, and the Princess’s body was born into the centre of the huge crowd of Trolls, where it was lain to rest on the richly scented soil from which it had originally sprung. From within the crowd of Trolls appeared four breathtakingly beautiful, blindingly white Unicorns, each with a fine, black horn. Using these fine horns (horns wrought by Magick) and their powerful hooves, they dug a deep trench into which was placed The Princess’s body.
One by one, the huge crowd of Trolls passed by The Princess’s new resting place, each picking up and casting into the grave a handful of rich, loamy soil. Two senior Trolls, old and wise in a way beyond any Human Experience, even paid to The Princess the ultimate display of Troll respect for the dead; each cutting off the little finger of his left hand and placing it in the grave with the body.
Soon The Princess’s grave was filled with earth and the crowd of Trolls dispersed, back to their Troll Holes, but still the Convocation Of Faeries remained in the air above the grave, still humming the Rhythm Of Life. One Faerie, our Faerie, broke from the Convocation, flew downward and set herself upon the grave. In one last gesture, after which the Convocation would melt away, she said goodbye to the girl she had loved, cried one final Faerie tear, which (as Faerie tears do) turned into a diamond as it fell from her eye. The Faerie begged forgiveness from the Princess for the unintended Duality of the spell she had cast at her birth and sowed the earth of the grave with an enchanted mix of plant seed, seed of beautiful and richly scented flowers which would grow and blossom every single day of the year, be it winter, summer or anywhere in between, until the very Stars Fell From The Sky.
This tale is taken from my book ‘The Curious Little Book of Extraordinary Big Tales’.
Also available from all Amazon international sites, search: The Curious Little Book of Extraordinary Big Tales Richard Hennerley.
The kid in this picture is (was) 12 year old Abdullah Issa, minutes before he was beheaded by Syrian ‘moderate rebel group’ Nour el-Din Zinki. The beheading was filmed by the same degenerate pig who filmed the much broadcast (and utterly fake) sequence of the the 5 year old ‘victim of Russian bombing’ in the back of an ambulance; that man (a member of the George Soros and Wahhabi terrorist state, Saudi Arabia, funded White Helmets, who are really, really good at filming the aftermath of bombings but crap at actually rescuing anyone..) was later lauded as a hero by western propaganda peddlers (oh, sorry, media..). Members of the Nour el-Din Zinki moderate terrorist (sorry, rebel) group are trained and armed by the USA, despite having an informal alliance with Syrian Al Qaeda. Mark Toner, US state department spokesman, when asked about the incident and if it made Nour el-Dein Zinki a terrorist group, replied, “one incident here and there would not necessarily make you a terrorist group.” Well, that’s alright, then. Last week Nour el-Din Zinki publicly announced that it was joining Al Qaeda. We are, indeed, ruled by psychopaths.
Find out more about our psychopathic ruling class and how they threaten all our lives: