I am convinced that one day humans are going to evolve into large blobs of cerebral matter encased in sallow skin with a texture like tripe, where all means of self propulsion have been lost through neglect. They will be totally reliant upon mechanical locomotion.
"Rumination genes" will become dominant, and "common sense detector genes" recessive, while all of our accumulated artisan and practical physical skills will be lost forever.
The early signs are evident.
Our world is increasingly populated by philosophers, cogitators and theorists who would not know a grommet from a gimlet, or be able to identify a wigwam for a goose's bridle even if it came up in broad daylight with sirens blaring and bit them on the arse five times in a row.
Furthermore, many of those with all the brains are wasting their lives by concentrating on minutiae.
I, of course, have an example for you, just to annoy any critics who might like to suggest that I write nothing but unsubstantiated rubbish.
Three researchers spent 5 months at the MacFarlane Burnet Institute in Melbourne cooking up the following piece of intellectual swill;
Motivated by the regular disappearance of teaspoons from the tearooms in this boffin sanctuary, the erudite trio wasted somebody's money determining eventually (with a statistical significance P=0.88) that indeed 80% of teaspoons disappeared from the tearooms during the trial period.
Spoon replacement cost; $A100 per year.
So what practical recommendations or solutions did this educated-beyond-their-intelligence lot come up with?
None. Zero. SFA.
Instead they provided one little gem of bureaucratic equivocation;
"Development of effective control measures against the loss of teaspoons should be a priority."
Now this piece of academic drivel was published in the highly respected British Medical Journal, (whose motto incidentally is; "helping doctors make better decisions") and presumably doctors all around the world made the stupid decisions to read it when they could have been doing something useful…like treating patients.
So, for the benefit of the three geniuses who were bereft of practical solutions, please allow GOF, the intellectual mouse, to help you out.
1. Anchor the spoons to some anvils, wall studs or concrete pillars
with short lengths of towing chain welded to the spoon handles.
2. Superglue the spoons into the ends of 6 foot long broomsticks.
If you see someone who looks suspiciously like the Wicked
Witch flying out the door after work you can make a reasonable
assumption that she probably has one of your precious
teaspoons tucked between her legs.
3. Buy a hundred battered teaspoons from the Lifeline Opportunity
Shop, then further disfigure them with my 12 inch fencing pliers.
Then you can waste another 5 months longitudinally and
cohortionally studying just how many of them your light-fingered
staff knocked off in comparison to all your poncy silver
fancy-pants $100 a year cutlery.
4. Compulsory strip searches for all staff leaving the tearooms.
(Any volunteers? Prior experience and knowledge of what a
teaspoon looks like and the places where they can be hidden
will be viewed favourably.)
5. Provide plastic spoons or wooden stirrers. Or is that beneath
your collective over-educated dignity?
Sheesh! Why do I bother.
Now, in what nook of our cave did Mrs GOF hide my spears this week.
I'm going out on a very long trek to see if I can catch me a hairy mammoth for dinner.