Sunday 15 December 2013

Sunday 1 December 2013

Who Runs Bartertown?

The USA is the world's superpower and has been since 1991.
Since 2001 this status has been maintained and sustained by the frightful, absurd, War On Terror, which has entered its fourth administration with a bloated, clumsy state military punching wildly into its second decade.

The enemy which arrived in the nick of time to justify bellowing belligerence for a further generation, was of course, Al Quaida, which was originally a privately funded group of mentally ill people prepared to die for death's sake.

Of course, they were then threatened with death.

This reckless decade of gross overkill and mostly unwarranted intervention via foreign adventures in 'nation building' (grotesquely killing people for their own good) has been funded by background workers who took over from the flagging US economy; when over-production of bullshit and hot air led to a rebalancing of the economy in 2008, it was found that the casual, callous exploitation of China's captive workforce by international business (which thinks production is the same as whoring without conscience), had created a new giant on the world stage.
Red China.
But the US state has clung to its comfort blanket of cozy assumptions about the World Order, and looked to China to be a fat, stupid, timid cypher which would endlessly fund the 'willing' in their botched, stupid and hypocritical crusade against gun-toting savages in far off places.
The savages themselves are amazed at the embarrassing spectacle of elephants chasing a couple of ants among the millions in the dirt.

And now, China, talking softly and carrying the big economic stick, has just made the USA lose face.
The Suez Moment of the American Empire has arrived in the form of an air zone which China cannot justify, and America dare not deny.

Now all that remains is to see whether America will lose face a little, or whether China will apply lashings of clown make up and reduce the USA to a bunch of totally defeated assholes.

Believe me, they can. They can make the vaunted might of the USA fold faster than a Soviet Republic in a drinking contest with the late Boris Yeltsin.

Kerry was squirming for his new masters over Iran this week.
Get ready to see a lot more squirming.

Who runs Bartertown?

Wednesday 27 November 2013

Hey Kids! Wanna Kill People For Real?

Tired of Mortal Kombat 7 already?
Well now you can leave high school and join the elite team flying the US Drone Programme.
Within months you can go from killing pixels to killing people. Really.
But it's like gaming! And you get paid for it!

Next time you see an explosion, you know that it's for real, with instant replay to see the limbs being blasted off and the blood spilling.
But it's not a chamber of horrors, and the innocent people who die (we think only 25% of the casualties are innocent, the rest are all suspects) probably deserved it for being in the wrong place.
Their homes! Ha!
No, but honestly, there's absolutely no risk! You don't even need to go overseas. Or understand anything. Or anything.
And you absolutely will not be a murdering coward, killing people in their beds without taking any risks whatsoever. No.
You'll be a respected member of the US Armed Forces, the biggest and best Armed Forces in the world, the Armed Forces that are going places. Meeting interesting people. And killing them.
And you'll be bringing freedom to people who despise you as cowards and hate you for being murdering bullies, so you'll win every battle and lose the war.
And hey, as long as they reject our sort of freedom, we'll just tell you to kill some more.
And when you look in a mirror a few years later and see yourself, we'll provide limited medical assistance and counselling for your impending insanity.
But hey! If you make it through that, there are plenty of opportunities and subcontracts for people who say and do the right things!
And at the end of the day: you were only obeying orders.

Saturday 9 November 2013

The Amusement Of Small Minds.

Once you come to the attention of the 'state' it would seem that they hang around you.
Like a millstone, a bad smell, or a starstruck kid.

The psychopathology of the actors - dare I say agents? - in the pursuit of futility, the pursuit for pursuit's sake, could keep an army of psychiatrists uselessly employed for decades.

Take my experiences. No really, listen to this.

I was surrounded by such horror at the turn of the 90's that I wanted to draw attention to myself; I actually wanted to show the world what scum lived among us as allegedly human beings, so to inform and so to protect.

In the end I protected myself; in the end I escaped.

But when I started, yet again, from zero, I found myself wondering if I had attracted any attention during my small-chip adventure. I didn't know.
But one thing followed another, and I found myself worried all the time about my friends and family.

Sure enough, the threats - real threats - appeared to invest my paranoia with a flavour of reality.
This and this alone was all it took to drive me mad.

