Tank Of The Day.

This is where it all started.

Oh,Boy.

Uncharacteristically late night viewing for me; I've just seen a new series about nerds called 'Big Bang Theory'.
It revolves around two physics students and their two weird friends, who make the acquaintance of a beautiful but dim girl neighbour.
Watching the one with the blog trying to act smooth is agonisingly, screamingly funny.
I recommend this show.
Channel 4 of course. BBC2 never seems to bother any more.

Bovington Tank Museum

In case you were wondering, all these tanks were at Bovington, less than 30 miles away.
Great deal for a rainy Sunday; £10 buys you an annual pass.

God Bless America.

It was back in 1994, the Cold War had ended and the Western World was still suspicious and a little stunned.
The American Airforce was still a strong presence in England, with bases at Alconbury, Upper Heyford and points East.

I had a brand, spanking new Council Flat in the North, and was still struggling to swallow the apparent truth that I had come a cropper and lost it, lost out, nearly lost my life and my sanity.

I was a charity case.

I didn't have a proper radio, just a Walkman.
One night I felt particularly depressed and lonely, and scanned the airwaves for succour.

I found the American Forces Network, or AFN; they were upbeat. They were a million miles away.
After a basketball game, they played music.
They played someone I now know to be Beck, an album I now know to be 'Mellow Gold', and a song I will never forget:
Loser!
I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?
I fell asleep laughing that night.
With the courage to look forward once again.

So next time you see some English person going all fake American with a pickup and a caravan or a flag, remember the days when it used to mean something.

Tank Of The Day.

Tis a pity that this tank was a disappointment in combat and never made it out of the desert.
It looks absolutely superb.
It's a Crusader tank, with the 6-pounder AT gun.
It had American 'Christie' supension like the T-34 and Panther (but not one actual American tank), and was quite quick.
It was supposed to be quick, like a Cruiser, which was why this class of tank was called 'Cruisers'.

A Brief Aside...

In the words of the much-imitated Woody Allen-:
"Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons."

Tank Of The Day.

And here it is.
In the middle, the definitive Matilda Tank, with the 6 pounder anti-tank gun(more powerful anti-tank than the 75 mm) and in desert camouflage, flanked by another couple of interesting designs, an armoured car (Humber?) and a Cruiser tank, the Crusader.

Aces High!

Counting down the weeks.
March my brave lads!

Drink Up And Be Merry!

What the ?

Tank Of The Day.

A Brrritish Lait Tarnk
Doesn't look too strong, but it is similar to the Panzer 1

This thing looks like it could be turned over by a determined Chav rebelling against his asbo.

An American entry; fragile? Shove a bar in the works and rip off the tracks. Or else run up behind and give it a good kick with an anti-tank boot.



Infantry tank, which later became the Matilda. Actually quite a solid piece of kit.

Disaster Averted.

All a misunderstanding.
Everything is cool.

Oh, Behave!

So, does anyone else here hate the Fairy Concentrated advert?
I mean, being lectured to by a three-year-old enviro-fascist is really, really irritating.
What a bloody shambles.

And Then, Disaster.

Tank Of The Day.

Mind you, the Krauts came up with a few stinkers too.
The one at the top voss Der Tanken vich voss first into service.
The one at the bottom (which usually had a whole machine-gun!) was standard issue in 1940.
Of course, the British only had the early 'Infantry' tank, which also had machine guns.
The two could sit and blast away at each other all day without doing either one harm.

Good, clean fun.
France fell. Oops.

Tank Of The Day.

This design from the 20's was for a heavy tank. All rivetted together and with no less than five (5) turrets, all grouped round the front of the vehicle, this truly was a stonk among tanks.
It just keeps on going doesn't it? Couldn't fit the barge in. What a loverly artillery target it would have made. A sort of 'Private Pike' attempt at invincibility.

The plaque tells the story of this Vickers Armstrong prototype. Retractable road wheels. Useful for taking on the natives in India, but not particularly brilliant in a real war. Note the narrow tracks.
Mud, anybody?
At least in town it could pick up it's skirts and run. A sort of self-transporting tank.
Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

Thunk A Blinksoe.

Have you heard about the government radio campaign called 'Dob in a dealer'?
Yes.
They invented this crap word, 'dob'.
It makes you sound a little less of a grass, a little less of a government informer.
Note the carefully formed shapelessness of the word.
It is to slang, what Ayn Rand's 'Project X' was to pill-boxes.

Tank Of The Day.

The two at the top are JagdPanthers or tank-hunting Panthers, without a turret and with the 88mm gun.
The one at the bottom is an actual Panther.
Sorry about the 'link' text.
Blogger is fucked today.

Tank Of The Day.

The mighty Tiger Tank.
But the Churchill had thicker armour.
And the Panther's 75mm gun had more power than the Tiger's 88.

