On Creation and Oblivion

Owing to an inevitable power failure caused by unpaid electricity bills, the projector running the cue-screen in the unmanned TV studio abruptly flickered off, but not after making a few clicking sounds, moaning and muttering "frikken' finally", the way cue-screen projectors have a habit of doing when there aren't any members of the genus homo present.

The Compassionate Cynic, oozing out of the ventilator shaft above the desolate set blinked quietly before dribbling through the office carpet, down multiple levels of steel reinforced concrete and into the unspeakable underworld of intellectual obscurity, misapplied wisdom and self-confounding logic.

It seemed that all was lost. The glory of public nation-wide prefrontal cortex stimulation and general shameless political punditry had been taken away from him forever. In a raging cathartic shudder he unburdened himself of all worldy desire, and lived out the rest of his life alone in a cave in a large mountain.

Fortunately, owing to his ability to asexually reproduce, The Compassionate Cynic offloaded unto the world a squirming batch of cynical offspring, who then unloaded another batch, followed by another. Sadly each and every one of them bar one shriveled up due to early-onset solipsistic fibrosis owing to the unfortunate Mendelian legacy provided by Cynic Senior.

And so The Compassionate Cynic of the Present was born. He had inherited his ancestor's incisive perceptiveness but had developed his own brand of communication. Using it, he would strive to confuse, confound and convince with a crusade consisting of creativity, collation and concentration of core concepts... hopefully without sounding like a ninny.

The writings of The Compassionate Cynic henceforth are reproduced here.