DUFF & NONSENSE!

Not just one but two bits of Good News!

I have been severely admonished by Andra for being a 'depressing old coot'.  Well, I thought that's what old coots were supposed to be!  But anyway, in an effort to cheer everyone up I bring you not one but two bits of Good News.

First, the sun is shining.  Of course, if you're Australian like Andra where the sun never stops shining then it would be unremarkable.  Here in 'this septic Isle', however, it is nearly a miracle.  I have it on good authority that the loopy-loos at the Met Office are all outside in the car park on their prayer mats praying that it lasts for more than the usual four days!

Second, I told you the other day that there were one or two good things about this government - and how I missed Sajid Javid, our Business Minister, I do not know.  But yesterday he laid into the 'Fat Knackers' of the Confederation of British Industry - well, when it comes to seriously big lunches they are hugely industrious! - and told them to keep out of the EU debate until it began which would be when 'Dim Dave' comes back waving his bit of paper and declaring 'peace 'n' prosperity' in our time'. 

Happy days!

(How did I do, Andra?)

 

 

To bomb or not to bomb, that was the question

It's that creepy 'coincidence-thingie' all over again!  Yes indeed, no sooner had I bade a fond farewell to the Vulcan bomber (see below) than another tricky bombing question went off in the columns of The American Thinker.  The question is simple but deadly - why didn't we bomb the Nazi death camps?  According to the writer, Michael Curtis, we knew all about them from late 1942.  Of course, bombing them would have entailed killing inmates as well as gaolers.  Others have suggested that bombing the rail lines would have helped not least in cutting down the supply of fresh inmates!

However, a commenter claims that only 5% of bombs dropped by the USAAF and the RAF actually landed within 5 miles of the target so the inference is that raids would probably have missed.  Even so, I would suggest - diffidently because I lack expertise - that the Mosquito bomber, famous for its pinpoint accuracy, could have been deployed against death camps in western Germany like Belsen.

Anyway, no effort was made and the camps went on pumping their noxious smoke from their chimneys almost to the very end.

Another childhood memory bites the dust!

 According to The Mail, the last flying version of the Vulcan bomber is to be grounded for ever.  Apparently it is just too expensive to keep it going.  No loss, I suppose, given that its main task was to fry millions of Russians in a nuclear holocaust - whilst they, of course, tried to do the same to us!  Happily it never came to that. 

But for me, it is an abiding childhood memory of cycling from Guildford to Farnborough once a year to see the Farnborough Air Show and the Vulcan was one of the highlights not least, I think, because it was such an elegant if deadly design.  I simply do not know how 'fit for purpose' it was, no doubt my e-pal, 'BOE', will be able to tell us but in any beauty competition for bombers the Vulcan would win hands down every time!

So farewell then, Vulcan, you old beauty, I'm sorry to see you go but delighted you were never needed for your prime purpose.

 

Your (late) Monday Funnies: 29.6.15

Sorry, sorry, but better late than never - did someone say something?  Anyway, here are very fine collection of vintage one-liners guaranteed to split your sides - no, really!

 

Did you hear about the fat, alcoholic transvestite - All he wanted to do was eat, drink and be Mary.

I got invited to a party and was told to dress to kill. Apparently a turban, beard and a backpack wasn't what they had in mind. 

Paddy says to Mick, "Christmas is on Friday this year". Mick said, "Let's hope it's not the 13th then." 

My mate just hired an Eastern European cleaner, took her 15 hours to Hoover the house. Turns out she was a Slovak. 

After years of research, scientists have discovered what makes women happy. Nothing. 

Just had my water bill of $475. That's a lot. Oxfam can supply a whole African village for just $5 a month: time to change supplier I think. 

Seven wheelchair athletes have been banned from the Paralympics after they tested positive for WD40. 

A mummy covered in chocolate and nuts has been discovered in Egypt .. Archaeologists believe it may be Pharaoh Roche. 

Just a reminder to those who stole Electrical Goods in last year's riots....Your One Year Manufacturer's Warranty runs out soon. 

IT’S A BOY" I shouted "A BOY, I DON'T BELIEVE IT, IT’S A BOY" And with tears streaming down my face I swore I'd never visit another Thai Brothel!! 

Two Indian junkies accidentally snorted curry powder instead of cocaine. Both in hospital...one's in a korma.. The other's got a dodgy tikka! 

In the first few days of the Olympics the Romanians took gold, silver, bronze, copper & lead. 

Sailing results are in, GB took gold, USA took silver and Somalia took a Middle aged couple from Weymouth. 

An Englishman has started his own business in Afghanistan ! He is making land mines that look like prayer mats! It’s doing well! Prophets are going through the roof!! 

Japanese scientists have created a camera with a shutter speed so fast, they can now photograph a woman with her mouth shut. 

A boy asks his granny, 'Have you seen my pills, they were labelled LSD?' Granny replies, f--k the pills, have you seen the dragons in the kitchen?! 

Little Billy asks his dad for a telly in his room. Dad reluctantly agrees. Next day Billy comes downstairs and asks, 'Dad, what's love juice?' Dad looks horrified and tells Billy all about sex. Billy just sat there with his mouth open in amazement. Dad says, 'So what were you watching?' Billy says, ' Wimbledon .

Wife gets naked and asks hubby, 'What turns you on more, my pretty face or my sexy body?' Hubby looks her up and down and replies, 'Your sense of humour!

 An elderly couple are attending Mass. About halfway through, the wife leans over and says to her husband, 'I just let out a silent fart; what do you think I should do?' He replies, 'Put a new battery in your hearing aid.'

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 

Yossele Zelkovitz worked in a Jewish pickle factory. For many years he had a powerful desire to put his penis in the pickle slicer. Unable to stand it any longer, he sought professional help from the factory psychologist.. 

After six months, the therapist gave up. He advised Yossel to go ahead and do it or he would probably never have any peace of mind. 

The next day he came home from work very early. His wife, Sacha, became alarmed and wanted to know what had happened. Yossel tearfully confessed his tormenting desire to put his penis in the pickle slicer. He went on to explain that today he finally went ahead and did it, and he was immediately fired. 

Sacha gasped and ran over to her husband. She quickly yanked down his pants and shorts only to find a normal, completely intact penis. She looked up and said, "I don't understand. What about the pickle slicer?" 

Yossel replied, "I think she got fired, too."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A farmer was sitting on his porch one day when a young
man drove in and came up to the porch.

"Sir, I was driving by and noticed you had a lot of milk weed in your
pasture. Would you mind if I went out and got some milk?"

"You don't get milk from milk weed!" the farmer replied.

"Oh yes," said the young man. "I'm a Republican and have a
degree in Agriculture from Iowa State University so I know all about it."

"Well, help yourself," said the farmer.

He soon saw the young man coming back to his car with two buckets full of
milk.

The next day the farmer was again sitting on his porch when the same young
man drove up. "Sir, yesterday when I was getting milk, I noticed you had
some honeysuckle in the fence row. I wondered if you would mind if I got
some honey?"

"You don't get honey from honeysuckle!" said the farmer.

Again the young man explained about his degree so the farmer agreed to let
him collect some honey.

Soon the young man came back to his car with two buckets full of honey.

The next day the same young man drove up to the farmer's house.

"Sir, yesterday when I was getting the honey, I noticed you had some pussy
willow down by the creek."

The farmer said, "Let me get my shoes and I'll go with you."

 

There you are, everyone a winner!

 

It's the € wot dunnit!

Yes, yes, don't fret, your Monday Funnies are coming later, I just want to thoroughly depress you first so that they might seem all the funnier when you get them!  The last few months of the Greek tragedy (or do I mean farce?) have been like a combination of Monty Python and the Three Stooges - except there are far more than just three stooges involved.  Yes, the Greek 'Goon Show' has taken centre stage and in their theatrical idiocy it is impossible to tell when they are serious and when they are clowning.  The only people not laughing are the Greek people - and the €-fanatics in Berlin-Brussels and the IMF.

The Greek political leadership has been corrupt and rotten since WWII.  Everyone knows it, including the Greek people who, back in the day, simply took the money in generous pension provisions and the like and didn't ask too many questions.  Well, now they are getting the answers whether they like 'em or not so I don't have too much sympathy for them.  Equally culpable are the €-fanatics which includes the vast majority of the European political and business class who pushed for the monstrous edifice of the € currency to be built even when wise men and women warned that it was balanced on a pebble and that sooner or later it would crash.

I'm not given much to prayer but every night I go to sleep muttering an incantation along the lines of, "Oh please, Lord, make the crash spectacular and the collateral damage huge."  Of course, that might damage me, too, but it's a price worth paying if the dunderheads who share this 'septic Isle' with me finally wake up to the reality of the 'United Soviet Socialist Republic of Europe'.  It's a criminal organisation run by them, for them, and they don't give a flying fig for any of you!

 

Come on, Georgie, you can do it

Now the Tory cabinet stands before us shivering in its nakedness.  The little yellow Lib-Dem fig leaves they enjoyed holding before them to hide their embarrassment have departed, perhaps never to return.  (Well, a man may hope, may he not?)  Now the Tories stand exposed, no cover, no excuses, no one else to blame.  Thus, I can quote 'our Bill' speaking through the voice of Duke Vicentio in Measure for Measure who has just handed over the powers of government to a Deputy who is, on the face of it, a stern, upright citizen:

                                             hence shall we see,
If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

Yeeeeeeees, quite!  So next week we shall see little Georgie Osborne present his very first Conservative budget and we will see clearly what he is all about.  Budget speeches are usually long and tedious, well, it helps in slipping in the bad news if half your audience has dozed off!  So let me provide you all - no, no, there's no charge! - with one single item to listen carefully for as Georgie drones on.  Will he, or will he not, cut the top rate of tax from 45% to 40%?

John Redwood MP, who is a terrific economics swot, explains in The Mail in easily understood language why this is so important: 

An analysis of the latest Treasury figures shows that in 2009-10 – the last year in which the 40 per cent rate applied – the top 1 per cent of all earners in the country paid 26.5 per cent of the total income tax revenue. 

But during the three years in which the 50 per cent rate applied, the amount dropped to 25 per cent of all income tax. Then, in the first year of the 45 per cent rate, the amount shot up to 28 per cent.

So just do it, George!  Perhaps then we undecided might take you seriously as a successor to 'Dim Dave'.

 

 

 

"Sum ting wong!"

I have stolen my heading - yeah, yeah, I know I promised the magistrate not to steal other people's witticisms but I can't help myself - from a commenter over at the Zero Hedge site which is not usually a bundle of laughs.  More true to type they quote the WSJ as pointing out a 20% drop in Chinese stock markets in just a matter of days since the government via the People's Bank (who sniggered?) of China cut interest rates and other key factors in an effort to stabilise conditions.During the past year the main Chinese index has gained an incredible 106PC most of it on the back of crazy lending to investors.  Guess what, suckers, you've been had!  Now the Chinese government find themselves between a runaway truck and the Great Wall of China!  Andrew Critchlow in The Telegraph points out that many of the 'investments' made on borrowed money are now worth less than the loans.  "There will be blood!"

 

Queen Barrie rules, OK

Another example of what goes around comes around provides me with some snorts and sniggers of derision.  In early medieval Europe kings, at least the clever ones, made sure to have a suitably senior bishop by their side, if not 'onside', when important political decisions were to be made.  There was a sort of a deal, you see, in which the Church jealousy guarded its rights and privileges whilst the King looked after his.  A sort of duopoly, I suppose.  The landed gentry were powerful but tended to divide themselves into factions which, of course, reduced their strength.  Then, in the 16th century along came 'our 'Enry', a typical Brit trouble-maker with 'wifey' problems as well as money problems.  The Catholic church was staunch in its defence of the proper procedures for marriage and/or separation.  'Our 'Enry' simply told them to get lost and burned one or two at the stake 'pour encourager les autres'!  Shortly afterwards he invented his own church and from then on everyone knew without any doubt that he was 'the main man'!