Tank Of The Day

Now that's what I call a Churchill.
Just hope I'm right.

Tune In, Drop Out, and Turn Off.

Apparently the Red China government is cracking down on dissent ahead of the Peking olympics.
I urge everyone to erect a Great Firewall of protest against 'games' in hell, by not watching.

Tank Of The Day.

This is some sort of Churchill Tank from ww2.
I say 'some kind' (probably an experimental prototype) because if you look closely, it has a hull-mounted main gun.
The Churchill (built in Leeds) only had the turret gun and machine guns.
In 1943-44 it had the thickest armour of any Western ally tank, until the Americans brought in the Patton, in late 1944.
(Apart from the monstrous 80 ton TOG 11 that Britain produced in prototype form in 1941).

Macmillan Nurses

So the Macmillan advert comes on;
"Living with cancer is tough."
Too fucking right!
You bloody die!

First In A Series Of Definitions.

Graffiti- the definition of graffiti is-
the excretions of crushed minds.

Free? Men Have Killed For Less. And Died.

In the Sunday Telegraph tomorrow, the French production of Cyrano De Bergerac, starring Gerard Depardieu.
I loved the English translation of Rostand's superb verse play; I had my suspicions about the film, even though it was in French.
But these fears were allayed by the excellent entry in Wikipedia for the word 'panache', which was represented in the translation by 'white plume of Freedom'.
I thought the film makers had cut a corner and entered a cheap quality, 'panache' for the last word of De Bergerac.
I(happily) was wrong.
Panache is the exact word from the original French; the film is superb, and faithful. Depardieu represents the very best of Gallic Honour in a film of a play that represents the very best of the Human Spirit, including Gallic Honour.
The Sunday Telegraph is certainly supplying the goods.
I hope it is in the original French, however.
"A man does not fight only to win!"

Courtesy Of Djomama.

This is a particularly good posting from a blog I haven't seen before.
It may become a regular.
Thanks to Djo.

That Saturday Morning Feeling

Low Winter Sun, looking watery and shining on a calm Old Harbour. Still haven't quite got the hang of the camera.I mean, loverly wide angle to get everything in, but without manual lens control(you have to press a zoom button) matching composition to natural view is difficult. What was especially appealing about the shot below was the water-light interplay. Just barely captured with this range and detail level.

This picture definitely needed zoom; the buildings and details along the coast of the Northern bay area were clearly visible to the naked eye, but all I got was beach.
Still, not bad for a Saturday morning stroll, and the breakfast was excellent.

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.

A Message From Our Sponsors

As we move into 2008, may we go forwards, not backwards, upwards, not downwards, and twirling twirling twirling all the while.

Benazir Bhutto

When I first saw Benazir Bhutto in a magazine, she was the beautiful, Oxford-educated future Prime-Minister of Pakistan.
She was murdered today.
Shame on the scum.
Pakistan should be sealed off and left to rot.

The Yeti-Penguin Game

I got to 265.9 yards on my second go.
Courtesy of Bogol.

Pity.

That we don't have East Germany to set an example any more.
Now we are all living in East Germany. And it is only a few private companies that are quietly holding out.

Y'Know What?

Tis the season to be merry.
So I got to the venue, the big luxury hotel where Hank Scorpio was feting us for Christmas.
There was a lovely choir of schoolchildren singing carols, and a bar for drinks.
They served us coloured champagne at the entrance.

I stood at the bar for fifteen minutes, trying to get a drink, but all the barrack-room suits got in first, because I'm new to the company and I didn't want to tell the cunts to stay out of my fucking way.
Eventually Big Al comes in with the Missus and gets me my drink.
He's okay.
Cool.
Then dinner is announced.
I go and get my roast beef, and sit down, somewhat chaotically (no plan here), with some geezers and their girls.
The one guy goes on and on about how we should be wearing party hats because it's Christmas.
I eat up and fuck off back to the bar before I am tempted to tell the guy what to do with his party hats.
One more beer-they actually serve me this time.

I sit around sipping my beer.
The woman that suddenly started glad-eying me(after being extra-special-insular at work) disappears.
I'm left with half a beer and a mobile phone.

Ten minutes later I'm in a cab, having a cheerful chat about music with the cabbie, on the way back into town.
I make it back to my pad with just enough time to crack a Tetleys tinnie before Ugly Betty.

Score!
Best thing all night.

Like Beethoven and Jesus....

The Omega Man was black.(Or should that be BLACK?)
Meanwhile Charlton Heston(who is still alive) must be rolling his own.
Ammo, that is.

Despite.....

Despite what I said about San Francisco by Christmas....
Despite the recent successes....

The fact remains that the war will go on.
I recieved a fat bonus; but the old accommodations still aren't signed off, and I don't get a full year's leave to play with until April.

