In a time where elbow is arse and arse is elbow, where down (if backed by the right rhetoric and financial donors) could in fact be up, then what the fuck are we supposed to think about anything anymore?

Man-flag shandy is a thing. That much we know.

m æ n f l ɑ: g ʃ æ n d ɪ
A conscious thing that is undefined to itself, remaining in constant uncertainty over the who-what-how-why-where-when of its own existence.

No matter how hard it tries, or how far it explores in search of clarity, all a man-flag shandy can ever be is an ephemeral collection of ultimately flawed interpretations of information, unilaterally conditioned by a bubble of input that is itself a mere percentage of any assumed objective truth.

I.e. We are all man-flag shandies