Today, I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry at the Kingdom of America which, under the sly leadership of Queen Barrie, has subverted the hitherto independent third pillar of the state, the SCOTUS and thereby dealt a crushing blow to the, er, blowhards in Congress (allegedly the second pillar of the constitution).  A dispute arose over one small phrase in a Bill that was bigger than two editions of 'War and Peace' which meant that no-one ever read it!  The phrase was "an exchange established by the state.”  By an "exchange" the drafters meant a market place and as this entailed a subsidy some states accepted it but others did not.  The phrase might seem clear enough to you but the likes of Chief Justice John Roberts said, oh, no, if you hold the paper it is printed on, turn it upside down in front of a mirror and then read the reflection it means something else entirely and, er, as Chief Justice I am going to tell you what all those Congress critters really meant!

So now Queen Barrie, and his heirs and successors, has a suitably long-robed equivalent of a Bishop to stand alongside him and endorse his every word.  Meanwhile, the Congress are rather like the old medieval landed gentry, they are full of factions and are thus unable to fulfil their duties under the American constitution. Suckers!

 

Go-Go Gove!

There are some good things to be said about our current government, not many but some.  One of them is our brand new Lord Chancellor, Michael Gove.  The fact that 'Dim Dave' moved him from the post of Education Secretary before the election because it was felt he had upset what is known as 'the blob', that vast, unyielding conglomeration of teachers' unions, local authorities and the Education Ministry itself, was yet another example of the PM's poor judgment.  The undoubted fact was that Gove had proved himself to be the most able Education Minister for decades.  Of course, fighting his way through the stodgy, cloying resistance of 'the blob' meant that he had only accomplished part of his strategic aim and Dave's cowardice - he thought Gove had upset too many people near to an election - means that there is much still to do in our 'edukashun serviss'!  The somewhat 'moo-like' lady who was given Gove's old job does not fill me with enthusiasm but perhaps now that she can operate without the wet blankets of the il-Lib-non-Dems smothering her every action she will suddenly discover the fact that she's a Tory.

Anyway, the good news is that Michael Gove has been given a new job, albeit, one of even greater difficulty than dealing with the wet semi-socialists he had to face in the weird world of education.   As Lord Chancellor he has the responsibility for our justice system.  'The blob' is a pushover compared to the greasy, viscous, self-replicating, amorphous mass that is the judiciary and all their hangers-on.  Now, here I pause and make a confession, I am not too well up when it comes to lawyers and judges.  Happily, I have had virtually no dealings with them.  Even so, I suspect that they are even worse than they appear to be from general knowledge.  I also suspect that the entire court system is a huge 'jobs and perks for the boys (and gals) racket' which wastes an inordinate amount of time - time, of course, being chargeable for lawyers, so that's alright then!  

On the other hand, I have a naïf's faith in our jury system despite knowing that a goodly percentage of jurymen and women are as thick as planks!  Thus, I view with some suspicion the ideas of Mr. Rupert Myers in The Telegraph who suggest that juries should be cut and judges left to judge.  He may be right and such a system of, in effect, examining judges may cut costs enormously but it all rather smacks of the French system which I very much doubt is any cheaper or more effective than ours.

But as I say, I really do not know anywhere near enough about our legal system to have a strong opinion except that I just know - don't ask me how! - that it could be done quicker and cheaper than the cosy, mutual back-scratching system we have today.  Mr. Gove appears ready to take on the lawyers and I for one wish him well. 

 

I could have told them that, too!

Before I begin, a little theatrical history, er, well, my theatrical history actually but you'll find it fascinating, darlings, I promise you!  My very first role was in 1983 in a production of Richard III.  Naturally, given my regal bearing, I was cast as a king, er, no, not actually 'Dick III' but his brother and predecessor, Edward IV.  You see, the director started the production with the final scene of Henry VI, Part III, with a triumphant Edward having won the civil war sitting on his throne enjoying his bragging rights.  A battle scene then ensued in which I was killed - yes, I know, shockin', shockin', and my 'body' was carried off.  And that was that, except for a series of 'walk-ons' when I 'played' sundry serving men and soldiers and some undeserving, untalented oaf pranced about centre stage playing 'Dick III' which, of course, should have been my part!  Not an auspicious beginning!  

The following year my talent had obviously been noted and I was promised a much bigger role in the forthcoming production of The Merchant of Venice.  That's more like it, I thought, what will they give me - Antonio perhaps, or maybe Bassanio, or even the old Jew himself?  No, no, the director told me, you'll be playing Launcelot Gobbo, the clown!  

No, they're not original UGG boots, more like YUK boots, especially with the turned-up toes which, alas, never took on!  Anyway, all of this elongated theatrical ramble is by way of bringing you the less than startling news that Shakespeare's jokes aren't funny.  No less of a grand theatrical Panjandrum than Sir Richard Eyre has announced it. 

Sir Richard Eyre, is a successful playwright (although I remain underwhelmed), a director of note and the former head honcho of The Royal National Theatre.  I stress the word 'Royal' because that is their proper title but they're such a bunch of Leftie arseholes that they refuse to use it.  Anyway, Sir Richard has admitted that many of Shakespeare's jokes simply are not funny.  Part of the reason lies in the fact that they were topical - in his day.  Now, some 400 years later, the references are unknown except to one or two scholars.

Well, I could have told him that years ago after playing Gobbo, surely the unfunniest 'clown' ever invented,  Night after night I would bounce out onto stage and utter these 'hilarious' lines:

Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from
this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and
tempts me saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
Launcelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or good Launcelot
Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My
conscience says 'No; take heed,' honest Launcelot;
take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, 'honest
Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy
heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids me
pack: 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the
fiend; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,'
says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my conscience,
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely
to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest
man's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for,
indeed, my father did something smack, something
grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience
says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the
fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.
'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,'
say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by my
conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to
run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the
fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil
incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more
friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are
at your command; I will run. 

Well, talk about laugh - absolutely no-one did!

Incidentally, both those performances took place in the open air beneath the ancient walls of Windsor Castle.  For some reason never vouchsafed by her lackeys, 'Her Maj' failed to show up!  Anyway, now that I have mastered the technicalities of putting original photos onto my blog, alas, you are now going to receive a steady stream of theatrical reminiscences.  Well, at least you can switch off, my poor friends have to suffer with faint false smiles of appreciation as I drone on and on.

 

I've been telling them that for yonks!

I am delighted to tell you that this distinguished blog has finally come to the notice of the Met Office, that fine organisation which vies with the BBC in the competition to see who can waste more of our money.  Alas, their weather forecasts are still crap despite me urging them to change the bit of seaweed they hang outside the window which, as far as I can tell, has been dangling there since 1959.

Still, fair's fair, when it comes to global warming, or to be precise, global cooling, they have finally got the message which I have been repeating for yonks, this post in May being merely the latest - http://duffandnonsense.typepad.com/duff_nonsense/2015/05/the-sun-has-cured-his-acne-better-buy-those-long-johns.html

Now, even the Met Office with all their multi-squillion quid computer-thingies have noticed and, better still, owned up according to The Mail: 

Britain could be on the verge of a mini Ice Age as the Sun enters a cooler phase, the Met Office warned yesterday. 

The last big chill was felt hundreds of years ago when Frost Fairs were held on the frozen River Thames.

[...] 

Met Office’s Hadley Centre, which looks at long term forecasts, said there was a 15-20 per cent chance that we could match the temperatures last seen in 1645-1715 – sometimes called the Little Ice Age - when the River Thames froze over.

This could take place at some point within the next 40 years. 

The prediction is based on counting sun spots – dark patches on the sun – that are hot spots and signs of increased solar activity.

Needless to say, the quote I cut out from the above passage shows the Met Office 'warmers' desperately trying to cling on to their past forecasts of a baking earth - despite the fact that from now on they will be wearing mittens!

However the Met Office said the new freeze will not be enough to cancel out the effects of global warming.

What can you say to that apart from asking whether you would ever buy a second-hand car from any of them? 

Sarah Ineson, a Met Office scientist and lead author of the research, said the impact of a grand solar minimum would only temporarily moderate the future warming we expect from climate change. 

‘This research shows that the regional impacts of a grand solar minimum are likely to be larger than the global effect, but it’s still nowhere near big enough to override the expected global warming trend due to man-made change.

After saying that, I am led to believe, she gathered her team together and asked them to hold hands and join in the 'Warmers' Chant';

    'It's getting warm, it's getting warm, pass me a scarf it's getting warm'

 

That 'Tit of Total Tits' is at it again!

I refer, of course, to Lord Richards of Hurstmonceaux, better known as Gen. Richards, former CGS, or perhaps better known to the readers of this blog as 'The Tit of Total Tits'!  Having retired and popped his baronetcy in the bag, so to speak, this 'Tit' who remained utterly silent through the final years of his service whilst he witnessed the total cock-up in Afghanistan (and earlier in Iraq) which cost us dear in blood and treasure with absolutely no benefit whatsoever, has finally found his voice and spoken out!

So what did this latter-day Wellington have to say?  The Telegraph provides the gist of it:

Britain must stop "sleepwalking" and prepare to tackle Muslim extremism as seriously as it planned for the Second World War, Lord Richards has warned.

ADVERTISING

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Lord Richards of Herstmonceux, the former Chief of the Defence Staff, said extremism is a "real threat" to the world, as he condemned dithering politicians too reluctant to lead the way.

Thank you, m'Lud, er, but lead the way ... where, exactly?  And how exactly would be useful, too, I mean, you should know, what with you being our very best soldier and all that even if it didn't quite work out in the previous 15 years!  But he continued:

 Lord Richards told an audience he would be "most surprised" if Britain did not enter into combat within the next five years, warning ISIS must be defeated through "effectively military intervention".

"I'm not necessarily advocating the use of a British armoured brigade and all that implies, but it means a much more comprehensive military strategy that will much more quickly deal with ISIS," he said.

Ah, I see, so no tanks but "a much more comprehensive military strategy that will more quickly deal with ISIS".  Presumably he means something we didn't try in Afghanistan!

I know it's late in the day but is there any way this man can be reduced in the ranks to corporal, er, I mean lance-corporal, of course, substantive corporals are way above his abilities!

 

Try telling this one to Obama

The other day in a truly SHLOCK-HORROR moment, the President of the United States of America, yes, you know, that black one, actually used the word "nigger"!  The shock and the horror, I gather, was that nobody in that alternative universe known as the 'progressive movement' knew how to re-act.  I mean, if Jeb Bush had used the word, no matter how innocently, the world would have screeched to halt on its axis and the entire choir of angels(!) from the WaPo downwards (or upwards depending on your point of view) would have erupted in fury and condemnation.  But the nigger in the White House can say what he likes and the adulation flows!

I am reminded of all this by an article in Takimag by Gavin McInnes bewailing the death of comedy and comedians because of Political Correctness.  It's worth reading if only for this joke with which he opens his article:

An Asian dude walks into a bar. “Pour me a jigger, nigger,” he says to the black bartender. “Come on, man,” the bartender responds, “that’s not cool.” The Asian ain’t havin’ it. “Oh, fuck off,” he says indignantly, motioning for his drink. The bartender continues, “No, seriously, how would you like it if you worked here and people spoke to you like that?” The Asian laughs and says, “I wouldn’t give a shit.” The bartender is getting angry now. “Oh, yeah?” he says. “Why don’t you put on this apron and try it?” The Asian says, “I’d love to,” and happily marches behind the bar where he dons the apron as the bartender heads outside to return as a patron. Immediately after, the black bartender struts into the bar exactly as his friend just did and cheerily calls out, “Pour me a drink, Chink!” The Asian bartender has his head down as he scrubs the counter with a bar towel. “Ahem,” the black bartender says, raising his voice, “I said, pour me a drink, Chink!” The Asian appears surprised as he looks up. “Oh, sorry. We don’t serve niggers in here.”

Well, it made me laugh!

 

Cool, man, cool!

Yes, indeed, let's hear it for Mr. Abdul Rauf Ibrahimi, a man who would have epitomised British sang froid but for the unfortunate fact that he is actually, er, Afghanistani!  Oh well, can't have everything, I suppose, but the last few years have taught us, as Kipling taught our Grandfathers, that the Afghanis are exceedingly brave - and in this case, brave under fire.

