darwinian winnowing

DARWINIAN WINNOWING

A tasty treat, at least for some for you.  Tomorrow, the birthday of our federal government ( as opposed to a confederation of sovereign states as was originally the case ), I include the half completed novel "Malthusian Melody".  Half completed, as in COMPLETE.  I grew bored with it and decided to stop, for good.  It will NOT be continued at a later date. 

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As is my wont, one day as I was engaged in casual conversation expounding upon my wisdom as pertains to everything, I inadvertently threw out a witty phrase.  Darwinian Winnowing.  Yes, yes, I know.  Exactly the same as saying Survival Of the Fittest.  Yet, my way contains a certain panache, yes?  I’m all about style.  Hey, even vulgarity has a certain style in the right circumstances.  Observe the classic Sex Pistols song ( I paraphrase here to clean it up-guess which word I’m substituting ) with the line “hump this and hump that, hump it all you humping brat” or another one “mommy, I’m not an animal.  I’m an abortion”.  Now, granted, the angst of a English economy in severe decline did color the lyrics, but these few lines are indicative of a timeless observational style.  And dare I say, future generation shall one day declare them stylistic ( as too shall they pour incessantly over my every word.  Using phrases such as Darwinian Winnowing just puts icing on their cake- and you are very welcome, bitches ).  Anyway, as you can see, style or no, this doesn’t make for much of an article in itself, so I’ll randomly throw in some silly behavior to underline my point here.  Staying in the big city has got to be on top of the Dumbass List when it comes for your being in the running for the Darwin Award ( I absolve any and all who genuinely are planning and taking concrete steps towards reversing this action.  I do NOT include day jobs in the big city, either.  You are taking a risk, granted, but it solves most problems by taking an acceptable risk.  I include the morons who plan on surviving in place, or have a bug out location so far away it is ridiculous or have made no preps yet but are waiting for money to be saved ).

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The folks at Vesuvius’ doorstep would have been the ancestors of today’s city preppers, had any of them survived.  Here are two cities next to an active volcano, so you have got to wonder what those Eye-Talians were thinking in the first place, and then you had a population bumping buttholes to elbows and vacantly looking up at ominous planetary out-gassing and scratching themselves vigorously, then shrugging absentmindedly and going on with their business.  After all, they reasoned, the mountain had shook and rattled and smoked before, and nothing much happened.  All was well.  No need to panic.  And here is your modern city dweller, thinking exactly the same thing.  And they are always right.  Until they aren’t.  You can’t time a volcanic eruption, nor an economic collapse or an imperial implosion or anything under mans or natures control.  Timing is for schmucks, and those who listen to those that time are Darwinian speed bumps on our species road to ruin.  Play the odds, don’t bet against them.  And the odds are, on an overpopulated resource depleted planet, crowds are dangerous ( due given to Uncle Remus- we miss you brother, although you are in a better place [ retirement ] ).

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