Ever Get The Feeling?

It has been said in so many ways by so many people. Listen to some of the songs of the Stranglers, or Elvis Costello for example.
But do you ever get the feeling that the bastards are looking at you?

I had a jewish girlfriend; some random guy at work starts talking in obscene detail about jewish girls, it never happened before or since.
I wrote a warning letter to a girl called 'Kate' (the rape-militia has itchy fingers, all the way from New York down to Africa - Rolling Stones ), and the following week one morning driving down a deserted street, a car cut me up, with a bumper-sticker saying 'Kate came first'.
This month a French girl was nice to me, and in the pub we moved onto half an hour later with the group, I hear a group of blokes start telling insulting jokes about the French.
Now some of it could be bad luck; some of it could be coincidence. But not all of it.

That's not possible. You see, I am a dangerous man. I once challenged orthodoxy with my fists, and orthodox thuggery is useful to those who really control modern British society, the society of Atlas Shrugged or the wood-tossing creeps of Rostand's Paris.
Here they do whatever it takes to keep us under control, usually not much, as to them there is the matter of their humanitarian illusions.
But they are ever present, and will keep on working just as long as it takes to reduce us to compliant little slugs; slugs ruled by slags, with smiles bared at us only to emphasise their withdrawal should we fail to be good little boys.
Their stormtroopers are recruited and trained young. They are more than criminal.
They are the rulers of exception.

British Fair Play.

When an Englishman sees somebody happy, when an Englishman sees me, when an Englishman of any nationality sees Howard Roark in an unguarded moment; he sees something which offends his sense of 'fairness'.
This fairness came to me while watching a sports channel advert; the soccer player had scored, and was gazing about filled with joy, looking for the stamp of public approval on his feeling - having kicked a leather skin into a rope net.

Anyway, the English see this as a valid and approvable joy that they can 'award' by leaving it in peace, as long as the person concerned doesn't get above themselves.
But when they see me, they see someone who feels that way naturally at all times, apparently having done nothing special to 'deserve' it.

These creeps really do think that they are the arbiters of 'unearned' joy(there is no such thing) and so try to destroy it by any means, up to and including attempted murder.
They just know that they have a feeling, that they can't stand me being happy and that it must end.
Thus the coughing and sneezing, the little old men in their twenties, and the boys of seventy.
They hate. They hate and that is all. They try not to realise that they hate joy, and are therefore devoted to death.

And this dressed as a brand of 'fairness', to protect their feeble pretence at 'goodness', stinking evil practised as a virtue.

Things in General

This is a mobile blog from in front of the telly, watching the Simpsons. Good episode, Bart in Moe's bar, they're all about to make fun of Burns. Drunks enjoying the discomfort of the ex-owner of the Nuclear plant.
Some of the old episodes are the best.
'Ooooh, the Germans!'
'Stop it Mister Burns....stop it....'

What Were They Thinking?

Copenhagen. What were they thinking? What are they thinking?
Never mind the creatures in the streets - uniform rebels conforming to the tyranny of loose-woven woolen hats, dreadlocks and nose piercings.

No. I mean the creatures inhabiting the conference halls. The so-called politicians.

I think I understand them.
You see, I grew up in the late sixties and seventies, so I remember how it was. These were the glory days, the days when politicians were permitted the illusion that they mattered, when the deluded media greedily sucked up every drop of spume-covered rubbish that these deficients uttered.
When Maggie came along in 1979, they didn't suspect. They thought she was promising a new flavour of the same game, and they rode the delusion to it's end, blaming her for the wake up call that left them naked and empty in front of a laughing populace.

Ever since, they have been resentful of us and longing for the previous golden age of crises, an age when the media game of communicating communiques from the terror groups elected to misrepresent us was the only game allowed, and they and their clients could live safe off the land with the fantasy of self-importance.
They longed to bring this all back.

And now they have. In Obama they have somebody who doesn't realise yet the game he is playing, somebody who is making it to the world stage with every fake fanfare that can be mustered, in the firm belief that he will deliver that harmonious tyranny which will trumpet the end of history and the beginning of a new brass age, where the little crooks can exploit their games to the bitter end and we can all go to hell.

But we are the truth.
And the truth is the first casualty of war, especially a war against humanity.

What Will The Neighbours Think?

By which I mean our interplanetary neighbours.
They will visit Earth in 50 years and find nothing but ruins. There will be no corpses. Nearly all the people will have marched dutifully to the extermination camps to "save the planet".

There won't be many people left; a few cave dwellers perhaps, more likely no people at all.
What will the visitors conclude?
They will examine the ruins and find that the world of Humans was destroyed by a fraud; it will be destroyed by the mixture of trust and lies, the poison that allows and ultimately creates all holocausts.
They will look at the mid twentieth century and see the monomental effort of moral expression that stopped the Nazis; the dogged determination that saw to it that the Soviet Union also collapsed, and they will conclude that the real perpetrators of these monstrosities were merely toying with the humans.
The humans failed to identify them and their evil accurately enough or often enough, and like the infinitely patient game-players they undoubtedly were, they just swallowed every truth, took every setback in their stride and put an arm around humanity's shoulder and led the dazed, tiring population from one illusion to the next, pausing to reveal themselves and their evil hatred only when some human of stature resisted too well.

At this stage, they could be seen. But the watchdogs of humanity were too incompetent to bark. Like dogs miaowing, they merely snorted and went back to somnolent staring, allowing the evildoers to manage yet another fait accomplit.
And around 2020, when it was found that there were just too many people, found by 'science', the absurdity of scientific socialism was suddenly standing before humanity, saliva dripping from its jaws, in a ruder health than it had ever been.

But this time no moral effort; the children had been destroyed in advance and made to believe that the lies were true, or that they were lies that couldn't be stopped.
Not all of us died voluntarily.
That's why there will be plenty of ruins.

The age of humanity is over.
Welcome to the new Hell.

Private What Now?

The 'Private Sector' is a piece of bullshit phraseology used everywhere a mainstream pundit dribbles over a keyboard or microphone.

There is NO 'private sector'.
There is the economy(the private sector), and there is the rest, the parasites, the people who live without living.

Any other sector exists by robbery of the 'private sector', which is the entire real economy.
Nothing else produces anything.

Star Wars 3

Star Wars the Return of The Jedi; had me weeping today. It's been a while, and seeing it again brought back all the hope and romance of the eighties.
This film series was the root of the cause that brought down communism, and less than ten years later, the scenes of jubilation were repeated for real everywhere except alien China. Truly there is nothing even remotely human about mainland China.

However, the version on TV tonight was 'revised'. A small change; David Prowse was removed from the final scene and replaced with the kid from the prequels.

Any airbrushing of history for any reason in a film of this sort is blasphemous, sacriledgious gerry-mandering.

I hope they are ashamed of themselves. If they aren't, then they are well on the way to the Dark Side.

Isn't Technology BRILLIANT!

This post comes to you courtesy of a brilliant device called a netbook.

Mine is an HP 2133 mini-note, which has been superceded by the 2140.
This means I bought a new Mini-note (RRP £360 ) for just £153 + £5 postage on e-bay. Hurry up while stocks last. They are a thing of beauty, and come complete with Gb Ethernet connection, camera, speakers, Wi-Fi and Bluetooth.

DO replace the SuSE Linux (poor) o/s with Ubuntu 9.10. It is free. All you need to do is boot from a flash drive with the 9.10 ISO file on, then let the installer do it's thing.

The hard drive is 120GB, so I have already loaded my entire music collection onto it and I'm listening as I type - 140 miles from my home network.