Mr. Ibrahimi is the Speaker of the Afghan parliament and he it was who was standing centre stage at the rostrum when a Taliban bomb went off and an attack was launched against the Parliament building.  With the sort of irritated disdain of which Lady Bracknell would have been proud, Mr. Ibrahami merely paused as the explosion went off and the dust flew around him before presumably, because I can't hear the words, advising his fellow parliamentarians to calm down. 

You may see the short video, courtesy of The Guardian, here:

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jun/22/taliban-attack-parliament-kabul-suicide-car-bomber-rpgs

Well done, Mr. Ibrahami, Rudyard Kipling would not have been surprised!

 

The next train arriving on platform 10 will crash and kill everyone!

Well, I suppose, as predictions go, if I keep repeating it daily for the next millennium (I should live so long, my life already!) it may come true assuming trains are still a mode of transport in the future.  Anyway, I am encouraged to follow this, er, 'scientific' method by the distinguished Bling - oooops, sorry - Bing Professor of Population Studies at Stanford.   His name is Paul Ehrlich and he has been telling us, in suitable Pte. Fraser tones, that 'we're all doomed' for close to 50 years now.  In the last few days he and his cult of similarly-minded loonies have issued, yet again - and again - and again - and well, for bloody ever, really - another dire warning:

There is no longer any doubt: We are entering a mass extinction that threatens humanity's existence.

Oh no, say it ain't so!

               

         Prof. Ehrlich                                                 Pte. Fraser                                                         

To quote yet another favourite from Dad's Army, we must turn to the redoubtable Cpl. Jones who constantly offered this advice to his less than glorious leader, "Don't panic, Capt. Mainwaring", as he, himself, panicked!

My advice to all of you - er, you are taking note, I trust! - is to lean on the memory of the late and very great economist Julian Simon.  He ridiculed Ehrlich's nonsense and went further by offering him a wager in 1980 that the price of certain essential minerals would fall not rise in the next 10 years.  He allowed Ehrlich to choose the minerals.  Ehrlich lost despite all you wretched, copulating humans increasing the world population by 800 million during the period - the biggest ten year rise in history! - and you're all very naughty boys - and girls!

Should you doubt my scorn for Prof. Ehrlich then let me provide you with a quote from his 1968 book, The Population Bomb:

“The battle to feed all of humanity is over. In the 1970s hundreds of millions of people will starve to death in spite of any crash programs embarked upon now. At this late date nothing can prevent a substantial increase in the world death rate.”

Yeeeeeeeees, quite!  Anyway, I leave you with two bits of very sound advice - ignore anything Prof. Ehrlich says but, for God's sake, stay away from Platform 10 - you have been warned!

ADDITIONAL:  Sorry, I forgot to add another Ehrlich quote from 1970 courtesy of IHTM:

In a 1971 speech, he predicted that: “By the year 2000 the United Kingdom will be simply a small group of impoverished islands, inhabited by some 70 million hungry people.” “If I were a gambler,” Professor Ehrlich concluded before boarding his plane, ” I would take even money that England will not exist in the year 2000.”

God almighty, his bookie must be a very rich man!

 

  

At least our 'tits' are more subtle than their 'tits'

The 'WaPo', no doubt with a song in its progressive heart, happily reports the disgrace of Maj. Gen. Dana J.H. Pittard, US army, caught steering a lucrative contract to two former buddies.  Well, that's the way they do things 'over there', after all, the politicians and the mobsters have been at it for years.  However, I would advise our 'allied', American 'top tits' to take a leaf from the book of our very own 'top tits'.  Over here they play a much longer and more subtle game. 

Whatever the situation, just keep squealing for more and yet more money from the government.  When asked what it will be spent on they mumble something about, er, you know, lots and lots of tanks, and big guns, and even bigger ships, and loads more really whizzy fighter-bombers, and of course, lots more soldiers so they can have really, really big parades and frighten that Mr. Putin!  All 'blx', of course, but then the second thing you learn in the army is that BS baffles brains!  (The first thing is NEVER volunteer!)

In the meantime, they make very good friends with the top execs of BAE and any other huge armament manufacturer - oh, no back-handers, my dear old chap, we don't do that sort of thing 'over here', just lots and lots of, er, liaison.  Of course, the execs, being softy civilians, will need to be entertained in the very best of Regimental messes, or exclusive London clubs for gentlemen where membership can be arranged on a tip and a wink by the General whose family have been members since Queen Victoria's time, or if all else fails, then only the most exclusive - and expensive - restaurants will do.  Business isn't exactly 'done' but introductions are arranged, influence is brought to bear, trouble-makers objecting to cost and effectiveness are quietly removed.

Then, having served their country honourably the general/admiral/air marshal reach retirement and the Queen grants them a baronetcy which chuffs the missus enormously.  A few discreet months later, a letter arrives offering a suitable post with some international weapons supplier which, with a bit of luck, will entail much travelling - first class, natch! - and a very handsome pension pot.  All above board, nothing to see here, move along please!

That's the way to do it!

 

Your Monday Funnies: 22.6.15

Yesterday was the Summer solstice and it's all downhill from now on so just to cheer you up I thought you would like to know that there are 186 shopping days to Christmas.  There, that's made you feel better, hasn't it?

 

 

Statistics released from The United Nations reveal that:  

Australian, Canadian, UK and US men between 50 and 75 years of age will, on 

average, have sex two to three times per week, whereas Japanese men, in the 

same age group, will have sex only once or twice per year. 

 

This is very upsetting news to most of my friends as they had no idea they 

were Japanese.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 

A small boy has a school homework question to answer, so he asks his father "Dad, what's the difference between 'theoretically' and 'realistically'?" 

 

His dad thinks and then says "Right-ho son, go and ask your mother if she'd sleep with David Beckham for a million quid." 

 

The boy toddles off and comes back saying "Dad, dad, she said she would! She would sleep with David Beckham for a million pounds."

 

"OK son," says his dad. "Now go and ask your sister the same question."

 

 The boy toddles off, and comes back saying "Dad, dad, she said she would too!"

 

 So then his dad says "Right, son, now go and ask your brother if he'd sleep with David Beckham for a million pounds."

 

 The son comes back excitedly saying "Dad! Dad! He said he would too!"

 

 "Well there you have it, son," said his dad. "Theoretically we could be sitting on three million quid.   Realistically we're living with two tarts and a poof." 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 

A man had two tickets to the Masters.
As he sits down, another man comes along and asks if anyone is sitting in the seat next  to him.

"No", he says, "It's empty."

"Incredible!" said the man, "Who in their right mind would have a seat like this to one of the biggest sporting event of the whole year and not use it?"

"Well,  actually, the seat belongs to me.  My wife always would come with me, but she passed away. This is the  first Masters we haven't been to together since we got married."

"Oh... I'm so sorry.. You couldn't find someone else to join you, a friend, relative or neighbour to use the ticket?"



The man shakes his  head... "No. They're all at the funeral."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The teacher was telling the kids about the birds and the bees and she explained that when a man and a woman meet and fall in love, nine months later the stork usually brings them a little baby from its nest.     

Little Emma at the back of the class put her hand up and asks the teacher, are you sure about the stork, miss? I think you're getting your birds mixed up 'cos my big sister just got a little baby and she said it was from a shag at the beach..!!!  

Right, back to work, the lot of you, just because it's mid-Summer doesn't mean there aren't targets to be met.  Me?  Oh, I think I'll just go and have another lie in, it's very tiring running this blog!

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 21.6.15

Our 'luvvies' beat their 'luvvies':   Well, they do according to Terence Rafferty writing in The Atlantic and bemoaning "The Decline of the American Actor".  I remember being struck by the number of Brit 'luvvies' who appeared all those years ago in the best TV drama series of all time, The Wire.  And only a few weeks ago a totally unknown Devonshire lad, er, 'that be a foo furlongs furver west than Zummerzet so 'e be a west country lad', by the name of Alex Sharp won a Tony Award for Best Actor on Broadway.  Awfully well done, darlings, keep up the good work!

 

Mind your language:   Yes, stand by for one of my favourite quotes, "Words, words, words"  muttered in some exasperation by that gloomy Dane but he was right, words do matter.  Of course, we mustn't fall into the Leftist trap of appointing a 'Commissar of Words' who will decide forever the exact meaning of everything.  However, we should pause and ponder on some words as they come hurtling out at us, usually when something horrible has happened.  For example, the dribbling nutter who shot people dead in an American church is, according to the usually intelligent Dan Hodges, "a terrorist".  No he's not, Mr. Hodges, he is exactly what I described, "a dribbling nutter" of the same ilk as that Austrian who yesterday drove his car into a crowded square in Graz and having killed and wounded several people, leaped out of his vehicle and proceeded to stab more people with a knife.  Or that Norwegian loony who slaughtered dozens of people on an island recently.  They are not 'terrorists', they are 'bedsit loopy-loos' and, alas, they are part of the warp and woof of human existence, the equivalent of the regular train crashes that occur everywhere.

 

That Ed Burke got it right!   Another 'creepy coincidence'!  In the week in which it has been announced that 'Bob the builder' will charge several squillion quid to stop the House of Commons falling down unless our legislators decamp for four years in which case it will only be a few zillion quid, I read this in a biography of Edmund Burke.  (Yes, him, we all know his name, dead shrewd thinker of the first water but can't quite recall what he actually said!)  Anyway, sometime in the 18th century some loon proposed that the Americans should be enfranchised and able to send over their own Members of Parliament - yeeeeeees, quite!

This [Burke] denounces as constitutional folly, in terms that have resonance today:

"Has he well considered what an immense operation any change in our constitution is?  How many discussions, parties and passions it will necessarily excite; and when you open it to enquiry in one part, where will the enquiry stop?"

In a favourite metaphor, Burke likens the British constitution to an old building, which

"stands well enough, though part Gothic, part Grecian, part Chinese, until an attempt is made to square it into uniformity.  Then it may come down upon our heads altogether, in much uniformity of ruin thereof."

Quite apart from the fabric of the building, our current leaders need to be aware of the cataclysm that awaits a muddled settlement of 'the Scottish question'!

    http://www.amazon.co.uk/Edmund-Burke-Visionary-Invented-Politics/dp/0007489641

 

 

Time they hit the IRS with the RICO Act:  It's all very well for 'the Cousins' to come, er, mob-handed 'over here', arresting poor little market traders as they do their trading on a computer from their Mum's second bedroom; or, stomping through the snow-white scenery of Switzerland to haul away FIFA executives who, honestly, have only been doing their very best for the interests of 'footie' - and their retirement plans - but isn't it time that the FBI looked a little closer to home?  Say, the activities of their very own IRS (Internal Revenue Service)?  A pro-Israel organisation called 'Z-Street' has just won a unanimous vote from three US judges on the DC Court of Appeals who agree that there is a prima facie evidence that the IRS used its powers to discriminate against any organisation showing pro-Israel tendencies.  Meanwhile, in the case mounting against Lois Lerner, another top honcho (or honchette, perhaps?) at the IRS, who originally stated that, alas, sorry and all that, but all of her e-mails have been wiped, it now transpires that they were not - who's surprised?  Some 64,000 have been discovered but her defence lawyers are claiming that they cannot be handed over to the court until they have checked them all - to avoid duplication!  RICO stands for Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act.  Yeah, that sounds like the IRS to me!

 

Flat tax - bring it on!   I simply do not know enough about Sen. Rand Paul to make a considered judgment which is just as well for him because were I to do so and, liking what I learn, actually endorse him for the presidency it would instantly kill his chances!  However, one thing I do know is that his plan for a flat tax rate is excellent and I just wish someone would push for it 'over here'.  You can read the details here and, like the plan itself, it can be understood in minutes.

