Dog Shit

     He licks his paws so clean as determined as he is

to keep the the parasites away

they have little effect and thus they are annoying.

       Determined as he is he is a success

though not by dog means he cannot judge by nose alone

he knows alone as a dog.

       He will survive weller than his master 

and accept his help according to his scent

and even though he cannot dissent he is rewarded with my approval.

       He has no conscience of original sin

he has no idea of where to begin and only mourns the lost scents of his doghood

by a smell, a lingering fragance of what was

and a cherished memory of what should have been. 

......and meanwhile I wither away with mortality and conscience.

         Blessed are the stupid for not knowing their soul.

 Ah, the smell of dog is a gracious scent delivered to the meagre.

 

The Average Cunt

 

 

Ah damn this, I tried to give up all my vices and no matter whatever I delete it does not dissappear.

I'd just left the house and within three steps I had encountered a cunt,

not your average cunt but a renowned cunt owning a massive clearance

on the slope of a mountain unrenowned for its peace, but plauged by infection.

 

He, being an average cunt occured as was his want an indiscretion 

carefully adjudicated by his lord in which I can only adjust a sponge apon my bleeding

but, alas he could not, as an animal, be the average cunt.

Mediocrity is merely a piss-ant reason for gathering food to please the queen

'tis shame my wings were clipped away at birth

I cannot even fly, I have neither the courage to breathe your poison 

my wings are merely laden with the weight of your insidious whining.

It provides little opportunity for me to paddle my boat

it gives you every opportunity to drown me

but I have a finger circling your excited zone that you open

like an envelope expecting good feelings.

But beware your indiscretions and cover your womb

you are not at all what you wish you to be

you are not me.

Please bleed and suffer all around your mound 

you do not care for the obscenity you are, you struggle to breathe

you cease to feed and you grasp for your last suck of air.

 

That is what you are, you pathetic suffering cunt.

 

 

 

Dear Neighbour

 Hey neighbour,

Did you hear that things are a changing

over shoulder boulder holders are bolder

as much as a fat thigh wiggles

like a re-master jiggles your stereo

listen up dude - the times were a' changing

It is was it is not how it was

turn up the radio old man.

 

Dinosaurs shit heaps and where is yours

your only stains are in the toilet and your dreams are down the drain

you have no where else to go

you have nought that you think you must know

and only false peacock feathers to show.

 

Anal retentive and you are too fucked to go

nursed on a teet and not a bible

cursed with a screaming birth and abandoned as not reliable

determined to suck on your tit

angry enough to eat your shit.

 

Welcome here you are but not in your bra

please clothe youself and be who you are

your wanton display is obscene

you only need your shoulders and thighs

to help you display your pathetic desires.

 

Do not judge me before your sight the ledger

of all the bodies lying on my trail

do not condemn me for my sins

I will glady hold a mirror to your cunt

but only if your actually made an effort to clear your mound.

 

I am your mantis and I will eat you alive

I will suck out your soul until I am satisfied

your excretions will only add to the silent sound of my stench

of all the souls I collected

on behalf of the god your poor soul neglected.

 

 

 

 

 

Piss Ants, Bedbugs and other Annoying Shit ......sic

An arsehole has no sense, it squezzes because it must

A knee-jerk reaction

A tapp on your senses a reminder to expell

Damn my mother she condemned me to hell

A slapp on the the bum and im aliv

A cunt flapp and here i am.

My ankles wiigle their wy out of the womb

And my wrists are bound to my head

I was dead before born

At 9 months of age i was was pumped out

Only pysical, only srenuous and bleeding and screaming out my lungs

for a lifebetter than mums

Is lucky im a boy, i only suffer

But my mother gets ton plead non-responsiblr

Itisbup to hubby to provide

And i curl in bed, my mind cannot beread

And my sllep is diturbed by the demons of birth

I roll all night uphill just so i can roll down

I awake wondereing if it was vadream or are you around

Adonut without a hole

A partial animal withoutv a soul.

 

Brittany in Wondeland

I know of a girl, Brittany Higgins is her name

She's in the web of google.

She's upset about letting her panties down

Working is draining and closed thighs whilst discrete beyond a modesty zone get itchy

She was working late on male orders.

The boy forgot his keys as he left the maelstrom

and returned on the pretext of recovering his dead mothers flowers

walking long the silent corridors he's distracted by the ticking

and the tapping of high heeled mental clicks on her keyboard

such an accomplishment for a female at least.

Empowered with the belt on his pants enscrolling his hanging mum and dad and their caravan

patolling the corridors and cavities

Brittany was there

Being hot and overworked and loath to admit it

he was horny

Her modesty barrier just excited him more

damn it he thought, why is a boy not concerned with his modesty

shit hey he thinks again, I can make buildings, build to great heights, design womens dresses and smash the atom

how about a little pussy, hey jeez I'm done with constructing, is 'bout time time I got down to real business.

The pyramids weren't built in a day ansd neither was Rome but I certainly can wreck havoc on this little pussy that won't change the world but of which Alexander the Great would be proud he thought,

and considered

That that man is so sad as that he had conqured the world by age 23 but only as his part of the 7 brother's divedends bequethed by his father who had only ever succesfuly conqured his breakfast.

.........so Brittany's pantie tugger is alone bored late at work patrolling the corridors of flourescent acidic concrete and finding himself just a little stiff

maybe it's the fumigant overlay from the cleaners

but the overwhelming power of girl encompasses reason

aaaaaaaaaaaaah no, it overcomes all reason

He should be home relaxing with no need for comma's within his sentence

The overwhelming itch

Brittany is alone, punching hard, her keyboard ecstatic from the pounding

But the boy not being a fan of Proust or even beginning to spell Rachmaninov holds his toungue

so he walks the corridor aiming for his keys

a fruitless task, he always knew were they were, he just wanted some action

leaving your keys is akin to losing your wife

you just don't do that - as you ask who will feed me, was I supposed to be there now, why didnt you tell me that !

so he walks and smells and is bored

there is an authority of such in authoritorial buildings that makes greater souls feel less

the devil is in the details

Four and a half minutes later he pulls up his unders to hide his weeping dick

she is satiated and curled like a used sticky note pad on her modesty desk

posted with a reminder to not go here again

But 6 months or a year later or maybe two, Brettiny has regrets

she blames the height of the modesty shield as not shielding her from the glances os predatory boys eyes

she blames her employer as not offering enough protection

she neglects to consider her need to wear skirts and tight sports equipment that enhanche her aging femine bumps

she neglects that media portrays her as a slut

Ive never heard of Alexandria Her Greatness conquering the world

Poor Brittany never understood her own perfume but would rather dweell in the smell of others

If her defending lawers had presented her juicy silky panties to the male judiciary there may have been a different outcome.

Alas, the boy is accused of rape

Is rape premeditated - does he procrastinate on proceedure, does he time this.

But we foget about Brittany's pantless pentration and her having to go home and explain what happened

...........and this results in a national legal court case

Jeez Brittany, have you no pride or discretion

Please understand that this is dick man thing and a cunt girl thing

You are placing the whole of humanity at risk with you obtuse gender theories.

Please just go home, pull your panties down and feel your cunt

Does it feel powerful................uuuuuuuuuuuuum yes

well as a boy to girl I suggest you fuck off and just accept that you have a hole and I have a dick

and as a boy I really don"t understand what you have to offer that would realy increase the quality of my life

face it bitch, I fuck and you lay down.

Have you managed to question the order of things - why are your fucking with men's power

Um yeah - because boys wave around their dick just doing stuff because they can and you wave around your breasts because you feed babies

You have an ecological role to perpetuate, stop complaining that you are special

Just stop awhile and feel yourself

Boys aren't your enemy. they are your friends

Just lay down and be a cuddly fuck. 

P.S. - where are girl responses to this....I dont expect many. 

P.P.S - face it girls - you have something boys want, and we just don't need your sympathy.

 

I Hate my Dog

He is short by leg standards but not by a shag.

Snouting is his forte' but he can't spell shit

He can smell but struggle at wont he cannot linguaise it

His arse works to succintly expell as well

He sleeps awhile to delete today as his only plans are for the morrow

I so do hate my dog as he being short of stature but of taller intent than me.

My ankles are sore from his nuzzling, my soul is sore by his capacity to give and be wanted

Such simple devotion so pure so focused on giving love for acceptance and so full of fur

Little does he know how my heart only beats for him.

And yet I thrive to insult him because he does not know that he does not have my original sin

If I were to be encumbered with lack of heart, I would rather be of legedness than  of skin

Oh how I love my dog he is my next of kin.

And I so hate him and envy his rolling fluffy cuddleness and unconditional lovedness.

My short round hound is on the ground.

 

 

Jackie O' Glasses scare me (in 2 parts)

 

Today I met a bug.

PART ONE :

Doing the best it could I thought I should keep quite, it was warisome.