And this is the really crazy thing - I can see the screen better than I can my desktop, and that means no glasses needed. I can read it better than I can my phone even.

The Good Old Days.

The Bigger They Come....

There was a time when it was stated that the bigger the lie, the better its chances of succeeding. The lie was so big that it beggared belief that anybody could be deliberately trying to deceive on such a large scale.
The technique that liars used in the early part of the twentieth century was to tap into popular delusions and so exploit the things that people wanted to believe, especially about themselves.

Thus, any crank who could lay claim to salving the consciences of a large number of people was able to reach a threshold of popularity that would bring him to the attention of those people that still made up what is commonly known as 'society'; furthermore, such people would view the emergence of these characters with awe, coming as they did from nothing on a wave of popular sentiment that all were being told was 'historical' and therefore in keeping with the times and progress.

Thus, Hitler and Mussolini came to power by degree, until that power was absolute.

Then the lies were repeated for an international audience, the better to lull it into acquiescence and leave the way clear for the weirder indulgences these creatures had in mind.

And, as it happened, despite all the social engineering and moulding that had been going on, there were just enough people of age, such as Winston, who were just good enough at communicating with the citizenry of drones that had been created since the turn of the century, but still had cultural residual intelligence enough to see some truths (when pointed out), so that the monsters were stopped.

Just.

The cultural peversion and communistic demoralisation continued, however, and society is now comprised of mean, vicious little apparachniks who willl fight to the deaths of their last useful idiots to preserve their Cotswold cottages and comfy retirement plans.

The rest of us can go to hell, and indeed anything they can do to send us there quicker is a welcome obsession for the creatures of rule, needing distraction from realisation as they do;
but now, they are dealing with a populace, the bovine stupidity of which is almost embarrassing and certainly endearing to them.

So do lies need to be big?
Not anymore.
Today, any lie is credible the moment it is uttered.
If a refutation is immediate, the lie will be repeated later on, or obliquely, in order to make it stick.
The lies are then left in the open.
Nobody much will question them, because today's people need to be told what to think. In the world of propaganda the populace has long lost any ability to work things out. They just see or hear some rubbish on the television or radio, and that is what they believe.

The lies won't be challenged. The novelty is when a truth is uttered by way of variety; this causes no more perturbation than the lies, and may even be a truth that people happen to believe.

And the masters wonder at the disillusion and lack of debate, complain about 'apathy' and go on trying to be the voice in the ear-trumpet of a population educated to senility from the age of five.

Band Aids.

Socialism has missed the point entirely.
What socialists have tried to do is create a political, legislated structure which forces certain rationed outcomes for people feckless or unlucky enough to need them.

In replacing personal motivation and responsibility with a state steamroller, they have stopped the normal decision-making processes of persuasion and argument and led to instant rejection of any situation in which genuine assistance may be needed.

This was deliberate.
The cry of the Labour socialists in the 60s and 70s was "rights not charity".
This is of course absurd, as the right to a physical product can only be achieved by production; if you don't produce, then such a right has to be granted by a producer (in which case it is only a priviledge) or inflicted on the producer by violence (socialism).

But this is not the point that they have missed. This point is that people will go on being stupid, ignorant, malicious fools and treading the best among us into the mud, so long as they are left alone to do so. And socialism has been very careful not to interfere with that.

If socialism wanted to help humanity, then it would have used the massive publishing and communications empires that it can marshall as a way of pushing the truths that would leave the molluscs no stone to hide under.
If socialists want to help, they should be attacking the evil which banishes the producers to the margins of society, and totally buries them when the fat bastards of the status quo think they have enough physical stuff and food to be getting on with.

It's an interesting fact, that in North America, you still see many jolly fat people, while here, they are mostly ugly also, defiantly so, with poor clothing sense and styles of their own which seem calculated to emphasise their lack of personality; they are like the methane-producing drones that socialists would have us believe cows are.

To liberate life and legalise freedom should be the only possible course open to any 'progressive'. But they aren't socialists. They aren't progressives.

They think that they are democratic.

Which all means?

A Gangrene And Pleasant Land.

Harry Hill.

Harry Hill is a funny guy on British Saturday evening TV.
But his lampooning of the current Ghandi documentary was a bit steep. The original regular reporter in the clip described the ornate Ghandi memorial at the man's birthplace as 'overblown'. What rubbish.
He founded the biggest democracy in the world.
And there were just two words carved under his portrait: TRUTH and NON-VIOLENCE.
Pretty damned impressive I'd call it.

The Opener

Arthur Straw strolled quietly down the pedestrian street. He was not exactly tall, not exactly broad, but there was about him the air of potential violence, a frame that moved fluidly and not in any way identifiable with any of the usual traits.
In fact it was this that led to trouble – as it always did – whether or not Arthur gave a damn. Which he usually didn’t.
His face was violent only in its calmness, and his eyes roved sardonically from incident to incident with barely a flicker of interest.
He had a scar above his left eye, a small scar that told little of the fury that had caused it.
As he walked down the street, he saw the local neighbourhood kids standing outside one of the doors.
He liked them. They’d asked him his name and made friends with him. On the way back from the Chinese take-away the other night they’d showered him with their water pistol while screeching with delight. He smiled at the memory, a gentle, true smile.
There was an adult with them.
The adult saw, and hated, and coughed.
“Ey up, mate. Corrupting your kids are you?”
No reply. Just a dirty stare.
“You’re not a nonce or something are you?” Arthur grinned after he made this remark. The other guy was bigger than him. The other guy left the kids alone and stood up straight.
“Cos I like these kids, and I’d hate to see anything happen to them.”
Arthur’s voice had hardened. It sounded flat and deadly.
“Fuck off mate. I’m their uncle.”
“Lucky for you.”
Arthur glowered as he strolled past. The other man stood straight and shrank at the same time. ‘Not in front of the kids’, thought Arthur.

Why Can't We All Just Get Along?

Why Can't We All Just Get Along?

Ever get the feeling something is going on? I go to the Chinese takeaway; I walk past, take a look up a sidestreet, then come back and go in. I order, sit down with a newspaper.
Sure enough, there's one of those young bastards who have been very much in evidence.

I haven't seen this particular one, but the blond, spiky hair and the look of aggrieved pomposity is tell-tale. maybe a coincidence, but this little slag is waiting across the street with a can of coca cola trying to look casual.
I can smell these creeps, and tonight the stink is strong.

I tell you, one of these days I might just tackle one and see how it goes. This has been happening for a year now, first they see me, then suddenly they are 'living' in the flat downstairs, and now they are curious about where I go.
They are just kids, but they are going to be bloody injured kids if they don't go away.

Anyway, I kept an eye out on the way home, and I wasn't followed. But then they know where I go don't they.
There are three possibilities:
1) I'm mistaken.
2) They are local punks trying to be 'big men'.
3) Somebody is sponsoring this low level harrassment because of my views.

The Emperor's New Clothes.

The F-35 is a prodigiously expensive waste of time.
The maximum speed is Mach 1.67. The Hawker-Siddeley P1154 in the 1960's, a development of the Harrier which was cancelled by treasonous government, would have been faster 40 years earlier.
Also, the P1154 was a true V/STOL aircraft, like the Harrier, whereas the F35 is some sort of hybrid abortion with a one ton deadweight lifting fan in ONE version, which gives it vertical landing capability only. So if your airfields are stuffed, so is the F35.

To make up for the lamentable performance, the marketeers claim that the helmet-mounted sights make point and shoot a thing of the past, and so it will not even need to get on someone's tail to shoot at them.

Bullshit.

