Tuesday, 19th June 2012

Annoying the French

Sometimes you get to the end of a conversation and you realise just how weird it got for a moment somewhere in the middle. And really by the end of it, you're so far from whence you started that the mind boggles. Take for example last night, I phoned my brother to say happy birthday and generally see how he was doing as I haven't talked to him in some time.

During the course of the conversation, it was mentioned that we'd be working for long enough; another 50 years at least before retirement. A sensible enough sentiment. To which I added “if they even let us retire by that point and dont just put you in the ground”. The obvious implication being that you'd continue working until your death, but no, my brain not content to leave it there added “whether you're dead or not”. As if our society will get to a point where you hit some arbitrary point where you're euthanased.

The point was agreed and then added to with “well it's a hole in the ground or a cannon into space”. The finer points as to which we'd prefer were then hammered out (obviously the space cannon) before it was decided that a space cannon would more likely disintegrate at least part of you, requiring extensive cleaning.

Unless you put the cannon at Dover and aimed it at France, thus casting the ultimate insult to the French by decorating them with the vaporized remains of our dead. Obviously a win-win.

“A-ha!” my brain cries. But the initial out-cost for such a cannon would be expensive, for much less I'm sure we could shape the cliffs of Dover into a giant slide and hurl people across that way. Obviously, you'd require some sort of conveyor belt system though such that the elderly could get to the giant slide.

In fact you may as well turn the whole country into a conveyor belt with new borns starting at Scotland and as you get closer to death you approach Dover. My brother pointed out though what's stopping people walking towards Scotland. Ah well you see you can't out-run the reaper. At some point you won't be able to escape Dover.

My brother's next point was about housing, simple enough, you can build on the conveyor belt. It's a giant metaphorical one afterall.

“Ah!” he says “well what about new-borns, they won't be born in Scotland?”

No problem, all you need is a reverse, express conveyor belt to whizz them up to Scotland. Though obviously you'd have to have some sort of barrier to restrict size so that adults couldn't get on the reverse belt.

“So what about midgets?”

Well, I guess they'd get to live the longest, but then they probably deserve it. Them and circus contortionists.

So there you have it. The new world order. We all know that everyday brings us one day closer to death, but this way you could have mile markers. And you'd leave with a great big smile on your face.

I told you it was going to be weird, but you kept reading.

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About Morgan Bye

Scientist, programmer and all around techie

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