Being armless and emotiveless it overwhelmed all my thoughts as it scrabbled for a teet.

Sadly for it and sadly for me a human bug, I could only squirm and decided it would not feed on me.

Avoidance I know, a bug cannot learn this and I envy it.

Better for it to not know Kafka, Proust or Dali. how can I compare my ignorance to it.

A bug deserves not a surname nor a misnomer, it cannot spell; alas I can.

My curse is apon me and I feel sorry for the bug without feelings and I feel sorry for me.

It does so accept ignorance, it does not know it's priority, it refuses to accept weakness.

Too stupid to be smart, too much of a heart beating only to breathe and no need to love.

Oh I envy that bug. 

It seemed to be wearing sunglasses and stared within them but they were opaque to me and I wished it had the courage to confront me - on my terms.

And I wished to damn the little fucker to my devil's vocabulary.

The last I saw it, he was laughing at me. It could not have any fun, it was known.

My source as entertainment had reached expiry date and would never recover from my encountering.

I had no choice, destiny was imminent, death was fatal.

Benevolence was an option, though I did not take it lightly.  

I have trouble sleeping - not like a bug.

It feeds and curls in it's shit, sleeps and is happy not knowing it's victim, oblivious to their pain, and quite content to snuggle within it's misery, sleep and dream buggedly and desire to awake with just a little more of something to chew on.

Alas, I feel unhuman, but not yet a parasite.

I am too insenitive and I must be as a bug. No feelings just instinct should rule me.

My bug said that I must not agree and submit to it's perception prior to my extermination.

Drugs offered the answer, but only if I was a bug and had spent time resisting the cuddling comfort of a mother cunt.

He reminded me then that I probably should not think.

 On listening I'm still at a loss with these concepts even though I can spell and walk and talk and in debt to a bug that cannot.

And it said :

"Confusion is paramount, desire is secondary, wishes are dreams, violence is the only means the weak use to survive, and language and emotions are inconsolaby compatible.

I need to breathe and have no human rythym to survive on love but on envy. I cannot spell and have discarded the myths of compatabile embrace and succumed to the illusioray comfort of placating words, too scared to hug and too scared to embrace my vulnerability.

And so at once with an innocuos thought it  subetly overruled my objections.

What can we offer except love. What is more significant to us burdened by atrocity when he is burdened only with four legs and a sweeping tail and no heart".

Then it told me a story :

"There was a man as mad as a terrier and as crafty as a parrot.

Only some of his peculiarities were on display, like a peacock reluctant to show his inadequacies.

A significant person of note and respect but seemingly immune to ravages of his mind.

The tiny steps he followed could not be of stone, life had become a weary path on unsecure foundation.

Every step every thought every moment challenged like a worn out sole.

His history education experience and grief all swept away by a force stronger than he.

Occasionally he stepped out of the house and hello-ed the birds and appreciated their thanks for food.

It become a pleasure to awake to their morning sun twirps and companionship.

If the sun was warming harder than a shine and his dog craved a kiss and just one step encouraged his legs to try another, he only had to move forwards as a move backwards confused his joints.

Some things for him were difficult to accomplish, gravity continually defied him and despite resistance it defined him as rooted to the ground.

 He found it difficult to pull off his socks and it was a challenge to not injure himself with such a mundane habit. The lingering smell of toe fat on his fingers was there regardless of efforts to not touch and the strength he needed to control his knee not hitting his chin was exhausting and challenged his perceptions. 

He, being fraught with memory of smell and little memory of hearing, considered this as abnormal.

A difficulty he encountered as a magnificent deficit. Joy was not happiness but release from pain.

Memories seemed to exist in an ether of reality and lessons.

Here as it was, he could only feel to have bought a ticket to ride but there was no destination or date included. 

If there had been some comfort, it was from curling in bed and feeling every part that hurt ".

But that did not help his inner soulful turmoil, it was temporary comfort disturbed by reality.

There had been a plague to which he had succumbed and he was infected.

Too stupid or too out of tune with the current song, it took some strength to not run naked through the streets knifing anything at hand. But later at home comfortable in his slippers, slurping on hot milk and honey he thought with wonder about what it is that bees need.

It wasn't much to them but a lot to him, so he looked closer, overwhelmed by the obnoxious odour.

He was bigger than all of them and my heart felt smaller than his - if he had. If oxygen was less he certainly needed to be breathing more, his lungs were larger but most of his sucking was wasted.

PART TWO :

Rolling on his back was impossible for me to resist, I had to help.

Maybe I should prod him with a cotton bud, which I did but maybe at the wrong moment.

He instantly recognised the soft bud as his mothers tongue and it was too comforting.

His mother had died shortly after his birth and he was left with no more than a cuddle and a promise that he would die before he was significant.

But curling there practising paracitimy he felt an uncomforting pressure on his back.

Having no limbs but only urges he wished for a knife to severe this reality.

I would not be of assistance, it was inhuman and he was ugly, I was amazed that he could probably only entertain but not perform his act of suicide.

That was not human to him and neither was he. Moral incursions into his soul would be wasted; the poor thing had no heritage, no attitude, no sense, no compassion, no sweat glands, only impulses to eat and shit and breed.

I watched him rolling and prodded him gently from a distance, he scared me with his dimuity and protective repulsiveness but he could certainly move quickly.

An instinctive skill to survive and even if beaten he has only a shell as a remnant.

He left a trail, of shit but to others of his ilk it smells like a trail of discovery.

There is a legacy of note that he was here and left a warning to those who are weaker to only let the brave pass here.

His only mission was to be happy but the fate of a bugged idiot is clouded in confusion.

For many nights he accommodated himself in bedsocks, a heater and a mug of warm milk. Sufficiently it was insufficient.

Dreams had become nightmares and his version of reality was a den of demons.

This was worse than being a parasite, at least they had a meaning, a continuous bug-mare all night, every night flashing warnings about a useful life,  so much easier than being born a maggot.

The more I prodded his little curling buggedness the more he liked my attention.

My attention, and only that, not food not love but just activity mobilised him.

Which bothered me. That really represents me. Oh there must be joy being a thinking sperm, of which I do not wish for.

But I am only a splash of ego in a fertile slash of cleared growth on the mons venuris.

Like a leaf attached to a tree I never felt its roots but had faith that its limbs would support me ignorant of my plight for independence.

My maggot friend can sleep, he is not concerned with his death, he just keeps feeding. He has no defense mechanism but relies on family to covet him.

It's fortunate he cannot remember his history and its fortunate for him that neither can his family.

He will never endure moralist discussions of mortality and love, he will never get a cuddle, he will never feel pain, his only threshold is death.

Parasites can not feel love but only the pain of rejection. To a feeder that is satisfying, to a provider that is debilitating.

A pig can eat anything except its offspring. It will wallow in mud all it's life and keep itself remarkably clean. Walking in his own shit his hooves do not smell of his progress. And yet his nose is bigger than his brain.

His nose does not have receptors or interpretors, every whiff of life goes direct to his head. There is no processing necessary, he relies on feelings of either fear or love.

I'm glad that I seem not so simple, but feel complicated, and yet I'm burdened with knowledge and not what I smell.

My dog smells at me when he appears to me to be happy and yet he has already rolled in shit. Not his shit, it stinks, he knows that and yet he knows that others relish rolling in it.

He pokes at me wanting to share his smells, and I know mine are so much more insignificant.

But his friends who are not dog are parasites and they snitch at his arse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why are you Wearing a Seatbelt - Pt.2

 WHY ARE YOU WEARING A SEATBELT  (PT.2)

Dear Sczitdamn,

I read your last post and your original post about seatbelts and I would like to add my observations ;

I did not wear my seltbelt today. I never wear a seatbelt. I wear clothes and undies and socks and an attitude which is blatantly unsuitable for this new age ambivelance.

If ideas possesssed a 'use by' date mine would be obselescant.

The world is not for the young, the world is for the innocent - those untainted by failure and dissappointment, those pathetic slivers of skin masquerading as humans and fuelled by the lure of perfection.

Entropy is the natural process of balancing human will against random idocy. If I balance on my head it should not affect my thoughts but only my blood flow. Why must I contend with gravity, it only distinguishes my toes from my head. 

And yet I am always at that mercy of things falling down, probably my legacy from birth - why am I always falling down. Why not fall up? Damn this orbiting concentric motion. I cannot escape.

But dear reader, I cannot understand that if I take all things as being a conclusion then why is only the ending important and not the process - hence gravity. 

Gravitas. 

Stupidity rules, serendipity tries, skin covers, soul subdues.

Buddha says : All that we are is the result of what we have thought.

Please don't go all evolutionary and emotional. You and me are only sperm that did not get wasted on the blanket of love. We crawled and scraped and trod and slaved all the way to the top. And it was a hard jouney upwards and beyond, sourcing the barrier, seeking a meaning, striving to be more than a sumptious morsel of sin squirming in the realm of finality.