But in May....I will be free.

I Want A Mistress....

For Christmas.

Why can't I have a girlfriend like this?

The Shit-Brown Dog.

From Wikipedia - The Brown Dog Riots. Apparently there used to be a scientific class, which actually engaged in militancy.
This counter-sentimentalism is the real reason Compulsion was introduced to what used to be education.
And where the author of the article abuses the word 'worker', you should read 'unemployed malcontent layabout'.

H.M.S. Thunderer.

The experience has also tried his Buddhist beliefs. “I hate the soldiers now,” he said through an interpreter. “I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Those who killed monks will go to the lowest depths of the Hells. They will not scare us into giving up, though. We are even more determined to continue our struggle against the military. We want peace, national reconciliation, lower prices and the release of political prisoners and Aung San Suu Kyi.

From The Times.

Lest We Forget.

Here's the rub.
Either we say that Burma is our concern, that Freedom is right, not just for us but for everybody, or we say that Burma is a faraway land with internal policies that do not affect us and are not our concern.

If the former, we will be accused of Western Culturo-centric bigotry and Imperialism.
If the latter, we will be accused or reneging on our international obligations and duties, and that we are callous and illiberal.
Damned if we do and damned if we don't, in other words.

But isn't it time we all saw through the irrational anti-decision which forbids us from saying 'either-or' and condemns us to the torrents of purefied, putrified 'guilt' that are directed from below?

The facts are always the opposite of what the conformal mainstream try to trick us with; the facts are as follows.
Burma is in the grip of a criminal conspiracy.
We have the right to end it by any means we see fit.
We have the right to pursue a policy of civil re-alignment in Burma until the conspiracy is eradicated.
In no sense are we obliged to do anything.
In no sense is it our duty to do anything, particularly as states, but if private individuals organise themselves to destroy the criminals, so much the better.

And if such individuals are pursued back to the West in the event of failure or revenge, then our states do have a duty to protect them.

And that is the truth, whatever the reality.

This Just In....

The SBC Internet correspondent reports:
All over the country, indeed, the world, people running blogs on HaloScan, because they think, perhaps, that it is 'alternative', are waking up to find that their comments sections, normally a scene of thriving discourse, are static and stagnant.

It gets worse.

Anybody even trying to view a Haloscan-hosted site will be put on indefinite hold, and only by back-navigating from a subsequent site will they be able to view the blog in question.
And they still will not be able to leave any comments.

As one industry insider put it:
"What the fuck? The fucking haloscan sites are all fucking useless. What am I going to look at now?"

What indeed?
This has been your SBC correspondent, Roger Lootenant, currently in cyberspace.

You Can Watch It On The Internet.

This image came to us courtesy of UtterOutrage blog.

A Very British Disease.

A children's television programme (on the BBC, where else?) is on at about five pm Mondays.
It is called 'Beat The Boss', a title which tries to predispose the youngsters towards hating the boss, that person who is the one authority which actually does have the right to be.

Anyway, two teams of children get together with two teams of business people, and design a product.
The children take it all rather seriously, thinking as they tend to, that they will be allowed to make a difference.
The two teams came up with two very different toys, which the enthusiastic companies turned into prototypes.

At this point, in reality , they would allow the market place of people's desires and ambitions to decide the success of the products.
At this point, the children would discover freedom.

What do the televisors do?
Why, they decide that a panel-of-experts will decide which is the best.

You see the valuable lesson being taught here; experts are the real authority, appointed by, well, 'the real authority', to decide 'expertly' who is permitted to live.
Welcome to fascist Britain, Social Fascist Britain, where nobody is allowed to be free for to be free is to be an outcast.

War of 1812 Anybody?

Hey ho.
Just leave the idiots to stew.

Star Wars- The Bunkum Menace.

In due course and due time, ITV1 had to start showing the 'Prequels' in their Sunday afternoon slot.
I decided to give them a look.
So along comes the 20th Century Fox fanfare.
Fine.
Then a rather blank and tapped on quote from the original(Galaxy far far away etc.).
Then the wonderful music and the scrolling storyline.
It read like a Guardian editorial about Rwanda would, if the murderers had been Soviet.

It was pathetic, 'liberal-left' wet-dream propaganda.
The implication was that we need the State, to protect us from the armies of evil Capitalists, and the state must 'be strong'.
To this end, two Jedi knights are despatched to Mongo, where the 'trading bloc' is enforcing a blockade.

I mean, they didn't say much about the original plot, but you got it.
This time, they went into exhaustive detail and described a piss-poor story that lost my interest immediately.

We all knew and understood 'evil empire'.
We don't need some professor's conformal thesis.
You can shove it. Hope they don't mind wasting all that CGI.

