And Teri relaxed, for the first time since she'd seen George Gill's gloating face in the group of fat and contented Senior Councillors representing COSLA (The Convention of Scottish Local Authorities) in their conclave with her darling cousin, Ginger Goldfish, Scotland's Nationalist First Minister: and next to The Queen, the most important and powerful Woman in Scotland; “should I tell Ginger about George Gill?” she asked the empty room; “no,” came back the silent answer, “she'll only think you a dotterel,  such a jejune twat, to make such a yonic sacrifice to Gill and his Cronies, when you were only 13, a child, a baby, when to them you were nothing more than a wooden doll, a sex toy, a puppet on a string, gyrating to their tune while all the while they were laughing at your pathetic gullability and thinking to themselve – 'we've got a right one here!'”

Those neoliberal hacks believed their ideology arose naturally, as if borne and delivered out the yonic passage of some Mother Economics, and woodenly ignored the consequences for so many billions; they counted on the poorly-educated masses to be the dotterels for their cynical, selfish, sociopathic plan for humankind; and any protest from these masses were met with either scorn from the corporate rat-pack or patronizing from jejune politicians who lacked the courage and imagination to stand up to these dark forces, and this was all readily accepted by the public as some unchangeable law of the universe -- which was to be expected, given their lack of understanding about genuine democracy and their own basic human rights in those dark, earlier years before the Great Disaster.