It’s a conspiracy. Every piece of worthless advice I ever hear tells me I must, “Read, read, read”. I can’t even try to listen to music on YouTube without entrepreneurs, life coaches and other snake oil salesmen popping up on shouty adverts, posing alongside other people’s Lamborghinis and Learjets, asking me to guess how many books the world’s top fifty “Super Achievers” read each year. (It’s fifty-two, conveniently.) “The more you learn, the more you earn!” these morons confidently claim. As if reading books makes you a billionaire.
I don’t buy it. I bet billionaires don’t read at all. Not only because they don’t have the time, but because every big reader I know is broke. Without exception, books have overloaded their minds, and their lives are in total disarray. When they’re not consumed by tortuous examinations of Socialist Realism in the shallower subsections of the Baltic Canal between late October 1933 and early March 1934, they’re deconstructing turgid translations of 9th Century Glagolitic poetry from the White Carpathian territories of Great Moravia. On weekends, for light relief, they dip into obscure anthologies of critically-acclaimed feminist speculative fiction championing unsung writers born in the shadow of the Chappal Waddi in the Mambilla Plateau. What should have been their office hours are spent haggling with elderly volunteers in Oxfam bookshops over worthless, dogeared volumes of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s early letters or needlessly exhaustive histories of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 in the Ganges-Brahmaputra basin. They own vast stacks of surplus, dust-magnet books, but they never own art, or cars, or houses. Bibliophiles are massive losers — why can’t we just admit that? There’s a clear correlation between reading and underachievement. There’s a reason homeless vagabonds line their coat pockets with paperbacks and newspapers. Our children must be warned, before it happens to them.
Reading is even less helpful to writers. If you write, you are incurably influenced by whatever garbage you happen to be reading at the time. For example, if I’m reading Hemingway, I finish this sentence here. Whereas, in the rare, transcending moments that I am reading, say, Henry James, I find, to my eternal chagrin, that I write — if, indeed, “write” is the morpheme, or mot juste, for which I rightly delve — in my lasting endeavours — my contention, if you will, against the ordained — in a spirit of refined demonstration, or braggadocio, as the case may be, that … Where was I?
Then, of course, there’s the snobbery associated with reading. “Read a book!” command the enlightened few, should you dare disagree with them on any trendy subject. It’s ridiculous, but if you read — or, better still, opine pretentiously about what you read — the chattering classes will clamber to pressgang you into their fanatical ranks. Nobody cares if you write anything, so long as you describe the latest high-status books as “vital”, “necessary”, “required”, or “essential”. Trust me, you can get away for years with pretending that you are “working on something big that I’d rather not talk about for fear of jinxing it” while freely enjoying all the wine and canapes you can stomach. But suggest you don’t read, and people quickly get suspicious.
Dominic Hilton, “All Booked Up”, The Critic, 2020-08-17.
April 21, 2026
QotD: “Bibliophiles are massive losers, why can’t we just admit that?”
April 14, 2026
QotD: Holden Caulfield
Anyway, the point is, you name your kid “Holden” and what can you expect? The Catcher in the Rye is the greatest dickhead-identification device known to man. Even pretentious little snots in desperate need of a beating — I speak from experience here — think Holden Caulfield was a pretentious little snot in desperate need of a beating. It’s a 100% true scientific fact that the only people who liked The Catcher in the Rye are so repulsive to ordinary humans that they have no choice but to become high school English teachers, or go to work for the Washington Post.
I even once got linked on a site called “Kiwi Farms”, that seems to consist of nothing but Internet People making fun of other Internet People, and they all agreed with me (also with my interpretation of MTV’s Daria as “the female Holden Caulfield”, although that show took the piss out of itself more than once, and had actual human affection for its characters, and thus was actually pretty good (although of course serving the Catcher-esque function of mate sorting — if you met a girl who identified with it, run far far far away). I know, I know … MTV. And late-90s MTV, too, the guys who gave us both The Real World and Road Rules. Yeah, I’m scared too).
Anyway, though I think The Catcher in the Rye is the worst book ever written, and anyone who liked it should be beaten with the entire Jack Reacher series until their serum testosterone raises at least 300 points or whatever, I’m willing to hear other opinions: Is there in fact a worse book? Not in terms of writing etc. — even I have to admit that it’s not technically bad — but in terms of influence?