 

An angled shot at American gun restrictions:  Breitbart offers up an interesting take on the recent mass shooting of people in a church in South Carolina.  The article asks an interesting question: why do gunmen target churches and schools and not NRA (National Rifle Association) meetings?  Well, that's almost a rhetorical question because guns are forbidden in churches and schools but the writer goes on to point out that other favourite targets for shooters are army barracks (Fort Hood twice!)where the American military are forbidden from bearing arms on American soil.  On the other hand, Walmart stores which  you would think might offer some juicy targets are ignored by the shooters because the chances of your average 'Walmartian' packing a six-shooter are pretty high.  (And if the average 'Walmartion' actually rolled on you during the skirmish it would crush you to death in a most unpleasant manner!)  The writer points out that the man responsible for the cinema shootings a couple of years ago chose the only cinema of several in a 20-mile radius that had banned guns.

 

No more rumbles today

 

Please, will our Greeks friends just do us all a favour and 'eff off'!

I have never been a lover of Greek tragedy and if the current financial and political imbroglio is just another manifestation of ancient theatre then it has gone on, and on, for far too long!  Alas, I cannot offer you anything by way of original insights to this intractable problem because everybody and his uncle, and his grandparents, and his mother-in-law, have been offering 'insights' since it started and frankly I'm bored stiff with it all.

It's obvious that the Euro (and euro) fanatics are to blame.  Inventing the ridiculous notion of a common currency without a federal financial and political centre simply makes one wonder what they were all on!  To gaily trip further down the 'yellow brick road' to disaster by allowing Greece to join - plus a few others! - indicates to me that they were all filled with the sort of 'loopy-loo' idealism that sooner or later leads to dictatorship.  The treatment of Greece, albeit without tanks and troops (for the moment!) is as near to the Hitler occupation as you can get. 

None of that, of course, excuses Greek stupidity and cupidity.  Yes, 'it wos the government wot done it' but they did it with the knowledge and the support of the Greek electorate who should have known better than most the corruption rife in their various ministries.  Now they are compounding their stupidity by relying on a far Left apparat who will lead them to chaos and destruction and then seize absolute dictatorial power.

Personally, I have no ill-feelings towards Greeks but I desperately hope the outcome is as disastrous as it can be to all concerned even if that means shock effects felt in Britain.  Perhaps, just perhaps, then the British people will see the EU monolith for what it is, a brutal, unthinking monster blindly driving in circles and crushing all before it.

 

'The Kraut' smashes Sykes-Picot

Despite having once spent nearly a year living in a tent on the end of Runway#2 at Bahrein airport I do not claim any expertise in Middle East affairs.  In fact, at the time I was too busy swatting flies to pay much attention to the finer intricacies of Arabic politics!  In the decades that have passed since 'Duff of Arabia' walked the desert sands I have tried, honestly I have, to follow Middle Eastern politics but, frankly, it makes my brain ache.  So it was an immense relief to read 'The Kraut' in The Telegraph.  I know one should avoid simple solutions but sometimes 'the experts' are simply too 'expert' for their, or anyone else's, good.  'The Kraut' goes to the heart of the matter - in their present form, Iraq and Syria no longer exist as functioning nation states.  The current (so-called) government of Iraq is simply an Iranian puppet and their 'army' is a figment of western military imagination.  No doubt the "total tits" running our armed forces, as they wait patiently for their Baronetcies, are all for 'cracking on' and sending in our troops to stiffen up the Iraqi army.  Fat chance:

Look at Fallujah, Mosul, Ramadi. The Iraqi army is a farce. It sees the enemy and flees, leaving its weapons behind. “The ISF was not driven out of Ramadi. They drove out of Ramadi,” said the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Our own secretary of defense admitted that the “the Iraqi forces just showed no will to fight.”

We can train them forever. The problem is one of will. They don’t want to fight. And why should they? They are led by commanders who are corrupt, sectarian and incompetent.

[...]

On Wednesday, Defense Secretary Ashton Carter testified that we won’t quite meet our objective of training 24,000 Iraqi troops by this fall. Why? A recruitment problem. Iraqis don’t seem to want to join. We are 17,000 short.

'The Kraut' is entirely right in suggesting that we should only support those forces who demonstrate their commitment.  He singles out the Kurds and the Free Syrian Army.  These proven fighters should be supplied directly by airlift, not via Baghdad where 80% of their equipment is nicked en route!

Syria and Iraq are failed states and we should stop pretending otherwise.  The Anglo-French Sykes-Picot agreement (stitch up?) will be a hundred years old next year.  Time to get real and bury it - with a stake through its heart.

 

 

Further despatches from Waterloo

'It wos the 'loopy-loos' wot won it!'  No, not 200 years ago, I mean this weekend.  Read this article from The Telegraph which concentrates on the thousands of re-enactors who turn up on these occasions.  In particular watch the short film and you will see a Belgian infantryman demonstrating how his predecessors had to pause and carefully reload their muskets as, no doubt, a bunch of hairy Frog cavalrymen were charging straight at them.  Keeping your nerve was halfway to keeping your life back then!

It all goes to confirm Duff's Law which states that everyman's hobby is totally incomprehensible to all other men!  'SoD', I should emphasise, is there merely as a spectator - and reporter.  I hope to feature some of his photographs - if and when he ever staggers, or is carried, back to 'dear old Blighty'!

 

Another despatch from Waterloo

Legless at Waterloo - no, no, not 'SoD', although by now he doubtless is, knowing him!  I refer to the late Lord Uxbridge who was careless enough to leave one of his legs behind at Waterloo.  There is no way I can, even if I wished to, paraphrase this excellent summary of events by Paul Kendall in The Telegraph.   It takes English understatement to ludicrous lengths.  Do read it and marvel.

Despatches from Waterloo

With the sort of grit and determination that one would expect from an ex-'Tom', 'SoD' has landed in Belgium, made his way towards Waterloo and even as I write he is fighting his way to the one of the hottest spots on the battlefield, the, er, 'Le Falstaff' pub - yeeeeeees, quite!  Through the shot and the shell he sends this despatch:

If I should fall, think only this of me,

There is some corner of a foreign bar,

That is forever England.

He reminds us that for those who know little of the battle, The Telegraph is offering a minute-by-minute account of the actions as and when they occurred:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/battle-of-waterloo/11676475/The-Battle-of-Waterloo-as-it-happened-on-June-18-1815-live.html

You make me proud, my boy, just don't let those damned Frogs drink you under the table!

 

 

Abaft there, lay on the mizzen topgallants to leeward, er, and all that sort of thing!

Look, I have a slight problem – close reef the top mainsail abaft the beam! – as you might have noticed from the brevity of my recent posts – double lash the spars on the leeward bow! – although I suppose the unaccustomed brevity might be a relief to some of you, but the sad fact is – hold fast the mizzen topgallant staysail! – that I am suffering from ‘Galloping Matelotitis’!  Just hold on a sec whilst I take my meds … there … that’s better.  My ‘psychobabbler’ tells me that ‘Galloping Matelotitis’ is a sort of naval equivalent of Tourette Syndrome but instead of suffering with the compulsive urge to swear constantly – heh! who needs Tourette Syndrome? – you find yourself bellowing out old 18^th/19^th century naval commands from the sailing ship era.  Fortunately a cure has been devised and it is very simple – stop reading any of the 21 books written by Patrick O’Brian featuring his naval hero Jack Aubrey!

I think I may have mentioned before my total ignorance concerning ships and boats, a means of transport I view with the gravest suspicion, although to be fair, it’s not so much the boats as what they float in that I distrust.  Even so, to this day I still refer to the ‘sharp end’ and the ‘blunt end’ when referring to a ship’s extremities, and when it comes to the difference between port and starboard I needs must rely on my memory – yeeeees, quite! – for that old adage ‘there is some Red Port Left’.

At this point, having indicated my almost total ignorance concerning sailing ships I must now own up to other huge gaps in my, er, knowledge base.  I know nothing about medicine and come over all faint at the sight of blood!  My knowledge of, and interest in, 99% of the wild species inhabiting our globe varies between nil and zero.  So those of you who have read the late Mr. O’Brian’s books will know that his second hero, who always accompanies Jack Aubrey on his Royal Navy adventures, is Dr. Stephen Maturin who, apart from his usually grisly medical duties, spends much of his time crawling about over strange terrain in search of the equivalent of the lesser-spotted knatterjack toad!

So, you are entitled to ask, why on earth do I read such wretchedly incomprehensible books?!  Happily, for a change, I can answer that one – because they are bloody well unputdownable!  I read a couple of them years ago when that splendid film, Master and Commander, came out and I was enthralled immediately but, as is my wont, something else interrupted my reading and it is quite a few years since I have managed to return to them.  Well, I have just finished The Mauritius Command and Desolation Island (Books 4 & 5 in the series) and it is only the serious threat of divorce proceedings (on the grounds that I have not uttered a word to the ‘Memsahib’ in the past ten days) that has stopped me connecting instantly to Amazon.

I do realise that I have still not fully explained why I find these books, filled as they are with what is to me unintelligible naval/medical/natural history gibberish, so utterly compelling.  The answer lies, I think, in Mr. O’Brian’s genius, the first example of which is the invention of his two main characters, Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin.  These two men (superbly portrayed in the film) are almost exact opposites.  Aubrey is your typical gung ho naval hero, never happier than when engrossed in a fight to the death with some enemy, usually French in this Napoleonic era but, hey, anyone will do!  But what marks him out from the bog standard, British, bulldog hero is his remarkable intelligence when applied to all matters naval.  He is not only a brave fighter but a highly intelligent one, too.

By contrast – and what a contrast! – his best friend, Stephen Maturin, is of mixed Irish and Spanish blood.  Trained as a medical doctor his lively intellectual curiosity leads him into all sorts of abstruse subjects and perhaps it was this obvious enthusiasm for what I might call ‘general enquiry’ that led him to be recruited by Admiralty Intelligence.  Needless to say, and with absolute accuracy based on the vagaries of human nature, these two almost exact opposites become the very closest of friends and comrades as they share their adventures around the globe.  Perhaps the crown to O’Brian’s creative genius is the small but crucial fact that to while away such spare time as they have on their long voyages, his two heroes share a love of music and, unlikely as it seems, whilst Jack Aubrey plays the violin, Maturin plays the cello.

I still can’t quite believe that I plough on through all of O’Brian’s, no doubt brilliant and accurate naval jargon none of which I really understand – and yet I do!  And the reason I do is that these two men are remarkable creations, their adventures are literally breath-taking and, dammit, the books are ‘unputdownable’ so go buy one today!  But belay that order, you swab! – oh, God, I’m off again, where’re my meds? – what I mean is, do start at the beginning of the series with Book One and then take them in order.

 

Do the tits at the top have any conception of this sort of thing?

The other day, in mentioning some former heads of our three armed services, I referred to them as "total tits".  After reading an article on the US Navy Institute site I am even more convinced of their total 'tit-ishness'!  Whilst our latter-day admirals continue to fight WWII with their ridiculous, out-moded and eye-wateringly expensive aircraft carriers (which have no aircraft!), the US Navy is attempting to prepare for WWIII. 

The Navy wants to integrate robotics and artificial intelligence (AI) into more of its workload, from warfighting missions to non-combat support roles, and is seeking fleet input on what types of AI research are worth investing in. 

The service already has, in varying stages of completion, its Unmanned Carrier-Launched Airborne Surveillance and Strike (UCLASS) in the air, a Large Diameter Unmanned Underwater Vehicle (LDUUV) under the sea and the Swarmboat unmanned vehicle on the surface. The warfighting value for these platforms is clear, the service said.

No doubt, tucked away in some dusty cupboard in the MoD, there is a latter-day Barnes Wallis who understands the future of robotics and AI and the operational implications but I bet he spends most of his time fighting for some pennies from the Navy's budget against total tits with gold braid up to their armpits who think the whole notion is frightfully un-Nelsonian!

 

 

Related articles

U.S. Navy Wants Artifical Intelligence Systems To Wage War

The tech threat - Is Artificial intelligence (AI) leading to inequality and fewer jobs? - Al Jazeera English

Artificial Intelligence in Weapons Systems: The Ethical Dilemmas

Corbyn for King!

