The Disaster of Guy Fawkes Night: A YouGov Survey

Tonight is not a good night for posting – herself is due at the hairdressers tomorrow. But serious events have occurred. Tonight, I walked up to the pub. There was a terrible stink of burned leaves in the air. Thankfully, I managed to make it to the pub without dropping dead despite the thousands of chemicals which I was forced to breath as I walked there.

It isn’t fair. I should be able to walk in the to the pub without being afflicted with thousands of chemicals, of which many are, no doubt, carcinogenic. Further, there were inconsiderate people setting off fireworks which made a loud noise, thus keeping children awake, as well as filling the air with toxic chemicals.

Thankfully, I managed to get to the pub without collapsing. But that is not the point. It is possible, according to the Surgeon General’s report, that I might have collapsed, and so all Guy Fawkes celebrations should be forbidden.

It was even worse coming home. I didn’t think that I would make it. I felt ill. Even the cat, which waits for me to let it in when I come home, seemed to be lethargic. It did not gallop to the front door – it only trotted. It must have been ill because it devoured the chicken pieces in its bowl and drank a lot of water. 

I am lucky to have survived the journey. Thank heaven for The Tobacco Control Industry! If it were not for them, I might have taken deep breaths on the way home rather than shallow breathes. I could have been writing this dead.

There is a simple answer. Anyone concerned about the air quality could wear a surgical mask. It is not as dramatic as a hibab, or whatever it is called, but it would do the same job but better.

I will believe the likes of Arnott and Co when I see them wearing surgical masks at all times. They can remove them when they make statement to the Press, but must never be seen  without them outdoors otherwise. It would  be a reasonable question to ask of the Zealots, “WHY ARE YOU NOT WEARING YOUR MASK?”

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The Zealots are so protected from ‘debate’ and ‘examination’ that only ridicule will have any effect. But to have any effect, the ridicule must  be constant and repeated. Do not let them allow time to diminish the ridicule. For example, the Moscow Farce needs to be highlighted without remission. Also, the failures of the WHO with regard to the  Ebola Pandemic must not be allowed to fade away.

For it is normal for these autocratic organisations, such as the WHO to allow criticism to just fade away. It is easy for them to do so, since Governments, having signed Treaties, do not follow them up or attempt to control the excesses which such treaties promote.

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Will Chan be sacked? Clearly not, since there is no authority which can sack her. The whole thing is a political mess. A total political mess.

We need a Prime Minister with guts, who can surround himself with advisers who live in the real world and are not afraid. For example, all epidemiology studies are statistical. They are not science – they are mathematics. Thus, the examination of their worth should be undertaken by mathematicians and statisticians, and not Health Zealots.

Crazy though it might seem, the probability is that the Health Zealots within the NHS are probably doing more harm than good.

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YouGov emitted a survey. After asking people where they shop or drink coffee or smoke. Like “Every day” or whatever. It also asked what brand one smoked. F off! I smoke every day and the brand is my business. There is something seriously wrong with YouGov. It has an agenda, even though it pretends to be impartial. It is political, at least as far as tobacco is concerned.

 

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2 Responses to “The Disaster of Guy Fawkes Night: A YouGov Survey”

  1. garyk30 Says:

    Wellll, all of this will drive you to drink and that is good. 🙂

    • junican Says:

      Wellll… No, gary dear. ‘Drink’ is relative. Time, Space and Matter have their part to play. When I am ‘spaced out’, I enter a different dimension. When I get drunk, I have no recollection of events. That is because the events occurred in a different dimension for me, which was perfectly sensible at the (uncertain) time. When I groped that girl’s bum, I was in a dimension where such things were wonderful and welcome.
      Don’t blame me.

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