Ken, my boss, asked me to help him move one of those large double metal lockers downstairs. The locker was upstairs in a spare room near the kitchen. We shimmy slid it across the floor until we got to the top of the stairs. These stairs where the L shaped type with a 90 degree corner halfway down; they were also quite steep.
Ken stood a few stairs down in front of the locker. I was behind it at the top of the stairs. We began slowly tilting the locker. I could feel the locker was tilting to the point where I would no longer be able to hold it. I told Ken this and he assured me that he had it and that I should continue tilting beyond the point of no return.
The locker was almost to the angle where I no longer had anything to hold onto. I would shortly have no way to hold at least some of the weight and I informed my boss of this fact. “I’ve got it” said Ken, so I let it slide past the point of no return. The locker swiftly slipped out of my grasp and rocketed down the stairs slamming into the wall at the 90 degree turn halfway down.
“Oh my God! I’ve killed Ken!” shuddered through my mind. “The locker’s smashed him through the fucking wall! Nobody will believe me when I tell them he said it was OK to let the locker go.”
I could see that the locker had made a large dent in the wall where it had crashed. I sheepishly made my way down the stairs and looked at the place where the locker had imbedded into the wall. I was expecting to see blood and all sorts of carnage.
There was the tiniest little gap between the locker and the corner of the stairs; a small triangle of space that could barely fit a grown man.
Do you believe in miracles?
Ken was bent up in a kind of standing fetal position. Through some outstanding feat of dexterity, Ken had managed to fit himself into the miniscule gap where the plummeting locker had missed the wall. The part of the wall where the locker hit was significantly damaged and anyone in front of the locker would be squished beyond repair.
“I’m ok” Ken finally muttered as he tried to crawl out of the tiny gap he had squeezed himself into.
We didn’t laugh, we didn’t really say anything. I think we were both in shock. I can’t even remember what happened next. I’m sure we eventually moved the locker and got it downstairs, but I have no recollection of it. I just remember seeing Ken balled up in that tiny gap and thinking how much luck was required for him to survive that lethal locker. My memory freezes as he drags himself out and on top of the locker.
That was the very embodiment of a close call. There didn’t seem to be an inch to spare in the microscopic pocket Ken had miraculously slotted into. I still shudder to this day when I remember the crash of that locker slamming into the wall, and I am still awestruck when I recall how Ken survived.
As far as I know, every empire worshiped a god or gods in some form. As they expanded, they may have invited or insisted on the conversion of their new citizens. However, the religion was a part of the empire, not the basis of it. To my knowledge there are only two major religions that literally set out to convert the world, and both are steadfast monotheist.
For the purpose of this exercise, I will remain strictly in the natural world and my own general understanding of people’s beliefs. I do not intend to critique specific religions. I am focused on the power of The Message and how it can inspire and connect people, yet simultaneously cause division, hostility and outright hatred.
It is generally understood that Zoroastrianism was the original 1 and only 1 God religion. Whilst not part of the ‘Abrahamic’ religions, many scholars point out the similarities. So, whereas Judaism is 2nd in the monotheistic stakes, they did lead the charge for the ‘Desert’ religions. The big 3 being Judaism, Christianity and Islam.
As a kid I was always fascinated with the similarity between the Greek and Roman Gods, and I think that carried over to the 3 most known monotheistic religions. Some idea about using the foundation as a springboard to a new and improved version.
Moving right along, the Jewish people kicked around with the Pharaohs and the Romans with their separate hosts of Gods and Goddesses. The Hebrew Bible made a bold claim that these two mighty empires and their plethora of deities were not just foolish, they were headed for eternal damnation! Big call. The Tanakh asserted that there was one and only one God. Full stop, no room for debate.
The Jewish community unlike the two mega-religions that followed were not concerned with gaining converts. They had more an exclusive club vibe going on. We are God’s chosen people and you are not; bad luck for you.
Back in those days there were innumerable belief systems and no shortage of prophets insisting they were the spokesperson for the real supreme being/s. So, all supernatural elements aside it is most profound that one wandering Jew would gather such a massive following. Whether he existed or not, there is no denying the overwhelming popularity of the story and the book!