Now.
Every so often, something nasty appears in the (forlorn) hope of keeping me that way.
And each time it does, I get a glimpse of the truth.
1999 - I badly wanted to go to North America. Sorry, said the Co-op shop assistant at the local airport, we've run out of insurance forms.
'Please wait' said a recording of my employer's voice on the phone when I rang Manchester Airport. Then the line went dead.

You get the picture? I'm beginning to.
When I got back from North America(the plane going was delayed while two people came on board to inspect my passport - just mine), within two weeks there were three police cars in the street. They arrested me under the mental health act, presumably because the plan estimated I'd be 'mad' by then.

Forward to 2013; I took another trip to Canada. Never mind the outrageously evil look I got from the little man at the airport and a few other things I noticed, not that I give a damn any more.
No.
Last night my twitter tweets went down well with actual MP's and were favourited by the local press.
This morning my landline was busier than a Menwith Hill secret conference; when trying to ring out, I heard an American voice telling me the number was unavailable, through all the distortion.

Of course, the British now operate under a strict legal framework, as do the Americans, which is why they do each other's spying for them.

What I want to know is this: what do these demented obsessives hope to gain and/or learn?

Thursday 31 October 2013

Play The Stinking Game. Or Else.

Ender's Game is currently showing in cinemas.
I've seen the trailers. Plenty of fake reality with 'technology' and 'explosions', while Harrison Ford looks serious.

Of course, the fate of 'Humanity' (that mewling, sucking mass of helpless flesh) is at stake; they are threatened with annihilation by 'aliens', who did a half-arsed job at the first attempt.
Surprise surprise. Only the world (US) military can save us by preparing in advance for the next incompetent annihilation visit, after which presumably the aliens will get tired of blowing us up and bugger off for another 70 years.

And what is the preparation? Take a young boy and train him and train him and train him, so that he can save us.

Human sacrifice is back, Mayan style.
Except they're not bashing kids heads in on a hill to appease the gods, they're sending them out into space where we don't have to watch, hear or see, and all we have to do is trust the generals.

Sounds to me like Starship Troopers played straight.

I could be mistaken, but this looks like yet another video nasty which has no place in civilisation save as an educational tool in the study of mass neurosis.

Game over.

Monday 28 October 2013

Fine

"Do you know who I am young man?"
"No."
He took a deep draught from his beer.
"Who the Hell are you?"
"My name is Feinstein. Senator Feinstein!"
The older man paused for effect, smiling in an indulgence he was already indulging.
"Oh. Oh! Senator..."
"Feinstein. How do you do?"
"You're the guy sicking the NSA on everybody's backs right?"
He put his beer on the counter with a thud, and smiled ironically.
"I believe that our security agencies should....."
"They're not here."
"Not as such."
"Let me stand in for them."
"A-ha...ha..."
"What's in your wallet?"
"What?"
"What's in your damn wallet?"
"That's none of your business!"
"Damn right it is! I'm the TSA!"
"NSA!"
"Don't mind if I do!"
He tripped the old man up and turned him upside-down, while he protested ineffectually.
"Really! Really!" said the senator as coins, condoms and a wallet fell onto the dirty floor. Whereupon the younger man placed him on a barstool.
"Let's see what's inside eh?"
"NOoooooo!"
He slapped the senator's hand away.
Out of the wallet fell a public telephone card-advert for personal services.
"You're not supposed to see that!"
"Yes I am! I'm the TSA!"
"NSA!"
"Don't mind if I do!"
He took twenty dollars from the wallet.
"Two beers! One for me and one for my friend!"
He smiled again.
"That's a mighty fine coat you're wearing!"

Wednesday 16 October 2013

Ding Dong, Ring Out The Bells.

Harvard and Stanford say aye!
Does this mean the world is safe again?
Now the Republicrats have recovered from their schizophrenic episode and taped their hive-mind back up their arses, can little Joey run around with his dog and bb gun in the backwoods again, safe from all that ungoverned nature?

Will there be a freshly roasted chicken and a doctor in every dining room?
Will the S&P rise so high that businessmen will ascend to high ledges from the street wearing nothing but galoshes on their feet?

Will the clouds blow away, revealing the bright blue sky of a late October Summer, where unseasonal birds sing sweetly and tears no longer fall?

