If I were a rich man
Unnoticed would go the vaccinators, those scoundrels, shaking one another’s hand over the dead life of non-existent arms
An extraordinary, splendid innovation has been reported. Innovation in mass production and trade. Mass injections are all paid for, without arms.
As written down byin his chronicles of the recent plague, here’s the splendid armless innovation mentioned above. It is presented here in its current manifestation:
As of the beginning of January 2023, Switzerland slated to destroy millions of mRNA vaccine doses.
It has been said that “Switzerland, home to less than 9 million people, is one of the biggest mRNA vaccine customers in the world relative to population. They’ve already received a staggering 33 million Covid vaccine doses, a little over half of which were ever administered. The small country is now sitting on 13.5 million doses, nervously awaiting the delivery of a further 2 million in the coming weeks, and surely lamenting that 11.6 million more are scheduled to arrive by the end of 2023. The vast majority of these will sit for some months in freezers before the Swiss Confederation destroys them. The country already binned more than 11 million doses last year, the greater part of them after a deal to supply surplus snake oil to the third world via the failed Covax1 initiative fell through because nobody in Africa wants this stuff either.”
All paid for, baby, all paid for.2
Arms have become obsolete.
A new age is dawning. Do not lament the ancient past of needing to match production to demand.
Do not lament the less-ancient past of needing to manufacture demand to match the excesses of production.
Gone, all gone.
Welcome, sunrise! In these great new times, the honorificabilitudinitatibus scoundrel “vaccinators” shake hands over the dead life of non-existent arms. Does that bother me? Allow me to write below in order to find out.
If I were a rich man
If I were a rich man, I’d buy a Swiss firm and get myself Swiss citizenship. And if I were a Swiss citizen I could live in Switzerland all the time and I’d like that because Switzerland is the best country to live in and I know that because I lived in that strange land in the past and was a foreigner there. But the land was not really strange, for I found friends there and found beauty there, and I don’t know whether I first made friends or was made one, but I found charity and beauty there and I loved it, I could not tire of it for it was sweet to me. I filled my heart with charity and beauty. And I was sad that my heart could hold so little. And when I was leaving, I could not take with me all that was given to me, but I took as much as I could.
And if I again lived there, I’d be a polite part of the entry-level elite. Buy an old house on Mont-sur-Rolle and a Land Rover Defender with Vaud plates and buy Rossignol skis and a Specialized mountain bike to keep in my garage and buy Mammut clothes to hang in my closets. And I would shop for smoked salmon and Golden Temptation apples at Migros or Coop and for my fireplace I would buy expensive firewood at petrol stations. And on Saturdays I’d buy a ticket for the SBB train to Zurich and I’d pay for a ticket to the Kunsthaus so that I could gaze at my favourite Konrad Witz and Henri Füssli.
And I would pay taxes for the firm and the house I bought and for driving on the road. Pay taxes in the prices of all those things which I spent my money on, and all those people and companies who I bought every thing from would make profits and pay their taxes on what they made when I bought from them, and those that they had bought from what later I bought from the other them would pay their taxes and all their employees and their suppliers and their inheritors would pay their taxes too, and please forgive me the polisyndeton and the hypotaxis.
And if I were a Swiss citizen I would have perfect strangers as my acquaintances. And because I’d not be able to fall in love with a perfect stranger, I would have no wife. And if I had no wife I’d not have anyone telling me to relax and to forget it and to let it go and to not get angry when I would read on the internets about the taxpayer money being spent on what and for what and by whom and paid to whom. And so I would follow the money. And so I would be angry.
And my anger would be a sin and I would know it.
And when it would be Sunday I’d go to join the Holy Mass at Basilique Notre-Dame in Geneva and go to the confessional and tell the priest that Christ told me to render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s. And I’d have to confess that I was angry about that first part and that I was sorry. And the confession would come to fruition and Christ would absolve and the priest would absolve by Christ’s authority as well as through the ministry of the Church. And my penance would be given me. And I’d do my penance. And I’d arise and rent my mantle and shave my head, and I would resolve not to sin again, and mine would be a strong resolve. And from then on I would pay Caesar without anger.