Jesus was long gone before Christianity really took off. Believe in him or not, this thing was huge! You often hear people claiming that theirs is a religion of peace, well these original Jesus devotees took that non-violent resistance stuff to a new level. It’s certainly impressive to see an army charge ahead courageously with the conviction of their faith. If they keep kicking ass you are forced to wonder if they have divine backing.
Imagine confronting an enemy that, first, refuses to view you as an enemy. Next, they refuse to fight and if you insist on violence, they are content to die and are comforted in the knowledge they will be with their maker. That’s some sublime stuff! True or not, that is an awe-inspiring concept.
I can still recall the confusion during a screening of Quo Vadis (1951) in high school. Nero is showing these Christians whose boss and having them herded into the arena for the entertainment of Rome. They are to be fed to the lions and as an old wise man stands among the crowd of spectators, silence falls.
The old bloke blesses those about to be eaten. He asks God to soothe their pain and suffering. He assures them and everyone present that they will soon be with their Lord in heaven. What? No wrath of vengeance? No “our God will see you in hell for this”? No valiant uprising? What kind of victory is this?
The victims devotedly sing hymns as they await their fate. Later in the proceedings more believers are burned alive! These martyrs sing their devout praises even during this unimaginable torture. Pardon my French, but Holy Shit!!!!!
If ever there were a display of unwavering faith, this must be it. To resist murderous hatred with compassion and resignation has to affect the aggressor psychologically. It would be fucken freaky to say the least!
A peculiar recruitment pitch though: “No one turns the other cheek like us!”
Jokes aside, try to imagine living in this era of religious fervour. These Christians are prepared to passively suffer and die for their God. Maybe they know something we don’t. That kind of conviction has an allure all its own.
God or no God it is miraculous how this faith grew as influential as it did. inevitably the empire builders got hold of this spiritual blockbuster and locked it down with dogma. A kind of religious copyright if you will. They continued its expansion and of course it became a cash cow of biblical proportions!
Then it became a tool of tyranny and conquest: Blood-soaked Crusades, colonisation and witch-hunts all sprouting from this seed of love and compassion. Translation, interpretation and bastardisation split this divine message into countless variations. More on that later.
I have had a deep-seated contempt for advertising going back a long time and it is only the logistics of compartmentalising and organising my thoughts that have led to this being post #71. I find it irritating and terrifying just how inundated we are with this perpetual persuasion. It is fucking everywhere we turn and it is created by very clever people for the sole purpose of influencing our thoughts and behaviour!
Long before mobile phones these mini manipulators were unavoidable. “Free to air” TV and radio sponsored and relentlessly interrupted by advertisers. Newspapers and magazines prices kept low by advertising which ends up being half the fucken content you see inside! Massive billboards with attention grabbing images and slogans dotted along the roads and highways. Little billboards on the walls inside trains and larger ones on the walls of the stations. Same thing on the inside and outside of buses; on the rear hoods of bloody taxis for fuck’s sake!
You go to the movies for some ad free entertainment and have to sit through the annoying bastards before you even get to the previews. Any popular sporting event? The players are wearing logos and brand names; it’s printed all around the boundary fence; it’s painted on the damn grass!
It boggles the mind how much money gets fed into this insatiable beast. It wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t creating profit that’s for sure. All those funds being invested in plugging the product or service rather than improving it. It’s more profitable ensuring you ‘think’ the product is good than its actual quality.
Think about that for a moment. Brand recognition is more about how you feel about the product than its superiority over competitors. I can clearly remember the advertising wars between Pepsi and Coca Cola in the 80s. Media attention was focused on how much money each competitor spent on their campaign and what big name celebrity they could afford to promote their product.
An even more glaring example can be highlighted by these two giants: The Pepsi Challenge. Random people asked to taste two unmarked colas and pick the tastiest one. Pepsi wins hands down. They have the better product, but Coke still reigns supreme. In another amazing experiment people are given the same challenge, although this time they can see the cans and brands. Coke wins.
Why?
Because “Coke is it!”, “Coke adds life.” And you “Can’t Beat the Real Thing”! Pepsi just tastes better than Coca Cola to a bunch of random strangers on the street. With Coca-Cola “Life tastes good!” It just feels better drinking Coke. Don’t believe it? Look at the scoreboard; the sales spell it out.
