Tuesday, June 30, 2009
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.
This( Hungary, 1956 ) was the real deal.
And all Eisenhower did was crucify Britain and France for re-occupying Suez.
Tosser.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
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.
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.
America bans Ecstasy. America introduces draconian measures. Production rises.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
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.
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...'
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...'
Friday, June 12, 2009
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.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Saturday, June 06, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, June 05, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, June 01, 2009
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.
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