Plus Ca Change, Plus C'est La Meme Chose

The more things change, the more they remain the same.
A news article on the BBC started tonight with the announcement that some guy, the prime minister's 'Change Secretary' or something with the word 'change' in his title, had resigned.

This stinking pile of filth which is the British government has appointed more cronies to fake positions with grandiose-sounding titles than any other state in history. It's as if the Soviet state had taken over and then taken drugs which caused an explosively virulent cancer, making the body politic swell and inflate beyond all control or recognition.

There is no longer any use of the word 'sleaze'. Sleaze belongs to an age where moral outrage was faked over trifles, to bring about the encumbency of the present heap of shit. What we have now is the gradual inability to hide any longer the rampant, stampeding riot of little boys and girls that have suddenly realised that they are in mummy's bedroom and daddy's study, and they have gone away no-one knows where.

Like dogs, they instinctively sniff and choke when they meet a scent they cannot fathom. Usually the scent of a Man.
On a personal level, I see job descriptions, where the title might be 'software engineer', but the job is baffling and unconnected to any technical skills, usually paying much more than any market rate and as near as can be told, demanding social skills and the ability to understand the (public sector employer's) private verbal messages.
There are thousands of jobs like this, the legion of the useless busybodying their way into prosperity and safety and influence and property, all at the increasing expense of the diminishing real work force.
Not that I would apply, but I could not in a thousand years get such a job if I tried.

For example, I walked into a college yesterday for a public lecture. What did I see? On the way up from the car park, a nasty, grey, shabby little old man, probably a lecturer, coughs (from behind of course) with such a fakeness and tone that he actually seems to believe he is expressing ssomething; this is the ultimate reaction to a human being, this supposedly 'unanswerable' critique-by-dint-of-saying-nothing.
Obviously I say, 'my god, look what they're letting into these places'.
When I get to the lecture hall I see a notice board, plastered with communist propaganda posters; this is a history department.

I have more than a passing suspicion that youngsters are being taught to frame their world views in such terms.
If civilisation is to survive, the 'Gulch' time may be here.