Just as an aside, have you ever felt like a beverage was out of place with a certain meal because of constant exposure? In Australia when they were the big three fast food chains, KFC and Pizza Hut served Pepsi, while McDonalds served Coke. If for any reason the drinks were swapped, I would notice a mismatch. It wasn’t bad, just weird. Just me?
Anyway, the thing I think most of us overlook is that the budget is not only for celebrity endorsements and ad placements. More crucial than those is figuring out the best person/place and time for these extravagant campaigns. Research people, research!!! That’s where the smart money goes.
Paying marketing experts, artists, psychologists, statistical analysts and all kinds of eggheads. Not to improve the actual product – those guys have a little room down the hall. No, the team responsible for conditioning the preferences of the populous get their own floor! Nay! building!
Over a century of science and research on successful propaganda techniques are applied to us almost constantly. That’s fucked up right? I mean that is truly terrifying!
How many of our preferences, desires and goals have been covertly implanted? Not just in relation to goods, services and holiday destinations, but our whole concept of what constitutes a ‘good’ life.
Whenever you think your life is not up to scratch or other people are more successful; how are you measuring that? Where do your ideas regarding ‘quality’ and ‘luxury’ originate?
Growing up in the west certainly has its advantages, but comfort can breed complacency. Going back as far as the end of the Great Depression, in Australia it has not been too hard to earn a living. Maybe not ‘living it up’, but enough to get by on. Jobs (in the cities at least) were not hard to come by. If you didn’t have the hands to get yourself a trade, there were plenty of jobs in factories to keep you fed and housed.
Industry was the refuge of the unskilled. Like it or hate it, Henry Ford’s breaking down of complex manufacturing into numerous specific and repetitive tasks created a way for the unmotivated majority to contribute to the profit machine. In return they would be given a tiny bit of the profits to maintain themselves and possibly have a little fun.
Once the unions had won the right for fair wages and working hours, the average unqualified grunt could keep off the bread line without having to break their backs. Overtime and penalty rates even made it possible to indulge a little or be able to afford raising a small family.
If you managed to get yourself into an industry with a powerful union, you were laughing. Big dollars and less authority for management – happy days. Maybe you could upskill a little. Get yourself a licence: Forklift, heavy vehicle, crane, bobcat etc. Better shifts more overtime. Line yourself up right and you could soon be looking for an investment property to go with your home.
For most of the 20th Century people only continued schooling who were planning on getting a profession: Doctors, lawyers, teachers, engineers etc. Alternatively, there were arts and humanities degrees and completing one of these often opened the door for some form of white-collar job, or the life of a struggling artist if that was your bag.
The unlearned masses usually cut out as soon as possible – 14 & 9 months I believe it was. A few would stick around for the school certificate and that was it. The more hands-on parents would insist that their kid get a trade of some sort. “Something to fall back on” was the common phrase. Most would have been pleased to see their offspring just get a job and not be a layabout.
While the dole (unemployment benefits) is available for hard times (and obviously abused by some), the majority of people prefer to work as a matter of pride. Funnily enough, many ‘dole bludgers’ take pride in their shirking the system, but that’s another post entirely.
So here we slam up against that capitalist paradox again. People want to work for a living as a matter of self-respect, yet they loathe those people who provide the jobs. Those evil industrialists do not give us enough of the profits, fucking greedy hogs! The same sentiment would hold for the owner of the store, restaurant or pub we work in. “Greedy fucken owner”.
The response is always the same: “go start your own business then”. Don’t we hate that? “Fucken smart ass rich cunt!” We do not want to put in the effort and take the financial risk, yet we feel contempt for the person who did because they keep more of the pie for themselves. Not every business owner was born rich, and no business owner is immune from a downturn leading to bankruptcy. I’m not talking corporations here but remember even they had to start somewhere.
Your average working stiff mucks around all through their school years and stumbles out into the workforce with little to no marketable skills. Yes, I totally agree that this is a dreadful system. It is cold and spirit crushing. Trouble is, hating it does not make it go away. We live in THIS economy and unless you are part of the silver spoon society you need to earn your means of paying the bills and buying food and clothing.