If gravity was not, there would be no need for women to elevate their thighs after fucking to encourage the little one sperm of millions to migrate towards satisfactory mindless procreation.

Fuck gravity. The little sperm fuckers resist negative downward motion and are even more significant for their immunity to tight undies, alcohol and doonas' and common sense. Jeez, why the hell would I wish to perpetuate failure as an alternative.

If the universe really had a plan, it should have put the cunt midway up the skull, between the eyebrows and the brain, gravity would do the rest.

But no, the Darwin perception of evolution takes precedence over ideas that we only fuck because of lust -The fittest don't really survive - they just pass their sperm to an ovul and hope to hell that the swim was worth the result.

Alas, the poor little fuckers have no idea what is up or down - they just want to squirm and make their prescence known - they have no comprehension of gravity - they know shit - except that they must swim upwards. Thus a human, perplexed with ignorance and yet governed by orbits.

Incongruous.

Shit falls down; arseholes are in your bottom not your top. For half of your time the earth spends its orbit upside down. A coin is heavier than a note and yet it hits the ground at the same time if both were dropped at a distance. 

There is no down, there is no up..........so why am I continually striving to improve? If I turned on my head and up would be down, sperm would still swim upwards.

Up, down, improvement, satisfaction ..... are terms that signify acceptance and approval.

As a casual reader I accept your premise but am reluctant to accept your passion.

And that my friend is why you will die. Prone in a box or burnt to the earth, you will no longer matter.

..........................

9 Meaningless pointless objectives

1 - Do not obey

2 - Do not publish

3 - Do not suk.com

4 - Do not alleviate

5 - Do not masturbe

6 - Do not imbide media

7 - Do not succumb to the devil cunt

8 - Do not accept mediocrity

9 - Do not believe in what i say, it is only my ellusion (sic)

10 - I's warned you, if you got so far here you need help

Fuedalism

Sometimes, when I least expect it, my shit stinks.

It could be my diet.

Nappies for incontinence don't work.

My smell walks in a door before me.

If a dinosaur died in the forest and no one tripped over it and their nose was blocked

Would the smell make a difference.

Big they may be but they think like a large dog and a small dog could chew their ankles.

Too hard being swamp bound with healthy teeth, better to be human bound with gum problems.

Saturate my diet with sugar, making me strong but lacking objective.

Wading in a swamp, slimed with generations of natures mistakes

I wonder if my galloushes are tall enough to not suck in the remants of decay.

And hoping the drugs and the ignorance and my stubborness will not die

Does suffice to support me.

But alas, I cannot elucidate because I am reluctant to pass my baton

Onwards to the hands who wish me obselete.

 

Returning an i Phone

Awakening this morning with re-organization on my mind, bored from lack of sleep and needing to fill a vaccuum. 

Routines were not suficient but there seemed to be a mess of tables, short, round and otherwise carefully arranged to reflect my designing notions of organised mayhem that will never be appreciated by the anally compulsive.

Once my new playspace was rearranged and all replacements were carefully tethered to the carpets I had a pill a drink and a smoke just to calm down - change can be exhilarating.

As the dawning sun peeked under the eaves I still had over ten hours of daylight remaining for me to occupy. If waiting all night to move a couple of tables was bliss, how boring is my life?

Time to make a difference me thinks. Possibly misdirected motivativation, maybe in hindsight I should have gone without not within, Yin and Yang, George Harrison - take it how you want.

Normally my agenda is fullfilled waiting in court rooms for judgments on my attrocious behaviour, but it takes so long to bring a smile to the magistrates face, that I hardly think it's worth the time.

Well for the rest of my day I'm going to redirect my energy and I will do all I can to not fuck things up.

Some things will never change because no one does anything about the obvious. Iggy Pop was bored as Chairman of the Board. No fucking wonder, it's hard work manipulating a ship of fools, but immensely satisfying if you can get away with it.

So I decided to return my i phone.

Armed with basic training in people skills, alcohol and stupidity I developed a plan for sucking up a few hours, at least until lunchtime.  

THIS MORNING"S BUSINESS PLAN:

1. Purpose : Test staff response at JB Hi Fi.

2. Tools : Receipt of purchase, phone, proof of 'not fit for use'.

3. Ingredients : Attitude, complete ignorance of others feelings, my friends Justerini and Brooks.

4. Objective : Get money back or be arrested by the police.

5. Motivation : Boredom.

6 Result : Unfortunately the ctv footage was destroyed during the scuffle but the forgotten mysteries of memory and mobile phones will suffice for the record.

I hereby declare that the folowing transcript is as accurate as my friends allowed in order to protect me.

"Hi, I've come to return my phone, I bought it yesterday and it just wont co-operate".

There is nothing wrong with the phone.

But there is no signal being received via any hotspot, wifi of mine - the phone says it is but no other device is listening. For 700 dollars I don't want a dumb phone.

The phone is good, check your devices.

Ok, it's like this. If I buy a washing machine from you and I'm required to reconfigure every item in my house to suit the little fucker before it will operate, that is not legally 'fit for purpose'. Damn, that is making everything else I have 'fit for any other purpose except mine'.

Will you you lower your voice and stop swearing or I'll call the manager.

You can call your manager and your staff and the police but the time you all will spend in court is not worth you challenging me getting a refund.

(there are now a circle of over hormoned righteous young alpha competive staff dudes hovering like we are all in a bar fight and I'm just busting a pool cue on the edge of the table, before I whack it into their ipods).

(there is also another guy in the shop who tells me to tone it down, there are kids here. P.S. dude, there are kids everywhere, you swear, movies swear, your wife is probably a bitch and your kids are fucked, go outside and get some sun).

(there's also another guy outside who has waited for me to come out because his purpose for the day was to catch me tossing an empty can in the garden rather than walk 4 kilometres to a bin - such is life).

Will you calm down, I'm trying to help you. (Says he the wearer of the coveted covid inducing mask).

Ok, I'm leaving here, that's all my stuff, you sort it out, I'll be back soon for a refund.

- 20 minutes later I'm propped on a bench in JB and no one is coming near me, not even the police.

(I'm a patient man, people don't deserve to die, until 30 minutes is gone).

Thank you, we'll give you a refund.

Thank you kindly, that's great. Oh by the way, I have a job. I work for bosses like yours and they send me to their businesses to test staff interactions with customers....you failed.

7. Consequences : Positive effect on wallet, negative government drinking tax on my fun, positive adrenalin rush, negative crushing effect on innocent humans, positive entertainment, positive lack of successful police intervention, negative waste of petrol and 7 hours of my extremely busy bored life, negative effects of being lost in a megalithic 4 storey multi tomb shoping complex hosting zomboids, positive result from recognising 'post cognitive disonance' as the misnomer for 'post cognitive dissobediance'.

8. Aftermath : None.

9. Repurcussions : Some folks just need to learn how to suck eggs.

10. Result : Satisfaction.

11. Implications : Find other things to do.

 

 

Hadrian's Wall (pt. 1)

In the age of leather skirts and sandles that which was the perogotive of men who knew women not to wear panties seventeen hundred years hence, men built a wall in the cold.

An advance party of engineers dispatched to the cold northern lands of the empire gave credit to the legionaires who folowed them and revelled in the construction of a wall never seen before and that subsequently was partly demolished by rebels during the next one thousand years. Little is known of their abilty to perform so well wearing a skirt.

Skirts were essential male wear until the late 1500's. Thereafter females were dependant on securing their income and found much solace incurring the associated tax benefits. Men did not wear 'pants' and for the next 1000 years pornography was king.

Emperor Hadrian bathed in opulence and was well admired, but failed to nominate an heir and was known to relish his popularity but was despised for his insatiable curiosity, self conceit and ambition. He was however a collector of art and was often compromised betwitch impression, delusion and regression. Freud would later claim we must acknowledge our motherhood but refused to consider the overwhelming distraction of the shopping mall apon our intellect.

No wonder he prohibited circumcision - probably of males, for there is no evidence of female complaints.

There is also little evidence of the existance of the poor sods employed to walk the distance between Wallsend to Bowness - or backwards as it may need to be on a wet coldy up my skirt ball shrinking mother fucken day where Sandles and leather skirts have little appeal. A measure was necessary and nature provided the answer but could not explain the discrepancies between lengthes nd how many men furtively paced the distance to prove that the wall could be built.

Hadrian only visited the wall once, In 122. He was convinced his allegiant Roman engineers had surveyed it's site and an estimate of the cost was fair, no doubt that inflation, trade vagaries, cost of leather on the stock exchange, current exchange rates that varied daily according to the shipping manifest and the exchange rate of young Russian willing wives versus the Impeccable virginal wives of Roman emperors listed on the exchange as assets and thus avoiding the tax incurred of travelling costs.