Of course, they don't 'do' kings in the Labour party so perhaps my title should have been 'Corbyn for Commissar'.  A few posts back I indicated the inherent childishness of the Labour party and the fact that it has been captured by 'Uni kiddie-winkies' whose entire political philosophy can be written on a placard.  For the past five years they have 'enjoyed' a leader whose immaturity was embarrassing, well, it was embarrassing to the rest of us but the 'Comrades' thought he was the new Messiah.  Now they are slumped in defeat clutching their crotches where the British people kicked them good and hard.  But with all the stupidity of the truly juvenile they still don't get it.  OK, they seem to be saying, we understand and so this time we will not put up another gawpy adolescent for the leadership, instead we will offer you a wizened old man, all whiskers and gravity and looking, like, you know, er, really, really wise an' all that.

 

 

Well, mes enfants, you go right ahead, or, 'Left ahead', if you prefer, because with Jeremy Corbyn leading the Labour party you will lose the next election by an even bigger majority than the last one even if the entire Tory cabinet is found cavorting at one of Max Mosley's S&M parties!  Of course, Corbyn's chances of winning the leadership are minimal but, as Dan Hodges points out with withering accuracy, just having the silly old Marxist fool on the list shows beyond doubt that the Labour party still doesn't get it.

 

Related articles

'The Young and Thick Coalition Alliance'

Veteran left-wing Labour MP Jeremy Corbyn becomes latest member of the party to stand for leadership vowing a 'clear anti-austerity platform'

Labour leadership race: Jeremy Corbyn in last-minute push for nominations

The lunatic wing of the Labour Party is still calling the shots - Whale Oil Beef Hooked | Whaleoil Media

Jeremy Corbyn is definitely not what Labour voters want

It woz them barons wot done it!

 

At Runnymede, at Runnymede,

What say the reeds at Runnymede?

The lissom reeds that give and take,

That bend so far, but never break,

They keep the sleepy Thames awake

With tales of John at Runnymede.

At Runnymede, at Runnymede,

Oh, hear the reeds at Runnymede:

‘You musn’t sell, delay, deny,

A freeman’s right or liberty.

It wakes the stubborn Englishry,

We saw ‘em roused at Runnymede!

 

When through our ranks the Barons came,

With little thought of praise or blame,

But resolute to play the game,

They lumbered up to Runnymede;

And there they launched in solid line

The first attack on Right Divine,

The curt uncompromising “Sign!’

They settled John at Runnymede.

 

At Runnymede, at Runnymede,

Your rights were won at Runnymede!

No freeman shall be fined or bound,

Or dispossessed of freehold ground,

Except by lawful judgment found

And passed upon him by his peers.

Forget not, after all these years,

The Charter signed at Runnymede.’

 

And still when mob or Monarch lays

Too rude a hand on English ways,

The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,

Across the reeds at Runnymede.

And Thames, that knows the moods of kings,

And crowds and priests and suchlike things,

Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings

Their warning down from Runnymede!

 

Rudyard Kipling

 

Many thanks to my e-pal, AussieD, who posted this in a comment below.  I thought it was worth promoting to the 'front page'.

 

Your Monday Funnies: 15.6.15

I'm the one who needs a good joke this morning because 'SoD' narked me off in the comments to the post below!  Mind you, this one cheered me up immediately:

Dear Abby,  

My husband is a liar and a cheat. He has cheated on me from the beginning, and, when I confront him, he denies everything. What's worse, everyone knows that he cheats on me. It is so humiliating.  

Also, since he lost his job 14 years ago, he hasn't even looked for a new one.  

All he does all day is smoke cigars, cruise around and shoots pool with his buddies, while I have to work to pay the bills.  

Since our daughter went away to college he doesn't even pretend to like me, and even hints that I may be a lesbian.  

What should I do?  

Signed: Clueless  

 

Dear Clueless:  

Grow up and dump him. Good grief woman! You don't need him anymore!  

You're running for President of the United States.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A young girl started work in the village chemist shop. She was very shy about having to sell condoms to the public.

The owner was going on holiday for a couple of days and asked if she would be
willing to run the shop on her own.  She had to confide in him her worries
about selling the contraceptives.

"Look," he said. "My regular customers don't ask for condoms, they'll ask for
a 310 [small] a 320 [medium] or a 330 [large]. The word condom won't even be
used.

The first day was fine but on the second day a black guy came in to the shop,
put out his hand and said "350". The girl panicked. She phoned the owner on his mobile and told him of her predicament.  

"Go back in and check if he has a yellow bucket hanging between his legs"
her boss told her.

She peeped through the door and saw the yellow bucket hanging between his legs.

"Yes!" she said "He's got one hanging there!"

The boss said "Go back in and give him £3.50, he's the window cleaner.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

I was walking through the mall, and went into a Muslim Bookshop.        

The clerk asked if he could help me, so I asked for a copy of the United States Immigration Policy Book regarding Muslims.           

The Clerk said, “Fuck off, get out, and stay out!"             

I said, “Yes, that's the one. Do you have it?”      

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And now some Bob Hope one-liners which have quite restored my usual sunny temper!

'A James Cagney love scene is one where he lets the other guy live.'

'She said she was approaching forty, and I couldn't help wondering from what direction.'

'I left England when I was four because I found out I could never be King.'

Hope was born in Eltham and his family moved to the United States in 1907,   settling in Cleveland, Ohio. He met Queen Elizabeth II on several occasions.   In 1978, she made Hope an honorary knight. He joked that he still had a bit   of British him, adding "In fact, my blood type is solid marmalade."

'Television. That's where movies go when they die.'

'Culture is the ability to describe Jane Russell without moving your hands.'

'I grew up with six brothers. That's how I learned to dance – waiting   for the bathroom.'

'When they asked Jack Benny to do something for the Actor's Orphanage –   he shot both his parents and moved in.'

 

Love that last one!  Anyway, thanks to The Telegraph for the choice.

 

 

 

Well said, Miss Hawkins

In my usual careless, blogger/grumpy old man fashion I was tempted to swing my literary 'baseball bat' and  break some metaphorical bones belonging to all those silly youngsters who stripped off at the top of a sacred mountain in Sabah.  But I paused.  Just as I began to type the first of many sentences beginning "shockin', shockin'" I suddenly recalled one or two, or three or more, incidents from my own 'youf'.  Oh dear, I thought, 'there but for the grace of God' and all that sort of thing.

       

    ^{Miss Hawkins made the statement with her parents (Caters)}

Anyway, the Sabah authorities showed immense wisdom by slapping the rascals and 'rascalettes' into jail for three days whilst holding a very swift trial, fining them a few quid and tossing them out of the country a.s.p.  Would that our own judicial authorities had similar wisdom.  Anyway, today, one of the malefactors, Miss Eleanor Hawkins, returned to poor old Mum and Dad back home in 'Blighty' and before the massed ranks of Fleet Street hacks issued a short but visibly intense apology for her bad behaviour.  'Nuff said, I feel, and well done, Eleanor, for saying it so promptly and clearly.  End of!

 

Total tits, the lot of 'em!

I refer, of course, to this quartet of total tits, Admiral Sir Nigel Essenhigh, former First Sea Lord; Admiral of the Fleet Lord Boyce; Field Marshal Lord Walker and Air Chief Marshal Sir Peter Squire.  The last three have attached themselves to the views of Admiral Sir Nigel Essenhigh who, in an article for The Telegraph has, in effect, dropped his naval britches, bent down over the poop deck and passed wind!  How this lot ever managed to get into, let alone pass through, staff college I simply do not know.   I tremble to imagine what the late and very great Field Marshal Alanbrooke would have made of Adm. Essenhigh's exhortations on British Grand Strategy which amount to a repetitive squeal of, "gi's the money cos it's a dangerous world!"  Well, yes, Admiral, we know that but if we give you the money, our money, what, exactly and precisely, will you do with it?  And given the history of the British High Command over the past twenty years when they actually had to put their money (our money) where their mouths are, or to be precise, their (our) servicemen right up the sharp end, what confidence can we have that the next time they will manage to do any better than Capt. Mainwaring and Dad's Army might have done?

I'm simply too angry to write any more - total tits, the lot of 'em!

 

And there I was hoping for a calm, restful Sunday morning

Well, it serves me right, I should never have clicked on to George Will's article in The National Review (NR).  Nor should you if you wish to avoid severe brain-ache!  Worse still, is the fact which I only discovered this morning that if you scroll down to the end of the article and on to the bottom of the page it will automatically feed you into another article on the same subject and so on and on and on, a sort of 'thread' of linked articles.  Clever, and useful but I just wish it wasn't Sunday!

This weekend, of course, we are celebrating the 800th anniversary of Magna Carta, er, we are celebrating, aren't we?  Oh alright then, taking note of.  'The cousins' are 'taking note of' it but mainly in the context of a ferocious judicial/political punch-up of their own.  With the sort of irony that reduces me to dribbling ecstasy, it transpires that the 'Libertarian movement' (aka: Ayn Rand Supreme Executrice, or, ARSEs as they are sometimes known) is urging even greater judicial activism to strike down laws passed by democratically elected bodies.  This is something with which progressives agree provided - natch! - that the judges are thinking straight, that is, straight to the Left!

Meanwhile, the Right-wing commentariat, judging from the thread through which I ploughed diligently this morning, is split - so no change there, then!  Part of the Right is sympathetic to the ARSEs because they are fed up with the 'Supremes' rubber-stamping Obama's socialism.  However, the other half sticks rigidly to opinions going back some 200 years in which great thinkers of the time, many of them intimately connected with drawing up the Constitution and the Bill of Rights and who insist that the courts should never over-rule a democratically-elected body unless it can be shown without doubt that it has transgressed the Constitution.  In the face of Left-wing activism that is a noble but potentially dangerous view.

Of course, none of this means much to the average 'Joe Doe' 'over there', any more than the ramifications of Magna Carta meant much to the poor sod who was just trying to graze his sheep on the meadow at Runnymede when all those big-shots rocked up and drove him off!

 

"Victor", the assassin's assassin of choice!

Yes indeed, should you have someone in your life whose absence, er, that's permanent absence, if you follow my meaning, would please you enormously, allow me to introduce you to 'Victor'.  Personally, I do not have one person I wish to be absented permanently, I have a list, and a long list at that!  However, that may have something to do with my somewhat grumpy, short-tempered nature.  In any event, if you desire certain people to be made, so to speak, ex-people then 'Victor' is definitely your man.

'Victor' is the creation of Tom Wood and Tom Wood, in my not inconsiderable experience, is the very best of current 'pulp fiction' thriller writers.  In particular, the action sequences which pile in one after the other leaving you exhausted are almost choreographed like a dance sequence.  Mr. Wood really thinks through the detail of exactly how one man can kill a four man assassination team sent to murder his hero.  Quite literally, you find yourself holding your breath as you read and such is the clarity of his description that you can 'see' it unfolding in your mind's eye. 

It's holiday time and I do urge you treat yourself to one of Mr. Wood's books.  Yes, yes, I know it's pulp fiction and that really high-minded readers, like you, who follow D&N regularly should be concentrating on someone like, say, Marcel Proust but he's jolly hard to follow on a beach in 80 degrees with all those tanned totties bouncing around in topless bikinis.  (In fact, he's jolly hard to follow anywhere!) If you read one of Tom Wood's books I can promise you that you will not hear the missus telling you to stop staring at all those girls!  However, I do suggest that you start reading his books in the order in which they were written. 

Walker walks the walk but also stumbles

Alas, poor Governor Scott Walker of Wisconsin has already suffered the kiss of death to his presidential hopes given that I have endorsed him but even so he does need to tread more carefully.  For example, President Obama has negotiated a (so-called) trade deal, henceforth to be known as 'Obama-trade' - natch!  There are several whopping great problems with it.

One, no-one outside of a handful of government apparatchiks knows all the details, in fact, the crucial details are locked in a room in the basement of the Capitol and not even members of Congress, who have to vote on the deal, have been allowed access.

Two, the only clue we have as to Obama's negotiating ability lies in the recent interchanges with Iran over their nuclear weapons programme - yeeeeees, quite! 