Yes, yes and oh yes!
When the fake president signs the bill presented by the fake politicians, which enshrines everything we hate, give or take a little trivial tinkering, then all will be well again as the US claims 'no tax rise' and the shrinking chickens are carved up by proud family men all over using Chinese cutlery.
Of course, the real trick is this: the US can borrow a lot more. They are printing money to buy their own bonds. This means that they are burying inflation under cover of a gigantic asset grab.
And that is the nasty secret they hope to prolong for one more year.

Show's over, chaps. Pick up your cans and pizza boxes, make a space for next year's comedy.
Only next year, the pizza ration will be smaller, the beer weaker, it will all cost more, and you will all be getting healthier.

Tuesday 8 October 2013

Debt Default? Perish The Thought.

The news companies are doing what they do, dramatising facts that haven't happened yet, spreading fear and despondency over the potential for the US government's budget tiff to become a real item which threatens a 'debt default' in the near future.

The US government is playing along, sticking to the script and dramatising things like war memorials and National Parks.
Obviously without government, nature becomes a vicious man-trap that people must avoid, and the war-dead will rise again and start killing afresh.

It's all so predictable it could have been scripted by a Hollywood hack writer who is jaundiced by making screaming turds look like heroes on the Silver Screen, and now wants to make the screaming turds riding America into the sunset of Freedom look like heroes.

Sit down on the porch or in front of the TV with your six-pack Americans; order that pizza and relax.
The nation ( and the world of course) will be reliably saved by the third act, no need to worry, the only thing you have to wonder about is the twist, the false ending, the bit where the true hero and the true villain are revealed.

But hey, don't sweat it. The audience gets to vote on who has the most talent at the end of the series in 2016 and the current favourite won't be back whatever happens.

Meanwhile the bastards wield the Tofu fist in the Titanium glove behind the scenes, making sure that the hard sell goes down.

Don't worry if you don't want to buy. They aren't fussy, they'll take your money anyway, so long as you like aircraft carriers and leaders like foreign junkets.

Monday 26 August 2013

Anti-Emery.

In Canada, an activist, now in an American prison, called Marc Emery, is credited with ending the prohibition on Sunday trading in Ontario.

Regardless, during the 80's, the UK underwent a similar, if more official and more integrated removal of trade restraints, with the end of 'half-day early closing' and the ban on Sunday trading.

Essentially, people could live 7 days a week instead of 5 and a half, and not get caught out when milk, or tea, or food ran short.

Also the mass of people who work now had a full weekend to sort their purchasing out.

In Canada, this revolution was started by small businesses; however, I found something interesting in a major British city today.

Today is a bank holiday, another of those days when the banks are shut to the public(as they are most of the time, meaning that people who wish to visit must either go to a Saturday opening branch or take time off from work).

I was hunting trousers, Austin Reed trousers.
When I got into the city, all the small businesses were shut and deserted.
But not Austin Reed.
And there is the contrast with Canada.

In the UK, liberalisation was led by big business. In Canada by small.

And that is what happens when a coherent, top-down political change takes effect, rather than a strangled, victimised protest movement.

I guess that in Canada, the 'workers' have so many protections and guarantees from their wonderful, hand-in-hand benefactors in big business, the unions and the government, that once they get a job, they could be too precious to actually have to do anything.

I could be wrong.

Only one way to find out.

Sunday 18 August 2013

Welcome Back 1933

Do you think it's all right now?
Eighty years have passed.
Do you think they've forgotten by now?

All those millions who fought and died.

All those millions who were murdered.

Do you think it's safe for us to act without shame or irony or conscience, now that the heroes of that other age are mostly dead?

'Lest we forget.'

We've forgotten. We praise the actors, the bombers and killers; we praise the actions, the violence and the death.
We praise these because the stinking powers-that-be still have use for international murder.

But we forget the cause.

This week the bastards-that-be carried out a little experiment.

A judge ordered the compulsory sterilisation of a mentally impaired man, who could and has fathered children.
Apparently he has wit enough to charm a woman into his bed.

But the judge deemed it for his own good that he be surgically sterilised.

Welcome back to 1933; the Nazis are in their castles and busy sterilising the mentally deficient.