But he never bothered to consruct his wall from Wallsend to South Shields, a distance of 8 miles. He went home and spent the remainder of his life authorising public erections saluting his granduer. He refused various attempts of circumcision and subsequently died from conditional anxiety and extreme squirts of pus from his nether gland.

Unfortunately for the lad, his parents both denied they ever fucked and the shoddy attempts the skirt wearing policia' presented to the Court were greeted with contempt and chuckles and much self-congratulatory huggings as they relished the infamy, Hadrian was indeed the anonymous 'Donkey Man' aka Publius Aelius Hadrianus.

Little is known of his notioriety after his death, he could not text and the various stone tablets attributed to him are meticuously reproduced for sale at the local shopping mall but can not be verified due to the expiry date of the attending bar code.

It is of import to notice his lack of actual physical support for the project. By the next summer he needed to be carefully spatualard from his poolside enclave of velestial virgins, his uninterupted remains are now visible at Christies. www. mydick.com .au.

( Bless you, my man. I asked that dude who knew one third of the Tarantino Bros. He denies ever knowing the twins ) 

His father named Hadrian him 'Hadrian the Small'  before he was born. At the time, business registrations were coping with an unprecedented number of calls and the pidgeon poo accumulated on the lines was not helping.

Translators often debate the rationale of Hadrian  and his parents upon his birth. His father had listened to to every Pink Floyd album since AD 115 and really fucked hard to produce a child. 

Little did they know that he would build the wall -  little did they foresee his betrayal from his band- mates shortly before the release of their highly acclaimed " Pigs Animals and Other things I Fuked".

Unfortunately, current historians have failed in their attempts to locate the original presses from the era.

They do however, have finally managed to confirm his name : Publius Aelius Hadrianus.

Poor guy. Image it at kindergarten play time - 'hey anus show us ya pubes'. Various historians have objected to this interpretation and would wish to direct you to "Plebes r us". com.org. However, public consent rates Emperor Hadrian to be the illegitimate son of a Donkey.

Recent archeology supports the theory that Hadrian was lampooned in the media as an 'arse fucking donkey dick of a man intent on wearing winged sandles and carrying a purse'.

It's possibly proven that wing tipp shoes, travellers, rogues, vagbonds, thieves and tavellers are Mercury, but Mars they are not.

No doubt the ancients owned great swathes of land in north England, but it was a long way from home.

American Express would not entertain the financial liability for shipping 16,000 uncircumcised persons to an uninhabitled land without a single sharp knife.

Thus so did Hadrian construct his wall, using numerous skirt wearing slaves.

His structure rarely extended beyond the length of his skirt but with clever marketing management and political alignments he arranged for downwards of 50,000 legionairs, to be dispatched to Englund to quell the radical anarcist Scots, flambouyant in their plaided linen skirts.

Damn the Scots and their sheep bladder descendants of the bag pipes, Hadrianus needed a shopping mall and he was bumping over 67 ounces of cocaine a day just to keep his legionaires functioning.

This wall was a stubby fellow, somewhat approaching in places 6 feet tall and 8 feet thick.

Publius was not short of dick, Napoloen was akin to keeping his hand in his jacket to assage his ego. 

His advisors sugested prime-time stone tablet would  improve his exposure. Unfortunately the most recent tablet upload severly enabled his capacity and he passed into the dark reality of the AD world of legionares. 

But he left a wall of  84.9 real miles, or 80 miles, or 73 miles, or roughly equivalent to 45,073 Croissants. No doubt the young Anus had difficulty with his converion tables.

Had he remained awake during the Drinking lesson 101 of his university studies he may have learnt that his hand intoward the pussy of his classmate achieved only level 1 of perserverance but was not intelliganxth to come herewhither whereafter or furthermores. (the acccompanied translations are indicipherable).

Leather skirts enhancesd the swagger of his gait but restricted his ability to masturbate. 

Hadrian did not have the balls to move further north and build a wall between Edinburgh and Glassgow. That task fell to Antonine two  undred and twenty years later to recruit 550,000 hot babes from Victoria's Secret to erect a mound further north and spanning a distance much less than Hadrians wall but located in the moist lowlands of pussydom.

Hadrian was a smart dude in his Saschi sandles, ferarriy headgar, and his pet donkey as he paraded aplomb in his spendour as a naked arse, along the length of his wall. But he failed basic aithmetic in grade 1 and never recovered from the blow from a tablet of stone hurled with intent at his head to strike the 'dumb motherfucker down' but he apparently survived the incident.

Forever disgraced and often masturbated he wandered the streets - and compared his grief with Antagiounas the Great - the god of Agony. Had he not adhered to the principals beaten into him by his phsycopath parents he would have become a great man.

Dragged from a McRoman dumpster in the earely hours of AD Tuesday, he recounted his experience.

Stripped of his jewellery, arse fisted and forced to lick the glaze from popcorn purchased during the intermission  his recent portrayal of the villian lacks intensity and reflects an inability to self-define. 

This inabiity to molest donkey's (sic) but dress his soldiers in leather skirts indicates a prepubescent  desire to build walls. The chief practitioneer of Lego Inc. declined to comment.

The closest associate available on the record has vowed to fight the indescribable wanton attitude.

In fact, the aforementioned alleged scantily undressed  side-boobed  cock sucking anal opening cum dripping cunt failed to excite him.

Or did he have not reason to not enforce roughly ten percent of its lenght.

I suspect he had no need, for he taxed the residing prostitutes whilst allowing them to spread a pox.

Damn the engineers, a route of a wall between Edinburgh and Glasgow would have been shorter, which they did not overnight but 273 years later. The bookkeepers were ill adept at defining length, being way too accustomed to working nights at a cafe' checking in on the booty count. 

Further investigations/consumations/procrastinations and insunuations demanded I attend.

( *the following text is indecipherable but accurately reproduced for your introspection forthwith).

ns weighingaaaameasuring - their lawyers (in skirts )

Maybe the Scottish Tribes needed Southern pussy and the wall was an uncircumsised cock just waiting to be scratched.

Bar Kochba had previously been sent to Judea to quell Jewish rebells as he (or she, or binary or him or even www.dogs.com) was the the Roman Governor of Britain at this time. Affirmation of sexual tendencies overuled logistic requirements at that time and they/it/them/binary/lesbian/boys in skirts/unisex pissing on young Scottish pussy, interested the emperor beyond the capacity of his dignitary and applicable downloads  on his tablet plan empowered him, with  his dick hanging lefties and as such enabled him to authorise the only known coins of the era's occupation of this foreign territory.

Holding back the Scottish tribes by taxes, entrance fees and forcible circumcision was a priority.

Skirts for men was determining future culture.

Hadrian never attended the building of his wall, he merely sponsered it, which is akin to providing deodorant to a nazi death camp, but he did subdue a Jewish revolt somewhere between 132 and 135.

But he was an emperor  from 117 to 138 - somewhere, maybe, unaccounted for, not verified.

It was a turf wall constructed as a precursor to a cricket pitch, and lasted numerous overs before being dismantled by itinerant landholders and used as construction material for their mansions.

An 'over' is a descript archaic north english term for "panties off" and the Romans were not adept in translating this as 'piss off' , but non the less they took offence.

Hadrian logged in his wall (ie: measured his dick) at 84.9 real miles.

There is no mention of the plebe who paced the length ot the necessary structure but 1 Roman mile was the distance of 1000 paces and 2 steps was equivalent to 1.48 metres, which, in English cock length equals roughly 4 feet10 inches.

Damn the French - they have nothing to do with this - they fucked over every country they invaded and still only left with croissoints and gave it all to the English.

But a Roman mile equals 1620 yards, 1480 metres, and there were forts placed about 7 miles apart along its lenght, designed as taxation points for entry and brothel points of entry for the skirt wearing Scotts....who relished being 'beamed up' by the Roman whores.

Hadrian died in 138 and his successor, Antonious Pius built a new wall of turf a couple of miles north.

It was not approved by Lord Wimbeldon for cricket or tennis and subsequentley was ignored.

After some 200 years the Romans ceased control of the wall and retreated to Rome where they invented trousers to warm their legs and hold their balls aloft.

The extreme weather and the provocations from the Scots on the north side and the Pricks on the south side prompted the Romans to question the practicabilities of their attire and the unsuitability for the climate and the unharnessed swinging balls between their legs that did little to enhance movement (but enticed the females and many legionnaires to indulge in masturbation).  

There is no evidence that the Romans held the wall after 383 - but there is evidence of their sperm.

But it exists in numerous wet dreams as extending to a lenght of 73 and a half miles and the British government has endeavoured to preserve the wall but cannot decide if it be declared in Roman miles, English miles or French miles.

Hadrian subdued a Jewish revolt with severity over 3 years after 132 - that's a lot of dicks.

