The 2084 Precept

by Anthony D. Thompson

  I swilled some of the fresh coffee down my throat, which had now reached the stage of being able to provide, if required, a perfect rendition of Rod Stewart singing Waltzing Matilda. Or Rod Stewart singing anything, come to that. It is just that the legendary Waltzing Matilda sticks in my mind because of its peculiarities—it being, as I am sure know, a romantic Scottish tune with Australian lyrics which have nothing to do with dancing or with a young lady by the name of Matilda or any other name.

  "But for many things they don't need a loan, Jeremy. In selected provinces in Germany last year, many of the unemployed who were looking for or starting a new job received free gifts of money for haircuts and new suits and/or overalls. And if the job is not close to where they live, then the taxpayers finance the purchase of a car for them and will also pay for car repairs up to an amount of €2,000 annually. And if they can't drive, the taxpayers will also contribute to the cost of driving lessons and other costs involved for them to obtain a driver's license."

  "But surely some of the taxpayers can't even afford a car themselves?"

  "That is true, but they have no say in the matter. Their tax payments contribute to this the same as anybody else's, the birdbrains make no exceptions."

  Jeremy had adopted a slightly glazed look. "Fascinating." he said. “Farcical.”

  "Farcical? There is no end to it Jeremy. How about this? An unemployed German married an Indonesian woman and they had a child. They lived off unemployment money and social benefits for several years, and then the woman left him and returned to Indonesia, taking her son with her. This year, still unemployed despite being healthy, the man decided that he wanted taxpayers' money to visit his son, now ten years old, in Indonesia for a few weeks. Something they had already done for him the year before. Not a bad holiday methodology, you might think. And this time around the authorities refused to pay him the money. And so he took the authorities to court. And he won!

  Jeremy was tugging on his shirt cuffs, twiddling his cufflinks, adjusting his tie. Becoming nervous. "Mad," he said, not for the first time.

  "Indeed," I said. "But for something really farcical, listen to this. Last year in Dortmund, the birdbrains, and/or their lackeys, were offering unemployed persons cash gifts of up to €280 per month for three months if they would do them the favor of taking the jobs that had been found for them. Even though they are required by law to accept the jobs."

  "Even though they are required by law to accept the jobs," said Jeremy pensively.

  "Exactly. In fact I am now waiting for the birdbrains to introduce a system whereby murderers will receive taxpayers' money in order not to commit murder, even though the law requires them not to."

  "I must admit there are things which deserve your kind of cynicism, Peter. Particularly since these weird practices presumably continue."

  "Well…not comprehensively, Jeremy. What I've described is all factual, but some of the practices have been subject to certain conditions, some are restricted to certain cities or provinces, and some have recently been stopped because the applicable birdbrains eventually recognized their law-making errors, or someone else did it for them."

  "But perhaps you have only mentioned a few exceptions to the rule, Peter. Perhaps you are exaggerating the overall picture…"

  "Oh no, Jeremy. There are hundreds of thousands of cases. I have only provided you with a few illustrations. And because the system," I continued, "is incompetence personified and full of holes—like most politicians' systems, as I have previously mentioned—there is massive fraud."

  "Massive fraud? That is your opinion?"

  "No Jeremy, that is not my opinion, neither mine nor anybody else's. The fraud is a fact, and so is the adjective. There are an average 200,000 convictions each year in Germany for total or partial social security fraud. But these are only the people who are caught. Nobody knows how many people are committing fraud; several estimates put it at well above 1 million. I even know some personally. Many of these people also earn extra money by working illegally without paying taxes or social security contributions while continuing to receive their assistance money—also tax-free of course—from the tax-paying population. They contribute nothing to society.

  I can quote from many interesting cases. Recently, Hans-Jürgen L. from Düsseldorf was convicted of drawing benefits for many years although he had nearly €500,000 in a bank account in Liechtenstein. A Turkish guy owned three launderettes, all in his son's name. Another Turkish guy had built himself a luxury villa back in Turkey. A local guy from Hamburg received €35,000 over three years although he was the owner of a profitable whorehouse, and drove a brand new Jaguar to boot. An Islamic priest in Cologne, who doesn't have the time to go to work but does have the time to preach death and hellfire to all Christians and Jews, prefers to live in a house rather than an apartment and is also supported, together with his family, by the nice German taxpayers. Who are mainly Christians. And so it goes on. The list is a very, very, very long one."

  "Well, I prefer not to hear any more examples, Peter, thank you. Let us just say that all of this is ridiculous and must cost a lot of money."

  "It does indeed. Even the costs of the controls to try and catch some of the swindlers are immense. But no matter how much the taxpayers pay, it will never be enough. The pinstripes' imperfect and defective system just cannot be financed. This in no way represents a problem for the pinstripes of course; they merely borrow more money in the name of the people to pay for their ghastly incompetence, flap, flap. And…they keep inventing new ways to spend even more. For example, men who have become fathers and who want to play mother can now absent themselves from their jobs for several months and receive money from the other taxpayers for doing so. But, as I have said before, all of the schemes these incompetents create are full of holes. Firstly, this father money is also paid to well-off men who don't need it. And secondly, many men use it to enjoy a prolonged holiday from work at the other taxpayers' expense."