Sorry, heroes. This is Britain.
You fought and died in the War for nothing. They are coming out of hiding as your vigilance wanes.

Wednesday 19 June 2013

The Grasping Proletariat

In a leger de main worthy of a master, and constantly repeated for a hundred years or more, the proletariat has been portrayed as those innocent, unassuming people who live happily enough, provided no disasters befall them.

It may be there are many people such as this, people who are chosen because they aren't objectionable.

But the people that the champions of the proletariat really sponsor are quite different.
Long before they lay claim to other people's property, they lay claim to their lives, all the while maintaining the illusion of innocence.

This commonality of prurient, grasping intruders is pathologically loyal to the people who feed all their various greeds, from greed for other people's personal events to greed for other people's food, drink, clothes, televisions, money and houses.
In fact, the only time the client proles overthrow their masters is when another, greedier hypocrite offers them enhanced shiny things from the world of the outsiders.

These people aren't necessarily the majority, at least not at the beginning; but as the chosen people of the hypocritical classes, pretty soon their game becomes the only game in town.
And so they set the stage for places like modern Britain, where the voters stumble from disillusion to disillusion, hoping for the 'good years' of plentiful cheap stuff, and ejecting the master race when the cash runs out.
Choice becomes a confusing competition between people who promise more of the domestic loot and people who promise the loot of other countries, the debate centring around no principle other than 'the economy', with everybody except those people who are the economy having everything to say.

But the circus that the proletariat feeds on more than any other is the diabolical circus that makes its victims into bogey men that the greedy masses can obssess about, bogey men that the actual victims are shoe-horned into, by hook or by crook, by the declining 'kingmaker' class.

And their decline is now part of the frenzy, they are being fed to the masses too, but slowly and grudgingly, lest prurience turn to outrage which the grateful rulers cannot fully control.

And wouldn't that be a shame?

Sunday 26 May 2013

The War On Self Esteem

All over the world, in schools, offices, factories in fact, everywhere, there is a war going on.
It is a guerilla war.

The guerillas are those who rebel, occasionally, in some small way, against the lead-weight of oppressive dictation, on behalf of their own self-esteem.

These rebellions are small, such as mockery of one who is in authority, the victory passing. And on top of it all, the rulers of countries, mocked by the press that put them there, in order to suborn you.


This isn't a matter of authority alone; authority, when exercised clearly, leads to the achievement of a particular vision, with all the responsibility that that entails.

No. What we have today is an evil soup, a liquification of minds and identities, which seeks to destroy people in detail by making them believe they have authored their own destruction.

So when some bastard tries to impose his authority, not with a statement, but with your conviction, with the need to have you believe that you have chosen to accept his lead because you agree, not because you have a job to do and need clear guidelines, then you will feel yourself being gradually driven out of your own mind, with your sense of self replaced by a sense of someone else's self.

The more you wonder what they are up to, the longer they do it, and the more damage they will do, which is in fact what motivates them.

You must be passive in the extreme. Argue against them, when they feign to discuss, but accept their authority.
These people cannot match their own status, which is why they seek your sanction.

I spent years doing dumb work; I was on strike. But even my status as a dumb labourer was too much for them to take. They would pursue me in every detail to the stage that they looked ridiculous and everybody could see it.
Obviously they blamed me for that and hated me even more.

We are heading for a world where self-esteem is sniffed out, persecuted and murdered in every sense and on even the pettiest of levels. This world will exist as a place for time-served boredom, where the bastards will not wish or need to make the mistake of another Soviet Union to rebel against, but rather turn our own minds into the Gulags and imprison our perished spirits in a living death.

No smoking.
No drinking.
No real food.

Keep the spirit depressed and the mind occupied.

That's how they lock us in. For our own good.

Wednesday 22 May 2013

Lumpen Agility

A few years ago, I read the books on Agile, a methodology in software development.
What it boils down to is common sense, applied more or less.
A number of tools and methods is laid out, together with rules for using them, but the one golden rule is this: you should use enough of the methods that you get the job done comfortably, and only to an appropriate level.

Rigidity is frowned on, the system is flexible.

Hence 'Agile'.

Then the idiots got to hear about this new methodology, that works wonders as long as they follow the rules.

