Race to the bottom.

Posh pretends to be middle class pretends to be posh. Or doesn’t Mr Delingpole do self-awareness? (The story is however proof that, as someone else wrote, God loves us and wants us to be happy. Is Doležal < nickname for a lazy man, from the past participle of doležit, to lie down a malicious invention?)

There was a nice thing in the FT the other day. Scribe goes to Marseille to interview those shy Front National voters, meets one who says something along the lines of:

Race is a load of bollocks. I’m more worried about what I’m going to say in ten years when my son comes home and says he’s dating a robot.

But Alex Tabarrok:

The more likely scenario, however, is a glide path to extinction in which most people adopt a variety of bionic and germ-line modifications that over-time evolve them into post-human cyborgs. A few holdouts to the old ways would remain but birth rates would be low and the non-adapted would be regarded as quaint, as we regard the Amish today. Eventually the last humans would go extinct and 46andMe customers would kid each other over how much of their DNA was of the primitive kind while holo-commercials advertised products “so easy a homo sapiens could do it”. I see nothing objectionable in this scenario.

And remember, it’s “mixed-race”, not “half-caste”: the latter is racist (what, more so than its replacement?!) and, crucially, marks you as 40+. Whence this? A subject observed discreetly and with pleasure during a recent proper fucking evening here reminded one uncannily of the most frightening member of an alarming pub footie team years ago. At a birthday party in one’s hovel off Curry Mile, he headbutted this tosser into hospital for commenting that, judging by appearances, upper class sperm was superior. HC was how the Midfield Surgeon described himself, though obviously and correctly resenting any negative conclusions based thereon, and I wonder if his vocabulary has also moved on.

I am a haddock and I could do with some chips.

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