£5 billion? £15 billion? £30 billion? Any more offers?
At some point we are going to discover the cost of fraud. Trust me.
Here are three guaranteed methods of causing total confusion:
- ask Uncle Vanya to find the corner of a circular room (and watch him fall down dizzy after five minutes)
- ask Uncle Vanya which is heavier: a pound of feathers or a pound of lead? He never approved of metric nonsense: the metric system originated in France which also produced Napoleon who invaded Russia. France also caved in to Hitler and let him invade Russia as well. So anything faintly French was right out for him, except, curiously, champagne. In truth, asking Uncle Vanya any question was a good way to see total confusion unfold unless, of course, the question was "do you like France?" in which case he would leap to his shotgun faster than a bishop can bed a tart.
And then there is the third way of causing total confusion: ask two experts to agree on anything, like "what day of the week is it?" One expert will argue that it is Tuesday; another will argue that it is already Wednesday in New Zealand, so don't be so sure of yourself. A third will argue that days are simply a linguistic device which we impose on the real world and therefore the question is meaningless. At this point, the best solution is to whisper in Uncle Vanya's ear that the experts are not just pedants: they are French pedants. Intellectual confusion will be replaced by total panic as the experts start running for their lives through the woods, trying to dodge bears, bear traps and Uncle Vanya.
And so we turn to fraud and ask the experts: "what is the cost of fraud?".
At this point we encounter Einstein's secret theory of relativity, which he unveiled to us on a trip to our dacha. This theory states that "where you sit is where you stand". Given that English people like to sit in stands, this stands to reason. But what Einstein meant is that reality is relative to where you sit. So if you sit in Government and want to introduce ID cards, you naturally believe that fraud is rampant and that ID cards will save the day. If you are a cappucino smoking liberati, you naturally believe that fraud is low (because capuccino smokers are all inherently honest, decent, intellectual people like you average man in his Islington off road four by four vehicle) and that ID cards are not just a monstrous intrusion on your freedom to smoke capuccinos, they are also a monstrous expense. So both sides will now produce data which is totally contradictory to each other. Einstein may be dead, but he is also right about relative reality.
And as this entry is all about fraud, the best thing the Count can do is to defraud you of the denouement you have been waiting for: the numbers from all the experts.
However, the Count can assure you that if you send a seriously large amount of money, cash only, to his private bank in the Cayman islands, the Count will be delighted to let you have the details you have been waiting for.
Here are three guaranteed methods of causing total confusion:
- ask Uncle Vanya to find the corner of a circular room (and watch him fall down dizzy after five minutes)
- ask Uncle Vanya which is heavier: a pound of feathers or a pound of lead? He never approved of metric nonsense: the metric system originated in France which also produced Napoleon who invaded Russia. France also caved in to Hitler and let him invade Russia as well. So anything faintly French was right out for him, except, curiously, champagne. In truth, asking Uncle Vanya any question was a good way to see total confusion unfold unless, of course, the question was "do you like France?" in which case he would leap to his shotgun faster than a bishop can bed a tart.
And then there is the third way of causing total confusion: ask two experts to agree on anything, like "what day of the week is it?" One expert will argue that it is Tuesday; another will argue that it is already Wednesday in New Zealand, so don't be so sure of yourself. A third will argue that days are simply a linguistic device which we impose on the real world and therefore the question is meaningless. At this point, the best solution is to whisper in Uncle Vanya's ear that the experts are not just pedants: they are French pedants. Intellectual confusion will be replaced by total panic as the experts start running for their lives through the woods, trying to dodge bears, bear traps and Uncle Vanya.
And so we turn to fraud and ask the experts: "what is the cost of fraud?".
At this point we encounter Einstein's secret theory of relativity, which he unveiled to us on a trip to our dacha. This theory states that "where you sit is where you stand". Given that English people like to sit in stands, this stands to reason. But what Einstein meant is that reality is relative to where you sit. So if you sit in Government and want to introduce ID cards, you naturally believe that fraud is rampant and that ID cards will save the day. If you are a cappucino smoking liberati, you naturally believe that fraud is low (because capuccino smokers are all inherently honest, decent, intellectual people like you average man in his Islington off road four by four vehicle) and that ID cards are not just a monstrous intrusion on your freedom to smoke capuccinos, they are also a monstrous expense. So both sides will now produce data which is totally contradictory to each other. Einstein may be dead, but he is also right about relative reality.
And as this entry is all about fraud, the best thing the Count can do is to defraud you of the denouement you have been waiting for: the numbers from all the experts.
However, the Count can assure you that if you send a seriously large amount of money, cash only, to his private bank in the Cayman islands, the Count will be delighted to let you have the details you have been waiting for.
posted by Count Kostov at
12:25 pm
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