Poor Sod.

Poor guy.
That's his job gone.
And with the publicity, probably most other jobs.
And in any case, he wouldn't get one as good as being a pilot for a flag-carrier.
Should've been a cushy number. Let's hope Air Canada reassigns him to something else. Assuming he gets past the crisis.

Revolutions Are So Circular.

The 'Post-War Consensus' is one of those reassuring, cozy illusions that was designed to foster imaginary legions of loyal subjects, loyal to the pretence that there were governments of wise men always ready to act decisively (as only governments can) to end any nightmare that might threaten our idiot's paradise.
So long as the USSR and Warsaw Pact existed, this could never quite take hold; not if one government of 'wise men' was perpetually at the throats of the others.

But like any disease, when you don't finish the course of anti-biotics, it waits in the wings to come rushing back after the crisis passes.

So, when this overriding doubt due to the Soviets led to the Freedom movements of the Eighties, here and in America, the victory of Freedom was morphed into the victory of the 'West', that all inclusive definition of 'freedom' that presumes on the imagined generosity of the Free; then this became 'Western Democracy', the flight from conflict, the escape from victory leading to an avoidance of the need to define at all.
Thence to the stodgy, meaningless repetition of plain 'Democracy', the totem word in any tyrant's verbal arsenal, the noise he emits to convince the easily convinced that he is 'still on our side'.
And the string of wars and invasions goes on, and the world slips into a full circle move, so that we are all members of the greater Soviet whether we realise it or not; and 'wise men' in big governments still try to take credit.
But there is nothing left to take credit for, so they dream up imaginary success to take credit for, dancing a media-frenzy Polka without partners and with fewer and fewer slaves taking notice.
And living in a bigger and bigger slave pen.

So What?

Obama wins a primary
So what?
Does the fact that this unfortunate individual and his mare wander about on a stage, grinning dozily and raising their hands to the crowd mean that they have acheived something worthwhile?
Hell, no.
Is he an ordinary human being driven to endure this process for the sake of some overriding moral impulse, some undeniable principle?
Hell no.
Has he come from a hard day's work, cursed by the sight of an overawing injustice, to protest his virtue in spite of a corrupt and unsympathetic world?
Hell no.
He's just a chocolate-drop coloured politician cashing in on the desperation of 'Democrats' to stoop to the level of their own racial rhetoric, to garner a few more votes on the gamble that if he wins, his presumed 'Uncle Tom' naivety will render him controllable.


Hell no.
Not again.

Let's All Be 'Offended'.

Back in the eighties I lodged in a house in Tooting, Sarf Landan.
One morning I decided to fry up some bacon for breakfast.
Down came the resident Mohammedan, rushing to open the windows and let in some fresh air.
He was like a maniac.
Apparently he knew what the smell of bacon was.
So that made him a sinner, right?
Because he 'knew' bacon already.
I had a marvellous wee breakfast.
Then the resident scotsman came down and attempted to sing an abusive song he made up on the spot, called 'Sad Old Red'.
Apparently it was about my red jacket.
What wonderful, friendly people one meets in London.
In case they are reading now,
1)Go and get back in your room, you sad bastard, and stop buggering about while I'm preparing my food. ENGLISH breakfast includes BACON, you fucking wanker.
2)Fuck off back to Glasgow, if they'll have you, you useless waste of flesh, and stop trying to bother people who couldn't give half a shit about your miserable personality, you cunt.

Yes.
I'm normal, and THEY offended ME.
So BAN them!

Didn't The Wall Used To Say.....

Four legs good, two legs bad?


Tonight was a classic episode of Dad's Army on BBC2.
But the gerrimandering of history - even fictional history - proceeded regardless of the humour of the episode.
In tonight's original episode, there was a mass brawl between the Dad's Army veterans and the advance guard of the US army.
It was a highlight.
It was hilarious.

It was removed.

Newspeak?

It doesn't take a law. The bastards roll over for the fake status quo without even being asked.

Breakfast of the Gods.

On the left, a small tub of Crab. On the right, a large tub of Bandarellas.
Mmm, seafood-tastic......grooooooourghhhhhhhhhhh.