I the opposition escapes at Mach 2, the poor little F35 won't be able to get in range.
I don't think it can do Supercruise either( though I'm not sure ), so it won't be able to do a low visibility sneak attack on fast-flying aircraft.


What a piece of crap.

Facebook Down.

Facebook's servers, at least in Britain, have collapsed as of half an hour ago.
It could be a technical problem.
It could be a massive Denial Of Service attack.
Watch out for news.

Who'd Have Thought It?

Within a few months, Obampot has made Bush look like a great man, a great statesman, a great president and a world leader.
I'm embarrassed.

On the other hand...

I am back on Facebook.
When I asked a friend to put the message about, he found he was blocked.
So I won't make it easy for the scum to silence me.
I'm back.

What's The Point?(Of Contention?)

Point Of Contention

Stalin's Trust

The Trust was the most successful counter-intelligence operation in known history.
It was set up by Dzerzhinsky at Stalin's behest in order to 'turn' all known and unknown counter-revolutionary influences into soviet puppets.

Today on Facebook, I was flamed by an anonymous spammer. The creature was obviously familiar with me, but had no signature or identification of any sort.

In a world of SSL encryption and little people bearing not gifts but grudges, the obvious answer is the most likely.
I was not hacked.
I was spied on by Facebook itself.

I have deactivated my account.

Hypocrisy.

“The Government wholeheartedly condemns torture. We will not condone it. Neither will we ever ask others to do it on our behalf. This is not mere rhetoric but a principled stance consistent with our unequivocal commitment to human rights. We are fortunate to have the best security and intelligence services and armed forces in the world. We are all safer because of the work they do with integrity and bravery.” -David Millipede, trying to make us 'proud' again.
Of course, torture is the leit motif and modus operandi of Britain and Britons, ever seeking to extend their psychoses to other, quasi-normal people at the drop of a hat, for the purpose of.... well, because they do.
The usual trick is to inspire minor violence, after which these pathetic creatures feel vindicated and 'tough' and 'manly', and of course, if the violence is slightly more than they can cope with, they have recourse to the 'law', that absurd humbug which defines crimes seperately from responsibility.

What a hollow pile of rubbish Millipede's words are.

The End Of The Mind.

Watching Bloomberg tonight I was grimly unsurprised that the best and most cereberal news channel on TV was filled with idiots quoting misleading irrelevances.
The game was 'how can we hide the world today?', and they played it by reporting statistics such as unemployment and retail spending as the entrails from the sacrificed businesses that would somehow give the pundits an insight into the anatomy of the depression.
They were looking for delusions that would sell hope to the lemmings.

Retail spending may be increased. Or not. But the simple fact is that is has depended on trillions of dollars-worth of credit, three trillion just since Clinton, and now the USA is now the asylum of millions of inmates who don't make anything, not even money, and who cannot afford their desires and so spend 'invented' money on goods from China; the Chinese build them on the promise of owning their enemies houses, while these people get poorer and poorer while buying more and more.
We are told that this despicably immoral depravity is acceptable because it represents the greatest good for the greatest number.
Nobody says so, but that is the tacit excuse.

And Obama slides his silken gloves around the mob's throat and leads it to a cage where promises are inscribed above the gates, like the gates of Auschwitz 60 years ago.
Using the same promise of the greater good for the greater number, the current direction being the imposition of state healthcare.

I Pledge

He's Not The Only One

Gordon Is A Moron?

Gordon must be a moron, or at least he thinks we all are.
Let's see. He visits Libya. There is a fat deal on the table for Britain.
Shortly afterwards, the deal is signed, and the Scottish PM let's a murdering bastard go free.
Then they all say it's nothing to do with Gordon or the deal, except the Libyans and Gordon. Gordon actually says nothing for a week.
Earlier, the HBOS is going bust; BOS headquarters is in Gordon's parliamentary constituency. Looks bad for Gordon.
But the head of Lloyds TSB is a friend of Gordon. He buys HBOS to save it. Lloyds goes bust. Gordon's government returns the favour and saves Lloyds with tax money.
Nobody says anything much about this.
Now, Lloyds is closing down Halifax branches anyway.

And after this, we are all supposed to look at that ugly skank with a face like ruptured custard on the TV, and still harbour the illusion that he isn't a corrupt, lying, scheming crooked slag?

You have got to be joking.

End to boom and bust. Good one.

What To Do?

I was looking forward to my trip to the pub; unbeatable breakfast and decent beer for under a fiver.
So I sat down. There was some weird monkey-looking thing at the next table. It starts making noises with its teeth and pus-looking lips.
I don't pay it much heed except to look over and give a snort of derision. When I look, it freezes as if it is playing some sort of deluded musical chairs game.
Anyway, I have my lovely breakfast, and the thing starts making yawning noises, to prove how relaxed it is in face of its own terror.
Then it starts talking to the staff, and it is clear it is a local creature which knows and is known by the workers in the pub.
So there it is. Tell it to fuck off and get thrown out? Or tell it to fuck off in little lipsmacking noises?
What a heap of crap the English situation is.
In America, you might shoot or get shot.
But here you have to endure the victimisation by things which impersonate people, or get wrecked resisting.
Fortunately, they try it in the street too, and then you really can wind their little brains up and out.

Filth!

The Scottish gobshite authority, on behalf of Gordon(but not provably), has set free the mass murderer who killed hundreds of innocent children.
Give me a gun and I'll show him 'compassion'.

Watch And Learn! They Are Still Taking Names!

Welcome!

Newest addition to the Interests section on the left hand side is Junkfoodscience.blogspot.com.
Intelligent, well written and full of surprising, interesting truth, a real defender of Freedom.
Go get 'em girl!

The Times They Aren't A-Changing.

I wrote a comment for the London Times that was removed. I questioned the way in which all the people who couldn't possibly have come up with Skype were dictating terms to the people who actually did. The Times is obviously blacklisting people who don't follow aggressive socialism. I urge everybody reading this to refuse to buy or read the London Times.

Tie Your Tubes And Save The Planet.

This headline was in today's LATimes.
Now, in just what way will people with the luxury of advanced healthcare, artificially making themselves sterile, save the planet?
Do they seriously think that a shrinking population of overburdened young people in a few countries in the West is in some way going to be enabled to 'save the planet'?

How?

From what?

If the answer is that overpopulation is somehow destroying the planet, then this won't help, because the explosion in population is among uneducated, unmedicated people everywhere else.

If this population growth somehow affects 'the planet's' ability to support life, then it will restore the balance by causing deaths far more quickly and effectively than a few delusional, sterile poseurs and self-deniers in California.
And if it doesn't, what exactly do they mean by 'destroy the planet'?

There is no case to answer.
But that is not the point.
The point is, that these mugs want to believe that they are in some way appointed over the third-world masses, that they are the vanguard of U2's third world caterwauling, the 'leaders' to whom the masses look for enlightened guidance.

This is the sole delusion to which these schemes cater, the delusion of self-importance, the lack of self-esteem that demands a diluted substitute in the form of acceptance and obedience from people that they may safely regard as inferiors.

They decry 'colonialism' to a man, but elevate themselves to colonial pomp and circumstance at every opportunity.

They are the by-product of the liberal mush that passes for thought today.

Green Shoots.

I travelled from Weymouth to Bath today on the train. It's the stopping train, so it takes 2 hours to cover the 80 miles, but it is still quicker and cheaper than the car. There were many old staitons along the route, and several large junctions which I had no idea existed.
After the single carriageway run to Yeovil came Castle Cary and Westbury.

But what are the Green Shoots?