  "But perhaps Germany can afford all of this?"

  "Jeremy, last year, Germany's debt passed the €2 trillion mark and they are still taking on additional new debt each year. To provide a simple guide, Germany's debt will today have increased by another €140 million. Yes, today, while we are talking. This is what happens when incapable people are allowed to design systems, make them law, and borrow increasingly vaster amounts of money to finance them at no risk at all to themselves personally, flap, flap. These ghastly people are not, as a practical matter, held responsible for any of their actions. This is precisely what always happens when you sanction the non-existence of accountability, when you allow the separation of authority from responsibility, when, in fact, you permit the complete annihilation of any form of concatenation between the two."

  "But if there is not enough income to finance things, are you sure there is no way at least to reduce the expense?"

  "There are many ways to reduce the expense, Jeremy, and without harming anyone. For a start, if you were to require all of the unemployed to appear at 07.00 a.m. every workday and stay there until informed as to whether a job or any kind of work were available—or payments would be stopped—you would probably save billions. No further action required. Because a sizeable percentage of these people would simply not appear. Or not for very long."

  "O.K., I understand. But Germany is one thing. Is this also widespread among aother countries which run a socialist system? For example, what about here in the U.K.?"

  "Same thing, Jeremy. The U.K. system cannot be financed either. But the U.K. birdbrains don't understand that. And so they make the U.K. borrow and borrow again. The U.K. debt is factually worse than Germany's as a percentage of GDP—a total of over €1.7 trillion. And the interest on this is around €48 billion per year and they continue having to borrow more and more at the rate of over €2 billion per week. The U.K. debt is now 100% of GDP, despite their birdbrains' National Investment Rules which only permit a maximum of 40% of GDP. Just another example of what gene
rations of birdbrains can achieve. And if the U.K. had not had the same luck as the Arabs, by which I mean finding oil (in the North Sea) and imposing vast taxes on it, it would have become a bankrupt country long before now. Long, long ago."

  "But hasn't the U.K. saved any of that oil tax income?"

  "Saved? Oh no, Jeremy. The U.K. has spent it all trying to support its various social systems and theories. If you would like to see some of the results of this, I am told there is a good television series called 'Benefits Street' which would give you an idea of how the money is spent and what types of people receive it. No, the fact is that the money has gone, it continues to go and, as I have just mentioned, they continue to borrow more. Norway, on the other hand, created a special national fund into which it channeled and continues to channel a major share of its North Sea oil revenues. This fund now totals hundreds of billions of Euros and continues to increase."

  "Peter, I have to say that that is enough. It is difficult to comprehend why you structure your society in what appears to be not only an impossibly complicated manner, but also a disastrous, inequitable, illogical and financially unworkable one. I believe it is simply due to that same lack of general intelligence which explains your constant warring and other murderous activities. But the broad outline you have provided me with is adequate. And I shall, as always, fill it in with the details I require. Now…there was something I wanted to discuss with you today but I no longer have the time. It is, however, important. Do you think we could get together tomorrow morning again, let us say for about an hour, perhaps less?"

  Hell, why not? At least it sounds as if I'll be doing the listening for once instead of the talking.

  "Can do. How about around 11 a.m., Jeremy?" That was fine by him and he said let's meet here again. In the lobby, no need for a conference room.

  And we said our usual courteous goodbyes and I was out through the lobby and lighting up my cigarette almost before it was legal to do so. Piccadilly was full of people walking along in TGIF mode, two days of life in their beehives coming up before having to return to their office prisons.

  In a couple of minutes I was back at my hotel. There was an unattractive girl at reception whom I had seen a few times before. She was unattractive and fat. Polite but not friendly; categorized by me as one of those who treat sex as a duty, hopefully to be performed as rarely as possible, maybe whenever Christmas Day falls on a Sunday, and preferably after a few drinks, and then only with a man who is as fat as she is. I am merely surmising of course, perhaps I am completely mistaken, who knows, but all she gets from me is a civil 'good evening' and not a word more.

  I was tired, I was not in a good mood. I was not enjoying the Jeremy meetings, certainly not protracted ones such as today’s. Or ones which feel protracted, even if they are not.

  No message from Céline. Well… no panic, she had said the weekend. I ordered a room service meal. I wondered what Jeremy wanted to talk about tomorrow. No idea. Shower, read another of Ellin's brilliant creations, ‘The Cat's-Paw', and fell sleep.

  DAY 16

  I awoke to another good mood, looked out of the window. Sunny weather! Not a cloud to be seen. Had a leisurely breakfast, drank lots of good Lavazza, and flipped through the hotel's Financial Times.

  The markets were slightly up again this week for reasons unbeknown to man nor beast, and I have lost another €12,000. Not a problem. My bear certificate is a leveraged one and I gain or lose double on whatever the market movement is in reverse. It is quite clear to me what is coming. I will earn good money while the optimists lose theirs. I just don't know exactly when. This week, next week, next month, a few months down the road? No way to judge the timing. I am just leaning back and waiting until the institutional optimists are forced by events to throw their optimism overboard and start selling. My other investments are doing well, mainly defensive stocks paying sizeable dividends, the dividends supplying a partial buffer against any downward price trends. Not that I am ever caught by the full effect of any downward trend, I upgrade all of my automatic sell and stop-loss orders on a regular basis.