 

 

 

 

 

Penis

My dog need not  watch tv

It offers no parameters for his need to be

He does not judge his being of significance

Relative to you and me

An immortal being is he

With no knowing of his immortality

Enjoying that he is free.

Bathed in morning sun his only life is allegient to me.

And so I wish I was unbound with original sin

He wishes to be me and I to him

He needs but cock his leg to pee

But I struggle to hold my dick.

 

Sandles not Saddles

I encomb my inner toe forwith I could not walk

I am bound within a foot of your description

A balance is required to toiter at the edge of my discrepency

And yours if you so wish it be

This is not heaven or a womb

Succold your cunt to your eternal doom

As I travass 

I love to wonder where you really are

But it is of your cloth or your image and how you can afford your car

It is but your demon  for he is but nought you are

And I step with caution for I am aware of which I must beware

My mother told me not to accept vaginas as god

Litle could she know she was wrong.

 

 

Android

It is hard for the artist to survive is this wordless construct of modern culture

If it were for an architect to design a parameter for earthly display

How would he say he was ravaged by divine design

Driven to succumb by promising accolades from his peers

He presides as defined by a nature as the fourth of manhood from below his knee

It is intellect only that bears you not the burden of a beast

And nature forms for us as the container of our mind

The home of the intellect is foremost when planning the stench of your vital last breath

So tread lightly in your path for you only weigh as much as your feat

Pass carefully over the sodden path you chose beneath your soles

Much time has past since you were here and it cares little

For you.

Dog Gone

I pick up my dog from the kerb

he has lost his leg

i do so miss his cuddles and nuzzles in my face

but he is but now a tripod in my square

oh little round hound i miss your love

there is no more but to wish you around

and your breathing slurping sound of a happy innocent life

that reminds me of my original sin

to be morbid and humane for you are not my dog

but i am yours as you are my god

if i pick up your wrong end and think your bum is your snout

forgive me as a stupid human who is but a clout

but you are a cuddly god for a savaged soul

and i will be dead but were it not for your heart.

Home Sweet Home

My toe fat grows, I feed it not but it be's. I scrub and I dubb as all the demons instruct a pretty girl to do to keep thereselves pure.

I wash carefully between my toes as my mother instructed me to keep clean but it does not alleviate the need for me for me to be mean.

She was so nice to me my mother who gave birth but my father was so mean, he failed to appreciate the power of his cock between his knees.

It is of little substance a thousand seeds in a flower who blessed as she is, has the power to send to send those seeds to the dead.

For she chooses in her nurturing soul to distribute all the writhing semen to abide by her choice.

And where am I but a withering cock in a cunt who in its name is but a prominent gash on a mountain side cleared with much aplomb to reveal its innards.

Do you wish to peel open the outer womb ansd peer inwards to whence you came.

And your joy shows with an erection primed to insert a whole lot of love into a cavity devoid of emotion.

Yes, you have feeling but no soul, you are the parasite thinking you are are whole.

Cuccold you dick, you are but a member of nature's mechanism, you have neglected your soul.

Deserted Cities

Wandering through documented history, I'm beginning to understand why ancient civilizations abandoned civilization. It no longer served it's purpose as a centre of knowledge and power.

All those marvellous architecturally superb monuments supposedly erected in worship of the Sun God, all those impressively wide long causeways directed towards the cities of monoliths and megaliths, all those hidden tombs and impossibly precise structures attributed to worship and ceremony.

And the hundreds of explorers, archaeologists, star gazers, prophets (but very few engineers), who relished the opportunity to promote their explanations are only babes in the woods suckled on the branches of educated ignorance and philosophy and claiming to be of reason.

Come and take a walk with me, and wander through some of the architectual monsters that haunt our history.  

Do not be deceived by the incessant ramblings of ignorant illiterate soothsayers, they are instuments of the meglomaniac minority and partake the rewards of inconsequenial ghosts of media.

Beware of your masks, they are are symbol of your submission and the lust you yearn to exert and thrust on the other sex. This realm seeks to become more real than your morality and your fame will never eclipse the obnoxious reality of your being here.

There is little you have to contribute to the wealth of mankind, it was well said and done with reason and aplomb many hundreds of years prior to your meaningfull waste of oxygen so wished better spent by a world so deplete of meaning.

Your devil is in the detail that you forgot to mention in your resume', the truth you forgot to note of yourself, the inner demon you would wish the world to ignore, and as you so wish it would.

But your ill-deserved fifteen minutes of fame is wasted with nill content and nill soul, you are all skin exposing your netherlands to scrutiny of all, and the all you have to offer is as meaningfull as semen spread on a blanket - it sticks but it can't come clean.

Expose yourself in the belief of recognition, a false demon as your disguise. You are not a god, your are not a demon, you lack the essential spirit of your soul, you have been deceived and tortured, tainted and sold, played and become a mould. 

Oh, but what am I, a simple complainant against the ceaseless machinations of this earthly realm, and I pass into the past with barely a contemplated whimper in your significanct contemplation of all this worth, and I am barely a whisper in your realm, only a sweat in the moment you awake with a memory of a nightmare you wonder how it pointed to all your your failings as a human being.

But you are, and you live, with all the demons coursing within your original sin.

 

 

 

 

School Crossings

School Crossings 

 

Hi  Earthlings,do you feel you do not belong?

Is there anybody out there ?

Get ready with your whips and chains and be ready to crucify the masters you used to adore.

Welcome to the Spanish Inquisition (2).

.....so cardinal Pell, the Ballarat Monkey stroker is ensconced in the Vatican as an accountant - this has to be a joke ?

He seems to have conveniently erased from his memory any account (joke) of covering his brothers of the lord from frucking up little adults entrusted to his care.

When convenient, his church flies many flags, varying from business to shepherds, but never disclosing that the catholic church is the richest institution on the planet.

And now, glory of glories, he is finally called to account (ha) to give his version of paedophile history to the Royal Co mission.

And behold, the Lord has spoken. His whereabouts during the inquisitory are now disclosed and a legion of complainants will flock to the address.

Oh forsake thee heathens. Little do they realise that they are pawns wriggling within the machinations of that church.

*This must be the greatest swindle the catholic church has ever organised in order to save their pretty sacramental robes and the coins in the vault, steadily accumulating since the inquisition.

I forecast that the commission will need to to deal with an abortion of the legal process because of the unprecedented public display on the occasion.

*Beautiful marketing, awesome strategy, precise accounting.

There will be no accountability, there will be only a loss of memory, the statute of limitations has expired - they have been caught out of time.

And my plea is to all the afflicted complainants and worthy protesters is - STOP NOW. Put down your weapons and go home. No justice will be served by your wanton interruption.

You are playing directly into the hands of your oppressors. Let justice be done. Do not give your authority to a higher power - you will only encourage the perversion of justice.

Go home. You fight the illusory enemy. It is the system you should fight. And then seek rights for those who have been deceived by those who worship democracy as a god.

He is a false idol.

Posted by Spirukas Goblinono at 2/23/2016

Pet Peevs - Part 2.

Pet Peevs - Part 2.

Hi. Today's thing that really peevs me off.

Or....Things that push my Brownie the wrong way - Part 2

There seems to be an element of suspicious Crowd Sourcing or maybe call it Crowd Flashing in Middle Eastern European countries - I call it the Sand Belt.

Why oh why does the Western Media insist on depicting the grief felt by inhabitants of the Sand Belt ( that is all those countries between Turkey and India ) by filming "grab-bites" of emotionally stricken elderly or middle aged women who have suddenly become childless due to some unexpected missile or random bomb attack.

This Religious War has been operating for thousands of years in that area.
Please explain to me why there are no trees, no visible street, pavement or any signs of an emerging civilized urban structure.
Please convince me that these people are not living in a desert that once supported a thriving ancient civilization that dominated half of the known world because they and other greedy Western pseudo Democracy's wanted to rape the geography of the land in the pursuit of oil money.

You need only study the efforts of the British Empire to conquer and divide the Sand Belt ( with the help of Lawrence of Arabia and the Turkish Government ) in the early 1900's to realise that it was all an attempt to legitimize the interests of British Petroleum, still known today as BP.

But enough of my history lecture - I have rambled on to illustrate my point.

I'm fully done with seeing grieving scarf clad women in tears and men dressed in white sheets and billowing pantaloons splattered with blood. I'm bored with seeing the remains of mutilated innocents worshiped as idols whilst being lifted with wooden poles into retro makeshift ambulances.

Give me the real movie. The one that ridicules the Sand Belt governments as Poverty Merchants who prostitute their populace as ignorant peasants. The documentary that depicts the Sand Belt as trying to support a civilization that is not very civilized and one that insists on continuing a war based on religious division that is slowly but determinedly infecting the rest of the world with its fucked up ideologies.

Goodbye.

 

Posted by Spirukas Goblinono at 10/08/2015

Pet Peevs - Part 1.

Pet Peevs - Part 1.