Severian, “Alt Thread: Worst Books Ever”, Founding Questions, 2022-06-10.
April 1, 2026
QotD: “Colour-blind” casting
As a regular reader of this column, I have no doubt that you want to remain on the right side of history, and I imagine your instincts are to applaud anything that is annoying for conservatives, like diverse casting in historical dramas. Sometimes being an anti-racist can be hard work, but we don’t tell people to “do the work” for nothing.
First, we need to dispense with the “historical accuracy” argument. There are two ways to do this and the first is to say accuracy should play second fiddle to representation. This is apparently the Hilary Mantel argument. The Times says the Wolf Hall author blessed colour-blind casting before she died, saying that although it was difficult: “you’re in the realm of representation. I think we have to take on board the new thinking.” Everything in 21st Century Britain should reflect 21st Century Britain. We’re in year zero, and hence not employing non-white actors in a production made today, even though there were very few non-white people in sixteenth century England, is simply racist.
The second option is to straightforwardly argue that there were lots of Black and Brown people pottering around the court of Henry VIII, so the production is historically accurate. This is the BBC Horrible History approach. Were you there? Can you prove that it wasn’t full of People of Colour? And is it worth losing your job to do so?
I prefer to hold both of these arguments in my head at the same time. Too much consistency seems a bit right-wing.
Next we need to look at specifically who is being played. Thankfully, the “colour-blind casting” didn’t select any PoGMSTs (People of Global Majority Skin Tones) to play bad guys. This was both on purpose, because oppressed people cannot be bad, and it was also not on purpose, because otherwise it wouldn’t be colour-blind casting. Whichever one it was — and it was both — without PoGMSTs actors playing historic fictionalised evil people, we can avoid the completely random casting process being labelled as racist.
David Scullion, “People of Colour television”, The Critic, 2024-11-12.
March 29, 2026
Women’s highly specific expectations for males showing emotion
An older post from Rohan Ghostwind but still fully relevant:
… or, why they have such a hard time sharing their feelings, the same way that women do.
Biological reasons aside, for most men, the answer to this is obvious: They’ve attempted to open up to someone in the past, and had it backfire so spectacularly that they realized they should probably never do it again.
Specifically, a lot of young men realize that in order to be a functional participant in society, it requires them to regularly stuff down their emotions and carry on with the tasks of their daily lives.
Much of the rhetoric around wanting more emotionally vulnerable men therefore comes across as vacuous, because many men subconsciously realize that people (both men and women) only want these emotions at specific times, and in specific contexts.
Women want to see the man who cries at the end of the Disney movie, not the man who’s so depressed that he’s in bed for 18 hours a day. Obviously this is an extreme case, but it’s something that pretty much every man has experienced to some degree or another.
But this hides the fact that women themselves are just as responsible for creating this incentive structure, if not more. For as much as women want a guy who opens up and shares his feelings, this usually comes after the man has developed some degree of competency in all the other relevant domains of life — education, career, finances, looks, etc.
Again, many men have to learn this lesson the hard way; they have indeed attempted to open up, only to find that it hurt their relationship prospects, or otherwise made them less attractive to women. As such, he realizes he has to “win” the game of the patriarchy before he’s given the opportunity of subverting the rules of the game.
In other words, emotions are reserved for the elite — for the rest of us low human capital™, we need to shut the fuck up and get good at tensorflow and B2B sales before we even think about having a hard time.
March 27, 2026
The Greatest Scoundrel Story Ever Written
Lotuseaters Dot Com
Published 29 Nov 2025Luca is joined by Dan to discuss Flashman by George MacDonald Fraser. They explore Fraser’s skill in writing historical fiction, the genius of the Harry Flashman character, and the sheer hilarity of the novel’s dark humour.
QotD: The Pimp Hand Theory of Social Discourse
1) Acquiesce, by which is meant “try to bring whatever batshit insanity she won’t budge on into as much alignment with Reality as you possibly can”; or
2) Walk away, knowing that you’re not going to get laid ever again with her, or any of her friends, or anyone she might conceivably talk to, ever, in her entire life; or
3) Smack the bitch, which might end up with 2), but much more likely will get you …
… well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? Most men — being the decent, civilized sort — would fill in the blank with anything from “arrested” to “beaten to a pulp by decent men”. But is it true? The Pimp Hand Theory says no.