Well, the train company section running the line is Arriva Great Western.
Great Western is the company which built the route originally over 150 years ago. This company was destroyed by the socialists in 1947.
But today, individual station masters along this route have taken it upon themselves to recover and recondition old station furniture from storage or dereliction, and in several stations on the way to Bath, you can see 'GWR' benches, brightly polished and painted, as they were only 60 years ago; some of them have the curly GWR logo from Victorian days, others show the Art Deco 'GWR' of the thirties.
As the sisterhood in Dune said, "Never to forgive, never to forget."
The real Great Western Railways is a little nearer to restoration today, thanks to these enthusiastic people.

I'm The Bad Guy?

So - let me get this straight - if some piece of crap provokes me by making its vile psychological attack for the umpteenth time - and I bury an axe in its head - I'm the loony?
I'm the bad guy?
There's something wrong here.

Yaron Brook Lights A Fire.

Boston Tea Party

This Just In...

'Chase Me Ladies' has started removing/editing comments.
In line with my policies, I have removed all reference to this hypocritical blog.
-Ed

Beautiful!

A sight for sore eyes.

Lest We Forget.

Forget Prague Spring.
This( Hungary, 1956 ) was the real deal.
And all Eisenhower did was crucify Britain and France for re-occupying Suez.
Tosser.

Terribly Sad News.

Michael Jackson is dead.

It's Back!

The all-new UB (Ugly Betty) is back.

Alle-blinkin'-luleah!

Genius.

Genius isn't intelligence. Not purely. No.
Genius is moral, at the root.
This is what I am saying.
The root of all genius is moral.
What made me say this? I'll tell you.
As I parked my car and got out, to walk back to my flat, I saw a fifty-sixty-something chap come puffing and blowing down the street towards me.
I'd never seen him before, but here he was with an air of staring but not looking, mouth open in utterance but not speaking, in fact bearing somewhat in my direction with an air of vaguely injured aggression.
When I looked at this person, I saw a life lived in thrall to others, a life of interest in his fellow man; perhaps a few shameful, guilt-ridden moments at work amounted to the allegation of productiveness that had possibly informed his no doubt long and boring career.
The chap was wearing shorts and a shirt, freshly laundered and ironed. he was probably prosperous, probably a home owner, probably very sheepish in his social endeavours.

But every action he was making at that moment was pursuivant to an obsession with other people. In no sense were his thoughts his own.
And this is why genius doesn't succeed in England.
Because people like him do.

The Dumbening...

So horrible, thinking people and their thoughts were locked in dungeons on the outskirts of society for two generations.
America bans Ecstasy. America introduces draconian measures. Production rises.

Vicious Fraud On The BBC.

The BBC has just started a new series of Mitchell and Webb.
This is a funny, 'adult' funny, show, and the guys making it are talented.
On the other hand, there is a show called 'Horne and Corden'.

Horne and Corden is presented with all the common trappings of a witty, well made sketch show.
But the fact is, I get bigger laughs reading the telephone directory.
Horne and Corden charge everything they do with homosexuality of the militant kind, even if they are straight. Which they may or may not be.
They are unfunny, untalented and unappealing.

And what does the BBC do?
That's right.
Mitchell and Webb sells itself.
Armstrong and Miller sells itself.
Horne and Corden is so unremittingly dreadful, the BBC sells it at every opportunity, as though they are afraid of admitting a dreadful mistake.
I would rather that the BBC produced 10 series of Glam Metal Detectives than 1 episode of Horne and Corden.

Stop. Look. Listen.

Iran.

Unbelievably Excellent.

How the world works June 15th

Strange Days Dream.

So I'm in the pub again. A corking girl is looking over her partner's shoulder at me, then at the mirror. Meh.
So I drink my beer and I'm not bothered particularly.
Two guys tell me I've dropped some money when I'm paying for my next pint.
Cheerful exchange.
Sit down.
The neighbour has been gone for four days.
When I get home, the noise starts. From a distance at first, then for a few seconds at a time.
Little loony is playing his crappy game.
So my stereo is back to moderate volume, full base and on all the time, partly to drown the cunt, partly to let him know I know.
If he breaks the rules, I'll floor it at midnight and when the neighbours complain he'll get the blame.
Little gobshite. Easier and safer than cutting the little bastard's head off. But not as satisfying.

More Tribute.

Can yer guess who it is yet?

North Korea.

Short of just blasting the little freaks off the face of the Earth, all we really need to do is launch a big, shiny satellite into geostationary orbit over North Korea.
Make it useless, apart from being easily visible from the ground with the naked eye.
Let them build whatever they want.
But if they ever attack the satellite, then we bomb them all to hell.
It's simple.
It would work.
They will never do it, because it doesn't give them a chance to busy-body their way into all our (North Korean) lives.
Tossers.

No, Really!

So I go into the Swan.
Get my pint of Theakston's, sit down at an empty table, and start sending a text.
So I hear the common spotted idiot going 'eh he' on my left, and there is this lanky, super-neat, super mid-fifties git, with his head twisted nearly off so he can glower at me over his shoulder.
I say, 'Shove it.' and go back to my text.
So this big, cowardly creep, keeps on going 'eh he'.
So I laugh and go 'eh he' in an exact mimicry of the cretin.
Eventually, his utterly plain wife joins him. He pretends he needs a menu, so he reaches over to my table with a thick, slowly-moving arm."Mind if I borrow this?"
"Sure, go ahead."
As he moves I go 'eh he' a couple more times.
Then he goes down the bar. As he does, I go 'eh he', behind his back.
Blow me if when he gets back, he doesn't turn his chair all the way round so his back is turned, then sit hunched as if he is about to burst into tears.
I mean, this piece of shit is what passes for a 'man' in England.
Fuck off. It's a bloody disgrace, an embarrassment. 60 going on 12. Pathetic.
Or as Johnny Cash said, in Fulsom Prison Blues, 'I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die...'

There Goes The Neighbourhood.

You'll never guess who I had in the back of my cab the other day.....

Yes.

That's right.

The Australian Head Of State.

Artistic Memorial

Shhh. Don't Tell Anyone.

I thought all this 'green shoots' mullarky was the biggest load of bollocks I'd ever heard.
But then this happened:
I got three different jobs sent to me by three different agents in three different locations.
Today.
On a Saturday.
Either the horrible quiet of the last month has finally broken due to an upturn - something I'll believe when I see - or things are so bad that the guys are working Saturdays to try and make ends meet.
I find the latter hard to believe though, as if there are no jobs out there, working a Saturday won't make them magically appear.
There is just one more possibility, however.
It may be that I have finally cracked my presentation by appealing in the right way and for the right reasons to the right people.
Let's see what the new week brings.

Ever Wondered...........

what Obama would look like if he was a white man? He'd be just another cunt.

OpenCV is embarrassing.

Everybody loves to hate Microsoft.
Intel wrote OpenCV.
Their documentation is misleading. The 2d pixel peek methods possess REVERSED INDICES.
I just wasted TWO HOURS debugging in order to discover that.

Why I Don't Have A Job.

I apply for jobs where a clever person could see I am ideal. Also a person with no brain at all could see it, because choosing me is a 'no-brainer'.

But I don't get the jobs, because the 'people' in charge aren't even no-brainers.

They are ruptured, pathetic, miserable specimens, that dwell in a pit of resentment, surrounded by the pus of envy, and paralysed by the hate/fear reflex.

So, when they see my CV, the only question remaining to them is how to exercise their little brains in such a way as to deny me what I want, while making it appear reasonable.

This is what is usually going on at any time there is no immediate response.

Vote Winner.

I think I could win the next election. I'd start an emergency programme to launch all the so-called celebrities such as Katie Price and Peter Andre and all the people from BGT into outer space to help reflect the Sun and so reduce global warming.