Today's list of things that peev me off :

1 - "trends are moving forwards".......well, duh, that's what a trend is. It's an increasing occurrence.

2 - "down the track".......how about 'up the track' or 'no track', or how about 'up shit creek in a barb wire canoe'. Maybe, 'in the future' might suffice ?

3 - Why is it that mankind can land 12 people who walked on the moon in 3 years since 1969 and yet I still can't make a reliable mobile phone call between Heallesville and Belgrave, or Croydon and Rosebud. Is technology going backwards ?

4 - The amount of money spent by the US on Iraq / Iran wars since 2001 = One Trillion Dollars = If you spent $1 million a day since Jesus was born, you would have not spent $1 trillion by now. No wonder the world and especially the US is in a financial depression.......and meanwhile there are still starving, uneducated, homeless people the world over !

5 - People suffering the floods in Northern NSW are having to wait eight working days for the Insurance Assessors to attend. What ? are they traveling by friggin' horse ? 8 working days really means a fortnight, what? How come the Stock Exchange operates 7 days a week, isn't that working ? And isn't Sunday a Thursday somewhere else in the world ?

6 - 100 kmh speed signs. That is actually 62 mph old school, not very fast at all. A horse trots at around 9 mph and a person walks at about 3 mph. If speed limits continue to be lowered we might as well all learn to crawl - and get booked for it !

7 - What is the fascination with watching bicycle racing on tv ? Is it for the rippling bodies under shiny lycra or is it for the view of those shiny man-bums. No, it's really for the thrill of waiting for a spill and seeing all that shiny plastic melt into their skin as they hit the bitumen. Silly fuckers. And have they never heard heard of the increased risk of genital cancer and lower sperm counts as a result of a bound and heated up pocket rocket package ?

8 - What are bicyclists doing on roads anyway ? It's only a result of legislation banning them from footpaths because they were a danger to pedestrians. But now they're a friggin' danger to other motorists. And they pay no registration, have their own shiny-bum bike lanes and don't obey the road rules !

9 - "transparency',,,,,actually means that you can see right through it all the way. to the bullshit. So how does that make it any better than real bullshit ?

10 - "yes /no"..........actually techno-speak for "yes I agree with you but I can't wait for you to shut up so that I can have my say".

..............and that's only today ! 

 

Posted by Spirukas Goblinono at 10/08/2015

The MK Beer Diet

The MK Beer Diet

 

Forget the Ahhhhh Bra,  forget Bambillo. Hold your chest up high and sleep well at night - welcome into your life the MK BEER DIET.

Step 1 - Wake in the morning with your head feeling like a rock and look in your wallet or purse.
Step 2 - Assume that the amount of cash missing is directly proportional to the amount of alcohol consumed.

Step 3 - Closely inspect car for parking tickets, incurred driving damage and volume of CD player.
Step 4 - Remind self that you will never ever drink like that again.
Step 5 - Remain in bed carefully inspecting the blackspots of the night before.
Step 6 - Decide to have no breakfast due to rolling stomach.
Step 7 - Pass on lunch because your belly has become a muffin top.
Step 8 - At 3 o'clock in the afternoon resolve that you are not an alcoholic and inspect remaining contents of wallet.
Step 9 - Walk dog being careful to avoid a detour to the liquor store.
Step 10 - Return home and carefully place broken down slab into fridge.
Step 11 - Crack three cans at once and place them at strategic places throughout the house.
Step 12 - Develop simultaneous memory and loss of memory skills by losing and finding the above     mentioned cans.
Step 13 - Pass on dinner because self is too wasted to cook.
Step 14 - Justify loss of appetite by considering that your alcoholism is a reward and not a failure.
Step 15 - Turn music up to volume 11 because you are suddenly deaf.
Step 16 - Awake in the early hours of the morning wondering who drank all your beer.
Step 17 - Partake of a nightcap (for medicinal purposes only) and pass out.
Step 18 - Repeat steps 1 to 17.

Good luck.

*Please note that the above mentioned diet is recommended for professional drinkers only. It is not advisable for minors or pregnant women to undertake this program.

Posted by Spirukas Goblinono at 4/26/2015

The USS Ponce and Other Ponces.

The USS Ponce and Other Ponces.

This is what is on my mind :

The USS Ponce, an Amphibious Transport Dock, is the first ship in the United States Navy to be offically fitted with  a Laser Gun.

In Australian slang a 'ponce' is a title generally given to a person enamoured with false pretentions, that is, a 'poser' or a 'dickhead'. These people are often ridiculed and are considered as a source of entertainment. Their efforts to substantiate the implausible and impossible are often foolhardy and have the potential to inflict damage on innocent bystanders.

US Pentagon officials claim that the new high technology system offers a weapon at a fraction of the cost of traditional arsenal - "such as cruise missiles and rapid fire Gatling guns." (Los Angeles Times). They believe that a shot of directed energy costs under $US1. The Chief of Naval Research, Rear Admiral Matthew Klunder said in a statement. "Compare that that to the hundred of thousands of dollars it costs to fire a missile, and you can begin to see the merits of this capability."

The USS Ponce was launched in 1970 and in 2012 it was awaiting decommissioning and being sold as scrap in consideration of her age and an accumulation of rust. However, a contract was let for a rush retrofit of the ship and her re-deployment.

I am amused (raflol - in textspeak) that the Pentagon would even dare mention Gatling guns as though they were recently superseded technology. The Gatling gun did not see action until 1874 when it was finally embraced by the US military after its predecessor, the Coffee Mill (invented in 1861) was declared to be "...of no practical value." by the  ScientificAmerican in 1863. Gatling never got rich from government orders during the Civil War, but his gun did later achieve 'iconic status'.

Wikipedia states that the "USS Ponce (AFSB(I)-15), an Austin-class amphibious transport dock, is the only ship of the United States Navy that is named for Ponce in the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico, which in turn was named after the Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de Leon, the first governor of Puerto Rico and European discoverer of Florida."

There are reasons why this re-fitted ship and its new weapon are on my mind. It is a puzzle to me as to why the inventors of weapons of mass destructrion contend that the more destructive the weapons of war, the fewer are its casualties. Their reasoning appears to be that anyone facing the use of these weapons will be inclined to either run away or send fewer combatants to face annihilation, or that the force using the weapon will deploy fewer personel due to the increased destructive power of this weapon. There are also some people on my mind who exemplify the stupidity of this reasoning and each is either ignorant, brilliant or insane.

They are Richard Gatling and Alfred Nobel and they follow in the footsteps of Juan Ponce de Leon and have set the scene for the beliefs of Rear Admiral Klunder.

In 1513 Juan Ponce de Leon discovered the mainland that he called Florida, in recognition of his day of discovery, Easter Sunday (Pascua Florida) and took possession in the name of the Spanish king. As provincial governor, Ponce de León had occasion to meet with the Taínos who visited his province from neighboring Puerto Rico. They told him stories of a fertile land with much gold to be found in the many rivers. Inspired by the possibility of riches, Ponce de León requested and received permission from Ovando to explore the island. As provincial governor, Ponce de León had occasion to meet with the Taínos who visited his province from neighboring Puerto Rico. They told him stories of a fertile land with much gold to be found in the many rivers. Inspired by the possibility of riches, Ponce de León requested and received permission from Ovando to explore the island. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juan_Ponce_de_Le%C3%B3n)

He returned to Spain and later, in 1521, he returned to conquer and colonize his land, but the fierceness of the natives prevented his success. He was wounded in the encounter and died in Cuba the same year.

Juan Ponce de Leon was one of the many fools appointed by the Spanish crown to search for the elusive city of Eldorado as well as the mythical Fountain of Youth. He was one of the many Spanish and English adventurers sent to the new Americas with the blessings of their countries to discover and monopolise the apparent wealth of the native indians. However, nobody of European descent could understand the tales of the natives and misinterpreted their folklore. In fact, the legend of the city of gold was merely based on native tales of a "man of gold" from beyond the mountains.
(* there is a very good book about this subject, The Golden Man - the quest for El Dorado by Victor W.von Hagen).

There are many fools populating our history, some of whom were convinced they were discovering, inventing and introducing technologies and beliefs that were benefitting mankind. There are two other brilliant people who had they been alive today, would recognize the devastating value of their brilliance.

Alfred Nobel was deeply disturbed that an obituary writer had confused the Nobels in reporting that his brother, Robert, had died and that the article was titled  "The Merchant of Death is Dead". Alfred was the inventor of a product which he proudly named "Nobel's Safety Blasting Powder" and named it 'dynamite', derived from the Greek dynamikos, 'power'. He had found a way to stabilise nitroglycerine, making it safe to transport and store. The inventor of nitroglcerine (which was highly unstable), Ascanio Sobrero, wrote that when he thought "...of all the victims killed...and the terrible havoc that has been wreaked...I am almost ashamed to be its inventor." He fervently believed that his invention was of benefit to mankind in that it would be of use for "the abolition or reduction of standing armies". Alfred left in his will, $9 million for the establishment of a foundation in his name, the Nobel Prize.