Trump has shown the ho that is America his pimp hand, and it is strong.
Severian, commenting on “Kvetching Up With Karen”, Founding Questions, 2025-10-30.
March 23, 2026
QotD: Grading coffee
Robert A. Heinlein, Glory Road, 1963.
March 17, 2026
QotD: The noble hamburger
Today, I want to share some real talk on the lesser lights of the burger family. Basically, hot dogs and Sloppy Joes are the Billy Carter and Mary Trump of burger-esque entrees. They are lesser relatives who should be at best ignored if not outright scorned.
Hot dogs are bad. They taste bad, they look bad – keep that icky cylinder away from me! – they are made of the best-left-forgotten bits and pieces of animals like snouts, hooves, and Ted Lieus. Perhaps their popularity is that they are easy to cook – throw them in water and you have both a soggy sausage and a gross broth. The kind of people who eat hot dogs by choice probably think like that.
Here’s the short version: Never speak of hot dogs to me.
And Sloppy Joes – what are they? What is that goop? It’s not chili, it’s not anything except ground beef with some sauce and I guess you can put mustard on it. A hamburger, which is food fit for an American, can also wield ketchup and mayo. But a Sloppy Joe? It’s just … nothing. I don’t know why they exist but they should stop doing so.
Kurt Schlichter, “Support Your Local Sheriff and Camouflaged Federal Officers”, Townhall.com, 2020-07-21.
March 9, 2026
The Ruminati
On the social media site formerly known as Twitter, Sama Hoole updates us on reactions to the peaceful activities down on the farm:
A few negative reviews have been penned on the Gerald-Keith-Doris Cinematic Universe.
The Guardian: “A troubling celebration of ruminant agriculture that fails to interrogate the structural violence inherent in … ” (Keith ate the rest of this review. Keith found it on Dave’s kitchen table. Keith did not find it nourishing.)
PETA: “These animals are being exploited for content.” (Doris was unavailable for comment. Doris was in Brian’s field. Doris has not consented to the PETA statement either.)
Friends of the Earth: “The Ruminati represent everything wrong with Britain’s failure to transition away from livestock-based agriculture.” (The Ruminati. They’ve named them. The Ruminati. We’re keeping this.)
George Monbiot, via newsletter: “Charming, certainly. But charm is how the pastoral lobby has always obscured the data.” (Gerald has not read the newsletter. Gerald was improving the south corner while the newsletter was being written. The south corner has field scabious in it. The newsletter does not have field scabious in it.)
The Vegan Society: “We note with concern that this content has significantly increased public sympathy for farmed animals while simultaneously increasing public sympathy for farming them.” (This is, they acknowledge, a confusing outcome. They are working on a position paper.)
Brian: “I added a tenth column.”
Opening weekend: strong.
The Ruminati are unavailable for comment.
The Ruminati are grazing.
March 8, 2026
QotD: Reading books versus remembering books
“What about people who can’t read?” I asked, thinking of all the illiterates in my year group at school. “Don’t they have human rights, too?”
My mother snorted with laughter, as if I’d told a dirty joke. “Oh, that’s precious!” she said, wiping her eyes, and I raced upstairs to bury my nose in the first book I could find.
To be fair, I’d no idea back then what the passage of time does to the brain; that knowledge is never accrued, only forgotten. As an adult, I’ve trudged my way through the entire oeuvres of a good number of literary giants, and not only do I remember bugger all about what I read in any of those books, I’ve entirely forgotten that I read the vast majority of those books at all. Worse, when people ask my opinion about one of their renowned authors, I frown bewilderedly and say, “Who?”, their very existence having somehow been completely blotted from my mind. In my lowest moments, I even add, “Oh, I’ve never heard of him/her. I’ll have to give him/her a try. Which book of his/hers would you recommend I start with?” Only when I’m several chapters into one of these titles does a muffled bell ring somewhere at the back of my broken brain. Hang on, I think, didn’t I read something a bit like this once before? Then I accuse Dostoyevsky of plagiarism.
Dominic Hilton, “All Booked Up”, The Critic, 2020-08-17.
March 5, 2026
All hail Keith the Apocalypse Bringer
On the social media site formerly known as Twitter, Sama Hoole sings the praises of Keith the Apocalypse Bringer:
Keith the Apocalypse Bringer is a three-year-old Anglo-Nubian goat in a field in Devon.