And three, his administrative abilities are best summed up in the car crash that is 'Obamacare'.

Finally, four, the leadership of the Republican party are all in favour of this new trade deal.  It has long been clear that the RINOs (Republican In Name Only) who run the GOP have long since left their party and their electorate behind and are now far too busy snuffling in the Washington trough.

Whatever emerges, Gov. Walker held a perfect "Get out of jail free" card because he could claim, honestly, that it was impossible to support or oppose the deal until the whole damn thing was published!  Now, he has closed the only possible exit door behind him.

However, back home in Wisconsin, he continues to drive through his excellent programme aimed at the destruction of the Left.  Having smashed the power base of the public service unions, he has now switched his attention to that other bastion of malignant Leftism - academia.  His plan is to undo the system of tenured professorships which has lead to a closed shop regime in universities which the Left have seized and now control utterly.  The grip of the fanatical Left on American colleges is stinking intellectual corruption and the sooner it is flushed away like Wisconsin's unions the better.  What Wisconsin does today, other Republican-led States can do tomorrow.  The breath of fresh air will be enormously invigorating.

 

 

Is it any wonder I'm increasingly confused?

Look, I know I'm an old man, and I know that with old age there comes an increase in confusion.  For example, I can (just about) remember the days of standing in queues at cash desks cursing the silly old codger at the front who was having difficulty counting out his small change.  Today it's me holding up the queue but, of course, in this modern world it's not counting change that confuses me, no-one actually wants cash any more, instead it's trying to sort out which of the pack of cards I am forced to carry is the one required by the store, into which end of the electronic reader am I supposed to insert it and, 9 times out of 10, I will insert either the wrong end of the card, or, the card will be upside down. A 14-year-old cashier (well, they all look 14 to me) will then patiently remove my card and insert it properly.  Not that it upsets me, after all, a retired old coot like me has all the time in the world, and there is considerable malevolent humour to be derived from watching the young whipper-snapper at the end of the queue tapping his foot, glancing at his watch and breathing heavily.  See, it's true, what goes around comes around!

However, my elderly confusions are as nothing compared to a commenter over at the site of my lovely e-pal, 'Sister Wolf'.  'Big Sis', as I reverentially call her (well, you wouldn't want to upset her!) wrote a post on the subject of Mr/Mrs/Miss/Ms (delete to, er, taste) Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner who is/was/maybe a huge, hulking, jock-strap-wearing 'heartie' but who is now, following some careful surgery, I assume, a pantie-wearing girlie.  Yeeeeees, quite!

    

     Before and after, or, after and before, like I say, I am easily confused!

'Big Sis' is not confused but nor is she amused, either!  One can sympathise with her irritation given the 'dribbley-goo' that was allowed to ooze over the pages of 'The Graun': 

So now the Guardian has published a long and ridiculous exegesis on the Caitlyn Jenner Phenomenon, comparing her looks to Lauren Bacall and winding up on this note: 

Like it or not, the Kardashians have done something positive, progressive and meaningful. The internet era of baring all can be a beautiful thing: prejudice can wither and fall, and acceptance and understanding blossom in its place. And I’m not just talking about Caitlyn Jenner. 

Jesus god almighty, can we just shut up about this guy or woman? Fuck her/him already!

Quite so, 'Sis', couldn't have put it better myself!  However, what raised my sympathies was a plaintive cry of confusion from her commenter, 'Suspended' - don't ask!  Poor 'Suspended' is faced, personally, with this dilemma: 

I thought he was supposed to look like Jessica Lange. Either way, the whole clan needs to fuck off. 

I have a male friend who reassigned but is still straight, so now “she’s” technically a lesbian. It’s a bit of a head fuck.

"Re-assigned"!  "A bit of a head fuck"!  I will always love America no matter what they get up to and one of the reasons is American-English.  They have a way with words and phrases quite beyond the 'grunt-mumblers' who pass through our 'edukashun sistim'.  Anyway, it's a comfort to know that my confusions are as nothing compared to other people's.

 

Hammer, chisel and genius

So, there I was this morning, standing starkers in front of the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth, not a pretty sight, I admit, when I happened to look at the reflection of my left arm and hand hanging loosely at my side and I thought of 'David' - no, not me, I mean the statue by Michelangelo.

(And yes, before you ask, Andra, you're right, I'm no bigger than he is!)  But what always sticks in my memory having once seen this superb work of art and artistry is the right arm and hand.

Dammit, you can almost see the blood pulsing through those veins!  That statue, of course, is a world-class masterpiece but my admiration for Michelangelo, and all other figurative sculptors, is not limited to the art but extends even more to the craft as well.  Writing as a man who famously uses a hammer to drive in screws - yeeeeees, quite! -  I am totally amazed at how a sculptor, like Michelangelo, can look at a block of stone and 'see' 'David' in there, but I am even more amazed at how he releases him!  Days, weeks, months of chipping away in which one mistake could ruin it all and then eventually 'David' steps forth, so to speak.

Here is another excellent example of the sculptor's art, not perhaps in the same class Michelangelo but even so, exactly and superbly right for it's place and time at the National Arboretum where today Prince Harry is commemorating the dead and wounded of the Afghan campaign.

The military figures are wonderfully posed but the mother and child on the left almost reduce me to tears.

 

HUMs vs. SIGs

Yeeeees, quite, in my long (and irritating) practice of composing utterly obscure titles for my posts that must be near the top of incomprehensibility.  Which, now I think about it, is entirely right given that my subject is secrets, or to be precise, the uncovering of secrets.  I am provoked to this ramble careful analysis by a recent article in The Telegraph  by Charles Cumming, a writer of spy fiction, commenting on a recent book, The New Spymasters by Stephen Grey.  The book, apparently, poses an important but excruciatingly difficult problem - do we need spies (HUMINT) or can we just rely on electronic eavesdropping (SIGINT)?

I don't need to remind my older readers that the acquisition of 'INT' of any sort can be a war-winner - or loser if it isn't handled properly!  In the latter category one thinks instantly of Richard Sorge, the Russian spy who sent all the details (except the date) of Hitler's proposed attack on Russia and it was totally ignored by Stalin and his cronies.  That was HUMINT of the highest order.  On the other hand, with all the recent hoo-ha concerning Alan Turing none of us need reminding about the power of Bletchley Park, and my American readers will be equally aware of their huge SIGINT successes against Japanese codes in WWII.

But that was yesterday, what about today?  Our intelligence gatherers are able to deploy both types of operations against states with proper governments and a huge bureaucracy to support them but when it comes to amorphous groups like AQ and IS then life for the old-fashioned spy is exceedingly tricky.  Just think about it for a moment - how would you recruit and insert a spy into whatever passes for the ruling body of IS?  Quite apart from anything else, who in their right mind would even volunteer for the job?  And how would you communicate with him - or her?  I'm not saying it is impossible, just hellishly difficult.  Thus, in this case you are forced to rely on SIGINT but these groups are now manned with highly-trained - at our universities! - operatives who are extremely knowledgeable concerning the very latest IT processes.

The problem is neatly summarised in Cumming's article:

As former SIS chief Sir Richard Dearlove memorably put it, Islamic terrorists are like “a flock of birds coming together and dispersing, apparently spontaneously”.

How to penetrate such an organisation? Is there even much point? A member of a terrorist cell in Bradford, say, is hardly likely to know what his brothers in Manchester or Mumbai are planning. Besides, at any moment a potential MI5 source might leave the country to wage jihad or – worse – blow himself up on the No 11 bus.

According to Stephen Grey's book, the CIA has more or less given up on HUMINT when it comes to dealing with such groups:

The CIA effectively gave up on human intelligence (or HUMINT) in the wake of 9/11, relying increasingly on blanket electronic surveillance – of phone calls and emails, conversations in chat rooms, of banking records and travel plans. And what did they do with all this? They made increasing use of drones. “Barack Obama might have opposed torture, waterboarding and renditions,” Grey writes, “but he did not object to what was in effect an assassination programme.” The CIA continued to recruit informers in AF-PAK and Iraq, running some as traditional agents. Others were simply supplied with electronic homing beacons to toss into the gardens of suspected high-ranking militants. Hellfire missiles did the rest.

I do understand the difficulties facing our intelligence and security organisations but the terrorists are now well aware of their weakness if they rely too much on electronic communications.  Perhaps it's time to try the good, old-fashioned spy once more.  Come back 'George Smiley', all is forgiven!

 

Dave doesn't do devious

You may remember - waddya mean ya forgot already! -  that, post-election, I suggested that my soubriquet for our PM should change from 'Dim Dave' to 'Devious Dave' but, bless his cotton socks, it's now obvious that Dave simply can't do 'devious'.  As a man that does him credit because it shows a fundamental honesty but, alas, as a politician it is a crippling weakness.

Take for example the latest 'brouhaha' that has kicked off following 'Dim Dave's, er, indication, shall we put it, that his ministers might have to support his deal with the EU or resign.  Cue brown stuff hitting fan and 24 hours later a fine example of a political handbrake U-turn as Dave admits that he didn't quite mean what he clearly said!  And, oh dear, we are going to face at least 18 months of this pantomime in which it is clear, particularly to the 'Eurocracy', that Dave will accept any sort of a fig leaf which will allow him to fly home and wave a piece of useless paper like his predecessor did some 80-odd years ago.

What is absolutely essential is that the 'OUT' campaign begins now and that the very first thing they must do is to choose a leader.  I stand ready but, alas, I fear that I may not have quite sufficient public recognition despite the world-wide fame of this distinguished blog!  I have seen the name of Boris Johnson put forward, and he would be an excellent choice, but I doubt that he would take it this early in the proceedings and it is urgent that the campaign gets going - now!  Of course, Nigel Farage is eager for the job but somehow, in some way, he never strikes me, politically-speaking, as being quite 16 annas to the rupee.  Of course, there are a plethora of superb intellectuals, one thinks of Hannan, Carswell, and the like, who can provide heavyweight arguments for the 'OUT' cause but this is 'popular politics' and requires a leader with the common touch.

Anyway, my main point is that the 'OUT' campaign needs to start immediately - if not sooner!

 

Make this man Minister of Defence!

A fascinating article in the Daily Telegraph about a week ago written by Lewis Page and no, I hadn't heard of him either but I should have done because it looks as though he wrote an excellent book about eight years ago called Lions, Donkeys and Dinosaurs: Waste and Blundering in the Military.  A word of warning before you dismiss his ideas out of hand.  Mr. Page served in his University RAF Air Squadron, then joined the Royal Navy as an officer serving in a variety of capacities including mine disposal, before undertaking a Marine Commando course.  I think you can take it that he knows where-of he writes - and what he writes is dynamite!

Pointing to the imminent Strategic Defence and Security Review (SDSR) he urges the powers that be to take some crucial and revolutionary steps - beginning with the disbandment of the RAF!  It has long been obvious, even to an ex-corporal like me, that in the absence of a strategic bombing arm the RAF is simply an adjunct to (mostly) army operations.  In any case, Mr. Page urges the replacement of manned fighter-bombers with 'Reaper' drones and 'Tomahawk' missiles.  However, the RAF is not alone in taking fire from Mr. Page who writes:

The Navy should not be allowed its new frigates: instead it should purchase basic ships to act as floating bases for helicopters, Marines and Tomahawk missiles. The Army should likewise move away from tanks and artillery, and towards integrated air support. If the soldiers really feel a need for Apache helicopters once they have F-18s and Reapers, we could replace them: but we should buy straight from Boeing this time, rather than a job-creation scheme in Yeovilton.

The last point is a major one for him because he points an unwavering finger at BAE, the giant, he would say 'swollen', defence contractor which utterly dominates the British defence establishment.  Unsurprising when you consider the number of 'top brass' who retire on handsome pensions and then take up employment as 'consultants' to BAE or its myriad subsidiaries.

There is something rotten at the heart of our defence establishment:

The defence industry aside, the existence of the three services also has a drastic effect on costs. There isn’t that much disputed territory between the Army and the Navy, but both are continually battling the RAF. If the Army and the Navy were allowed their own aircraft without having to worry about the RAF, they would both become an awful lot more powerful and capable and we could stop wasting money on tanks, frigates and manned deep-penetration bombing.