Think about the effects, next time you see a mindless nine-year-old swishing and swooshing with a plastic light-sabre. What is he going to become if he cannot see through this tripe, and his parents trust it because they grew up on Star Wars?

Hello

Hello and welcome to a new News Channel, the SBC.
We are a division of Third World News, with close links to Tinpot Alley Broadcasting and Banana Republic, the home of the smooth fruit Smoothie.
We hope you will enjoy our regular broadcasts from the verge of the Non-Event Horizon, London.
Thank you.

This Just In....

The British Government is to outlaw magic wands, asserting that licensing has failed as an effective control.
This is after a goblin was turned into Harriet Harman by Harry Potter, and then went on to accept £5000 in illegal donations on behalf of the Labourious Party.

As we now know, the real Harriet Harman 'complied fully with both the spirit and the letter of the law', as she said yesterday.
So that would be the proof that it was a goblin then.

The police are being advised that in order not to frighten the children, if they find one with a magic wand, they should shoot him seven times in the head, only if a silencer is available.

This is Derek Doylum, reporting for SBC News in London.

Stupid, Fucking Mohammed Wankers

"Death to the British non-believers!"
"Other, carefully coached messages of hate!"
"There are hundreds of us!"
"Some of us have swords!"
"We don't insult Jesus. We just murder hundreds of thousands of Christians in Darfur."

These were just some of the slogans being shouted here, today in Khartoum.
Of course, Khartoum is no stranger to hot-headedness.
In the 19th Century General Gordon lost his head completely while attempting to protect thousands of innocent people from being murdered by a man who thought he actually was a prophet to rival Mohammed (ptoo).
Today the Sudanese government expressed regret at the decision of a British schoolteacher to allow her children to call Mohammed a Teddy Boy.
They claimed that he would have been unlikely to have carried a razor-blade, as he always went around with a beard.
Of course, the official that claimed this was asked how he knew Mohammed had a beard, as his likeness is forbidden, whereupon he attacked himself and committed ritual suicide by cutting his own head off.
This is Shmuel Jacobs, for SBC, Khartoum.

Ay! Youse Guys!

So. Yesterdays I gets da call from da Big Boss, da Capo de Capo of da organisation in which I have been continuing my studies for da past tree months.
Tony calls me in a says "Congratulations Pietr; you is now passed your tree months probation.
You is now a Made Man."
And he sits me down wit a computer at a double-big desk, an he says, "Keep up da good woik."

An ya knows whats?
Id suits me fine!

Yay Verily I Say Unto You...

This is Emma Clarke, the voice of the Underground.

This Was When I Showed Up.

So there I was in a foreign country, with no job, no money.
I went to the Embassy for help.
They refused.
I created a bit of a scene.
They took some details.
Then refused.
The Scottish porter in the main building kindly gave me a cup of tea. Genuinely.
I got no financial help because I couldn't supply a reference or guarantor back home.
While in the foyer of the main building I saw crates, possibly a quarter ton, of dog-food imported from England.
The British value system?
To hell with that.
Some precious little diplomat can't be sodded to help a taxpayer out of a tough situation, but his dog, his fucking dog, is too good for the foreign food!

As it happened, the local people helped me out.
A business office let me sleep on the flat roof(it was Summer), and a local builder gave me work- but first he gave me money to go and get food.

This country really is upside-down.

Betting Certainty.

It's a betting certainty that the writers of Ugly Betty have read the Fountainhead.
The style cues are there in the plot construction.
Too much to be a coincidence.
And they have learned well.

The Fate Of The World - In England.

The Big Brother Corporation - or BBC - has more channels now than ever before.
On BBC4 TV, there is a nightly news programme called 'The World'.
Tonight a Jewish Israeli was invited on the show to give his opinion about the peace treaty.
He talked, rationally and calmly, with considerable authority, then suddenly Zenab Badawi, the woman who used to be shrill on Channel 4 News, started getting shrill on her new BBC show.
"Can I just intervene there.."
&c, &c, you get the picture.
In other words, she detected that the Israeli was beginning to make a point, an impact, explain his position, and that position was reasonable, so she censored him.
FBC.
Fucking Bastards Corporation.

The Fate Of Humanity In England.

This, from the New York Times.

State Capitalism.