My generation (X) had scores of kids continuing onto year 12 and receiving a Higher School Certificate. Most of those kids were simply delaying the inevitable and would have got the same job they ended up with if they left 2 years earlier. Kids that got into trades were completing their 2nd year and earning decent money by then. Kids who were aiming for university were on a different trajectory all together.
The bulk of us had fun that final summer as if it was school holidays as usual. Come the new year we were confronted with a stark reality: life aint free buddy, are you going to eek by on the dole or are you going to get a job? You are most definitely going to hate that job, and the pay will not be very good – and tough shit! You’re not living here for fucken free; that’s for sure!
“You are young and life is long
And there is time to kill today
And then one day you find
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun”
Time (Pink Floyd)
Wow! What a bummer. If that’s not enough of a downer, consider this: most of those people who put in the effort and got the better paying jobs probably hate getting up for work too. “It’s work. You’re not meant to love it. That’s why they pay you” as the saying goes.
The difference being, they get paid a lot more than the average working slob, unless of course that slob has a strong union job and then the balance shifts again. The person with the degree and the debt to go with it might be somewhat uneasy knowing this high school loafer is earning more than them.
“No one is happy with their job, unless they are DAMN sure they are being paid more than they are worth”
So, you say there’s nothing to watch. 2026 and you can’t find anything to watch? When I was your age, we had four channels to watch on the television; 5 if you had really good reception. 3 commercial stations: Channels 7, 9 and 10. These were the channels that had the money to pay for the latest and greatest shows.
ABC (Australian Broadcasting Commission) was the government sponsored station and was rather dull despite being ad-free. It was channel 2 and although it was considered uncool, it had many of the shows we all adored and still look back on wistfully scattered among the boring shit.
Channel 0 was the dark horse. SBS: Special Broadcasting Service; the one only certain houses could get. It was special alright! These people scored an extra channel through some TV signal lottery people called reception. Unless you had a high-quality antenna you just had to be living in the right spot. Fair dinkum! Your neighbour might have it, and you don’t. As a kid this felt most unfair.
Funny thing is that most of the shows on SBS were shit (or so we thought back then). It was the multicultural network and mostly had programs from non-English speaking countries. Subtitles! Fuck that! Subtitled shit and British soccer were all I can remember. That and the common knowledge that the evening movies on channel 0 had a very good chance of female nudity! I don’t think those foreign films were scrutinized quite as much as the mainstream fair on the commercial channels; subtitles gave a film more artistic flair perhaps.
That was it. If you couldn’t find something among those slim pickings, tough shit! Go read a book or listen to the radio kid. If the station had technical difficulties or it was closed that was that. Yes, I said closed; most stations simply shut up shop not long after midnight in my younger days.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the average house only had 1 television, so you also had to share who chooses what to watch. There were times you just accepted you would have to find something else to do because someone in the house was watching something crap.
If I visited someone’s home and they had 2 TVs I would think they were rich! A TV in your room? Un-fucken-real!!! They only have that shit in the USA! I would see kids in American movies with that luxury, and it seemed so awesome! That was nothing compared to the absolute marvel that was cable television! Holy shit! Those Yanks had how many fucken channels? We wouldn’t see that until the mid-1990s.
When my pop lived in the converted garage out back, he had a little black and white television. I remember our neighbours having one too. Wow! I was around during that phase out. I can also remember a pretty even split between FM and AM radio stations for that matter.
That was it. No video for a long time yet and if you were fortunate enough to have an Atari or other gaming system you had to wait until the television was free before you could play it. No wonder we spent so much time outside.
As long as there have been laws, there have been those who disagree with them. Most begrudgingly comply and pretty much everyone breaks a few ‘little’ ones now and then. A few others will break the law by ignorance or accident; others again may disobey as a form of defiance or protest. However, we usually reserve the title ‘criminal’ for those people who do this kind of stuff on a regular basis and may even do it for a living. Of course, if you break the big ones, you earn yourself the title instantly! Murder, rape, armed robbery etc. welcome to the club, whether you like it or not.