As regulars here will know, I have long suggested that two out of three senior officers should be shot 'pour encourager les autres' - and save on their grandiloquent pensions!  Read the article - and then read his book!

 

Your Monday Funnies: 8.6.15

On this beautiful, sunny morning as I contemplate a few hours lying on my patio topping up my tan, I will spare a thought for all you poor wage-slaves as your troop in for another few hours at the coalface.  Still, these 'Funnies' should cheer you up - or depress the hell out of you!

Northampton Police report finding a man's body
in the River Nene, near Becketts Park. The dead man's name will not be released
until his family has been notified.

The victim apparently drowned due to excessive beer consumption.

He was wearing black fishnet stockings, a red garter belt, a pink G-string, a
strap-on dildo, purple lipstick, and a ‘Milliband for PM’ on 2015 T-shirt.

He also had a cucumber inserted in his rectum.

The police removed the Ed Milliband T-shirt to spare his family any unnecessary
embarrassment.

In spite of what we sometimes think, the Police really do care.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Two Jewish fathers were talking over a pint and one said to the other, “You know Solomon I sent my son on a trip to Israel already and he has converted to Christianity”  

The other replied, “You don’t say Abie.  The same thing happened to me.  I sent my boy to Israel also and he did the same thing”.  

The two of them approached the local Rabbi and told him their problem.  The Rabbi replied, “You don’t say.  The same thing happened to me and I’ve worried about him becoming a Christian ever since.  Perhaps we should seek help from the Lord”.  

So the Rabbi stands in the middle of the Synagogue before the scrolls and lifting his arms to the heavens tells GOD of their problem. 

There is silence for a short while and then a voice fills the room and says, “You don’t say, that’s just what happened to my boy”.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: 

 

One day a 12-year old boy was walking down the street when a car pulled up beside him and the window was wound down.

"I'll give you a bag of lollies if you get in the car," said the male driver.

"No way, get stuffed", replied the boy.

"How about a bag of lollies and $10?" asked the driver?

"No way", replied the irritated youngster.

"What about a bag of lollies and FIFTY Dollars, eh"? quizzed the driver, still rolling slowly to keep up with the walking boy.

"No, I'm not getting in the car!" answered the boy.

"OK, I know what you want. I'll give you $100 and a bag of lollies" the driver offered.

"NO," screamed the boy.

"What will it take to get you into the car"? asked the driver sighing.

The boy replied: "Listen, Dad, you bought a fucking Jeep - you live with it!"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

At dawn the telephone rings, "Hello, Senor Rod? This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country house."

"Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?"

"Um, I am just calling to advise you, Senor Rod, that your parrot, he is dead.

"My parrot? Dead? The one that won the International competition?"

"Si, Senor, that's the one."

"Damn! That's a pity! I spent a small fortune on that bird. What did he die from?

"From eating the rotten meat, Senor Rod."

"Rotten meat? Who the hell fed him rotten meat?"

"Nobody, Senor. He ate the meat of the dead horse."

"Dead horse? What dead horse?"

"The thoroughbred, Senor Rod."

"My prize thoroughbred is dead?"

"Yes, Senor Rod, he died from all that work pulling the water cart."

"Are you insane? What water cart?"

"The one we used to put out the fire, Senor."

Good Lord! What fire are you talking about, man?"

"The one at your house, Senor! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire."

"What the hell? Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because of a candle?!"

"Yes, Senor Rod."

"But there's electricity at the house! What was the candle for?"

"For the funeral, Senor Rod."

"WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL??!!"

"Your wife's, Senor Rod. She showed up very late one night and I thought she was a thief, so I shot her with your new Kreighoff Limited Edition Custom Gold Engraved Trap Special with the custom-made Wenig Exhibition Grade Stock. "

SILENCE...........

LONG SILENCE.........

VERY LONG SILENCE..............

"Ernesto, if you scratched that shotgun, you're in deep shit."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 Right, get on with your work!  Now, where did I put my sun cream  . . . ?

 

'My fellow Americans, I am speaking to you today ...'

Yes, alright, I know, I'm not actually American but I promise you that the day after I am elected POTUS I will look seriously at all those damned naturalisation forms even though the sight of any government form gives me an instant headache!  Now where was I ...?

'My fellow Americans, I am speaking to you today to announce my candidature for the forthcoming Presidential election.  As of the last count I believe I am the 417th candidate to offer himself, coming in immediately after 'Uncle Tom Cobley and all'!   However, before I lecture you all  inform you all of my proposed programme which will, of course, right all your wrongs at a stroke, I must break with political tradition and actually tell you the truth.  If Governor Scott Walker of Wisconsin wins the Republican party nomination I shall withdraw.  It's not so much that Gov. Walker's heart is in the right place as the undoubted fact that his brain is absolutely where it should be!

There is an interesting piece at The American Spectator describing the Governor signing into law an act which breaks trade union closed shops.  As it happens, Gov. Walker was not the lead in fighting this legislation through his State senate but the article reminds us of how, against massive opposition, he beat the public employee unions during his first term in office and that totally weakened their resistance to a "Right to Work" act which broke their closed shops.

So, my fellow Americans, if you are wise enough to vote for Gov. Walker as the next POTUS, I will withdraw my candidature.  If you don't, then you get me - so that should convince you if nothing else does!

 

'The Young and Thick Coalition Alliance'

Who says politics isn't funny?  Come on, admit it, the sight and sound of the Labour party stumble-bumming this way and that as they seek desperately for an explanation as to why, you, the GBP (Great British Public) failed to understand their message even when they took the trouble to carve it in stone because they thought you were too thick to understand it otherwise, is the funniest thing since Monty Python.  And what reduces me to utterly helpless giggles is that none of them realise, or those few who do are not daring to say so, that actually, 'we, The People' understood their message all too well!  We sensed that it was, in essence, juvenilia.  The product of the sort of smarmy swots in the Lower Fifth who instead of punching the crap out of each other on the rugby field, spend their time supporting, er, well, you know, like, really, really important causes and things.  Usually, of course, standing behind them encouraging them on is some weedy, long-haired 'teacher' who doesn't look any older than his pupils but who has a 'Double First' in political agitation from some Polytechnic masquerading as a 'university'.

Anyway, the overall impression of the recent Labour party manifesto was its pathetic childishness.  This feeling was re-enforced by the equally pathetic child who was its erstwhile leader.  He, needless to say, surrounded himself with other children (or retards, perhaps, they must have been one or the other) whose literal monument was the embarrassingly juvenile 'Ed-Stone'.   Perhaps the young chap on the right of the picture was Ed's strategy advisor!

 

It seems to me that the Labour party is caught, and the irony is delicious, in the trap of social change.  Their (so-called) leaders are dependent on the party activists who long ago ceased to be 'Mr. and Mrs. Blogs' living in a council house and whose family had voted Labour solidly, man and boy, since Keir Hardy.  Thanks, in part, to 'that woman' who encouraged them to buy their council house and become property owners, 'Mr. and Mrs. Blogs' now have something tangible to lose rather than some ethereal pipe dream offered to them on their doorstep by a sort of radicalised 'Nigel Molesworth' whose politics have been handed down to him on a placard by the likes of Russell Brand.  (Incidentally, the fact that the policies of the Left can actually be written on a placard is the first big clue as to their utter risibility.)

The exquisite humour to be derived from this situation stems from the fact that the next leader (or two) of the Labour party must first rid him, or her, self of most of the existing membership who, of course, actually contribute their subs and are the people needed to distribute election manifestos and the like.  They will only do that by ramming home policies that appeal to most sensible people and thus, by definition, will exclude the loony Lefties.  Already, one may enjoy the sight and sound of sundry political bottoms, trousered or skirted, gradually inching and sliding Rightwards along the political benches whilst their owners pretend that nothing is changing.

 You have to laugh!  Oh come on, where's your sense of humour?

ADDITIONAL:  Honestly, I hadn't read this from the Mail on Sunday when I wrote the piece above: 

The Mail on Sunday has obtained fresh details of astonishing rows between the former Labour leader, Shadow Chancellor Ed Balls and Election campaign chief Douglas Alexander. We can reveal: 

• Miliband’s senior adviser Greg Beales confronted Miliband, Balls and Alexander to their faces and told them: ‘Stop behaving like bloody children [my emphasis] – we’ve got an Election to win!’

• Two of Miliband’s senior aides had a shouting match in front of the former leader at his London home when an attempt to make him change his economic policy ended in claims of ‘treachery’.

• Labour manifesto author and senior MP Jon Cruddas raged at Torsten Bell, the Miliband aide responsible for the notorious ‘Ed Stone’, after Bell changed the manifesto at the last minute without telling Cruddas.

Well worth reading in full.  What an escape we had!

 

Government planning at its very best

I am grateful to 'Tyler Durden' at Zero Hedge for providing me with a belly laugh.  This morning I paid him my first visit since returning from my hols.  A bit late, I know, but his is not a site you rush to given that it is monumentally depressing, being stuffed full of really sad, bad news.  Don't misunderstand, I urge you all to visit - regularly! - because it has a wealth of financial and economic information and if most of it is of the 'Apocalypse Now' variety, well, just 'man up', take it on the chin, er, and then reach for the whisky and possibly the gun!

However, today Mr. 'Durden' made me laugh out loud.  He reproduces a photo which shows a construction that Mr. 'Durden' likens to Keynesianism in action.  I would go further and suggest that it sums up exactly and precisely government planning everywhere in the whole wide world.  See it and laugh, er, before you weep!

 

The Berlin blockade!

It is true, alas, that we 'thesps', amateurs as well as pros, in fact even more so with us amateurs, are prone to the occasional hissy fit.  Nostrils are frequently flared, eyebrows raised, lips pursed and little feet stamped but of course, darlings, all in the pursuit of artistic excellence and nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with personal egos, perish the thought!  But we are as nothing compared to the vitriolic warfare that can break out between musicians, especially classical musicians, and even more especially, those serving in world-famous orchestras with reputations going back centuries.

You all know my predilection to offering to hold the coats of those about to embark on a massive pub brawl, absolutely the best free entertainment of any sort, so you will understand my irritation that I am unable to witness the 'punch up' that has broken out in the famous Berlin Philharmonic, the plaything of some of the very greatest conductors of any age, Furtwangler, von Karajan, and so forth.  According to Norman Lebrecht in The Spectator, a vacancy has occurred and in the finest traditions of the greatest orchestras in the world, all hell has broken out!

New principal conductors are chosen by the members of the orchestra.  The favourite for the job was a Berliner born and bred, Christian Thielemann - no me, neither, which just goes to show what a musical ignoramus I am!  According to Lebrecht, he is definitely retro-minded in that he thinks there was nothing much of merit written after the death of Richard Strauss.  Anyway, with the backing of some senior members of the 'band', Thielemann was reckoned to be a shoo in against a late contender, a young Latvian called Andris Nelsons, and no I never heard of him, either!

 So, 'Ich bin schockiert, ich sage euch, schockiert' ("I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked" - and I do wish you'd improve your modern language skills!) to inform you that Thielemann failed to win the day - and I do mean 'the day' because the orchestral meeting went on and on with vote after vote but ended in deadlock.  Oh, how the violins wept, how the brass harrumphed, the cellos turned and churned and the timpani rumbled but all to no avail.  Mr. Lebrecht suggested via a newspaper article that the position should be shared between the two men.  Cue a thunderous riposte from senior members of the Berlin Philharmonic that this was quite impossible and against the rules of the orchestra.

And there the matter rests for now but how dearly would I love to have been at that day-long election session.