But not Simon Cowell. He would be sacrificed to the volcano gods in order to appease my aching head.

Any remaining wannabes would soon get the message.

Racist Slur.

This from the New York Post.
Day of pride for Latinos?
Oh yeah. We get to regard them as just another race, thereby accepting the slur that we are racist, and generating the fresh slur that they are too.
Nobody is American of course.
But there's more; we get to regard them as a pathetic sub-race that feeds off miserable encouragements, so that they are still lesser beings than us.
I'm sorry New York Post. You don't even begin to understand how offensive this is to even the least rational persons among us.

Anyone Notice?

The price of gold has quietly put on $100 per ounce in the last few days. Nobody is saying anything, but it is headed towards $1000 again.

What goes on?

I've been in a bloody mood for a week or so. Then this morning I went to the pub. I had a pint of Ruddles, plotted sending a postcard to an old girlfriend, and felt great. The second beer slipped down as well as the first, and the post office was easy.
So then I went home, hoping for an easy time of it.
I got a call from an agent - possible contract with a satellite manufacturer - then went for a lazy doze.
Pretty soon it's 'thump-thump' from the mental-case neighbour(who seems to have a death wish), so I just turn up my own to drown it out.
This goes on and off for a few hours, then my mum Skypes me. And suddenly, the problems don't seem too big.
The noise no longer bothers me.
I just feel good. I can make noise too.
Cool.
Strange, but cool.

This is a joke? Isn't it?

The leader of Burma (the real leader), is to go on trial charged with : 'harbouring an American who swam to her home'.
What? Harbouring an American? Are Americans banned, like drugs?What next?
Is she going to be charged with thinking impure thoughts?
These pathetic junta bastards should all be shot.

Genteel Poverty of Thought

And Spirit.

Charles Moore thinks he is begging for the life of parliament. Why does he do this? Because he doesn't have any guts? Because he is one of them? Because he thinks that a fatally, disastrously flawed governmental system, a system of quiet oppression and exclusion, should be saved?

I see only one fitting end for this heap of rubbish;

Prague Spring!

But I won't be holding my breath.

Plus Ca Change, Plus C'est La Meme Chose

The more things change, the more they remain the same.
A news article on the BBC started tonight with the announcement that some guy, the prime minister's 'Change Secretary' or something with the word 'change' in his title, had resigned.

This stinking pile of filth which is the British government has appointed more cronies to fake positions with grandiose-sounding titles than any other state in history. It's as if the Soviet state had taken over and then taken drugs which caused an explosively virulent cancer, making the body politic swell and inflate beyond all control or recognition.

There is no longer any use of the word 'sleaze'. Sleaze belongs to an age where moral outrage was faked over trifles, to bring about the encumbency of the present heap of shit. What we have now is the gradual inability to hide any longer the rampant, stampeding riot of little boys and girls that have suddenly realised that they are in mummy's bedroom and daddy's study, and they have gone away no-one knows where.

Like dogs, they instinctively sniff and choke when they meet a scent they cannot fathom. Usually the scent of a Man.
On a personal level, I see job descriptions, where the title might be 'software engineer', but the job is baffling and unconnected to any technical skills, usually paying much more than any market rate and as near as can be told, demanding social skills and the ability to understand the (public sector employer's) private verbal messages.
There are thousands of jobs like this, the legion of the useless busybodying their way into prosperity and safety and influence and property, all at the increasing expense of the diminishing real work force.
Not that I would apply, but I could not in a thousand years get such a job if I tried.

For example, I walked into a college yesterday for a public lecture. What did I see? On the way up from the car park, a nasty, grey, shabby little old man, probably a lecturer, coughs (from behind of course) with such a fakeness and tone that he actually seems to believe he is expressing ssomething; this is the ultimate reaction to a human being, this supposedly 'unanswerable' critique-by-dint-of-saying-nothing.
Obviously I say, 'my god, look what they're letting into these places'.
When I get to the lecture hall I see a notice board, plastered with communist propaganda posters; this is a history department.

I have more than a passing suspicion that youngsters are being taught to frame their world views in such terms.
If civilisation is to survive, the 'Gulch' time may be here.

Business is slow.

All's Well

I go down to the town centre pub at lunchtime and have a pint of whatever special they're running.

It's strictly no children and today's was Theakstons Best.

The thing is, when you go to this pub you see the usual mix; but there's a high proportion of middle-aged guys like me, wearing inappropriate casual clothes, unshaven and generally letting it all hang out in their beery corners.

We chat up the lovely serving girls, none of us with any serious chance, but enjoying the light-hearted flirting and taking in the scenery.

When I got home, I saw a loony Christian on TV talking about his experience of Jesus Christ.

Fucking nutcase.

Be Seeing You

I Must Escape.

I have been the victim of mental illness all my life.
Other people's mental illness.
I MUST escape.
I find the thought that I might actually begin to understand the English quite frightening. Because understanding is only a short step from empathy, which is only a short step from sympathy.

Which is the Stockholm syndrome.

I Need To Take A Shower.

It's Really Very Simple.

The beautiful Afro-English girl, 20 years old, accused by a sick, communist regime of carrying some Heroin(so what?), has been raped and is now pregnant.
They threatened to shoot her.
It is really very simple.
Send a coded maessage to all our diplomats to drive across the border.
Then send a detachment of Paras(sorry, no longer trust the Marines) down to the Laotian Embassy and take them all prisoner.
Then threaten to shoot all of them if she isn't released. At the rate of one a day, finishing with the Ambassador, or if we wait a few days, the Laotian Minister.
I guarantee the crisis would end, and Gordon Brown would win the next election.

Come Again?

All the labour ministers seem to be agreed on one thing; 'we cannot seem to get our message across to the public'.
This is rubbish of course.
The fact is(and I'm sure that they find this 'horrifying'), that they have indeed succeeded brilliantly in getting their message across. And their crappy message is what is being rejected.

They have been deluding themselves for so long without any success, they seem to think that by deluding us as well, some imaginary success will follow.

Well I've got news for them.
We don't like them, we don't like their messages, and we are tired of listening.

Microsoft Gets It Wrong

Trying out Internet Explorer 8; much quicker and more responsive than the last disaster.
Another good idea is the ability to edit (remove) browser list entries manually.
However, they have got this badly wrong.
They have a delete button on each line at the right.
If you are used to scrolling down the list on the right, you will not select the destination, you will delete it.
They should have done it with a right-click option.

Why Google Sucks.

Google installs viral software on windows systems.
When it is unistalled, it causes system crashes.
This is childish, unprofessional vandalism.
Since removing the google toolbar from my IE, it is faster and more responsive. And doesn't have lousy, unwanted fascist input on each and every page by virtue of corruption of the design.

Oh, Darling!

Darling really has come up with the most pathetic subterfuge today.

Apparently, spending is now called 'investing', so that we can confidently expect him to 'invest' £6 billion more in the health service; he doesn't mention anything about ROI(Return On Investment) or even whether we can expect improving mortality rates from this( a presumed Government ROI), so I guess he's just talking through his arse as usual to give his hinterland of useful idiot followers something to parrot in the imaginary discussions that he supposes these fools to influence.

Of course, nobody is giving either airtime or credence to the regiments of fools any longer, so he is beginning to resemble a man whose insanity is driving him to build a brick wall around him with no doors or windows, from the demolished wreckage of the society he inherited, and is now spinning round in smaller and smaller circles of denial like a latter-day Hitler in a bunker of social insulation rather than concrete.

Talking of concrete, I have to wonder what, if any, the effects of this miserable budget will be.

"It's for your own good!"

