The Conscription Conspiracy

Last night a frightening thought about our future propelled itself into the mind of your writer. I had watched and written about yesterdays news and was mulling over the contents; if the truth be told, thinking how long those bales of cocaine, thrown overboard by smugglers after a Royal Navy raid, would take to arrive at this side of the Atlantic - perhaps ending washed up on a remote Scottish beach somewhere in the West Highlands. Realising that to attempt any scavenging attempt in the spirit of Whisky Galore would likely be unsuccessful, and, that if not I would likely be shortly dead due to over indulgence, I merely let my mind ramble.

Last week, a wrote a short article on Armilistrium where I noted that Prince William was in fact at Faslane on that day, inspecting the facility and indulging in a mock Royal Navy boarding exercise on a substitute smugglers boat. Only a few weeks ago, a special report on American Troops in Iraq was broadcast on the news, in which we were advised that US forces now carry out a more police like rather than military role. Turning back to last nights news, we heard how "thousands" of our armed forces could return home with a mental condition, Mild Traumatic Brain Injury.

So let us look at these together. We see Prince William brandishing a weapon whilst engaged in a mock drug raid. Looks like fun. Then yesterday, a massive quantity of cocaine on a fishermans boat is intercepted by a Royal Navy frigate in the same manner. We hear of the fears for the health of our forces, which no doubt puts pressure on fresh recruitment.

So lets look ahead slightly. Lets say that compulsory military service is imposed for all 16 year olds. Provide them with some backbone, a sense of purpose, slash vandalism, gangs, etc. etc., all the ills of society which are blamed on our youth could be resolved instantaneously. Obviously, some wont be able to take it and some will be killed in action but so what. We will have a fine military force and a better country. Sounds great - but think ahead.

The year is 2010, two years after the implementation of this society saving strategy. The first batch of national servers have done their time and returned to our shores, brains washed and cleansed to remove any traces of MTBI. This cleansing process has one serious drawback, a loss of human emotions and an almost hypnotical desire to serve ones country and therefore Monarchy. America has finally crumbled, economically bankrupt. Repercussuions are felt throughout this global world; once secure institutions are crumbling, America is under martial law.

The balloons hang outside the gate of number 29. Welcome back Jimmy the banner proclaims. The man of the moment arrives, a skinny whippet like spotty teenager has returned, now aged 18, weighing in at a full 15 stone solid muscle. His mother rushes to embrace and kiss him, "Oh ma wee Jim, you'r home, but not so wee any more". Jim, who is emotion free, meagerly returns the embrace and heads up to his old bedroom, to pump iron and watch movie,. slipping his mother a list on the way which contains the special military menu, drawn up in tandem by Jamie Oliver and Arnold Schwarzenegger

A year passes, 2011 has come. World War 3 continues but here in Scotland the natives are getting restless. Drugs are scarce however some keen indoor gardeners are maintaining small cannabis gardens and thus allowing some sort of escape for themselves and close friends. The majority however are not so lucky and are reliant on their friendy, lunch loving doctor to prescribe valium and temezepan to relieve the almost constant mental agony which abounds in these God forsaken times.

Jim's dad Tam is one of the unlucky ones, but today is Monday. It is a day of greay joy for Tam as he gets his giro benefit cheque and his tranquilliser prescription. It's 9.15am and he hears the letterbox. He leaps from his chair and races to collect the brown envelope, delivered by a Polish lady on a pushbike. Unusually though, there is also a brown HM forces package for Jim so he clambers up the stairs, admiring the new King William stamp which adornes the slim parcel, and slips it under the door whilst remembering to knock twice, really the only thing that Jim has said to him since he returned from duty - "make sure and deliver any army mail up to me right away Da, and knock twice". The importance was stressed at the time and Tam had not forgotten the implied urgency . He had barely seen Jim in the last year, the door always shut and locked, a seemingly nocternal and mute creature dwelling within.

Tam slipped on his jacket and headed for Elizabeth House, a brand new purpose built building which housed the doctors surgery, the Virgin Rock Office, the housing office, registrar of births, deaths and marriages, etc., etc., really all the government functions rolled into one. Tam went to the VRO first to cash his giro, the queue was quite long with only one cashier but he didnt really mind, his attention taken by Richard Branson, appearing on one of the giant monitors in the banking foyet. Richard was telling of the personal loans on offer, non status, with correspondingly high interest payments, yet reassuringly these were deducted at source from one's benefit payment. VRO was an initially an almagamation of the defunct Northern Rock bank and Post Office, crippled to death by industrial action; these two initial customer bases had been joined by many more on Branson's white knight crusuade.

Tam nearly choked, -"sorry" said the cashier, "benefit frozen". He tried to protest but to no avail, two American national service recruits quickly appeared and ushered him into a side room. We are sorry sir they advised, but a decision has been made that you are uneconomic and can no longer be supported". And, to add insult to injury, his prescription was then removed.

Tam returned home. He was shellshocked. For the first time in two years he had no valium, after being originally prescribed them after depression caused by redundancy. At his front door stood an unsmiling Jim in military fatigues. "Time to go Dad", he said, in a curious robotical voice and he saw Betty, with the case packed. They joined the rest of the unwanted throng,shuffling to the gates of the city.

Jim went back up and, as previously instructed, put the other half of the stamp in his mouth; calmly pressing play on the remote control.

Disney, Your Duty, Part 2, appears on the screen; the remote control recommences.


thanks for inspiration http://the-daily-behemoth.blogspot.com/2007/10/disney-and-satanism.html

http://newspaceman.blogspot.com/2007/10/armilustrium.html