If I paid Caesar without anger, I could relax. I’d sit on the terrace of my new old house on the mountain and drink Davidoff from a fancy coffee machine and have a small Williamine. And with the taste of pear in my mouth, I’d look down on beautiful Rolle in order to rest my eyes tired from re-reading Jung’s Antwort auf Hiob. And only occasionally would I glance at this or that on the internets, and even then I wouldn’t bat an eye at any latest innovations in the mass production for the purpose of mass injection and the shady trade at the taxpayer’s expense. And maybe occasionally I’d need to pass a little gas. And maybe occasionally I’d want to take a little nap. But I wouldn’t even dream to notice the massive transfer of funds, entrusted to Caesar, transferred away from Caesarian willing hands into scoundrels’ hands. Unnoticed would be the vaccinators, those scoundrels, shaking one another’s hand over the dead life of non-existent arms. Unnoticed, they could make a toast with one cup of pure blood and one of injected, oh boy don’t they love to toast—toast one another’s health with two cups of blood.
Thanks for reading my stuff.3
Please write a comment, if you like (I don’t bruise easily).
It’s been a while since I published anything in "The Flying Fish", I’ve been quiet because I’ve had a lot to be quiet about. I’m not pro-antivaxx or anything like that. But how about the European Commission’s crypto-negotiations and crypto-purchases of 10 doses per person for 450 million “citizens” at 20 or 30 or more Euros per dose, and how about the technical side of how to “destroy” gazillions of “unused” and expired doses of nobody-knows-what-is-inside? How about it, eh? Is the EC currently involved in any other pharma family business? I don’t know enough to even know what to ask. One can clearly (or almost clearly) see, as it’s been said here, that Fizzer “is a felon, operating under consent decree (a form of parole for criminal corporations). They already stated in their defense in Brook Jackson’s case that according to this legal structure, they did not defraud the government, they provided fraud that the government ordered”.4
UPDATE: As of June 2023, one notices that sunny Switzerland isn’t the only place on Earth where the little baby vials are being destroyed at a cost (loss) of billions of macaroonies of taxpayer collective moolah. The recent news from the Fourth Reich: “As enthusiasm for the vaxx falls ever lower and millions of unwanted doses expire, the German press discover that maybe big pharma and their political enablers are not our friends after all”.5 Yeah, no shit.
I kiss you on the mouth.
13 January AD 2023
The cost of “business”, the cost of at-scale multi-lot manufacturing of millions of “prototype” state-of-the-art injection-ready fill-finish vials, the cost of syringes, aseptic swabs, cold chain logistic bills, the whole nine yards, with no living arms needed any longer to be made ready to be injected into—all paid for.
I was moved to write today because I read an inspiring piece by Karl Kraus titled “A Minor Detail” (1915), published in No Compromise: Selected Writings of Karl Kraus (1977), and I pilfered and paraphrased a couple of lines from that piece.
I also lifted and re-wrote several lines from Jacques Paul Migne, “Epistola prima ad Ranulphum de Mauriaco” in Patrologiae cursus completus, sive bibliotheca universalis ... omnium sanctorum patrum, Series Latine, (1844-64), translated from the Latin and quoted by Ivan Illich in In The Vinyard of the Text, A Commentary to Hugh’s Didascalicon, (1993).
The graphics on this page are by Herr George Grosz, that angry artist and theoretical misanthrope, the saddest man in Europe. I stole the drawings for this page from Beth Irwin Lewis’ George Grosz: Art and Politics in the Weimar Republic, (1991).
The homepage head image for this article is a drawing (photoshopped by me) from G. Grosz’s Das Gesicht der herrschenden Klasse abrechnung folgt. (1921).