Beats thinking any day.

And so they apply the methods with evangelical zeal, enforcing as many methods as they can, and driving talent up the wall in the mystical belief that obedience breeds success.

And so the working day is turned into a living Hell for thousands of bean-counter victims.

And I avoid any situation which comes with the buzzword 'Agile'.

Tuesday 21 May 2013

Weather Indicators linux

I love Ubuntu Linux.
However, there are just three weather indicator options I can see; the standard weather indicator(which has been quietly dropped from the latest Ubuntu), which cannot add locations, then there's 'my-weather-indicator', which does nasty things to your mouse pointer and crashes, and finally 'stormcloud', which has been dropped also, and which actually demanded $2.99 to tell you the weather in Kuala Lumpur. And only Kuala Lumpur.

Word to the wise: if you developed this shit, why? Are you, like, only 7 years old and trying to con teacher? What the fuck are you on you useless wastes of neurons, blood and skin?

Oh, and all the shills trying to tell me on their websites you 'only' have to 'this' to get weather indicators 'working great', you're liars. Do you know what the word means?

Wednesday 15 May 2013

America

I've just included The Daily Caller in links.

Sunday 12 May 2013

Manchester United

I am sick of seeing the unpleasant, stupid, ugly gum-chewing sack of crap known as Alex Ferguson parading in front of grown men wearing shorts and acting like teenagers, for money, so that he can steal some more glory.

He is backed by limitless cash and all the gravy train that it can buy, solely in order to grasp a few miserable consolations from the endless minutes of boredom-with-a-ball which the news channels insist on talking up every week.

All this so that idiots can have something to talk about when they should be working.

Friday 10 May 2013

The End Of The Affair.

Earlier this week a beautiful, international bromance came to an untimely end.

Things were said, stands were taken, and relations broke down.
It's a tragedy. Lovely people, lovely family, wonderful bro, but in the end he went a different way to me, in a manner which was all too predictable.

When a nice guy can't kick out someone who is insinuating his way into the brotherhood, then it's because he's too nice.
When I shoot first and ask questions later like a character from a Gary Larson cartoon, people aren't impressed.

But maybe they aren't so nice when they blame me for everything turning to crap.
So adieu.
Stay healthy and wealthy old pal, and try to be a little wiser as we all do.

Tuesday 9 April 2013

Monday 8 April 2013

Saturday 6 April 2013

Vive La Difference.


These are (not mine) photos of the late Sophie Lancaster. She was in the news again recently after her murder in 2007 prompted Manchester Police to start considering Emos and Goths as minorities protected by Hate-Crime legislation.

Sophie was a Goth. It was a choice she made to appear in a certain way (look at the cheerful girl with red dreads).
She took 13 days to die after being kicked and stamped on. There were five assailants. She was attempting to comfort her gravely injured boyfriend.

Quite what these assailants thought they were doing is something I cannot fathom.
I understand many forms of evil, but have no comprehension of such creatures.
In my opinion they are like rabid dogs and should be put down.

I also know that such savages are common in this country. Go into any town and you will see them. Generally to avoid being hurt it is only necessary to 'back down' from yourself in some small way.

But you cannot change your appearance that easily, which, apparently, is enough for the animals.

Meanwhile, I was going to write about the creatures that think they are progressive, the defenders of civilisation against the animals, the natural-dyed, organic-munching, leather-rejecting trolls who infiltrate the professions and try to occupy positions of authority.

When reduced to their naked form, they are no different to the animals, they are opposite sides of the same coin that attempt to incite and control the savages. They seek out new empires of thuggery to attach their petty social-metaphysical outrage to, so to beat down those people who offend against their definitions of what is permissible and harmless; they cannot abide different values, however peacefully held, and fuel the embers that spit out animals like the ones above by applying perverted civics to all in the attempt to destroy the few.

I do understand these a little.

They act out of fear.

So sorry for all the Sophies of the world. This is all the help I can manage right now.

Monday 1 April 2013

Non-Threatening.

I'm enjoying a bottle of Fuller's 'London Pride' bitter.
I've been served this on flights from SFO, but when you buy a bottle you really taste the excellent bitter beer this is.

Brewed in the Chiswick Brewery on the South Bank of the Thames; I'm glad to see it still going strong.