Capitalism as a Political System is the guarantor of Freedom.
Capitalism as a simple word is just a way of describing the accrewal and disposition of sums of capital, where capital is regarded as a store of human effort, to be released at (somebody's) will and sent to achieve a particular task.
Thus, the industrialisation of the Soviet Union might well be regarded as an act of State Capitalism rather than Communism; if the commune decided the application of capital democratically, two things would happen: firstly, communism, and secondly, an even greater disaster.
When the state decided, it was State Capitalism.
What we have today in the West is a messy amalgam, more toxic than any dentists, of the state being elected to do the democratically expressed economic will of the commune, in other words, a mixture of communism and state capitalism, with the few remaining capitalists arranged as puppets on strings to dance to the tunes played by the likes of Brown.
They don't try too hard.
The last time they were allowed the illusion of freedom was in the 80s, and when that happened, BOOM!, but no longer.
Meanwhile, the purer version of state capitalism in Red China is seen as the justification for all the compromises in the West, the excuse and the sponsor.
Thankfully for the likes of Ted Heath, the freedom-loving people of China(not to mention Tibet and the Falung Gong and Christians) got a 'damn good thrashing' at Tiannenmen Square in 89.
The year after, Maggie was gone, as was Ronnie.
All too late to save the Soviet Union of course, a disaster according to Putin, undoubtedly the last straw for those who seek to govern.
So today we enter the time of reckoning; we are faced with the prospect of allowing total control of our lives with the likes of Russia and China defining our freedom in the last deperate echo of the 80s, coming back to us from the impressionable new frontiers, all the while being reeled in by their States.

It's later than you think.
We have allowed them to kill the freedom movements that date back to the fifties.
Today we have nothing.
Today we are on our own.

Rip-Off Britain.

When are we going to become the 51st state?
Please?

Behavioural Reinforcement 2

In keeping with the methods used in 1990 and, for all I know, before, they like to threaten me by saying nasty things about my 'women', whomsoever they, in their desperate, floundering seekings, percieve these to be.
So for example, when I put out the standard story for my not having a particular girlfriend (think Dagny Taggart and John Galt at the arrest), they actually go ot the trouble of searching for a likely candidate for my (unlikely) affections, and then claim knowledge of this person(should such person exist, which I sincerely doubt).
They will lurk not for weeks, not for months, not even for years, but for decades in the background, patiently watching us like the filthy creeping scum they are, for signs of affection, for any sign that we have any connection at all.
At the same time, they will pass the message on that we must have a partner, we must connect with someone, we must comply by having a crowbar with which they can threaten us and pry our value system apart.
Me?
I couldn't give a fuck.
Literally.
Maybe I could see a whore if the fancy takes me, but they keep me too poor.
Besides, I can't be bothered.
If I had a woman that cared about me I would be there now, not writing this, and I would be there on the basis that whatever we did we did for the present.
I only have one regret.
That regret is that I can't publish all the bastards names and addresses publicly.
If I could do that I would feel vindicated.
Or, if I could live in a quiet place with a few quiet mistresses, a job and a couple of guns, I would be satisfied.
Obviously, in order to prevent their victims from defending themselves, they are variously disarmed, declared insane or otherwise rendered helpless.

But these are legal instruments.
And I've got news.
I don't care about legalities.
I care about justice.

Clarkson On Form.

Jeremy Clarkson writes in the Times.

The Simpsons

Don't you just love the Simpsons?
On Friday they went to Toronto.
The Dodgers stadium was renamed 'Dodgers Of Foreign Wars'.
So where the fuck were the Americans in 1939?
The Canadians sure as hell were there, but where were the 'Simpsons'?

Not Brilliant.

He looks like Mao Tse Tung.
She looks like Imelda Marcos.
The pair of them aren't smiling; they are merely stifling the howls that would normally issue from the holes in their faces.

God help Australia.

Brilliant!

Isn't Ugly Betty brilliant!
Just saw the episode with Posh and the wedding.
God!

What Gets Me.....

All the Communists are now pillars of the establishment.

And people think it's because we've changed them!

What Went Wrong?

Back in the eighties(yes, I remember the eighties) we, and I mean 'we', were mostly outraged by the clear perpetration of evil by the Soviet Union.
The Soviet Union was the pinnacle of evil in the world, the source of arms, succour and comfort to murderers all around the globe, and the clear source of the ills besetting the world.

We could listen to Radio 1 and hear people mocking Andropov('Dropoff') openly, mainstream, popular music, BBC Radio 1.

The eighties culminated with a world drunk on its own success witnessing the collapse of evil.

And where are we today?
The old chestnut about the failure being 'right' despite its failure has come back and kicked us in the arses, or in the teeth if we look like resisting; the Soviet Union lives on in spirit and is killing the world even now, through the proxies and usable fools like Brown and Bush.
Without the anti-beacon of pure evil, Ronnie's 'Evil Empire', we are reduced to witnessing the flashes of light as the scurrying dwarves run rings around us in the Media-induced fog, and tie us up with the ropes of regulation into just one more variant of the Evil Empire.

And Freedom dies.
It's so sad.

Most Excellent Dude.

Fred's on form

Behavioural Reinforcement.