Richard Jordan Gatling was another inventor of whom we can all be proud of for finding a way to reduce our numbers. He was the American inventor of the first successful machine gun. He may well have been Alfred Nobel's psychic twin, for he also believed that his invention would shorten wars and reduce the number of casualties. He claimed that his weapon would "supersede the necessity of large armies and consequently exposure to battle and disease." But at least Richard must have possessed a sense of humour - he also invented a Flushing Toilet. Gatling also experimented with guns that were powered by electricity or gas but reasoned that it was difficult to carry a power source onto a battlefield.

One other person who was brilliantly mad and did realise the implications of his interference was Albert Einstein. Earnest Rutherford had speculated that the fission (splitting) of the uranium atom would release energy, but would also release more neutrons. The subsequent chain reaction would continue splitting neutrons and deliver an unbelievable amount of power.Of the atom being split he said: " Could a proper detonator be found it was just conceivable that a wave of atomic disintergration might be started through matter, which would make the old world vanish in smoke". Enrico Fermi later assembled a team of ambitious physicists and bombarded various elements with neutrons to see if the atoms would disintegrate. Fermi later won a Nobel Prize for Physics.   The "Manhattan Project", a massive research effort introduced by President Roosevelt with the director of the laboratory, Robert Oppenheimer, was largely the result of a letter sent to FDR by Einstein warning that German physicists had split the atom and were trying to develop a bomb unlike the world had seen before.

And so now, in 2013 we are living with the legacy left to us by brilliant madmen and fools. Some like Ponce de Leon sought to please their king, some like Nobel, found a way to make a dangerous product more available, some like Gatling were either hopelessly naive or wickedly hypocritical. These genius fools spread their immoral ideas through the channels of moral enterprise.They profess to bring improved technology to benefit men of war but they insidiously encourage the use of tools that offer all men more efficient  ways to kill.

The US Navy say their "consevative" data tells of the cheap cost of  a shot of "directed energy". What their data may not tell them is the real cost of delivering that energy. Are they again faced with the dilemma facing Gatling in being able to deliver the power effectively to the battle zone? Apparently, the installed laser's power can be "scaled" down to provide a "non-lethal"  alternative to ward off threats such as pirates, smugglers and terrorists. The laser does, however, have its drawbacks, testing has revealed it is disrupted by bad weather: Rain and clouds can scatter the beam, as can smoke, sand and dust.

The USS Ponce and its laser will be deployed in 2014. This follows the successful mounting and firing in 2011, when the laser set fire to an empty motorboat bobbing in the Pacific Ocean. However, generally the development of laser technology has been plagued by setbacks. Testing has revealed it is disrupted by bad weather: Rain and clouds can scatter the beam, as can smoke, sand and dust. It is not reassuring that the ship is an old rustbucket and has been saved from being scrapped and hastilty refitted. That the Pentagon did not risk the investment on a better ship should be a warning of their faltering belief in the success of the project. It seems that it is only an amphibious ponce with a laser gun, a floating platform for a new age Gatling gun.

At least now we know we may soon be safer from attack by those terrible 'terrorists' and other hostile seafaring mongrels. As long as a reliable power source can be found and the weather is perfect we will again have another machine of war. Leave it to Uncle Sam and the media to sensationalise the threat of war and our loss of freedom. We live in a virtual state of fear in the new age of paranoia, confusion and technology. When the weather is clear and their are no obstacles in the line of fire, and there is an experienced operator, and there is a reliable power source, and the ray is set at the right intensity, and the number of operating technicians is minimal, and the hardware damage isoptimum, and the casualties are maximum, and the cost is negligable - only then will the Pentagon have the perfect weapon of mass destruction.

And finally, there are two quotations that seem to reflect my opinion:

"The appearance of the machine-gun had not so much disciplined the act of killing - which was what the seventeenth-century drill had done - as mechanized or industrialized it." - John Keegan, The Face of Battle (1976).

"War always reaches the depths of horror because of idiots who perpetuate terror from generation to generation under the pretext of venegance." - Guy Sajer, The Forgotten Soldier (1971).

Fare thee well me hearties, damn the torpedos and full speed ahead.

Posted by Spirukas Goblinono at 4/22/2013

The Boston Bombings - One Man's Action can Change the World.

The Boston Bombings - One Man's Action can Change the World.

One man's action can change the world, the actions of two men can ruin the world.

There is currently much contention over the capture of and motives of the Boston Marathon bombers. These two young adults and the idealism that inspired them to commit such an atrocious act will be studied for years to come.

I am particularly interested in an article by Adrianna Huffington and in particular her statement "A lot of the who, what, where and how of the bombing and what led up to it have already been answered and, no doubt, more details will eventually be filled in. The why, however, is the more elusive question. But it's also a crucial one. And the why we need answered has to do with more than just questions about Chechnya and Russia, and the conflict between the two. We also need to know why we have so many disaffected young men in our culture, and what compels them to act out that disaffection in violent ways".

I am amused that some of the lessons of history seem to have not been learnt and if we do not learn of our mistakes from the past then we are doomed to repeat them.

Regardless of ideologies and motivation this act is reminiscent of a previous act of terror in Russia. The names of the people involved have similarities. The Russian Tsarnev brothers launched an attack on the public in Boston in a manner similar to an attack by two young adults on the Tsar of Russia in St. Petersburg on March 13, 1881. On this day, a 20 year old anarchist  named Nikolai Rysakov tossed a bomb under the carriage horses of Tsar Alexander II's procession as his bullet proof carriage travelled along the Catherine Canal heading for the Pevchevsky bridge. The blast did not destroy the carriage and Alexander was determined to alight from his carriage and comfort the wounded. Alexander made the sign of the cross and said "Thank God, I am not wounded" and immediately another man cried out "It is too early to thank God" as he ran towards the Tsar and tossed a bomb between his legs. The man was 25 year old Ignacy Hryniewiecki and he fatally wounded the Tsar.

The trauma of his assassination would define the next two reigns of  his son Alexander III and his grandson Nicholas II. Alexander II had ruled as an anomaly. He had ended centuries of tradition by liberating Russia's serfs and was determined to establish representative government in Russia. His two successors did not reverse the emancipation of the serfs and they turned back every other progressive initiative Alexander II had attempted. Russia returned to absolute autocracy until the Bolshevik Revolution of 1918. Thirty-six years of repressive imperial rule was followed by seventy-two years of Communist dictatorship were the direct consequence of two home-made grenades.

Does any of this have a familiar ring to it? 

This twin bombing of April 15 has been labelled an act of terrorism by President Obama and the South Carolina Republican Senator Lindsey Graham said: "Either our laws are insufficient or the FBI failed, but we're at war with radical Islamists and we need to up our game." Apparently the FBI may have also misspelt a name and the Tsarnev brothers slipped through the surveillance net. Their surname may be Tsarnaev or Tsarnaeva depending on which reports you read. Tamerlan the older now deceased brother at 26 had already been questioned by the FBI in 2011 and had travelled to Moscow in 2012. The younger surviving brother, Dzhokhar was a dedicated medical student who hoped to become a brain surgeon.

Maybe someone should show him pictures of the carnage he caused so that he can use the experience and new knowledge of how bodies look after suffering from explosive damage in his thesis on brain surgery. But I'm sure that the entry procedure to medical school will be more comprehensive than the FBI screening procedure. He might want to consider enrolling with the aviation training school that offered flight simulation training to some of the perpetrators of the Twin Tower's destruction of 9/11. Jeez, he might even take an advanced spelling course to correct his twittering : "Recent entries on what is reported to be his Twitter feed - @J-tsar - include "I'm a stress free kind of guy" on 17 April and "There are people that know the truth but stay silent & there are people that speak the truth but we don't hear them cuz they're the minority", on 16 April.

But this event will be a bonanza for the conspiracy theorists. Mr. Tsarnaev has already told the BBC that the secret services has framed his sons. Is this an attempt by the authorities to heighten our fear of "acts of terrorism" and seek our approval for the introduction of more screening, bugging and surveillance activities that bring us under more control of "big brother"? We are already living in a new age of the "new world order". There is an article suggesting three possible lines of inquiry and they all involve terrorists. There is a web site airing photographs apparently showing the appearance of a mystery unmarked van and men wearing indistinguishable uniforms before and after the bombings, as evidence of a conspiracy. Tamerlan had been tracked by Russian authorities who had warned the FBI in 2011 that he was a "follower of radical Islam". He may also be linked to a triple murder and has a record of domestic violence. It's fortuitous that allegged terrorists are also so incompetent that they cannot use handtools or check their weapons as it seems like another inconvenient inconsistency regarding evidence that 'Federal investigators are trying to trace the handgun, a 9mm Ruger, that the elder Tsarnaev used in the shootout. Two law enforcement officials said that an attempt was made to erase the serial number on the gun and that experts have been unable to restore all eight digits'.   