This being my corporate thread, I am most interested in the concept of ‘organized crime’. When a motley crew of thieves, thugs and hangers on decide to form a ‘gang’ and, like any business affiliation, try to pool their resources to create a greater outcome per member than could be achieved working solo. I’m sure more fail than succeed in the same manner also.
I’m not necessarily talking about a band of thieves kind of scenario; pickpockets, burglars, car thieves or even stick-up guys. These gangs might work alone or be part of a larger crew. In business terms these guys are the tradesmen. If you have a good reputation, you may be recruited by the mob; this may or may not be a simple invitation that can be refused, by the way. Trying to be a lone wolf, or even a small pack can be very bad for your health in a big city.
I mean there are even gangs whose modus operandi is standing over and robbing smaller crews. You may have to pay protection money just like the square head grocer in a bid to keep these hyenas at bay; many of which work for the very same group you will be paying. This protection racket can be a highly profitable business model if you can pull it off.
Just imagine collecting a fee from ALL the businesses in your area. Not just the stores, restaurants and street vendors; but also, the thieves, the drug dealers, the pimps, gambling dens and anyone else you can intimidate. That’s a large chunk of change!
This is where the brains and brawn balance becomes important. Without the muscle to create the required fear you have no business model (you also cannot fight off the competitors that will be snapping at your heels). Nevertheless, a group of undisciplined and disordered knuckleheads will not last very long.
The boss of this outfit first and foremost must figure out how to maintain authority over a group of nefarious hoodlums. A firm hand and proper remuneration are essential; unruly and/or underpaid villains can prove quite destructive. Disloyalty can easily translate to defection to a rival or just snitching out of spite. A disgruntled crew might be quite receptive to a change in leadership.
Weasels informing law enforcement or trading secrets to other mobs are a very real and perpetual threat. Remember you don’t get fired and toddle off with your golden handshake. You rot in prison or anywhere they decide to toss your carcass.
That will do for underworld management 101. Now where was I?
Organized crime – right. Let’s use turn of the 20th century New York for its familiarity. Lots of boroughs divided up along racial lines; many of the slum like ones inhabited primarily by very recently arrived immigrants. They flock together for a sense of insulation through shared language and culture. Sadly, this does not prevent exploitation from your own people.
The local law enforcement is unreliable and often unsympathetic to your plight. Almost all cultures have some form of alternative in regard to authority. Many of these immigrants are here because they have fled persecution from authoritarian and/or severely corrupt governments. Although even a more equitable nation state would still have these same shady organisations. They would be the providers of illicit goods and services and, of course, ‘protection’.
These groups or their representatives arrived along with all the other immigrants in hopes of a better life. They may have their own individual title: La Cos Nostra, Yakuza, Triad. Or they may be identified simply by the country followed by Mafia or Mob: Russian Mafia, Irish Mob. Interestingly if you just hear the word Mafia on its own, most people automatically think of Italy or Sicily.
Anyway, these crews existed to perform the role of organised crime in the various ways (and probably many more I have no clue about) I have described above. They operated mostly in their own areas, but like their tribal ancestors, the temptation to expand was always present and you had to be ever vigilant and willing to fight if you wanted to keep control of your turf.
Which brings us back to brains and brawn. You need the soldiers, but you also need the earners just as much (most good members could do both to some extent). Not only do you need to keep your underlings paid, but you also need to grease the right palms in local government and law enforcement. You also need to be able to negotiate with hostile neighbours.
Beside the potential for violence these groups also helped solve problems in their communities; all favours come with obligations of course. Intimidation and brutality can provide a decent income, but its main application was keeping order and power. The best mobs provided stuff the people wanted. Either stolen merchandise at bargain prices or illicit goods and services that can’t be found elsewhere.
No sooner is a commodity classified as illegal do the best black-market operators establish a supply chain. Thus, governments are often lining the pockets of organised crime members whenever they ban anything. I finally got to where I was planning to start. See you next time.
Thinking back to Kevin’s bucks’ night from a few instalments ago I recall it was the middle of winter. Pretty much all the antics he was the brunt of involved him stripped down to his underwear. He was tied to the clothesline in his underwear and spray painted. He was tied to the headboard of a flatbed truck and driven around in his underwear.