I was programmed in 1990.
I was programmed to fail, by the method of traumatic induction.
Traumatic induction as practised by my torturers is the replacement of random, non-communicative, non-influential and random occurrences with what they hope will be subliminally inducted communications.
So, for example, every time you go into a certain pub in an area under their influence, there will be a tape(a jukebox requires an observer-operator, and all pubs have a 'secret' preference control-I've seen them) playing a particular song, usually a mournful, threatening song such as 'Road To Hell' by Chris Rea, or a strident nag like 'You're So Vain'.What will be striking is the sheer consistency of the occurrence of the message.
Five visits, five repeats, and even the thickest-skinned will begin to get the message.

Of course, the people in charge of psychologically traumatising me were like a Spetznaz simulation of 'Western Rockers', somewhat unconvincing and crook.

The trauma part comes from the application of physical violence.
In my case random brawling was replaced by a targetted attack. Obviously these life-forms think of themselves as apart from general criminality, so they try to provoke.
Their desperation resulted in an actual challenge after I evaded their traps for three months.
The last time I fought was against their hit man.
I lost the fight but hit the hitter.
And last year in the North Of England they tried again.
The technique is always the same.
They don't necessarily resort to violence but they do try to induce fear and intimidation which they then exploit by rather sophisticated means.
My problem ws that my experiments in resistance training had left me slightly 'heads-up' regarding the locals, so I was noticed.

For sure there are people these creeps leave decidedly alone, people with connections and resources.
Of which I now have some. In theory at least.
But I also have plans for a life, so I am loath to take the risk of committing to sending the bastards a message they can't miss.
I suppose unless I actually cut number 1's throat I'd just be even more heads up.

These people were the prototype for the Village in 'The Prisoner', which like any good fable has a basis in fact.

I think that these funny little people are known all over the world by various other groupings and organisations, and are terrified that I represent another hostile organisation.
Or maybe they are just sadistic bastards for the sake of it.

I think that they are the Meta-Communists I was talking about earlier.
I think that it is quite possible they pre-date Marx.
I think that their 'science' is a living document or may even have been written down.
It's possible that they are tolerated in the West because they appeared to help in the fight against the Soviet variety.

But I know their stink.
The actual goal of their machinations is the mental collapse of their victim; even if only in the sense that the victim withdraws and leaves their path to power and potential dominance clear.
They are quite happy with the potential for the time being. It's like a promise of a breath of air for their fetid insect minds.
I pride myself that I obliged them to commit thought, effort and resources to my victimisation, and gave them cause for worry too.
But in the end experience tells, and mine was the mind that began to trick itself into disaster after freedom was reached; partly because they sowed my path with poisonous lies to prepare the way.
The fact is, they raped a girl I knew. Maybe she staged it. I didn't think so at the time. But they raped her in such a way that I would know. This was supposed to colapse my mind, because the knowledge was subliminal.
But I figured it out and went looking for them.
That was when I fought.
And the purpose of the fight was to make me 'give up'. That was what they wanted me to admit.
That I would 'give up'.
I didn't.

The reason I am non-violent today is that violence is playing their game, unless you do it so as to end the bloody game.

Sweet dreams.
Be seeing you!

Not So Impressive.

Since the US government raided the Sunshine Mint and stole all the Liberty Dollars with no respect for Rights, Law or Justice, I have removed their links.
Thanks to Djomama for this.

Impressive.

The Toronto Sun is a mainstream paper I am proud to include in the blogroll.
It will replace the portly 'Star'.

Fag Ends Of The Aristocracy aka Vermin.

The vermin are all around us, a perpetual acompaniment of snickering impotence, searching for our desires and ambitions, searching for anything to keep us in line.
They delude themselves that they have a god-given mission to prevent us from ever amounting to anything (or anyone).
They inhabit the Twilight Zone of social interaction, seeking to pass unnoticed and unchallenged through our perception and into our minds.
They pride themselves that they are subtle.
I'm not so subtle.
I've put up links to the major Western Security Services.
This is because these people are not the same people at all. They earn the Secret people a lot of bad press, but in fact they are shit scared of them.
I'm just trying to give a little back.
A little Hell, that is.

Spare A Thought For The Guys Back There.

One of my mates back at the 'Post was a Zimbabwean, a big, grinning villain with a dear family.
He was kicked out for soliciting in the company car on Water Lane, but that's not the point.
This is.

Forgive My Ignorance

There was a film in England in the 80s called 'Letter To Brezhnev'.
It was about a romance, Northern of course, between some Grimsby slappers and a crewman on a Russian trawler.
Of course, a Grimsby trawler was lost in the 70s, with a strong local suspicion that the Russians murdered the crew, but never let it be said that British luvvies ever paid attention to the sensibilities of anybody but their Communist masters; so they made a film in which the girls wrote a letter to the big boss man so that they could go on sinking the pink with their lardy Soviet thicko in dear old blighty.