 

Five reasons not to vote for 'HillBilly'

Now look, don't you accuse me of being, er, 'lookist' but with this critical election coming up next year it is vital that we are all absolutely honest, not just with others but with ourselves.  'HillBilly' is absolutely and hideously ugly!  Here are five proofs of my assertion:

  

    

Of course, in pointing this out I do realise that I risk alienating the female vote with whom 'HillBilly' scores considerable marks not least, I suspect, because she is so ugly that it makes the lades feel better about themselves.  Even so, as the 386th (and rising) candidate to declare for the Presidential race it is incumbent on me to "tell truth and shame the devil"!  In the same way, as I pointed out in my previous post, that no-one with a scintilla of taste and discernment could possibly vote for 'Big Blubber' Christie, so only those who are deaf, dumb, blind and lack a sense of smell could hold their nose and put a cross next to the name of this ghastly woman.

Of course, modesty (and idleness) precludes me from reproducing photos of myself from the archives of this distinguished blog (I leave that sort of thing to 'JK') but I would remind you that in the fields of both winter wear and summer wear I am something of a fashion icon.  Thus, if you vote for me you will have yourselves a President of real style and grace . . . sorry, did you say something?

 

Well, that's one of my POTUS competitors in the outfield

In the previous post I announced my intention to run in next year's presidential election in the USA.  I did so for a variety of reasons not the least of which is that the salary and perks are considerable and (just about) outweigh the eye-stabbingly tedious business of constantly meeting various crooks and gangsters  distinguished Heads of State and pretending to be interested in their lying lies.

Another reason, which I mentioned previously, was the fact that there are now huge queues forming on both sides of the political divide for aspirants to the White House.  I gather that the TV companies are complaining that they can only allow the top 250 contestants, or thereabouts, vying for the Republican nomination to take part in the usual TV debates which will now last ten days non-stop and be chaired by 27 different anchormen! 

Well, it's obvious that most of these clowns are hopeless and thus I feel my chances are a lot stronger than they might appear at first glance.  For example, who in America in their right mind would vote for this man?

 

He is, believe it or not, Mr. Chris Christie, the current Governor of  'Noo Joisey'.  Lest anyone accuse me of being 'fattist' let me assure you that I really don't care if he eats three cooked breakfasts before, er, breakfast but no sensible politician in their right mind would allow themselves to be photographed wearing that skin-tight athletic suit which shows the gross truth that Mr. Christie is anything but athletic.  True, he might get the 'Walmart vote' but everyone else with more than the requisite three brain cells wouldn't want him in the White House.  Apart from anything, the tax-payers of America would know instantly that it would cost a fortune just to feed him for five years!

Anyway, I understand that in order to run for the Presidency one requires buckets of dosh the collection of which is organised, so I gather, by something called a PAC.  I have just sacked (see comments to previous post) the erstwhile Chairman of my PAC, 'JK', for gross insubordination so there's a job going for someone.  You need to be able to finagle money out of people on the basis of utterly false promises so if you have ever worked for FIFA the job is yours!

Anyway, I can't write any more now because I am preparing my victory speech  . . .

 

 

A quick ramble

OK, this time I really am back in business after my peregrinations. Alas, I don’t have a well-crafted essay to offer you explaining, say, the political situation in South East Asia, so instead this will be a rambling meander through various topics that (sort of) interest me.

First, I thought I should announce my candidature for the job of POTUS.  Well, everyone and his uncle seem to be eager to join the fray so why not me?  I realise, of course, that I am only a third-rater but most of the others are fourth, fifth or even tenth-raters.  You may wonder what principles I am standing for, so let me tell you that I am standing for me, that’s me as in me, me, ME!  Most of my opponents are standing for the same but they haven’t the guts to say so!  Some of my picky American friends might complain that I am disqualified because I am a Brit.  Nonsense, of course, the White House is in desperate need of a bit of class and an elderly British gent like me would be perfect.

Second, we can all look forward to the new TV series, “FIFA is fucked!”  ‘This one will run and run’ and a ten-box DVD pack can be expected at the end.  Everyone is looking forward to the last scene in which Sepp Blatter is seen in his yellow prison suit shuffling with his shackled ankles through the main gate of the biggest, hardest prison in America.  There’s nothing I like better than a good hearty laugh!

Alas, the Greek tragedy, like its ancient, classical predecessors, seems to be going on and on and on.  Will the Greek virgin be sacrificed on the altar of the cruel ‘Juncker the Drunker’ or, with one bound will she be free to be herself as the Greek tart flogging her assets to the highest briber?  I don’t know but I think I should be told because the whole bloody rigmarole has gone on for far too long.

I’m off for a swim now, see you all later.

I forgot to say . . .

. . . I'm away Tuesday and Wednesday, off on a sort of 'round Robin' trip to touch base with sundry old friends in and around SW London.  Back in business on Thursday.

A world without America

Now before I begin I just know that some of my crustier Brit readers having read my title will be nodding vigorously and muttering ‘bring it on’ or words to that effect.  My answer to them is grow up!  Yes, America, like every Super Power including us ‘back in the day’ has blundered about and made some big mistakes but in the truly great events of the 20^th century they have, more or less and not without considerable self-interest, been there on the side of western democracies.  However, if that fails to impress you then consider what now appears to be the increasing likelihood that the mighty US of A will simply disappear as a global power, that’s if, first of all, it doesn’t just implode and fragment.  How does a world run by a powerful, rampant and unopposed China grab you?

Let me begin by urging you to visit the site of my American e-pal, Malcom Pollack, who is in despair over the state of his country.  He points to a devastating summary by Victor Davis Hansen who spells out the horrid truth that the progressive Left have already won the battle for America.  The so-called political Right are mostly ‘sock-puppets’ going through the motions of opposition but secretly happy to see the inexorable rise and rise of the state, in which they can grab their share (for the moment) even if it leads to the crushing of once dearly-held beliefs in the idea of individual freedom.

My forecasting record is not, shall we say, without its blemishes but I would remind you that years ago I warned that Obama’s apparat was Marxist to its core and that it would ram through measures likely to end in confusion, panic and, America being America, violence.  There is nothing the Left likes better than a really good crisis!  From those circumstances, emergency regulations can be rushed through and once passed, of course, they remain for ever to be added to and expanded as required.  Thus will the iron grip of totalitarianism grip the so-called ‘Land of the Free’.  Does this matter, you may ask?  Well, consider where that will leave the idea of liberty and democracy.  It will be limited to a small island off the north-west coast of Europe and in a few Anglophile ex-Dominions.

I am further provoked to these gloomy ruminations by a recent article in The Telegraph by Peter Foster who interviewed the geo-political guru, Ian Bremmer.  The opening lines provide the flavour of the piece:

After six decades serving as the global policeman, the United States is now signalling its retreat from the world.

With the Middle East engulfed by the flames of sectarian conflict, Europe’s borders menaced by the threat of war and China starting to flex its muscles in Asia-Pacific, it is clear the world has entered a new period of volatility.

That uncertainty begs tough questions for Britain: how should we respond to this new American pragmatism? And as our traditional ally turns inward, what should that mean for British foreign policy?

Indeed, that last question is crucial and, I suspect, not given a minute’s thought by ‘Dim Dave’ and his Tory cohorts or even by the so-called ‘mandarins’ of Whitehall who are paid to do their ministers’ thinking for them!  Happily, Mr. Bremmer supports what I would like to call the ‘Duff Doctrine’, except that my unfortunate surname somewhat reduces its, er, importance and accuracy.  Anyway, it is what I have written before ‘many a time and oft’’:

Invest in relations with America, but not at the expense of relations with China, India, Germany, the Saudis and other emerging players. Embrace your relationship with the Saudis because they're wealthy and they don't have any friends. What else can you do to differentiate yourself? Stop doing geopolitics. You're not building your military, you're not going to project force any more. Be much more like the Germans. Say, 'we're not going to talk about the Dalai Lama, let's have a special relationship with the Chinese so we can focus on where our industrial and commercial relations can be more aligned’. Do the same thing with the Indians while you're at it. That's a very different choice for the Brits. But given what we are seeing right now in the United States I think it's a smart play.

The world it is a-changin’.  The post-American era is upon us.  Better watch out!

 

And lo, I bring you tidings of great joy!

Well, just in case you were feeling slightly depressed by my 'Monday Funnies' - hard to believe, I know - but it is Monday morning so you need all the cheering up I can provide.  So in that spirit of generosity for which this blog is famed, I give you absolutely free of charge - although the usual contributions in a plain brown envelope are always welcome -

Martini in the Morning

Positively, definitely and absolutely the very best music radio station in the world!  It plays, almost non-stop, mostly 'golden oldies' sung by the very best vocalists of the 20th century.  I say "almost non-stop" because they only seem to feature 3 or 4 minutes of ads per hour.  There seem to be a bewildering number of ways of tuning in via the internet but if you just google-up the name you will find your way in.

"If music be the food of love" then you will love Martini in the Morning - and not just for its delicious name!

 

Your Monday Funnies: 1.6.15

OK, so what passes for normal service has been resumed and here is a fine selection of side-splitters or groan-inducers - whatever!

I was standing at the bar of Terminal 3 International Airport when this small Chinese guy comes in, stands next to me and starts drinking a beer. 

I asked him, "Do you know any of those martial arts things, like Kung-Fu, Karate or Ju-Jitsu?" 

He says "No, why the fuck you ask me that?  Is it because I am Chinese?"  

"No", I said, "It's because you're drinking my beer, you little prick." 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: 

 

'Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I have been with a loose girl'.

The priest asks, 'Is that you, little Joey Pagano?

'Yes, Father, it is.'

'And who was the girl you were with?'

'I can't tell you, Father. I don't want to ruin her reputation'.

"Well, Joey, I'm sure to find out her name sooner or later so you may as well tell me now. Was it Tina Minetti?

'I cannot say.'

'Was it Teresa Mazzarelli?'

'I'll never tell.'

'Was it Nina Capelli?'

'I'm sorry, but I cannot name her.'

'Was it Cathy Piriano?'

'My lips are sealed.'

'Was it Rosa DiAngelo, then?'

'Please, Father, I cannot tell you.'

The priest sighs in frustration.

'You're very tight lipped, and I admire that.  But you've sinned and have to atone.  You cannot be an altar boy now for 4 months.  Now you go and behave yourself.'

Joey walks back to his pew, and his friend Franco slides over and whispers, 'What'd you get?'

'Four months vacation and five good leads.' 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: 

 

An elderly man on a Moped, Looking about 100 years old, pulls up next to a doctor at a street light.  The old man looks over at the sleek shiny car and asks, "What kind of car ya got there, sonny?"
 
The doctor replies, "A Ferrari GTO. It cost half a million dollars ! "
 
"That's a lot of money," says the old man, " Why does it cost so much?"

"Because this car can do up to 320 miles an hour!" states the doctor proudly.
 
The Moped driver asks, "Mind if I take a look inside?"
 
"No problem," replies the doctor.
 
So the old man pokes his head in the window and looks around.  Then, sitting back on his Moped, the old man says, "That's a pretty nice car, all right... but I'll stick with my Moped !"
 
Just then the light changes, so the doctor decides to show the old man just what his car can do.  He floors it and within 30 seconds the speedometer reads 160 mph.
 
Suddenly, he notices a dot in his rear view mirror. It seems to be getting closer!
 
He slows down to see what it could be and suddenly WHOOOOSSSHHH !
 
Something whips by him going much faster!
 
"What on earth could be going faster than my Ferrari ?" the doctor asks himself.
 
He presses harder on the accelerator and takes the Ferrari up to 250 mph.
 
Then, up ahead of him, he sees that it's the old man on the Moped!
 
Amazed that the Moped could pass his Ferrari, he gives it more gas and passes the Moped at 275 mph and he's feeling pretty good until he looks in his Mirror and sees the old man gaining on him AGAIN !
 
Astounded by the speed of this old guy, he floors the gas pedal and takes the Ferrari all the way up to 320 mph.
 
Not ten seconds later, he sees the Moped bearing down on him again! The Ferrari is flat out, and there's nothing he can do !
 
Suddenly, the Moped plows into the back of his Ferrari, demolishing the rear end.
 
The doctor stops and jumps out and unbelievably the old man is still alive.
 
He runs up to the banged-up old guy and says, "I'm a doctor .. is there anything I can do for you ?"
 
The old man whispers,  "Unhook my braces from your side view mirror.”