When we all returned to the house and continued our drinking and joint smoking, Kevin continued in his underwear.
Eventually we had all had enough, and one by one retreated into the house to crash in, or on, anything we could find; beds, couches (long ones for laying or single ones for a little seated sleeping action), blankets on floors, or just a pillow and the floor; a dog’s bed. It doesn’t really matter once the mind is so munted it just wants to shut down. I woke up in the laundry sleeping on one of those ‘Ab-Roller’ contraptions!
Kevin, for some unknown reason, remained in the yard and fell asleep on the grass, in the middle of winter, in his underwear. The morning brought a lovely frost to settle on the unconscious Kevin and still his mashed mind refused to wake him. Needless to say, that Kevin received an added unwanted bonus for his buck’s night celebration: hypothermia.
He had to be taken to the hospital in the early hours of the morning. Thankfully he was sorted out without too much trouble, but it could have been fatal! The amount of marijuana and alcohol in his system prevented his body from jolting him awake and alerting him to the imminent danger of freezing to death. Everyone else was too wasted to notice that Kevin was left out there in the cold. It could have been disastrous!
Foresight is 20/20 and with this story it is horrific! Moving backward through the night, it was just one dumb move after another, all multiplied by the relentless massacre of brain cells. It was almost inevitable that someone was gunna become a casualty.
Luck was on the side of the ridiculously intoxicated buck. Still, it is interesting what we consider lucky. I reckon luck should have prompted at least one of us to notice the near naked Kevin asleep in the yard; bring him inside and give him a blanket (and possibly his clothes back). I guess we don’t get to choose when luck will step in. We must just all be grateful that this buck’s night didn’t conclude with a fatality.
It is a scathing paradox that the rise of ‘civilisation’ would coincide with such unbridled subjugation. Once the numbers start to swell it becomes almost as inevitable as it is dreadful. The only way to avoid it is to put as much distance between your ‘primitive’ people and ‘civilisation’ as possible.
The quest for power, wealth and subjects was growing right alongside the population. More people equals more labour – more labour, more stuff. Why not get those people living in overcrowded ramshackle shelters to build massive structures of stone and marble? What better way to display just how important you are?
Once it’s built, those unwashed scumbags better not defile the place with their presence. I’m sure there’s some way we can exploit them somewhere else.
The longer it went on the more entrenched the nepotism would become; the concept of aristocratic lineage and entitlement. As soon as they could write it down it would have been the record – the family tree. “This privilege is our birthright because of great, great, great grandfather Scrooge…”
Probably best to leave out the stuff about the treachery and the arbitrary nature of his taking the Top Dog title. After a couple hundred years who can tell what fact is anyway and that is before you factor in the colossal amounts of bullshit most of these bloodline records must be full of.
“This noble status is our legacy!”
It would most often stop right there. If anyone was foolish enough to protest, they could be secretly dispatched or publicly tried as a traitor. Most people in this era were illiterate and could be very easily bluffed by an impressively dressed person holding out a book.
“It’s all written down right here”
If you hold the reigns, you control the narrative. Fear, ignorance and apathy will take care of the rest. Wrangling and muscling into the top spot was somewhat more difficult once the Dynasty had been created by the ones who inherited it from their ancestors who scammed and bullied their way to the top spot.
Impossible from the bottom, but the upper echelons could conspire against you, so you had to look strong and or smart. A great way to do this is by conquering territories and expanding the empire.
“Look how great WE are!” would be the exclamation.
Peasants working the fields, labourers building ludicrous structures wondering how this ‘greatness’ improves their lot. A good way to make them feel special is to instil the old superiority complex.
“We’re the original plebs. You Johnny come lateleys are beneath us”.
And slaves! Everyone gets to look down on slaves. There’s nothing like a pecking order to keep the riffraff distracted. No conquering without division. Keep them bickering amongst themselves over the few measly rungs at the bottom and they’ll never realise how high the ladder actually goes.
Then we have those shady middlemen: the guards or whatever name was given to the ones who ‘kept the peace’. Becoming a soldier and going off to fight would have been seen as an opportunity to rise from the rabble and find adventure; maybe even improve your social rank a little. Much like today most volunteers did so because their other options sucked major ass. A guard though? I’m not taking about a proper bodyguard or member of the security team for the honchos. I mean the hired goons responsible for keeping law and order.
