Shit Creek: At Least Their Branding Is Honest.

Imagine, if you will, that anything that you do is actually important. I know, it’s a stretch, but stick with it. Good. So the stuff you have and things you do are important, and you are an important and stimulating person. Laughing? No, must’ve been something else, you’re hearing things. Anyway, what with being incredibly important and stuff, with incredibly important stuff and things, you’ll probably want your affairs to be handled by complete and utter professionals. You’ll want deep, intricate systems in place, you’ll want a wide and tall understanding of your needs and desires. You’ll want organisation, a clear exchange of instruction and result, a powerful, unbreakable chain of command. You’ll want all sorts, because you matter, yeah. And fortunately, as you perceive it, there are a number of organisations that offer a number of services, each as robust, slick and competent as the fictional beings we imagine may one day run our country. Well, I’m sorry, but no.
As you may or may not have noticed, nearly everything is turning to shit. Money is worthless – last week I coloured in a pound coin with a crayon and passed it off as a new type of Tazo, literally trebling it’s value – hospitals will soon charge for entry, possibly implementing a ‘You Must Be This High To Ride The Life Saver’ strategy. The guardians of our freedom, civility, society and indeed hope, are a bunch of horrible, lying Lizard People and Piers Morgan is still, well, here. But at least those professional bodies that handle things like your pension or insurance or produce high end, luxury products are all over it. At least they’re in charge of what they’re doing? Wait, what? What do you mean. Oh for fucks sake, you mean they’re lying bastards too. Come on!
Well, yes. Sadly: yes. It turns out that, not only can you polish a turd, you can actually just spray paint it silver and only let people see it from a couple of feet away and they’ll happily accept that it’s a valuable item. When it’s not. It’s poo. Sure, you get laminated, multicoloured literature on embossed paper, but it’s almost certainly been sat in a box in a room, covered in rat droppings, next to what is laughably referred to as the Staff Dining Area. You probably imagine a multi-core, dimension hopping, super computer is crunching your numbers and keeping your investments safe, when in reality, in the corner of a dark room with damp, peeling walls, there is one BBC Micro held together by string and hope. What you’re paying for is an illusion of safety, a mirage suggesting that they have any stronger grasp on what is happening than you do. It’s a good mirage, it has a pretty face. But if you get up close and lick it, you’ll still end up with a sandy tongue.
The problems seem to stem from our human desire to construct hierarchies wherever we go. So you end up with an elaborate chain of people, each as confused as the next. Administrator. Overseer. Supervisor. Team Manager. Floor Manager. Building Manager. Manager Manager. PA to the Manager of the Manager Managers Manager. It’s no wonder so much gets lost in translation, that so many things go wrong, when there are so many links in the chain. Even at its strongest, the chain is still made up of people, and they’re rubbish. Can’t trust ’em to do anything. Tossers.
Anyway, basically if it appears that you are the customer of a painfully professional, belt and braces, there’s-nothing-we-won’t-do-for-you kind of a place, they are spending too much of your money on marketing and comedian acted adverts set in fake insurance offices. When things are broken they will lie, eventually they will believe the lies, then they will think they are telling the truth and then you’re really up Shit Creek (where, at least, their branding hints at the experience on offer), and what they call a ‘state of the art paddling construct’ is just your hand. So when everything goes wrong, when they lose your data, or your shares bottom out, or the bank repossess your Real Doll, don’t act all surprised and hurt. Turn around, wipe the tears from your stupid, trusting, press release suckling face and laugh manically. Point down at Clause 93b, a clause you added yourself, that states that should you be willingly deceived by a business bullshit ball head, you shall defecate on their face. Then defecate on their face, because you’re better than them. You stick to your word.

Then spray it silver and charge them.

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