In the eighties, to get the hell away from people, I'd wait till low tide and wander down to the bridge, past O'Riordan's Bar ( I never did try to claim a free drink there), and go down to the bank.

I'd walk for a mile along the South beach. It wasn't too muddy here. I felt as I always did; I felt as though I was walking through history.
Unlike my trips through Southwark, much further downstream, I didn't find evidence of war and crime, bullet casings, bullets(!), and the general detritus of the Blitz.
No.
Passing through the Kew Bridge area, I found freshwater shellfish, living in the newly 'clean' river.
I never ate them.
But they grew there.

As one reached the mile mark, the point at which the river was an outside bend scoured by the water, with no more beach, one found a ramp.

Up this ramp, was a public house.

A Fuller's public house.

Where one could satisfy the thirst one had worked up with a pint of London Pride.

London as it once was.

Saturday 16 March 2013

Threatening Weather

So you receive verbal instructions.
You follow the verbal instructions because you've been told that's your job.

You do it.

You update with a written progress report.

The instructor replies with an abusive teardown, implying you haven't done your job.
Can't do your job.

Copies in your boss.

You reply immediately with the truth.

Copy in your boss.

I have realised that by doing as I'm told my abilities and performance have suffered.

Made an official complaint.

The instructor goes 'sick'.

Nobody much seems perturbed.

There is a pattern. This sort of thing happens every time I'm financially ready to make a move on my own plans.

They usually try to destroy me in detail, try to eradicate the values I hold and the ability to hold them.

Or lose me my job, to make me consume my resources. Or just steal them anyway.

Now; they can't steal them. They can't reach me. I'm fighting them at work, and I think I'll win.

So what next? Cold-blooded murder? Watch this space.

Sunday 3 March 2013

Reuters Redundant

No more Reuters on this site. They got too much wrong too often. Or maybe they were liars. Anyway, they're gone.

Saturday 2 March 2013

The IT Jobs Board

Worthless spammers who will not go away.
They've been spamming me daily for ten years.
I hit 'unsubscribe' on each site and in every way.
I wrote the owners an email explaining that I was a truck driver.
Nothing has any effect on their SPAM.


Friday 22 February 2013

The Essence Of Mediocrity.

In this country at least, a man who enjoys life is under siege; his happiness is constantly equated with foolishness.

If he likes laughter he's a fool.

If he likes jokes, he's a fool.

When he amuses himself by being amusing, the scum around him try their worst to 'prove' that he is somehow doing it for their benefit, to amuse them.
From this springs the estimate that he, like them, has no self esteem rather than great self esteem.

From that they progress to open contempt, laughing with derision, not amusement.

And since the root of all invention and all talent is amusing yourself, they try to crush all talent.

Their minds are the microscopic robots producing the grey goo of conformity, fear and disguise.

They are the storm troops of mediocrity.

And they rule, even in the last refuges of industrial endeavour.

Sunday 17 February 2013

Lest We Forget?

Think back.
I know I did. I thought back to 2000.
I was forced to think back by watching an episode of 'Star Trek: Enterprise', on PickTV. I was taken back to those few years straddling the event.

The event being the insanity of the World Trade Center in New York City in 2001.

Since the eighties, Western Civilisation had flowed, once more set in the presumption of progress, a stream running from the bravery which led to the collapse of Communism all the way to 2001, to the future, a time which would come sooner rather than later.

This future was awaited with hope and confidence in its eventual triumph.

It was a time of great hope and expectation.

Then what the Hell? A bunch of savages administered a wound to a great Western city.
Suddenly, leaders all over the world but especially George W. Bush, admitted the bad counsel which would, rather than brush aside and crush this impertinence under the weight of our unstoppable progress, lead to our being consecrated to a sacrifice.

We were told that we would bring peace.
The wars go on.

We were told that we would build nations;
we have destroyed our own.

We were girded for a fantasy 'War On Terror', which in our names killed and killed and brought terror to millions, without once visiting justice on the strongholds of evil.

In a cold war with nothing and no-one to fear, our leaders' rank timidity only served to embolden evil everywhere.

While thousands of new technical ideas were devoted to the science of assassination, not one ounce of sense or one original idea was brought to bear on the chronic, incredible cowardice and stupidity of the war carried out in our name.

