President of the United Wastes

Balasubramanian

Description

This is your unique handbook to become a/the President, and stay, never leave.

Sujets

• Political Science
• Geopolitics

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 26 avril 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456626631
• Langue: English

Extrait

Why should you read this book ?

Although this book has no precedent, it can show you not only how to become a president, even how to create a new country to preside over if you do not have one if necessary and above all, how never to become an ex-(president).

Vade mecum to the presidency

Have you not dreamt of being a “President” someday, be it of an association, a club or even the country itself? And have you also not wondered how the incumbent, who is neither your nor anybody else’s ideal president, was able to reach the highest office and continue to hover somewhere up there in the stratosphere?
For a pedestrian commoner, answers to introspective or fatalistic questions like why not me or how about me should normally be available from generic titles like “ A complete idiot’s guide to…… ” or   “ This and that …for dummies ”. However a person of your stature, unhesitatingly aiming at nothing less than the lofty presidency, does not belong to this proletarian category because the objective is not the acquisition of passable familiarity with an obscurantist subject from such cheap shortcuts, but the mastery of an unfailing and tested method to achieve absolute executive power, global prominence and dominance. As everyone knows, the opportunity to become a president does not come more than once in a lifetime, if at all, reincarnations excluded. There is no such thing as better luck next time, only total failure followed   by utter oblivion.
The most reliable and eligible author to write a handbook on how to become a president would have to be none other than a president himself of herself, based on personal knowledge and experience of running for and winning the presidency. Not surprisingly, no such book exists for a number of abstruse reasons. Why on earth would any president be willing to divulge and hand over such a topmost state secret, especially if there were re-elections and the risk of such information falling in the hands of a potential rival? Whatever the motivation, a president would never start a book by addressing the citizens who elected her/him as dummies and compete idiots. Books written by and for presidents have tended to be voluminous, autobiographical and expensive but have never devoted even a single page on how to avoid landmines, booby-traps and poisoned chalices or the arts of grapevine and stonewalling.  
This book aims to obviate the absence of an authentic presidential version by drawing from the examples of elections and personalities and providing you with an easy to use survival kit. It could be viewed as a receptacle containing all the numbers of a super jackpot. All that the winner would have to do is to select the recipes and proceed to copy, cut and waste.  
Happy birthday to you, Mr(s) President!

Fast FW

It is challenge for many authors to write a synopsis of their book in a few salient words and yet to excite, but not give in to the curiosity of the reader as to its theme and how it might end. This book, in conformity to its eponymous title, and contrary to conventional wisdom, deals with the unorthodox and awkward facets of wastes. As such, its writer could be described as a man of litters engrossed in the habit of spilling words deliberately and recalcitrantly and presenting facts as though they had been fabricated and vice versa, or recto verso, if you prefer.
This work is inspired by two oddities: firstly the extraordinary capability of the human being to produce lot more than required of anything, and junk the excesses and garbages out of sight and out of mind; and secondly an enduring electoral system of handing over our freedom to a handful of people called presidents, heads of states or prime ministers and leaving it to them to decide how we should be more obediently more productive. There is little doubt that the time has come for our presidents to preside over our united wastes, instead haranguing about abstract wastes like money or time or energy.  
All the places and people in this book could have been authentic but with a view to humanizing them and (en) lightening them, the author has attempted to make them as imaginary and inexistent as possible. Any resemblance therefore, to those you may know or may have known might be because they could have been, or regrettably still are, quite real. This book might even help you to deal with some such people with mostly nothing to do but accustomed to doing it at your place. It is not about love thy neighbor or thy country. It is about waste refusal.

