At the End of the Day

The cancerous potential of OSFAR

We have a problem in the Western world, and it’s called the One Size Fits All Response (OSFAR). If I may, I’d like to start with an example which some will find unpleasant; but an unpleasant feeling is what OSFAR gives to fairly sane people. It involves the business of men exposing their genitals in public.

I was on a London tube riding from Chiswick to Oxford Circus six or seven years ago. It was a gorgeous hot summer’s day just before noon, and everyone was dressed in teeshirts and shorts, light blouses and linen lightweight dresses – that sort of thing. Across the corridor from me, an older guy was sitting chatting to his female friend about something in the Evening Standard, one of the major London papers. The bloke was oblivious to the fact that, beneath his rather battered Nike shorts, his equally battered underpants were revealing about a quarter-inch of testicle. I did notice, but thought what the Hell, we’re not dealing with mass murder here, and anyway I had more important things to think about than one harmless fellow’s left bollock.

Onto the train got one of the Sisters. I know that’s a horribly bigoted thing to say, but she was sporting the entire pc outfit required for full-on prurience, and was carrying with her a volume entitled Feminism is for Everybody by Bell Hooks. I later looked it up, and discovered that the author ‘encourages us to demand alternatives to patriarchal, racist, and homophobic culture, and to imagine a different future’. The reason I was able to examine her paperback in detail was because she put it on her seat while shooting to her feet. Bonkers, accusatory eyes having spotted the tiny expanse of male undercarriage on display, she squawked after the style of a crow in Dumbo, “My God, you’re exposing yourself, you horrid pervert, cover yourself up, how dare you” etc etc.

It is de rigueur on London Tube trains to look firmly the other way and have an attack of deafness when a mad person goes off on one; so most passengers didn’t see the old chap colour deeply, uncross his legs and – holding his companion’s hand – hurry off towards the other end of the carriage, obviously near to tears. Satisfied that she’d rid progressive society of another dangerous sex beast, she who wished to impose Feminism on Everybody then tried to engage the rest of us who weren’t entirely certain we wanted her brand of feminism in a ranting monologue about the eternal dictatorship of penis-fixated men.

The point I’m making here is very simple: her response to the situation was that of a woman genuinely subjected to the perversion of a flasher. The only problem was, she hadn’t experienced anything of the kind. She had demonstrated OSFAR syndrome.

Sometimes OSFAR is the purely unconscious reaction of a neurotic. Sometimes it is the half-asleep response of a pillock. But disturbingly often today, it is the carefully orchestrated media-to-government response to an event which simply doesn’t warrant any response – let alone one completely out of proportion to what actually happened.

Last night in Britain, we saw the most flagrant example of OSFAR in British history. Today, the panic-inflation has continued: a futile murder committed by two half-baked, infantile dupes in Woolwich has evoked the sort of response normally reserved for the unwarranted military invasion of a Sovereign power by millions of mad scimitar-wielding Mullahs.

Recently in Boston USA, we witnessed something very similar during the Marathon there.

In 1934, the Reichstag Fire was an OSFAR used by the Nazis to usher in dictatorship.

The idea is to depict muddled violence as organised terror.

I am forever wittering on here at The Slog about distraction, deception, and distortion. Such activity by the Establishment is nearly always designed to further a dystopian agenda. If you put one letter before and three letters after OSFAR, you arrive at Nosforatu.

That is nothing more than a coincidence. It is, however, a deeply unhappy one.

Earlier at The Slog: Tabloid analysis never solved anything