Why things will get a lot, lot worse before they get any better
“I wanna be a f*cking doctor, innit?”
Johnny Twocells stared insolently at the middle-aged woman behind the desk. Her title on the plaque on her door said Dr. Janet Brains MD, PhD. Head of Admissions. But Johnny couldn’t read because reading was for “wankers and tossers.”
“I see,” the woman responded politely. “And your qualifications…?”
“My whatsists ain’t none of your f*cking business,” Johnny snarled. “F*cked off school, didn’t I? Waste of f*cking time.”
“But you want to be a doctor.”
“Yeah. Loadsa money, f*cking flash car.”
“Do you have any particular type of doctor in mind?” Dr. Brains was incredulous but she was in the Brave New World of People’s Democracy and as such representatives of the people like Johnny Twocells were entitled to do whatever they wanted.
“Er, yeah. F*cking messin’ about in people’s heads, innit? Whatchacallit? Brain doctor?”
“Neurosurgeon?” Dr. Brains proffered, with a sigh.
“Yeah, that’s it! Neuro-f*cking-sturgeon. Cuttin’ off people’s heads and whatnot. I’d be f*cking great at that.” Johnny paused to cut himself on his left forearm with a razor blade, thus demonstrating beyond any doubt that he was in possession of the requisite surgical skills.
Dr. Brains sighed. Just a few years ago she’d been part of one of the best hospitals in the United Kingdom. Patients had arrived with ailments and, for the most part, they’d left days or weeks later after receiving good medical treatment.
Today, thanks to The Will Of The People, it was rare that any patient survived more than a few hours under the incompetent hands of Johnny Twocells and his ilk. The corridors were awash in blood and body parts because even the hospital orderlies imagined themselves to be fully capable of performing heart and liver transplants and considered their real jobs now to be beneath them.
Normally, eager immigrants would have willingly taken such jobs but now that it was The Democratic Will Of The People to lynch anyone seen on the streets while committing the crime of not being white, that option was unavailable.
It was a shame the hospital had become so dysfunctional because now that driving tests had been scrapped for being Elitist, road carnage was at levels unimaginable a mere half-decade ago. But The Will Of The People had to be obeyed and so now anyone large enough to (nearly) reach the pedals was legally allowed to drive whatever they wanted, at whatever speed they wanted, where ever they wanted. With highly predictable results that were of course blamed entirely on what the Daily SunTimes constantly referred to as That F*cking Youropeen Younyun Wot Dosn’t Want Us Too Sukseed.
Meanwhile Rupert Murdoch was enjoying life as a multi-billionaire on a large and well-appointed private island and his children were all safely ensconced in Switzerland and New Zealand; the last two nations on Earth to withstand the tsunami of mindless populism engendered by Murdoch and the Internet.
Airplane crashes were of course more spectacular and had become the daily staple of all news programs. Although thousands more were dying hourly on the roads, you just couldn’t beat a good fiery plane crash, ideally into a tower block. Now that anyone who believed they could Make Flying Great Again was legally permitted to take the controls of any aircraft anywhere, the skies had become predictably hazardous. Though, admittedly, most crashes occurred simply when the aircraft in question ran out of runway, the would-be stable genius pilot not even knowing enough to be able to get the plane into the air in the first place.
Voice recordings from the black boxes invariably revealed the would-be greatest ever pilots in the history of the universe loudly congratulating themselves on their brilliance and f*cking great capabilities right up to the moment the planes disintegrated into thousands of tiny pieces.
Meanwhile hyperinflation was the order of the day as smart geniuses ordered the printing of money so they could buy more cars and houses and pizza and beer. As no one could count, no one noticed the hyperinflation, so everyone was happy.
Until all the cars and pizza and beer disappeared. But that was just because of That F*cking Youropeen Younyun Wot Dosn’t Want Us Too Sukseed.
So everything was, really, all right.
Dr. Brains stood up. She guided Johnny to the door and pointed him in the direction of Operating Theater # 5. She watched as he happily lurched and slid down the blood-soaked corridor, razor blade in hand.
Lately she’d begun to wonder if perhaps it might have been a good idea to have required people to show some modicum of comprehension regarding important issues before allowing them to vote. After all, every other aspect of life, back in the old days, had required demonstrations of competence before permission to act would be granted. Back in the old days people couldn’t just pilot aircraft or drive vehicles merely because blind self-belief persuaded them they’d be “naturally f*cking brilliant” at it.
Back in the old days, doctors had to undergo rigorous training and then an internship and then be supervised for years before being allowed to perform surgery as the lead surgeon. Back in the old days, 100% of patients hadn’t died on the operating table. And when they had died, they’d at least been unconscious.
Unlike today, when their screams could be heard half a mile away.
But at least the screams were thoroughly democratic and so were The Will Of The People and apparently we can’t argue with that.
Or can we?