The Black Gazelle

She was a dilapidated bulk carrier making one of her last voyages en route to the final port perhaps in Bangladesh to be ripped apart by bare hands of children of school-going age and converted into scrap iron for foundries. She would have been disqualified as unseaworthy if ever inspected and sink without ceremonial adieu in a matter of minutes, but she had more sentimental value than the cargo in the bellies and the accounting book of her owners. This 30K ton seagoing barge was a pre-war dame with an impressive number of passports and past owners, even from landlocked countries. For this excursion, she was flying the flag of Pangea Plastica, which, if one searched in the list of countries with an ISO number of the United Nations, would turn out to be a missing entity. It could be easily deduced therefore that the current journey was clandestine and that if discovered, she could be impounded forthwith. But the owners were no novices and knew that in the ocean, which was a big place, the best place to hide was on the surface, albeit discretely.   Such outings were inherently risky and therefore always profitable, whether the mission was accomplished or aborted. Perhaps to prove the point, there was only one lifeboat on board, for it was only in ancient mariner’s fables that the captain drowned with the ship.
Coincidentally, the skipper hailed from ancient seafaring nation whose mythological heroes had fought valiant and occasionally vainglorious battles with the evil forces of the ocean. In the patronymic tradition, he was born Dimitriou, as the son, grand-great grandson of sailors with similar sounding names, although, because people did not have much time to pronounce the entire appellation, he had been abbreviated to Captain Dimi with his first name having fallen away somewhere in the water or from memories. One could not call up his name on the Internet because as a loner spending most of the time offshore, he had no affiliation with any social media or even a bank account.   Capt.Dimi was one of the few obscure professional seamen, specializing in secret missions on tramps and vagabond vessels, ferrying undeclared cargo without a manifesto. The ship owners took care of him and the boat he was assigned to and were even proprietors of ship chandlery and repair docks. The crew was never the same but predictably from some far away country whose language Capt. Dimi would not have been even able to use for short greetings or lengthy commands.
The crew for this voyage was mainly Vietnamese. They had started as dockworkers to load 50 kg jute bags of parboiled broken rice by marching on the improvised jetty because the crane had broken down and had stayed on the boat. It was part of a UN tender to supply staple food to an oil-producing African country as humanitarian aid. The boat’s capacity had to be filled within five days, the wages were miserable but there was no dearth of laborers in Ho Chi Minh. They had each a sailor’s passport and were pre-destined to set foot on ground only to climb quickly back into another ship.
This was going to be their night to demonstrate how quickly they could handle the goods lying in the hulks and the innards of this old lady. The fragrances of fresh ginger, tamarind, garlic, spring onion, red chilies and shrimp paste mingled with the smoke of fake Marlboros had started reaching Capt. Dimi’s cabin. But he had a guest on board, incognito, as was the custom.

The night of big breakfasts

For the entire population in this area, it was going to be the start of an eventful night ensued by days of feasting, reunions with family and friends and gift-giving. The summer had been excruciatingly hot, long and dry and had been testing the tenacity of hunger-stricken people to endure hours of fasting and literal starvation. Tonight, all the travails of the past month would be forgotten after the last prayers and a transient joy would permeate before yielding place to the terrible poverty in which all but a few were born.
This part of Africa got swallowed by darkness every day after sunset and apart from a few distant lamps on government buildings somewhere, the occasional headlights of four-wheel drives, and mostly the stars above on a clear evening, getting lost in the desert-invaded hamlets without streets but sandy lanes would not be described as a routine even by the disingenuous locals. This night would be an exception because the moon was sure to be sighted and the big breakfast of Eid-al-Fitr to start by just about the end of the day. Though it was a wasteland of paupers, this was a once a year celebration and opportunity to text the best wishes from their latest model smartphones.
At 15:00 hours, Capt.Dimi ordered the final readiness drill. Although the Black Gazelle had a couple of cranes and a conveyor belt, the type of cargo was unconventional and had to be hand-handled and brought up to the deck in batches. Except in the hull area, because there would be no lighting on the upper surface, the movement had to be carefully rehearsed. According to his calculations, the entire operation would be completed in seven hours time after which the boat would leave before sunrise. The precise time for the unloading to begin would be announced a little after 19:05 hours when the sun would have completely set, to enable the crew to finish dinner and get on with this job without interruptions or breaks.