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NEWS & FORTEANA

Dunning-Krugerism hits Cornwall

By St Austell editor Turd Lemsip

Posted April 12, 2018
Dunning-Kruger le Whip
Guru tosh: Dunning-Kruger le Whip. Or is it Steven Rearguard in a wig? © Ignatius Rake

Turd Lemsip reports on the New Age cult sweeping the South West.



In a shock move, world-famous cult leader Dunning-Kruger le Whip has relocated the global headquarters of his Foundation for Altruistic Rumination Theories (FART) to a ramshackle bender in Tresillian.

It took me a while to find it as I initially believed it to be the work of fly-tippers dumping a skipload of old tarpaulins and string in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

How wrong I was.


TEMPLE OF LE WHIP
It was in fact a mighty temple dedicated to one fearless man's quest for enlightenment and truth.

An epic quest that has led him from the hotbeds of academia and high-level computing to the peaceful tranquillity of rural Cornwall.

Cross-legged on the floor within sat an imposing figure made of whipcord and muscle stretched taught over an imposing frame.

His eyes flickered in an impassionate visage that bore mute psychic witness to his struggles against the world's petty cruelties.

A face somehow softened by a nimbus of ginger curls that stretch a full three feet around his pallid, ascetic features.

I had expected someone with less presence but was somewhat relived to find him a little comical in his appearance.

How wrong I was.


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FIRE FWOM THE MIND
"What bwings you to enlightenment, oh seeker of Twuth?" he asks in a manly lisp.

"Ah," he nods to himself sagely.

"Fire fwom the mind."

"Know this: the Foundation for Altruistic Rumination Theories has but one goal."

"No meat, no shoes, no mind. Wun!"

"Are these the principle tenets of your philosophy?" I asked before he held a hand up to beg silence.

"They are but the first steps upon a path so noble that it lies beyond huwman compwehension."

"Observe."

He stands up in the cramped shelter and with a soft tearing sound, inadvertently pushes his head through the patchwork quilt of tarpaulins, carpet off-cuts and string.

Standing shoeless, bare chested and with his head no longer visible, his calm measured voice asks a simple question:

"What do you see?"

He ducks his head back inside the interior of his shelter.

"Follow and observe."


le-whip's bender
Mighty temple: Dunning-Kruger le Whip's bender/health hazard. Public domain


SHOES ARE MURDER
Outside he prepares for a run, or wun, by bouncing lightly up and down on the balls of his bare feet, breathing through his nose and extending his tongue to full stretch for a good five minutes.

"Wunning without shoes places one in direct contact with the gwound we live on."

"All sustenance comes fwom the planet."

"We must feel the Earth beneath us."

"I am stage 12."

"You, who do not know the way of wisdom, are a stage zewo."

He pulls on a cardigan and gazes at the tree canopy.

"I have a vegan phallus," he screams, holding aloft a crudely fashioned lump of wood.

"I carved it fwom the stars!"

Dunning-Kruger le Whip removes his trousers.

He has no care for underwear.

His six-foot-seven frame is poised for another revelation.

His ginger hair crackles with cosmic energy.

"Fire fwom the mind!"

"I have weached level 13!"

He looks at me with benevolence.

"If you put your pants on your head, though, I shall make you a stage one."

"But only if you do everything I tell you to do for ever and ever."


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TOSSER
He sprints off into the woods, his demi-nakedness and ginger afro stark against the greens of the forest.

The rhythmic slap of his bare size 13½ feet against the leaf litter.

His cardigan unbuttoned and billowing like a Nepalese prayer flag behind him.

He shouts the slogans of FART as he speeds off into the trees.

"No meat. No Mind. No shoes. Wun!"

As I wander back to the Rake offices to file my report, a flurry of police cars, with lights flashing and sirens blaring, pass me on their way to Tresillian.

I hope nothing of great import will occur to Dunning-Kruger le Whip on his quest to bring enlightenment to the world.


Turd Lemsip

Now undergoing full de-programming at a safe house somewhere in Devon in an attempt to break the conditioning.


Cheers, Turd. But I fear that no one who has basked in the glory of the great Dunning-Kruger le Whip could ever break the conditioning. Anyway, to make you feel better, here's someone else who appears to have met him: punk poet John Cooper Clarke.




See also HP Lovecraft lands top council job, posted 31/10/17.


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Turd Lemsip is the former frontman with anarcho-punk combo Chernobyl Effect, a band described by The Times of India as "so underground that they had no records released, played no gigs, had no songs and existed only in the warped mind of its idiot pseudo frontman". Turd lives in St Austell, where he works as a toilet cleaner when not smashing the state. His favourite colour is "dog shit".


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