The funniest part of this was that at the time, Maggie, Ronnie and most of the Western populace were busy gleefully putting the skids under Communism, so the sentimentality of appealing to mass murderers for clemency was especially touching.
Bless.
NB.- This shite has an entry in Wikipedia. Apparently it was set in Liverpool after all. The propaganda about 'Thatchers Britain' is placed as subtley as a Coca-Cola can in a bad Spielberg movie.

Abortion.

Looking at the persistence of debate in the USA on abortion, I thought about a few possibilities.
Suppose abortion was banned on the basis that unless medically necessary, the termination of a human life was murder; I thought, suppose the penalty for abortion was - wait for it - nine months in prison.
Then I thought, since abortion is banned, let pregnant people plead hardship.
Give them the opportunity to be supported by the state for nine months, on the basis that they want nothing to do with the baby, and will never have anything to do with the baby, and that their jobs are held legally open for them when they return, like war veterans.
Would rationalise a difficult situation.
The kids would be put up for adoption.
Works for Catholics.

Meta-Communism.

The new front in the plot for Communist World Domination opened up years ago.
Adapting to the new overt reality of collapsed Soviets, they did their trademark thing of infiltration and subversion.
Today, the World Communist Party still exists, but it is domiciled nowhere in particular, with a relay of rotating leadership, each of whom takes a crack in turn at whatever tough-nut target it is that they want to crack.
They have all the gear, all the time in the world and enough resources too make their presence inferable by the observant.
At school my teacher always said I was very observant.
So here they are.
They have men on the ground.
They have men in high places.
They don't necessarily have men with guns - but they know where they can get them at short notice.
They have men with fists(as always- the only change is the command structure).

The open 'Communist Parties' are for the benefit of useful idiots.The real deal is as tight as MI5 but more numerous.
They are subtle, personable even.
They spread their easy brand of hell throughout the world, raising the uneasy hackles of British socialist and capitalist alike.
They are in most organisations, like a spider's web of command and control, able to attack the just on the slightest pretext, able to crush with neat application the independent rallies of the few, crush them when they don't even know how or why.
Well I've seen them and they've seen me.


I hope I'm not the only thinker who understands this.

Artistic Installation.

There are many facets to the movements which seek to oppress us.
They, like Stalin's and Dzerzhinsky's 'Trust', try to acquire the appearance of a dialogue, while all the while remaining in control.
They will seek to represent, or appear to represent, people and organisations that they presume will have influence over us.
They seek to subvert and to rule, to thwart our every ambition, impulse and spark of decency using whatever means they can.
In the day of the telephone it was the exchange.
In the day of radio, it was(overtly) the BBC. 'Radio Radio' indeed.
They fashion themselves to our presumed illusions, and use our own values (which they regard as 'weaknesses') against us when they can.
In the age of the Web, they are in possession of tools which don't register, don't leave us the means to trace and don't respect our self-drawn decency boundaries.
Like the agent in 'Twin Peaks', they write their reports based on the degree of delusion they have inflicted on themselves by attempting to follow the Swallow-dives of our beleaguered minds, and the trauma serves to justify their never-ending persecutions.

In their madness, they propbably imagine that they have sufficient justification for doing what they do; after all, in a world of delusion just one more low route through the chaos to connect with some innocent somewhere will almost certainly go unnoticed.
Think what is at stake.
Why, 'world domination' again! Yes! The ability to terrorise us in our own kitchen is key to securing the imperial boundary of their shrunken perception.
The more they range over the world, the less they see. The further they go, the nearer they are.
They don't like that mad Russian gear, Kaspersky, of course, but I wouldn't depend on it protecting you.
Ultimately there is only one defence.
They fill the vacuum, but only if you leave one.
You must become a control freak.
In the sense that even your wildest and free time is spent making your own noise for your own expression.
You've got to squeeze them out of your space, squeeze them till their pips squeek.
In the time of criminal frights, they are the one doing most of the crime, and they are the ones who must be ignored.
They must be banished to the futility of irrelevence.
When the time comes, they will find that all their years of preparation for the 'end' leaves them buried in a bunker while the Human Race sprints from the start-line.

Give My Love To Yoda.

For the last three Sundays, ITV '1' has been showing Star Wars.
One each week, no bullshit.
And I don't mean the crappy modern stuff.
I mean the real, original, Cold War-winning real thing, Star Wars-A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and The Return Of The Jedi.

For once I will let words fail me and just say Fucking Awesome!

Come In.

We've been expecting you, mister Sony.
I think you'll find that your puny 'Copy Protection' is useless against my superior Linux technology.

I Love Work.

Work is a wonderful invention.
At work we have the entire world of good and evil, a world so very often denied to us in our 'own' time.
At work, we are assailed by the 'shrieking and fearful'.
These unfortunate creatures surround us with their perma-spittle of wretched sounds, trying and trying and trying oh-so-hard to put us off, or even provoke us into looking bad.
But we transcend, through the power of work.