And such was is our festering dismay at the murder of Western progress, we fail to see that terror begins at home, and that we must eject every last one of the guilty parties before we can dare begin again to think of a future.

Wednesday 13 February 2013

Happy Duchess.

Kate Windsor is in the news again.
The Italians have some pictures of her in a bathing costume which shows her 'baby-bump'.

I have to say that the (non-controversial)picture used in the Telegraph to illustrate the story is very pleasant, showing a happy, relaxed, contented and healthy young woman.

Reputedly, the photographs being disputed are in the same vein; if so then I don't see how there can be any problem.

Of course, her idiot lawyer actually claims that she 'has the right to say who sees her body'.

Bullshit, of course.
She actually has the same right as the rest of the world; the right to wear clothes, and choose those clothes.

I dare say there are, among the royal parasite industry, those who think we should all avert our gazes, or expect to be blinded with red hot irons.

Let's hope there are some fresh ideas behind Kate's fresh face.

Sunday 10 February 2013

Obscenity

Telegraph Photos
These photographs from North Korea, by a Swedish tourist, demonstrate the obscene evil of that country as it exists.

Under free, blue skies, we see the heel stamping out the human spirit wherever it threatens to surface.

Soldiers guard farmers from their own ability to associate while working in the fields. They work with medieval hand tools. While the country aspires to nuclear missiles from space, it cannot feed itself because they dare not allow even the minimum competence necessary.
Supplies for the farmers are brought down dirt tracks by women pushing bicycles against the backdrop of a village of communal homes guarded by a giant, concrete blockhouse, the keep of the oppressors.

There is an eight-lane highway with potholes and almost no traffic, being repaired by the manual labour of women. Soldiers clean roads.

Ordinary slaves in the city stare at immense statues of the diseased non-entities that brought hell into existence for the millions of their victims.
Presumably, if they fail to spend a long enough period in contemplation of the crooks, they are removed to the Korean Gulag to die with hundreds of thousands of other victims.

Spit on the cursed memory of this benighted hell-hole.

Friday 1 February 2013

The War On Bullshit

A miserable specimen blew himself up at the American Embassy in Turkey.
Killed himself and a security guard.

Twenty years ago, this would have been a by-line.

Twenty years ago, people would have thought, 'what a nutter, what a putz' and got on with life.

But today?

After a decade of the bullshit 'war on terror', we are all officially expected to pay attention and quake in our boots.

And this is what we are supposed to be; the willing victims, sorry, clients, of a world government consensus which exists to protect us, for our benefit of course.

We are supposed to watch and soak up the pantomime, and have *an opinion* about this nothing, so that when another load of futility is dropped on a wedding party, or another collection of paid assassins, sorry, soldiers, goes and kills people in their own country, we cheer and are cheered by the spectacle.

Well I'm sorry. When the Sky News reporter talks about the Benghazi attack and says 'America blamed Al Queda', that is a lie, and that is evidence that all this 'response' is scripted to magnify and justify the ongoing state intervention.

Because I KNOW that America blamed a YouTube video. I heard them.

So, pull the other one.
The 'war on terror' is a total crock.

Tuesday 29 January 2013

Diseases That Aren't

I don't get hurt. I get unhappy.
I don't use the word 'depressed', because although that is the accurate word, describing as it does a general lowering of human functions, it is used by trained idiots, divorced from context and meaning.

In other words, they talk about the effect (depression) as though it had no cause or reason, and this is quite honestly a load of delusional bollocks.

If my wife dies for no reason, and I am happy, even though I love her, that is mental illness.
If I am depressed, that is normal.

If the depression lasts years, that is normal.

Depression is not an illness, especially one they regard as 'validly causated' or some such rubbish; it is normal, it is a part of life, and death.

So I am depressed today. Because I sent a book to someone and it was sent back.
In fact, it was probably due to the lack of a customs declaration on the envelope(it wasn't just a book), but if it happens a second time, there will be no escaping it.

I won't be depressed tomorrow.

I may be a little, who knows? But I won't be taking pharmaceutical drugs to destroy the causal link between my value judgements and the reality of events.

I will not acquire mental illness on behalf of 'health'.