Keith should not be underestimated.
Keith has been systematically dismantling the ecosystem since approximately 7am, when he ate a bramble. This is significant because bramble is an invasive scrub species that outcompetes wildflowers, reduces biodiversity, and creates dense monoculture thicket that nothing else can use.
Keith ate it. Keith does this every day. Keith does not charge for this service.
8:15am – Keith ate a thistle. Thistles are also considered invasive scrub in managed pasture. Goldfinches eat thistle seeds, but Keith’s grazing will ensure the pasture remains open enough for the ground-nesting birds that can’t use dense scrub. Keith has not attended a conservation workshop. Keith arrived at this conclusion by being a goat.
9:00am – Keith dismantled a section of hedge. This was less helpful. Keith does not have a perfect record.
10:30am – Keith escaped the field. He was in the road for eleven minutes. He ate a neighbour’s rose. This is not being counted in Keith’s environmental impact assessment.
11:00am – Keith was returned to the field. Keith regarded the farmer with the specific expression of an animal that does not recognise the concept of property.
12:00pm – Keith ate more bramble. His digestive system: four stomachs, a rumen full of specialised microorganisms, the ability to extract nutrition from lignified plant matter that would defeat any other animal on this field, is converting scrub vegetation into milk with a fat content of approximately 4.5%. The milk will become cheese. The cheese will be sold at the farm shop. The farm shop is four miles away. The cheese food miles are: four.
3:00pm – Keith produced manure. The manure will grow the grass. The grass will grow the bramble. The bramble will be eaten by Keith.
This system has no inputs.
It has been running since goats were domesticated approximately ten thousand years ago.
Keith is not aware he is saving the planet.
Keith is thinking about whether the fence on the north side has a weak point.
It does. Keith found it at 4:45pm.
Keith got out again.
Things Keith has eaten that are classified as invasive or problematic scrub species in managed Devon pasture:
– Bramble ✓
– Thistle ✓
– Dock ✓
– Nettles ✓
– Coarse rank grass ✓
– Woody shrub encroachment on the eastern border ✓
– A section of blackthorn that had no business being in the middle of the field ✓Things Keith has eaten that were not invasive or problematic:
– The farmer’s hat (twice)
– A corner of the farm accounts ledger (once, in what may have been a comment on farm profitability)
– The neighbour’s prize rose
– A high-visibility jacket hanging on the gate post
– The gate post itself, partiallyKeith’s conservation record: excellent.
Keith’s record on other matters: under review.
March 2, 2026
A Day in the Life of an Ensh*ttificator
Forbrukerrådet – Norwegian Consumer Council
Published 27 Feb 2026Digital products and services keep getting worse. In the new report Breaking Free: Pathways to a fair technological future, the Norwegian Consumer Council has delved into enshittification and how to resist it. The report shows how this phenomenon affects both consumers and society at large, but that it is possible to turn the tide.
Read more on: https://www.forbrukerradet.no/breakin…
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Ghostbusters: Ignore the Rules, Save the World
Feral Historian
Published 31 Oct 2025It’s a comedy classic, and even funnier when you realize that it’s about shady small-businessmen saving the world by ignoring government regulations.
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February 24, 2026
QotD: The! Exclamation! Mark!
To the grammatically sane, reading the exclamation mark in its proper mode, the modern world appears increasingly deranged, authored seemingly by caffeinated twelve-year-olds. The delirium jumps at you in emails, on billboards, from the end of every other sentence.
The exclamation mark — the name a dead giveaway — means to exclaim. To cry out or speak suddenly or excitedly, as from surprise, delight, horror, etc. That line and dot seize your attention. Help! Now, it seizes your last nerve. Stop! If everything is exclamatory, then nothing is.
To the cynic, the exclamation mark is a hypodermic needle spiking foreign joy into the bloodstream of language. With each excitable email, I wonder, is this person in need of urgent medical attention? Or have they overdosed on Adderall?
Christopher Gage, “Against Enthusiasm”, Oxford Sour, 2025-11-21.
February 14, 2026
Voltaire & Rousseau’s Best Friend Breakup – Valentine’s Day Special
Overly Sarcastic Productions
Published 14 Feb 2025Watch as two of the smartest men in French history bravely push the bounds of being the pettiest, most toxic idiots possible.
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