We also make friends.
There is nothing funnier than sitting down to lunch with a bunch of jolly, good-natured working people, and catching site of one of your freakish, shit-faced would-be tormentors staring goggle-eyed and shrieking with horror at the site of so much well earned enjoyment.
These life forms seek to alienate, isolate and torture. They never seem to do any actual work, only hold pointless and fruitless chin-wagging sessions where they attempt to reach a convincing tonality; you can tell they are actually listening to themselves in their depravity to try and judge whether anybody can see through them.

I mean, all this fucking crap when they are being paid, it's robbery.

Me?
I scored bigtime this afternoon. I got a big old programme up to code and working after a week of bloody-minded debugging.
Listening all the while to ACDC on my headphones and powering through the bullshit like a nuclear sub.

If only I could do the same at home.
But then, we have 'neighbours', don't we?

Why can't all these dreadful people just FOAD?

You Lying Creeps.

From the Toronto Star - we are all dying of ship pollution.
What's the matter mate?
Too far from you?
Not under your miserable thumb?
You just can't stand the thought of somebody enjoying a peaceful adventurous life on the ocean?
These bastards have to get their fucking mitts on everybody.

Pass The Champagne and Stamp On A Face

Shortly before I left Yorkshire I worked a .NET('dot-net') contract.
The boss was a socialist.
She used to sit in her office trying to impersonate a statue of Lenin, closing the door whenever she drew in a victim to whom she could give free reign to her viciousness, so that the rest of her victim employees could only guess at what hell was being unleashed.

She tried to make me believe I wasn't a programmer, I was a van driver.
She was a nasty piece of work.

Today at my new job, where everything has been hunky dory, the resident socialist wasn't content to listen to my interesting story about how I'd worked for Burton's Tailors.
He said, "So you were an order picker then?", as if all hard work was a badge of shame.

And I realised several things about socialists.
1) They are snobs.
2)They exist for the impression they can make on others.
3) They run a mile when there is real work to be done.

Oh, and while they talk up the 'working class' something awful, they hate working people with a passion that leaks out like an explosion of darkness, a black ray that seeks to kill and still everything it touches.

Useful idiots excepted.

As If That Wasn't Enough...

The price of an ounce of Fine Gold is currently $822 dollars, or in excess of £400.
That means my sole surviving KrugerRand is now worth double what I paid for it.
The last one I sold went on the air fare to Toronto last year.
This one is a keeper.

And Today?

I had a good day.

Notes From The IPCRESS Chamber.

You might think that the film the 'IPCRESS File' was a fanciful piece of romanticised espionage fiction.
As I sit here on Guy Fawkes Night, listening to enough explosions and reports for a bad night in Beirut, punctuated by the wailing of the emergency vehicles, I am reflecting on my apparent state of callousness.

Indeed, I have been brought to the stage whereby so many of my 'Redlines' have been crossed that I cannot proceed to do anything of value without breaking my stillness, the stillness of the grave, the grave in which I have been buried alive.

And when you do this, you yourself cross your own redlines, so that your continuing presence is the presence of the ghost in the machine, the machine of your own day-to-day life.
I am an unwelcome guest in my own existence, with nothing but fitful irritation to mark my interaction with those who have been used in my sacrifice.

The IPCRESS File used sounds and flashing lights to illustrate something very real, something which appears, like troubles, in multitudes and attacks us every now and again with a persistence which can- indeed must- be directed.

By such means are we British put into our places.
By destroying our ability to care, they render us accepting and cooperative.
Then they sit back and wait for 'common sense' to take its course.
After all, why endure a great passion when there are so many pretty, pretty girls in the streets?
Why value your family, when after all, there are so many families and people who need you?

I was supposed to be a rich man.
I spoke out against the expropriation of a colleague.
I was sacked.
I continued to speak out.
I was threatened with legal action.
My savings were trashed.
I continued to speak out.
My family was threatened.
I continued to speak out.
People in Canada threatend people I barely knew in America.

These are facts.
You can infer a great 'conspiracy' if you like, but no one man would justify such an investment of effort.
But when it is already an industry, such a small matter to use the delicate touch on just one more, eh?

There is something foul and malevolent at loose in the fabric of England.
Many think they are fighting it when they in fact are extending it, covering it in straw men behind which it is safe.
It isn't necessarily the government, far from it, this is mostly governed by constitution and law, but where it can spread its claws it does.
It is a black, black organisation which to me is nameless.
But it exists.
The Hellfire Club was probably the nearest it ever had to a public face.
It is real.
It is around us.
It is not all that large.
But it is everywhere.

And the way to defeat it is to simply walk away.