Wednesday 16 January 2013

Oh, Bama.

Having watched the television news for a while this evening, I was treated to the sight of the US President perched behind a teeny little writing desk, with a background of (specially selected) 'cute' children.

Presumably this cretinous pantomime, where he high-fived the kids before sitting down and giving some pieces of paper a jolly good signing, the more to show him being a man of action, was designed to impress total bloody halfwits worldwide.

Never mind; by the already lamentably low standards of junior school show and tell, this was a real tonic for the troops.

And therein lies the truth of this piece of theatrical child abuse; it is designed to appeal only to the sing-song-leading, activism-spouting, green-credentialled youth camp leading perpetual adolescents of his caucus, and nobody else.

His contempt for the actual adults of America is roaring its message by the ritual ignorance of their existence.

This man makes me embarrassed for the entire country.

Saturday 12 January 2013

Duck-ess.

Once again the media channels of all types have been filled with fawning, sycophantic shite as the new portrait of the Duckess Of Cambridge is presented to the world.
For those not appraised of the situation, the Duckess is a somewhat bony, hatchet-faced young lady, attractive in the sense of a mass-produced Chelsea Party Girl way, with carefully manicured eyebrows that youth cannot prevent from turning into drawn on stitches when she is ten years older, the inevitable product of starvation diets and over-preening.

But, being more generous, she looks 'nice', if a little manic, and is surely enjoying life as the future queen with an appetite for celebrity which is only matched by the now-traditional media obsessions with what she's wearing, how she looks, and whether she is producing her little arse off for the dynasty.

As reward for being used as an unbloodied human sacrifice for the remaining supporters of the establishment, she has been turned into an icon.

And what an icon.

The person in the painting is grimacing through the wizening effects of the years with lined dotage showing in her 45 year old face, thus seeking to bridge the gap by falsely imbuing her with the aged virtues of the present queen, much as North Korea might reference its founding father by including his image in icons of the current putz-in-chief.
In an attempt to turn this vacant, ordinary young woman into a touchstone of future stability, they have mutated her by about fifteen years and a species gap into a comfort blanket for the future.

Nice try.

Didn't work.

Friday 11 January 2013

Give Peas A Chance.

I have remained happily remote from the particulars of Piers Morgan and his one man crusade to reconquer the USA.
However it becomes apparent from the noise being generated by the press and public in the States that Morgan is just another of these supercilious gobshites who are exported with regularity after they become deluded that their talent must be shared with a wider world so to mould it more in the image of their England.

This latter-day colonialism is a constant source of embarrassment to me when overseas, as my accent frequently marks me as one of their compatriots; imagine my horror when friendly Americans immediately start apologising for the achievements of their country in deference to my 'Englishness', that much-exploited and entirely unfounded quality which lives on only in the sentiment of foreigners.

Who exploits it? Piers Morgan. Jeremy Paxman. A few people such as wrestlers and actors who have a persona to project. The government. The Royal Family. And so on.

Exploitation. Cold blooded and as subtle as a bludgeon or a stiletto, depending on how much is opportune at any time.

What is particularly disgusting about Piers Morgan's fraud is how readily he went to accusations of stupidity, assertions of 'superior intellect'(by virtue of his clothing budget and accent) and faked outrage.

These have ever been the tools of our English oppressors when confounded by the power of reason, and have been and still are the methods used to banish the mind from seeing the truth about the pure thuggery of British rule in Britain.

When the real world sees through one of these clowns, they are on the path to truth.

Don't let sentiment stand in your way.

Tuesday 8 January 2013

Christmas Is Over.

Christmas 2012 ended today at 11 am.
At a church in Cardiff we celebrated the life of my late cousin.
When she died on Christmas Eve, she left the holiday hanging over us until 'all other business' had been taken care of.

In this way, she touched us all one, last time, somewhat incredibly making this Christmas her last even though she couldn't be here.

It was a more memorable time, rather than one which should be forgotten, and the image of her bright, smiling face, will forever be associated in our memories with Christmas 2012.

Her children, crying in the church as they paid tribute, crying again as the little coffin made its way to the burial ground, now have no reason to doubt the common sympathy and support of hundreds of people they barely know.

So long Gill.