Some years ago at this university there was an essay competition for humanities students, instigated by Sir Robert Jones. The topic was “That the world would be a better place if BCom students were given a daily flogging” (Commerce students were forbidden to take part: an unnecessary restriction, I thought, since they can’t write anyway).
Sir Bob and his co-judges—all of them drunk at the time—awarded a prize of $1000 to an English Literature student, one Sandi Miller, who argued that flogging commerce students would keep God amused, thus deflecting Him from such other entertaining diversions as killer tornadoes and tsunamis.
A sound thrashing was possibly one of the outcomes Sir Bob had in mind when he dispensed some advice to a couple of BCom graduates who were pestering him with their flow-charts and spread-sheets awash in “paradigms”, “scenarios”, “dynamics”, “inputs”, “throughputs” and “outcomes” and similar gibberish. “Buy a copy of ‘Truth’ newspaper,” he admonished. “It includes half a dozen pages of classified advertisements by many hundreds of young ladies who are eager to commit diverse atrocities on willing males. Accept these offerings and work your way through the lot. At the end you will not only be a great deal better for this but will have a better handle on life at large.”
Personally, I consider floggings for BCom students an excellent idea. There can be little doubt that the perpetrators of this kind of abomination ought to have their sorry butts welted:
“The Team will facilitate a Visioning Session with each neighbourhood in their hometown. The session’s purpose is to encourage and foster collaborative efforts among all critical neighbourhood stakeholders involved in the successful implementation and management of the principals [sic], strategies and recommendation’s [sic] of the Neighbourhood Revitalisation Action Plan.”
For years I have relied on rational persuasion when dealing with the kinds of morons who say “going forward” at every opportunity, and failed lamentably to affect any diminution of their retardation. So yes, I have come to believe Sir Bob is right—it’s time to repair to the lash. After all, as one-time First Lord of the Admiralty Churchill famously observed, the lash, along with buggery and rum, is what kept the British Navy together.
But why stop at commerce students? I can think of several other groups for whose recalcitrance the only solution is a daily horsewhipping. For instance, those insufferable pests—usually tea-towelled taxi drivers or nose-ringed shop assistants—who persist in asking, “How’s your day been?” It’s none of their damned business how my day has been. A good thrashing is undoubtedly the best response to this infernal, intrusive impertinence.
Then there are those who bite into a raw carrot while speaking to one on the telephone, to deafening effect. In fact, any ass who eats raw carrots should be flogged anyway, since carrots give you cancer. As for those cretinous creatures who chew gum—a merciless whipping is the least they deserve. To be sure, chewing gum doesn’t give you cancer, but I find it offensive.
The All Blacks ought to be flogged until they learn to speak—and by “speak” I mean more than the asinine mumbling of “Yeah, no” or “No, yeah” in answer to every question they’re asked.
Yes, Sir Bob was on to something. To hell with this limp, libertarian “live and let live” tosh I’ve hitherto espoused. Thrash the buggers, I say! The world would assuredly be a better place if most of its inhabitants were flogged routinely.
Needless to say, however, this bracing daily discipline should be withheld from those who show signs of enjoying it.