Heroes. Not To Be Confused With The Modern Version

So my 85 year-old step dad was talking.
He doesn't talk much. Not about the war.
But he was talking.
He was flying a four-engine heavy back in 1944 on a raid over Germany.
The plane was hit by a night-fighter and the undercarriage was wrecked.
He took it down to the deck and tried to fly under radar all the way home.
They were hit by a second fighter over Holland.
The wireless-op caught it in the face and had to be strapped in a bunk so he didn't fall out the hole.
The tail-end gunner also got hit and wsa strapped in a bunk.
Step-Dad(the pilot) was hit in the head and right hand, and was bleeding.
All the navigational instruments were shot out, but the navigator was a genius and got them back to Lincoln, crossing the North Sea at wavetop height.
Step dad got on the radio to home base.
They told him to head out to sea and ditch.
He refused.
He belly-landed on the home base.
They all survived.
The radio-op was in hospital for 8 months.Step dad got the DFC. The navigator got the DFM, on his recommendation.

That is what a real hero is.
British Airways?
Just doing their bloody jobs.

Driving Song!

Courtesy of NannyKnowsBest.
If you've ever done the Gipton run......

Pietr's Wisdom

Apparently if you conspire to murder and kidnap people in a foreign country you get 17 years in prison.
Or is that 8 years in the White House?

Maggie's Wisdom.

"Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren't."
(From Great Quotes from Great Leaders,ISBN 1-56414-286-6)

I Agree.

With the Parents of the victim.

Set The Record Straight.

All my 'hatred' of London; looking at the Sweeney today, I saw every single thing I liked about London when I liked London.
London is full of filth.
It's also (or used to be) full of geysers who were working men, honest tryers, the unstoppable, the guys who found a hole they could live in(such as a Commissionaires position or a quiet technical guy somewhere) and stick at it, offering sympathy and friendliness to the passing outsiders such as me.
I could have called it a draw.
I could have shared the foxhole.
Londoners, bless em.
The real Londoners. I could have been one. I could have been a toff with my education. I could have joined the big old world and made a difference.
I'm doing it now.
But back in the day, I led where nobody wanted to go.
And got spat out.
Yeah.
I'd love to love London.
Back in the 80s it was still a great city.

Racialist America - The Thin End Of The Wedge

In certain parts of the USA, men of a certain age and type sponsor and guide the efforts of certain other men of a younger age.
They are the wise old guys, the good old boys, the semi-intelligent operators who exist in a state of more-or-less cunning.
They don't advocate Nazism.
They just don't particularly like 'Jews'(whatever the hell that means).
They don't preach Black Slavery.
They just don't particularly like 'Blacks'(whatever the hell they are).
They like to dream romantic dreams of the South in the US Civil War; they have a whole collection of writers and broadcasters promoting these fantasies of honour and propriety, with the silent subtext that hey, maybe slavery was okay right?
No not right.
More like, they had slavery but.
They then go on to say what wonderful sausages and beer the Germans make, and what a wonderful time their late brother had in the AEF in Germany after the war.
But they don't mention the mass murder. It's so stupendous you have to laugh, or else you'd cry.
And laugh you do, with a whole industry sprouting up in the production of pro-Nazi, murder-trivialising humour.

Keep an eye out for it.
It is growing like a cancer.

Far Be It From Me....

To boast about my new-found prosperity, but here is a picture, taken tonight, in the warehouse where I keep my classic car.
I'll take it out when Spring comes.

The Creep's Argument

Also known as the creep's trick.
Back in the eighties, the offshoots of the fifties CND movement started applying their nursery school mentality to real-world problems.
Under the assumption that the world is 'their' world more than it belongs to people that make weapons, serve in the forces, and are generally prepared to fight for it, they damn these people yet at the same time attempt to imbue them with superior conscience, by simple fact of expecting them to taake notice of their noise and words rather than opposition.
And of course, don't forget the usual property infringements.

Far from being peaceful, these people( the CND-types) are the storm-troopers in the vanguard of the infantilisation of life; they are absolutely the products of a socialised world, playing as they do, the part of whining victim, waiting for someone(ie the state) to wipe their noses and their arses after they have thrown a dirty tantrum.

In asserting that the state is superior to the individual, they are the allies of every Communist or other dictatorship the world has ever seen.
They seek not to avoid war, but to render it unnecessary by surrender in advance.

So. This Is A Klingon Bird Of Prey?

Some of you may remember the episode of Star Trek where Riker becomes second in command of a Klingon ship.
Today I realised that I am now serving aboard such a vessel.
Oh yes, they all look human, but they are Klingons; you see, software engineers or 'softies' are actually Klingons.
This morning I had a favourable two hour meting with the captain.
And so at lunch I was joined by two female Klingons who were behaving exactly as in that particular episode of Star Trek TNG; one or both?
A gentleman would never tell.
But the sudden attention was most gratifying.

Time To Put The Toys Back In The Pram.

Sorry about that.
But the ploughman's they used to serve really was that good.

'Life' In The Whore Of Europe

Ye olde picturesque streetey. Where stone walls boast their indifference to passers by and progress stopped with the installation of brick chimneys in Victorian days. Whoo-hoo.