Someone who walks the streets and breaks heads in the name of the king/ queen or whatever. A member of the lower class who now has authority over his former peers and a lot of discretion with how to use it. These guys weren’t detectives solving crimes, they weren’t even cops. They were riot police at best. Thugs employed to prevent the unwashed masses from rising up.
“The peasants are revolting!”
“Revolting” said the king, “They’re disgusting.”
And so, on it goes throughout history. Empires rise and fall; Family dynasties dominate and then topple. The masses do what they must to survive. A new face on the throne, a new flag perhaps. Take what you can get if they’re generous and watch your ass if they’re tyrannical.
Genealogy is written and re-written, updated and revised; history is written by the victorious after all. Nations form and dissolve. Our land becomes their land. You wanna keep it, you better fight for it. Alliances are formed, exploited and abandoned or betrayed.
This whole time it is only a small percentage of the population consciously attempting to orchestrate these events while the overwhelming majority are swept up and spat out with little idea of the grand scheme; and even less ability to control the fortunes of war and peace.
Somewhere between then and now the ledgers were stamped and generational wealth and power became accepted. People were born into a social class or station, and nobody questioned the legitimacy of the whole thing. That girl is an heiress and my dad shovels horse shit; guess it’s on me to try and climb out of this hole.
Lines were drawn on maps. This is our nation and it will remain that way until the outcome of the next war; then we shall see. This is my land, my property. No, I didn’t buy it. As a matter of fact, it goes so far back in my ancestry, I couldn’t even tell you who bought it.
Hmmmmm???
ROLAND: You’re not of noble birth!
WILLIAM: So we lie! How did the nobles become nobles in the first place? They took it. At the point of a sword.
The concept is sickening yet simple, and with the revelations coming out from the Epstein Files, nowhere near as farfetched as we would hope. A savvy entrepreneur has thought of another way for the mega rich to entertain themselves at the expense of the peasants. Hunting humans is so blasé and exhausting. Why not just have the pleb of your choice incapacitated in a room filled with all sorts of tools and surgical instruments, where you can torture them till your black fucking heart’s content.
Unwary tourists are lured away from the more popular European locations to a little town in Slovakia with the promise of all sorts of hedonistic pleasures. The town is basically owned by the clandestine corporation running this atrocious service; thus, our eager travellers are completely isolated and at the mercy of these sick fucks.
The torture scenes are brutally disturbing as expected, but when the horror subsides you are left with another, and in my case much worse, grisly sensation. This whole gruesome affair which is designed to gratify evil rich bastards would not be possible without the local minimum wage grunts doing the dirty work.
This is divide and conquer at its finest!
The local economy is crap, and this torture factory is possibly the best paying gig in town. If the money isn’t enough to thicken your skin, how about resentment? Fucking tourists coming over here treating us like toys. They think that because their currency is stronger than ours, they are better than us? Fuck them! We’ll square up and make some good money to boot. Who’s laughing now?
The honeytraps and spruikers get to feel the rush of lethally fooling these blow-ins and the security people get to feel the power of life and death over another human who may or may not have looked down on them; all while earning a good quid. I found much of that stuff just as gut churning as any of the torture porn.
The original film has one of the victims escape through a combination of luck, determination and quick thinking; the kind of stuff we want from a hero (or at least a survivor who turns the tables). While there is no glorious victory and he is sure as shit not going to bring this operation down, he at least gets away and manages to dish out a few savage paybacks along the way. With a film this dark, we’ll take that small victory and be satisfied.
Flash forward 2 years for the sequel and say goodbye to any sliver of hope you had for the common people. Like any self-respecting sequel, this one ups the gore and cruelty, but I am unsure if Roth deliberately upped the cynicism with this one: no justice for the peasants here.
To get the ball rolling, we open with our tenacious survivor from the original movie getting taken out and his severed head delivered to the boss of the torture club. No way a lowly pleb is getting away with what he did! On with the show then.
