‘We’re born of Darkness, and to Darkness we return; our time within the Gentle is however an interlude” – Joseph Lucas.
Thus spake an incarnation of Beelzebub who lived in England on the flip of the 19th Century, a person of nice business and wealth who nonetheless by his insidious devilish nature perverted the course of the mighty river Commerce in the UK, diverting these once-powerful waters to be sullied and wasted over the sandy plains of Poor Status. By his trickery, a whole business, as soon as a world chief in expertise, efficiency, and high quality, was diminished to a worldwide butt of jokes and monetary disaster, bringing the economic system of a whole nation to its knees, and decreasing that nation’s principal exports from the noble metals of Transport and Manufacture to the lowly urgent of musical discs, recording the harmonized mating calls of long-haired, drug addled dandies who wiggled their skinny asses to the gleeful delight of teenage women, who wept on the sight.
I’m not suggesting Joseph Lucas destroyed the British economic system; I’m stating it as a truth, as a result of its excessive time the person is uncovered because the satan he was. To start firstly; within the 1850s, Joseph Lucas was the unemployed father of six youngsters – oh sad quantity – promoting kerosene from a wheelbarrow on the filthy streets of Hockley, in Essex of all locations; a Victorian Chav. And but, inside only a few years he based Joseph Lucas Industries, which might shortly transfer to Birmingham and explode into profitability. What Wikipedia fails to reveal in its transient whitewash of Mr. Lucas is the scandalous story of that outstanding transition.
How does a person overburdened with youngsters, smelling of petroleum and sloshing a wheelbarrow by way of the muddy, feces-strewn roads of rural Hockley, for God’s sake, come inside a short while to take a seat atop a golden throne as titular head of an amazing manufacturing concern? As Balzac noticed, ‘Behind each nice fortune lies an amazing crime’, and Lucas’ empire was based on a pentagram drawn in goat’s blood. There could be no higher clarification for the lightning success of this muddy and impecunious dandy (and supposed teetotaler – good cowl for his darkish enterprise) than the sale of his mortal soul to the Satan.
Joe Lucas and his son Harry (henceforth often known as ‘Damien’) aggressively solid strategic alliances and strong-arm monopolies with the intention to dominate car manufacture in Britain. Close to each automotive, bus, lorry, lawnmower, and motorcycle inbuilt Birmingham had bolt-on endarkenment. Their ‘lighting’ tools labored nicely sufficient for lengthy sufficient and have been low cost sufficient that no automaker may keep away from the taint of Satanic merchandise, and like a virus, their timed-death tools unfold to each nook of Trade in Britain. Their maddening tendency to self-destruct, when a generator or magneto have been most wanted, was found too late, thus your complete business was thus corrupted and crippled, and made a laughing inventory the world over.
And what, good sirs, was Mr Lucas’ retort when complaints have been made in opposition to his faulty ‘illumination’ units? “A gentleman doesn’t motor about after darkish.” Which is definitely true, if one transforms nightly right into a flying rodent! Gentleman, certainly. Had the cloven hooves beneath Joe Lucas’ spit-polished brogues been correctly uncovered, rampaging torch-and-pitchfork brigades would have rushed the nice iron doorways of his manse, solely to seek out their greedy fingers crammed with the identical damnable smoke as emerges commonly from the malfunctioning electrical units of his black manufacture. It has been recommended in truth that the merchandise of the Lucas household have at their darkish coronary heart a perform of pure devilment, the transmission of electrical energy by SMOKE slightly than electrons, proof of which is obvious in each malfunctioning object of electrickery which bears the ‘torch and lion’ brand. What emerges when stated system expires? Sure; smoke.
Thoughts you, different Devils have been certainly at work in Nice Britain (an acronym of ‘eat mind grit’ if you happen to hadn’t observed – what zombie coined THAT?) on the loathsome mission to destroy a once-great Empire. I’ve it on good account the Board of Administrators of BSA met in secret cabals at Slumberglade Corridor, black-robed and hooded, to blood-sacrifice nubile virgins on basement frame-jigging tables. And if that feels like enjoyable to you, then you definitely too are damned to hell! The stain of Devil possesses your ideas.
The entire world understands that Lucas Industries is liable for all the pieces from no-lights British motorbikes to the truth that the English drink heat beer (‘Lucas fridges’ goes the outdated joke – too close to the reality!). Lucas alone introduced down the British Empire.
And sure, the goddamn Lucas magneto on my Velocette took a crap, once more.
(Observe: any similarities to precise titans of British business producing devilishly maddening, smoke-exhaling electrickery, is solely coincidental, and meant as satire)