The Toronto Sun 'Sunshine Girl'.

This is Lesly from 19th April.
I like Canada.

The Time Is Approaching

I Can Finally Reveal....

I am in fact a super-hero who has beeen around since the thirties.

In Case You Don't Understand America.

The Giant Prison

Hero of the Revolution.

Traitor.

Fucking bastard.

Let It Be Said....

Truly, Gordon Brown, the sub-prime minister, is a skidmark on the underpants of history.

When the world finally carries out its laundry, he will be washed away in a stream of lukewarm suds tastier than the beer at a New Labour wedding.

More Tricks on TV.

Turn on the TV. Within 30 seconds your tired of it.
So, you start tuning around to try to find something that doesn't bore to offensive, impossible to watch, levels.
You find a list show. Top 100....
Today, it's Top 100 Couples We Love To Hate.

Actually, these people they are trying to lynch are actually mostly completely forgotten. But they nevertheless pretend we are interested, and we endure the talking heads and crummy library shots until we reach the stage of actively disliking what we see.

But here's the trick.

We don't hate the TV company, or the programme, because there may be just one couple we remember with distaste, and want to see again, to see where they appear in the list.

So our hatred of the crap programme is sublimated to hatred of the couples.

And lo and behold, we think we've seen something good.

But we haven't, it isn't, and after one or two such programmes, we return to avoiding them at all costs and switching round again.

Why do they bother? Why is television so chronically flatulent and flabby that it must go on all the time, pumping shit out at all hours? It isn't television entertainment any more. It's a tool of mental illness.

I Like This One.

Please do go on!

Sorry to Go On

The Home of the Grave and the Land of the Flea.

This Little Pig Killed The Market.

Gordon Brown put a 'big three' points on the agenda today.

1)Agree a strategy

2)Organize a worldwide financial stimulus

and last but not least,

3)An end to Tax Havens.

As power plays go, it is pretty transparent. Don't you just love the way this criminal thug puts the tax-haveny bit at the end?

Still, at least they reported it.

It was ever the complaint of socialists that the rest of the world didn't practise what the socialists preached, and that is why we're all alive.

But Gordon 'The Moron' Brown is aiming to change all that, once and for all, and bring about worldwide socialist hegemony.

The Russians couldn't do it alone; Brown was one of their 'useful idiots' back in the day, as all of New Labour was, most of them with MI5 files.

They have penetrated good and proper, and now we're all getting screwed.

1960 Deville as in Mad Men

Boring! New!

Some Government Spending works!

But not because the government did the spending.
Today I went to sign on to the unemployment benefit office, so I can receive my pittance from the monopoly state insurance scheme.
Grim.
They said "Why don't you try the job search consoles while you're waiting?"
I remembered these from the nineties.
Advanced, but not terribly useful.
So I had a go.
Within twenty seconds, I had over a hundred Software jobs on multiple screens.
Touch screen, with a GUI that I completely approve of as meeting my standards of simplicity and transparency.
Three of them were worth an application.
So I hit the print button, and a long piece of paper rolled out of a slot, cut to exactly the right length, with the job details on.
The contact methods were all customised too.

They haven't necessarily spent all that wasted money on this. But what they have spent has been spent well.

Time's Passin'

O.M.G.

90210 is so, like, shite!

I'm going to write an episode.

Tiffani brings her boyfriend, Luke, back to the apartment, but her roommate, Eric, is snogging Robersha on the Davenport.

OMG!

She is so freaked out, she tries to look shocked! Then Eric and Robersha stand up, looking embarrassed and rearranging their barely disturbed clothing.

"How could you!", says Tiffani."I trusted you!"

"Aw, fuck off and mind your own fucking business." says Eric.

"Why do you think they call me Psychedelic Eric?"

"Yeah, but I've got my squeeze and you've got yours!"

"And this is a problem, why?" Says Robersha.

"Er....."

Pan camera round to each of their faces in turn, as each one says 'Er.....'

Run credits and title music.

Don't forget folks, this is 'all new'!

Zombies. Everywhere you look.

Truly there are zombies in Britain.

Even Bloomberg Is Going Mad.

On Bloomberg TV last week was a 'pundit' who was offering his expert advice on the alleged benefits of the 'stimulus package'.

He claimed that it took four dollars of debt to produce one dollar of growth (an utter absurdity), and so the trillion dollars would produce about $250 billions of growth, or about 2% of US GDP.

This insanity is a self-referencing non-sequiteur. If it were true, debt would be sufficient to account for all growth. The insanity that this represents is beyond parody; in fact, growth comes from moneys which are generated additional to costs, and debt has nothing to do with this, except that debt allows the redistribution of money from one group of spending to another.

Lunacy.

Alban's Fat Wife Disgusts Me.

And I'm not the only one.

Alban Is An Idiot

And I mean that most sincerely folks, I really do.

As Irish As Wellington(s)

Sad farewell to P.McG.

MadMen is back.

Watched MadMen tonight, and I'm happy to say it went very well, apart from underwritten children's dialogue.

Now.

On TV and in the papers, Staffordshire NHS has killed 1200 patients through incompetence and shoddy practise allegedly resulting from trying to meet government targets.

Scrap the NHS now!

So There I Was....

Minding me own business, and that Roland Beamont parks his bleedin' TSR2 in me front room.

Altruism.

Altruism is always referred to as if it were a belief system, an idea which is one among many, and is available to us as a potential choice for a code by which to live our lives.
This is rubbish.

Altruism best describes a psychosis, an actual and commmonplace mental illness that takes the form of psychological dependence on other people for a sense of existence.

The sense of existence is revealed to the sufferer as a sequence of psychological mechanisms which implement emotional responses and thus perpetuate an illusion of life.
The altruist illness requires the subconscious and unchecked, obsessive delusion that all behaviour is socially orientated.
While essential humanity stops this from reaching psychotic episodic levels sometimes, commonly it doesn't, and entire belief systems of delusional type are built up around the impulses generated.

The altruisitic belief in social metaphysical reality is thus, through the subconscious guidance of rationalising thought processes, able to produce complex and express theoretical systems promoting the value of overt altruism.

Thus, a mental illness, typically caused by lack of employment, the lack of independent experience and the cowardice inherent in group behaviour, leads to such things as Marxism and Christianity.

However, it is the exploiters of the illness, such as Marx and the church leaders, who have sought to acquire political power by expressing theories and moralities which lend psychological validation to the altruist psychotic. For this reason alone, without further examination, their claims of humanitarian benevolence may safely be disregarded.
Any person who seeks to exploit the mentally ill is the most evil of individuals.

I look forward to the day when altruism is recognised as a treatable mental disease.

Second Version

Merging With Thoughts You'd Never Dare To Dream.

This line from a Tubeway Army song of the late seventies summarises the state in which huge numbers of the people in this country live.
For example, I took a day off from spending money today, and so I didn't go out.
And my neighbour didn't go out either. As if he was afraid I'd get some privacy, something I thrive on but something which terrifies him.
He stayed in all day, and tried to 'relate' to any random noise coming from my flat, like some sort of leech or poison ivy, sucking the life out of a host which isn't actually there.
If only it was. Then he would have something to resent, something to energise his dead body into pretending that it was alive, a way of leaning up against something else like a poorly built shanty.

There are millions of creatures like this in Britain; they have no self, no mind, just a collection of gelatinous reactions like something bred in a Petrie Dish.
The reason why Howard Roark was so quiet was that he had never had sufficient privacy to allow himself to express.
Because a Human Being expresses things of value, things which are immediately attacked in the attempt to bury them under the weight of fraudulent assertion, the assertion that the expressions were for anybody's benefit but his own.