Dorchester Castle is a Victorian fake which used to guard the entrance to the barracks of Dorchester Garrison. Today the buildings are for the council offices. The soldiers of the garrison used to defend the strategic South Coast areas from the threat of invading French or Germans; today the local government ants occupying the barracks do the invaders wishes and we all have to conform.

Ever imaginative, the locals get into their cars on a Sunday and drive about a bit. There must be some reason for it, but I don't know what that is. Note 'ye olde' surveillance camera standing in the middle of the roundabout.


An old church where you can imagine you are Tess Of The D'Ubervilles. If you like that sort of thing.

This used to be the best pub in town. They used to do the best thing in Dorchester, namely a sublime Ploughman's Lunch. They weren't doing it today; they are under new management.
The last time I did actually manage to get a meal, it was also under new management, and it wasn't nearly as good.
For the sake of a few pennies, they have destroyed the business.
But hey, this is Englitz!


The beer is still quite good. But I don't drive 10 miles for beer. I can get good beer almost anywhere. They were doing roast dinners today. I didn't want a roast dinner. England. Where the people dream that one day they will be able to say 'no' to someone, the misers paradise where denial of the goods is the business.
The alternative was this pub, which makes a big deal about being for 'humans'.
The staff weren't.
They were also selling roast dinners, for two pounds more, and they don't brew their own beer.
So I walked out after some casual rudeness from the owner.
I eventually found an abuse-free pub on the High Street, where I had a coca cola and sat.
They had no food at all. Apparently, in England, if you don't eat crow, you don't eat.
Some people believe that England has changed beyond all recognition. If it has, it has only been the demise of the few, friendly, quality service people that actually understood what made good business, and their replacement by ruptured little snobs trying to screw every buck they can because they hate their work and everybody else and simply want to retire to some ideal of uselessness and depravity as soon as they possibly can and to hell with the people that pay for it.
Fuck this for a game of cards.
I'm going to emigrate somewhere just as soon as I possibly can.

I Stand Corrected.

Actually, Mike Huckabee is in favour of abolishing income tax and the IRS.
It was just that his website didn't really make that clear, and made him sound like Kodos.

Yet More Channel Four!

Gosh! It looked so interesting.
Back in 1980 my friends and I agreed that if the Rooskies ever rolled over the border, it would be before the Tornados entered full service.
That meant 1983 to 1985, when the 'plane gap' was biggest.

In fact war was supposed to have come close in 1983 when Exercise Able Archer (by NATO) was confused with a war mobilisation (by the Warsaw Pact).

Channel Four is doing a documentary now.
It started with stock footage of the CND protests, guaranteed to make any Hoobs fan misty-eyed.
Then the re-enactment began, so we had to rely on a narrator and a few veterans of the exercise.

NATO has always called them 'exercises', and that is what they have always been.
But you guessed it, Channel Four (the comforter of the gullible) called it 'War Game', to imply infantilism and dubious competence.

Then they tried to set the scene.
Apparently 1983 was 'an all time low' in Soviet-Western relations.

Not 1949 and the Berlin airlift, when shots were fired.
Not Hungary in 1956 when the tanks rolled in.
Not Cuba in 1962, when military action was taken.
Not 1967 when Soviet troops were in action in the Six Day War.
Not 1968 when Poland was crushed again.
Not 1979 when the Rooskies invaded Afghanistan.

No.
1983. Because it's our programme and we want to sound important, and because we say so.

Oh, fuck off.
Channel Four? Pull the other one, love, it's got bleeding bells on.

Ugly Betty.

Ugly Betty stopped three weeks ago.
There was no announcement on C4.
There is no announcement on the C4 website.
There is no announcement on the ABC website.
These stupid cunts(yes cunts) have said absolutely nothing. They seem to be in some sort of pathetic denial state or trance that prevents them from making a clear statement.
They are hoping their fans will not notice that 'Ugly Betty' and its continuing marketing juggernaut has everything going for it except, well, Ugly Betty.

This is the fact:
Ugly Betty is off our screens because of the Writer's Guild strike which started in New York and has now spread across America.
While the lurking creeps might have been thinking of treating us like idiots by bringing in blackleg writers, this won't happen because the show's cast supports the strike.

The employers reveal themselves as scum by the way they treat us, the paying, viewing, public.
They can't even be bothered to post a notice on the website.
Even assuming the website writers are also on strike, how hard can it be to write one measly line of HTML?

A Message From Our Alien Overlords.

If you were to actually read the New York Times, you'd think that there was no such person as Ron Paul.