Moana McGrumbleton - The diary of an insufferable Olympic cynic, part one

I watched the Olympic opening ceremony, more through morbid curiosity than anything else. It was interesting how their social experiment worked on the masses as it was meant to. 

Lapping it up on social media, which is the establishment's choice method of measuring their control techniques, people predictably fell into the trap they were intended to. 

This morning we had a nation full of happy people all kidded into believing that Britain is indeed Great and that there is anything good to look forward to in these 'sport' events other than for the pampered competitors. The show they put on may have been impressive visually if you're into that sort of thing but it had as much grounding in reality as another fiction made pretty by Danny Boyle, Slumdog Millionaire.

Where was the starvation when crops failed? We didn't see any child workers crushed to death by Industrial revolution machinery, where was the rampant consumption of alcohol used then, as now, to control the working classes? 

If we're talking about Britain we have to be frank and there was no mention of the empire, of sending men to foreign lands to steal the natural products and force hapless individuals into slavery. If we can't deal honestly with our past then we can't be expected to look to the future with hope.

In a comic look at how the world now sees us we got Mr Bean on, and laughed at ourselves. We laughed at the world laughing at our new incompetent stereotype. What is Great about Britain in 2012? That we can chuckle at how far we've fallen.

The music was widely praised by those who don't quite understand the system. By this time the majority of viewers will have been inebriated on their supermarket alcohol deals and so a few familiar pop tunes were guaranteed to have them swaying. And Dizzie Rascal, is his song 'all I care about is sex and violence'  really how we want to demonstrate the advantages multi-culturism has brought us?

The house party and romance scenes were unrealistic, why not have a quick fumble and then the couple be provided with a council flat nine months later? I say couple but by the time the baby was born they'd probably only keep in touch on Facebook. 

Even the Queen was bored to the point of narcolepsy. Instead of that awful embarrassment 'God Save the Queen', we should have had a chorus of 'God Shake the Queen' just to see if she was still with us.  

I impressed by the event, even I cannot deny that. Impressed that once again the establishment have managed to wrap the general brainless masses around their finger with some bright colours and few drummers. 

Yours,

Moana McGrumbleton.

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