Twenty years ago I wrote spoof news for a publication along the lines of The Onion. One article "reported" on a new vehicle that harnessed an emerging green technology that enabled a vehicle to run on high energy emotions, like extreme anger. The song
Rise by Public Image Limited was part of the article's inspiration. It was not long before someone read it and actually paused to wonder if it were true. I passed it off as momentary central nervous system shut down. But they started to ask if, maybe, it could really happen. Then I ran into more people who were doing research to find out if I
hadn't made the whole thing up. I became dismayed.
And so goes the British knife debate. I sometimes do a bit of poking around on shit posted here in The Pit because I cannot believe it is true. Like this:
https://www.snopes.com/news/2015/06/22/save-a-life-surrender-your-knife/
I read that feeling sure that there was a hint of exaggeration in the news stories. By the time I finished reading it (twice) I began to feel that satire was dead. Brewing words from the worst stew of linguistic exaggeration I could stir up and spewing them them with a diesel powered super-soaker have been rendered inert in the face of our current political reality. There is little chance for the most clever and outrageous satirist could keep up with convention.
So I have come to believe that The Monty Python Troupe was not a group of irreverent and brilliant satirists, they were prophets. It is, finally, in this light that I am able to make sense of the current British culture. This explains both the knife debate and Theresa May's presence in the House of Commons.
As for the Veer's initial question, my mind's eye becomes focused on Terry Gilliam. I am keenly aware that he is an American. And he is a prophet, as we have already established. The cultural analogs are clear (Sadiq Khan:Tim Kaine, Barack Obama:Life of Brian, the election of any NJ politician:a reprise of "bring out your dead"). So yes, the knife ban is coming. It will cross the Atlantic, likely taking up port in Boston before spreading itself like the spores of a daffodil by hitching a ride on the backs of snowflakes as they scurry between mum's basement and college safe spaces.
I am left to wonder WWJD? I mean John Cleese, of course. Worrying that satirical prose is no longer effectual, I consult The Book of Python, Episode 15, 1:03, September 22, 1970, The Semaphore Version of Wuthering Heights. I take from this interpretative parable of one of western literature's greatest works that an alternative tongue will serve me best. So I shall release the pen and up take flags. At this point it's the only reasonable thing to do.