This time we have three female suckers (I mean art students). I won’t waste time with the plot, and we only need to focus on Beth for the purpose of this exercise. I’ll just say that if you enjoyed the original (you may need help) you will enjoy this one. Needless to say, they all end up being the target for some wicked rich prick’s twisted fantasy.
This time around Beth is our survivor/hero. She manages to get the upper hand on her tormentor (she literally has him by the balls!), but this time our champion does not make an audacious escape. She is trapped in the room with her now captive would be torturer.
Rather than a daring breakout we are presented with a short standoff. However, we don’t get to see the club’s policy on hostage taking (it’s hard to guess if they would simply kill a customer who was careless enough to end up in this position). Instead, Beth lets it be known that she is not short of a quid herself (or her family isn’t).
Her stooge makes a desperate attempt to outbid her, but the boss reveals that they know his buddy paid for him (ex-buddy if you know what I mean) and he cannot honour his bid. The deal is struck and Beth is all but out. There’s just one more thing…
I suppose here I should tell you why Mr Stooge’s generous mate is no more. You see, he lost his nerve and couldn’t do the deed. Now it’s entirely up to the client what goes on in the room: indulge in any grotesque abuse your vile imagination can muster or go straight to the coup de grace; but you must get your hands dirty; you must leave this place as a murderer. It helps keep everyone on an equal footing. Well, old matey tried to opt out of this stipulation, and he already knew way too much and so…dog food anyone?
Beth is presented with the same option, and her dunce-now-victim decides to hurl insults at her to help her with her decision, may he rest in peace. Beth struts out defiantly and we feel vicarious triumph. To add icing to the cake, Beth orchestrates a trap for the conniving bitch who lured them all there in the first place and gives her the good news.
Hooray! The good guys win!
And I thought the original left a bitter taste in the mouth.
You do realise that the only reason Beth got away was because she was richer than the other guy and she was willing to kill him and become a ‘full’ member of the club. A slight difference from the first film’s escapee. He couldn’t afford to buy his freedom, and, in the end, he didn’t get away at all. He literally lost his fucking head!
Yeah, both survivors killed assholes who were participants in this horrendous enterprise, but after all is said and done, besides the one or two torturers they nailed each, they only killed the working stiffs. That soulless fucken boss never even looked vexed! This whole Epsteinesque operation would probably carry on without a blip even if he was drawn and quartered anyway.
The audience is handed a few expendable scapegoats, and we cheer at their demise, while the whole macabre business carries on and the money keeps flooding in. There will be no shortage of replacement conmen, temptresses and grunts to continue feeding fun seeking tourists to this meat grinder, and there certainly will be plenty more depraved rich people wanting to partake of this vicious ceremonial status symbol.
Whether it was just his way of arranging a more permanent escape for Beth or was a deliberate depiction of the banality of evil it hit home hard.
“Like a dog lying in a corner
They will bite you and never warn you
Look out, they’ll tear your insides out
‘Cause everybody hates a tourist
Especially one who, who thinks it’s all such a laugh” (1995)
Reckon it’s time to start a new thread. Feels like I have been trying to squeeze a few ideas into some categories where they don’t quite fit. This one will be a little more random in some ways, but it will basically be what you expect from the title. I was born and a kid in the 70s, a teen through the 80s and a young adult during the 90s.
Through all those stages I heard some old timer start a story with “when I was your age…” and every time their age seemed long off. I am now older than most of those storytellers were when they spoke to me and many of them are kaput.
Nowadays I find myself beginning many a yarn with those very same words and am often amused. So many times, I’ve used a pop culture reference from my youth and witnessed the blank stare of disconnection from the youngster I am conversing with. I smile thinking about when it will be their turn. I am also astounded when I consider that the gap between them and their younger friend will probably be even wider.
I was born into the final quarter of the 20th Century. A time where technological change was beginning to speed up. The leaps and bounds made during that century compared to all human history were amazing. Even more astonishing is the advances that took place in the first quarter of this century. The evolving innovation seems to be accelerating at a pace that was unthinkable when I was kid.
I do not plan to embark on a “my generation is better than yours” spiel. I really want to express my amazement at how much things have changed in my lifetime. I hope this one will be fun, but I make no promises.
MINDLESS MUSINGS 