Well get this, altruists: they aren't for you!

Good News!

From the Toronto Star of all places; safe smoking!

Alive alive-oh!

Uh-Huh! You Tell Em, Boyfriend!

Infantilism In England

Resistance Is Futility

Sometimes.....

London on the eighties was fun. Finding a place to live was often hell, but at work we had fun.

There were masses of big office builds then, and I worked on a few of them. London trades were booming, and loadsamoney was real.

I was watching the Daily Mirror advert today, where the tic-tac man at the race course is given subtitles, saying 'I dance like this at weddings'.

It reminded me of a goofball, a right lads lad we had working for us on the partitioners team; one day Kate Bush was playing on the radio, and he and his mates all started dancing like Kate Bush. It was bloody funny. It still gives me a good feeling now.

Or another time when an old Sparks and his apprectice were told to 'shape up', so they started doing star jumps - the kid jumped up and down and the oldster flung his arms out. They split it between them, they were a team.

A little later I cut my hand, and the old timer showed me how to make a dressing out of a cigarette paper.

Glorious. God, I love work.

Apologies.

To all those jolly good English people who aren't cunts.
We know who they are, but we will say nothing.

Interesting Telegraph Article

This is about the attempts to murder Castro.

No Surprises There.

They murdered Morgan's wife.
They probably meant to.
They probably won't do anything about it.
Because they would probably do the same to any of us if we get out of line.

I.T.M.A.

This Is True.

The British electorate returns to the Labour Party like a dog to its vomit.

What Gives?

I asked for the documents from the Irish Embassy three weeks ago.
They said they'd put them in the post.
They haven't arrived.

The Shame, The Shame..

So the Movies For Men channel was showing an old history of Winston Churchill. It was okay until they got to the bit where WSC addresses both houses of Congress.
Then I remembered that Brown-job was 'only the 5th Prime Minister' to do so.

I couldn't watch any more. The thought of that gobshite Brown being compared by the corrupt Americans to WSC in order to synthesise 'good repute' for the miserable bastard was too much.

If Callaghan had asked for it he would have been laughed out of Washington, and Callaghan was twice the man Brown-job isn't.

Disappointment

I just can't watch MadMen any more.
Too many terrible continuity mistakes are completely wasting everybody's efforts.
It is set in 1961.
Last week I heard somebody say 'hit the ground running'.
I remember that phrase. I think it appeared in the eighties.
Then today, Mrs. Draper tells her son to leave the 'stereo' alone. Now I know for a fact that while we were not rich, we didn't get a stereo record player till 1976, and my parents were so alien to it they went around for three years calling it a 'steer-ee-o' and placing a speaker in each room to 'spread the sound out'.
I don't recall my parents being especially thick, but then again.
So Mr. Draper would not say 'hit the ground running', and Mrs. Draper would probably say 'phonograph' or radio because that is what they were in 1961.

It is bad writing. Couldn't these kids take time to ask somebody who was actually alive?

Ha ha ha ha ha ha !

Pots calling kettles black?

The ITV journaholic was spitting with viciousness, referring to the 'old boys network' when conducting the nightly 1984-style official hate minute against hero, Fred Goodwin.

Of course, television is all merit, right? There's no old boys network in television at all, now, is there?

Ever tried getting a job at a TV company?

The first thing they ask is, 'do you have any relatives working for us?'

What Were They Thinking?

How could anybody vote for Labour, the four-time losers? How? What is wrong with people? How?
In 1945 they kept Britain on rationing for nearly ten years, said 'no more war' and went into Greece, Palestine and Korea.
Scum.
In 1965 they destroyed what was left of the aircraft industry, destroyed the steel industry, destroyed the car-makers, destroyed the few rich people in the country, destroyed the pound;
in 1975 they destroyed the entire national wealth and went to the IMF for help.
In 1997 to today, they have pauperised millions of pensioners, created a huge fake economy, destroyed the City of London(the last world-class bit of big British industry) and introduced to the world the 'policies' which have caused global economic collapse.

NOW WILL PEOPLE FINALLY GET THE FUCKING MESSAGE ABOUT THESE CRIMINALS?

Seeing Another Atrocity - As You Do.

So, needing a pint of milk I went to the newsagents.
The cornflakes with fresh full cream were delicious, thank you, but not so delicious were the Morale Conditioners at work on the front pages of the Sunday rags.
'MI5' (no less ) is reportedly worried about the possibility of riots in the Summer over Bank Bonuses being too large.
This is sick bullshit, designed to mobilise the so-called 'free' press against any working man who has the guts to stand up against the evil, thieving, bullying thugs that impersonate the government in this devastated country; they are using the press as another agency of policy to intimidate the population and particularly the City ( which was for 20 years the saviour of the economy until the bastards milked it to death), so that we will accept any or all of the nasty surprises they have planned for us, under the guise of 'emergency'.

MI5 should definitely be concerned - as they were over Harold Wilson last time it was tried.

Time

Arbitrary dictatorship without limiting principles.

Tetley's Tinned Bitter.

Full Flavour Tetleys in cans; I used to drink it by the gallon.
Since then I've had a couple of months off, only drinking real beer in pubs.
Tried Tetleys tinnies again yesterday; god how awful my stomach feels.

Tetley's; goes well with food.
In either direction.

Gordon the Moron speaks?

Good News And Bad News

The government is powerless to steal Sir Fred's money.
Excellent.
However, U2 has played a rooftop concert at the BBC.
Quoted(not really), Bono said "Wuy wanted to do somethin' that's never bin done before. So we thought of this."
A spokesman for the BBC said, the Beatles are nothing without U2, and U2 is nothing without the BBC.
No.
Me Neither.

What A Hero!

Sir Fred Goodwin.

Hero.

The bastards are gathering. They made the deal, now they're whining. The journoholics state, plainly, without evidence and slanderously, that Fred 'ruined' the bank.

Scapegoat.

And now they're trying to persecute the victim. He's absolutely in the right.

Tosser Brown says he didn't know(surprise surprise).

And isn't it funny, we now have a City Minister, just as the City collapses. 

Coincidence?

I think not.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha

New Zealand Herald ha ha ha ha 

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Hah hah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

This country is Impious.

Filthy Bastards!

In 2002, a musical bench was placed in Poet's Corner, near Pembroke Lodge, within Richmond Park, South-West London, being a favoured viewing spot of Dury's. This solar powered seat was intended to allow visitors to plug in and listen to eight of his songs as well as an interview, but has been subjected to repeated vandalism.

This was Ian Dury's memorial seat. Vandalism? Hang the little fuckers. Slowly.

Ho?

I Take It All Back.

Mono is as shite as it has ever been.

Why don't they just give up and stop wasting everybody's time?

Hilarity

Hilarity Clinton made some prize lunatic remarks in China.
Ignoring the essential murderousness of the Chinese Communist regime, she appeared to state that America needed to create business for China by going further into debt; this apparently will have the magical effect of boosting the Chinese economy by causing Americans to spend money they don't actually have.
But wait.
It's all right, because the Chinese government will buy the American government debt!
Yes!
Hilarity has invented the Perpetual Motion Machine!

The Game Is Up.

When we defend British Citizens, we are the Little Satan.
When we don't, it is 'collusion'.
Pull the other one mr. 'Hassan'. What do you take us for?

The Game Is Up.

If there is any future which regards this period as history, then there will be some confusion over why so few people were allowed to realise that this, today, is a Dark Age.