  So all was well with the world as I took off for the Ritz. Except of course for Céline. I was definitely worried about her. What kind of complications had she been referring to? Could be anything. Impossible to guess. And therefore no point in wasting my time with conjecture.

  I made a detour into Green Park. There were plenty of people about, a sunny Saturday morning, and I headed straight across to the other side. Stopped, turned around and checked everyone coming in my direction. Nobody appeared to have any interest in me, nor did anyone seem to be the sleuth type, not that that necessarily meant anything of course.

  I lit a cigarette and stood around smoking it, then walked back fast in the direction of my hotel. I entered the lobby and looked out through the glass entrance doors. Again I could see nobody approaching, nobody standing around doing nothing and nobody standing around doing something either.

  And so out I went again and strolled the short walk up to the Ritz, arriving at a couple of minutes before eleven. The lobby of the Ritz was full of people drinking coffee, or maybe it was tea, what do I know, talking, reading newspapers, waiting for other people, maybe just pointlessly killing off some of their leisure time on their road to death.

  Time, for each and every one of us, is a strictly limited commodity, like oil. And, like oil, we waste a lot of it.

  Jeremy was standing by the reception desk. I was wearing chinos and a sports jacket, the lightweight one, but no casual clothes for him. A dark brown suit, a white shirt, and a dark green tie with a pattern of small yellow dots. Actually, as I approached him, I saw that the dots were tiny yellow elephants, making his concession to the weekend with a motif léger after all. Flying ones would have been better, if you ask me, in view of his mental state.

  "Peter, good morning," he said with a smile, albeit a somewhat hesitant one it seemed to me, not his usual cheery beam. "There are too many people around for what we have to discuss and so I have arranged for a small meeting room after all."

  "Just for an hour? They do that?"

  "No, they don't. But as you know, money is not an issue for me." Another smile, a pleasant enough one but not full of the joys of life either. I wondered what was on his mind.

  "It's this way, Peter."

  The room was not that small, except perhaps in Ritz terminology, and was furnished simply but with taste, expensive Ritz taste. Coffee and biscuits were already there and we sat down in what had become our standard positions, a corner of the table and a spare seat separating us. Jeremy poured us both coffee and I grabbed a couple of biscuits.

  "Peter," he began, "we have an unfortunate complication. A serious complication, a very serious one. But first I need to clear the air, so let me say that I am aware of the fact that a man of your intelligence does not believe I am an alien, with or without certain 'hacker' capabilities. You also no longer believe I am a fraudster, among other things because you have already received a substantial sum of money from me. You therefore believe that I am insane. You probably believe me to be the original Jeremy Parker who was able in some way to obtain his release from his mental institution. Am I right?"

  You bet he was right. But no way was I going to say anything that might disturb this lucrative arrangement. Keep it going was my motto.

  "Well…" I said, trying to think of how best to lie, how not to answer the question while still appearing to do so. The training an elected clown receives would have been of assistance to me.

  "Well…" I said again, "I do indeed believe in the possibility of aliens. The sheer weight of probability mathematics, given the vast numbers of solar systems, billions of them, means that other life forms……"

  "Yes," interrupted Jeremy, "but do you believe that an alien could visit your planet? Do you believe that an alien has already visited your planet? Do you believe that I am an alien?"

  "Well…" I started off again.

  "Peter, if you had to make
a statement regarding my person right now, at this very moment, would you opt for the version that I am suffering from weird delusions resulting from a not unknown form of mental aberration?"

  He was not going to give me a way out, obviously. My neurons spent a couple of rapid seconds considering first this answer and then that answer and comparing them with even more potential answers, and then they reached a conclusion.

  "Yes," I murmured. Embarrassing, but there you go. I waited for his reaction.

  "Good," he replied. "So now I can explain to you what has happened without you taking it too seriously or getting upset in any way…

  "Depends what it is," I said.

  "Well, Peter, as you know, after each of our meetings I conduct a considerable amount of research. I sift through enormous swathes of information which are available to your public, including on your Internet, and I do this at a speed which you would find difficult to envisage. No, our brains cannot go faster than yours, but they can be trained for rapid calculations and…what would you call it…speed-reading? Very fast speed-reading. In fact, a few of you humans can do some of that already. They appear on Quiz Shows and I.Q. contests. But anyway, I delve far more deeply into the themes you have talked about during our meetings, I check out some of your statistics for accuracy, and then I finalize some formulations of my own. And finally I complete a 'working paper' which I transmit to my professor."

  "Yes, so I had understood."

  "Now…after my first working paper, the one on your interaction with the other species on your planet, my professor was to a certain extent disturbed. He found the subject matter to be especially brutal and repugnant. But that was it. Not everything we learn about lower intelligence life forms—begging your pardon Peter—is necessarily pleasant. And extreme though the activities were on this occasion, he merely gave me his academic comments and stored the information in my thesis file."

  “Dissertation file.”