Example: I sit downstairs for a change and decide to watch some TV.
Everything looks hopeless. I am not in sufficiently charitable a mood to allow myself to flatter the producers of this pathetic selection that their 'produce' is interesting, so I select Channnel 4 News.
The very first image that strikes me is a useless picture of the back of a politician's head, while the alleged personality that sometimes describes the 'news' sat there facing both me and the politician while nodding his head and wearing that special, composite expression that British news creatures have, namely, respect, insolence and seriousness all at the same time.

And I thought, 'this is not news'. News is factual reportage of events, not the verbal masturbation of crooks.

So I turned it over to ITV3 rather quickly, where I saw a period 'drama' of some sort. One detailed facsimile of a 19th century gentlewoman spoke to another, then the camera concentrated lovingly on the actress doing actual embroidery.
Paint drying?
Far more interesting. What on earth possessed the director to delude himself that pictures of faked embroidering were even slightly interesting? And who gave him the money to pretend with?
I hope it wasn't me.

If there is a future, and it cares to look back on this age, it will be with absolute horror at the ignorance that gripped the will of the millions.
I say if.
Not when.

Arsehole Talking Convention Is Redundant

If you want to make Mono Visual Basic work on Hardy Heron, add the following repository:

deb http://directhex.mfgames.com/ hardy main

The GPG keyfile is inadequately documented, so if you click the link you get a display of the actual code, but no fucking file.

Wild goose chase; the lack of the silly file just means that your luvverly Mono stuff is 'Unauthenticated'.

It still loads and works just fine.

For VB go to synaptic, install anything found under 'vbnc' search string, and run your Monodevelop. The VB sample application will now actually build and RUN!

Yes folks! You can now do actual VB on Linux!

Ha!

From the San Francisco Chronicle

So It Goes.

Good news everybody.
I find out I'm qualified for Irish citizenship.
Not that the English cunts are monitoring me or anything, but when I phone a friend with the good news, the 'thump thump' starts up maximum volume, and the 'processing' continues.
Make mine a pint of Guinness boys. I'm off.

Keystone Address

Obama's Next Speech

My fellow Americans. I had an American Dream; this dream was one of hope, a hope that one day we can all pretend to buy our houses then complain to the government when we get found out.
I had a dream. An American Dream, a dream where there is an apple pie in every garage and we plug our cars into the street lighting in the morning.
We as a nation must dream the American Dream of putting a man on the Whitehouse by the end of this decade.
I see a dream in which all Americans can engage in rapid eye movement. I see a dream where we will all be Berliners in the Russia of tomorrow's Germany, a Germany which buys American. I see a dream in which the world no longer looks at America. A just America. A happy America. An America which sees the world as a sacred trust put there for its duty; a world of America which is no longer indifferent to the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners, but seeks to make them prosper, dreamily.
I see an America which owns all of its homes yet consumes only one fifth of the oceans by the end of the century.
I see an America which no longer sends troops to cover foreign wars, but instead obliges journalism and the internet to assume their proper responsibilities.
We must all dream the same dream.
It is an expensive dream.
A long and stable dream.
A dream of equal opportunities for both rich and poor.
The American Dream. The dream that we all want.
Thank you.

Eckythump!

The good old Yorkshire Post is on strike.
My sweet natured friends in the transport division are no longer there. The presses have been shut and now they're culling the reporters.

It's like seeing an old friend die.

The YEP was my home for nearly three years. The men and women I worked with were like heroes in a legend.
We all had nicknames.
I was the Nutty Professor. Or on a good day, Buddy Love.
They sacked all the managers who stood up to them. They killed the 'Post.
Johnston Press is in trouble. That's all. They can't make enough money any more from Newspapers.
I hope the old thing survives; I've great memories of the people and the job.
Scotty, playing bagpipes in the frosty air at one in the morning on a Saturday, whenever we were waiting for the presses to roll out the Post.
Driving like a maniac to Scarborough. Pitch black. The most dangerous trunk route in Britain. Hitting speeds of 90 miles an hour in a fully loaded Sprinter in the dark. And all through we were well within our abilities, because we became that good. Except once; I was going 88 round a curve on the A64 and misjudged. I had to tighten the turn. The heavily laden van started to fishtail.
Remembering an old piece of advice from flying days, I held the wheel rigid and didn't attempt to correct.
The vehicle recovered. Just.
I sweated. Then I laughed. Then I stopped at the all nighter for an extra strong coffee.
We always got through. If the vans got destroyed, too bad.
We'd check up on retired Post employees, popping in off our routes for a cuppa, to see the old lads straight.
It continued even after they installed satellite tranceivers in the vans.
We were a family.

Murder In The Comfort Zone

The Albany Aircrash Tragedy.

Evidence:
Stick shaker/pusher activated, indicates stall.
Plane hit ground opposite facing to original direction of flight, indicates spin.
Autopilot on, indicates crew had no chance to respond/didn't see it coming, indicates irrecoverable flight condition without warning.
Particularly heavy snow.

Now the Dash-8 is a Canadian plane, designed to take whatever is thrown at it, so I don't believe icing was a factor.
What is a factor is that the plane was at low speed, for approach; if it flew into a microburst, even a snowy one, it would have behaved as it did.

The Real Lesson

Just saw a most excellent discussion on the only news channel I can stand, namely Bloomberg.

The stats were from the Japanese economy. The Japanese economy is a predictor of the world economy; the lesson learned by the idiot governments of the world is to assume that the state assistance to businesses in the bubble-pop of the late eighties was in some way responsible for saving the Japanese economy and fostering the erroneous assumption that it is in some way insulated.

In fact, they demonstrated that Japan has suffered ( so far ) the worst GDP collapse since 1974. Anybody who remembers 1973-74 also remembers that the slump lasted ten years. But back to Japan.

Japanese companies are unable to make money domestically due to the state interference in the slump of 1989, which allowed a huge number of Japanese companies to remain in competition for a saturated and diminishing domestic market without ever having to take hard restructuring decisions.

This is the model being actively pursued and imitated everywhere else today.

In the nineties, Japanese companies were able to export their way out of the Doldrums on the back of a resillient world economy; if the fools like 'Barmy' Obama and 'Chocolate' Brown have their way, we will finally have reached a world in which it is no longer possible to blame the failure of socialism on the fact that it isn't universal.

In fact, worldwide stagnation or collapse is assured, and if Japan is anything to go by, it will be collapse.

Maybe It's Because I'm Not A Londoner?

I Like This.

Thanks

Thanks But No Thanks.

I Always Knew It

There has been a collision between a 'disused' Russian military satellite and a US Phone satellite over, wait for it, Siberia, resulting in the Russian junk being junked and the US communications satellite being destroyed.
Freak accident they say.
I'll say.
What are the odds of a communications satellite - American - being destroyed over Siberia at no cost to the Russians?
Who would it benefit? Oh, of course, they don't have a free press in Russia, and they still like to control things like telephones and the internet. Apparently a Chinese satellite nearly took out a European one recently.
Dry run, anybody?

And what about GPS and military ssurveillance?
I expect they're leaving those alone until they absolutely have to go to war with us.

I Always Knew It

Once Proud Fathers Act So Humble?

You should have seen my old dad once the shrinks threatened me. He turned into a little old man overnight.
I tell you this is now, here.

Ah...Scaramanga.

My Discovery

I've discovered Guns 'n Roses today.
I beg the court's indulgence while I change my plea to guilty as charged.

Wankers.

The Tories are the new kings of Newspeak.
The arseholes probably thought this a double-plus-good wheeze.

Apple Is Shite.

Apple actively seeks to alienate 90% of the world market by making I-Pods incompatible with WMP.
Putzes.

I Always Knew It.

Thanks to Wiggysan for discovering the truth.

It's out there.