 I'm surprised that when considering the recent attention on North Korea, that the brothers have not been linked in some way to that state of political unrest. Maybe the brothers can be linked to any of the groups listed on the Canadian website Currently Listed Entities.

However, the bombing event of 1881 seems to have some similarities. The names Tsar and Tsarnev are similar, as is the ages of the perpetrators in both instances, and the Russian connection. It may have occured 132 years and 1 month ago but it did indeed change the political climate of the world and exaberate social tension until the fall of the Berlin Wall. Lisa Miller, writing in New York magazine summed it up well - "Evil may not have a single face, but it can be reliably found within one kind of body: that of an angry man in his late teens or twenties,"  "Angry. Young. Men. The description doesn't explain the motivations behind every notorious bloodbath, but it's a place to start -- perhaps the only place to start."
http://nymag.com/news/intelligencer/male-rage-2013-4/

Maybe it is that angry young men are the only people with the conviction and fortitude to perpetrate such acts. Within their first thirty years of life they have experienced innocence, education, awareness and disillusion, well before the stabilising and potentially demoralising effects of lack of education, divorce, demanding work, unemployment, debt, desperation and instability set in. Maybe these angry young men are the only people who actually follow through with their convictions in an attempt to bring awareness to their own insecurities and the plight of their fellows.

I'm not advocating acts of terrorism nor encouraging conspiracy theories but I'm ever vigilant since the destruction of the Twin Towers in New York in 2001. Too many laws have been passed by England, Australia and the USA that while seeming to protect us from radical thinkers and their actions may actually impede our democratic progress and our individual rights.

It's encouraging to see and hear debate regarding our freedoms and their stricture. It's reassuring to hear words relating to our democracy such as identification, legitimate, intelligence, surveillance, privacy, security and safeguards included in an article with legitimate questions embracing our paranoia.

Sometimes there are things we must do and sometimes there are things we need to do. I think the key to our successful democratic civilization is to find the correct balance between the two.

"The right things to do are those that keep our violence in abeyance; the wrong things are those that bring it to the fore".

Robert J. Sawyer, "Calculating God", 2000
Canadian science fiction writer (1960 - )  

Monday, April 22, 2013

The USS Ponce and Other Ponces.

This is what is on my mind :

The USS Ponce, an Amphibious Transport Dock, is the first ship in the United States Navy to be offically fitted with  a Laser Gun.

In Australian slang a 'ponce' is a title generally given to a person enamoured with false pretentions, that is, a 'poser' or a 'dickhead'. These people are often ridiculed and are considered as a source of entertainment. Their efforts to substantiate the implausible and impossible are often foolhardy and have the potential to inflict damage on innocent bystanders.

US Pentagon officials claim that the new high technology system offers a weapon at a fraction of the cost of traditional arsenal - "such as cruise missiles and rapid fire Gatling guns." (Los Angeles Times). They believe that a shot of directed energy costs under $US1. The Chief of Naval Research, Rear Admiral Matthew Klunder said in a statement. "Compare that that to the hundred of thousands of dollars it costs to fire a missile, and you can begin to see the merits of this capability."

The USS Ponce was launched in 1970 and in 2012 it was awaiting decommissioning and being sold as scrap in consideration of her age and an accumulation of rust. However, a contract was let for a rush retrofit of the ship and her re-deployment.

I am amused (raflol - in textspeak) that the Pentagon would even dare mention Gatling guns as though they were recently superseded technology. The Gatling gun did not see action until 1874 when it was finally embraced by the US military after its predecessor, the Coffee Mill (invented in 1861) was declared to be "...of no practical value." by the  ScientificAmerican in 1863. Gatling never got rich from government orders during the Civil War, but his gun did later achieve 'iconic status'.

Wikipedia states that the "USS Ponce (AFSB(I)-15), an Austin-class amphibious transport dock, is the only ship of the United States Navy that is named for Ponce in the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico, which in turn was named after the Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de Leon, the first governor of Puerto Rico and European discoverer of Florida."

There are reasons why this re-fitted ship and its new weapon are on my mind. It is a puzzle to me as to why the inventors of weapons of mass destructrion contend that the more destructive the weapons of war, the fewer are its casualties. Their reasoning appears to be that anyone facing the use of these weapons will be inclined to either run away or send fewer combatants to face annihilation, or that the force using the weapon will deploy fewer personel due to the increased destructive power of this weapon. There are also some people on my mind who exemplify the stupidity of this reasoning and each is either ignorant, brilliant or insane.

They are Richard Gatling and Alfred Nobel and they follow in the footsteps of Juan Ponce de Leon and have set the scene for the beliefs of Rear Admiral Klunder.

In 1513 Juan Ponce de Leon discovered the mainland that he called Florida, in recognition of his day of discovery, Easter Sunday (Pascua Florida) and took possession in the name of the Spanish king. As provincial governor, Ponce de León had occasion to meet with the Taínos who visited his province from neighboring Puerto Rico. They told him stories of a fertile land with much gold to be found in the many rivers. Inspired by the possibility of riches, Ponce de León requested and received permission from Ovando to explore the island. As provincial governor, Ponce de León had occasion to meet with the Taínos who visited his province from neighboring Puerto Rico. They told him stories of a fertile land with much gold to be found in the many rivers. Inspired by the possibility of riches, Ponce de León requested and received permission from Ovando to explore the island. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juan_Ponce_de_Le%C3%B3n)

He returned to Spain and later, in 1521, he returned to conquer and colonize his land, but the fierceness of the natives prevented his success. He was wounded in the encounter and died in Cuba the same year.

Juan Ponce de Leon was one of the many fools appointed by the Spanish crown to search for the elusive city of Eldorado as well as the mythical Fountain of Youth. He was one of the many Spanish and English adventurers sent to the new Americas with the blessings of their countries to discover and monopolise the apparent wealth of the native indians. However, nobody of European descent could understand the tales of the natives and misinterpreted their folklore. In fact, the legend of the city of gold was merely based on native tales of a "man of gold" from beyond the mountains.
(* there is a very good book about this subject, The Golden Man - the quest for El Dorado by Victor W.von Hagen).

There are many fools populating our history, some of whom were convinced they were discovering, inventing and introducing technologies and beliefs that were benefitting mankind. There are two other brilliant people who had they been alive today, would recognize the devastating value of their brilliance.

Alfred Nobel was deeply disturbed that an obituary writer had confused the Nobels in reporting that his brother, Robert, had died and that the article was titled  "The Merchant of Death is Dead". Alfred was the inventor of a product which he proudly named "Nobel's Safety Blasting Powder" and named it 'dynamite', derived from the Greek dynamikos, 'power'. He had found a way to stabilise nitroglycerine, making it safe to transport and store. The inventor of nitroglcerine (which was highly unstable), Ascanio Sobrero, wrote that when he thought "...of all the victims killed...and the terrible havoc that has been wreaked...I am almost ashamed to be its inventor." He fervently believed that his invention was of benefit to mankind in that it would be of use for "the abolition or reduction of standing armies". Alfred left in his will, $9 million for the establishment of a foundation in his name, the Nobel Prize.

Richard Jordan Gatling was another inventor of whom we can all be proud of for finding a way to reduce our numbers. He was the American inventor of the first successful machine gun. He may well have been Alfred Nobel's psychic twin, for he also believed that his invention would shorten wars and reduce the number of casualties. He claimed that his weapon would "supersede the necessity of large armies and consequently exposure to battle and disease." But at least Richard must have possessed a sense of humour - he also invented a Flushing Toilet. Gatling also experimented with guns that were powered by electricity or gas but reasoned that it was difficult to carry a power source onto a battlefield.

One other person who was brilliantly mad and did realise the implications of his interference was Albert Einstein. Earnest Rutherford had speculated that the fission (splitting) of the uranium atom would release energy, but would also release more neutrons. The subsequent chain reaction would continue splitting neutrons and deliver an unbelievable amount of power.Of the atom being split he said: " Could a proper detonator be found it was just conceivable that a wave of atomic disintergration might be started through matter, which would make the old world vanish in smoke". Enrico Fermi later assembled a team of ambitious physicists and bombarded various elements with neutrons to see if the atoms would disintegrate. Fermi later won a Nobel Prize for Physics.   The "Manhattan Project", a massive research effort introduced by President Roosevelt with the director of the laboratory, Robert Oppenheimer, was largely the result of a letter sent to FDR by Einstein warning that German physicists had split the atom and were trying to develop a bomb unlike the world had seen before.

And so now, in 2013 we are living with the legacy left to us by brilliant madmen and fools. Some like Ponce de Leon sought to please their king, some like Nobel, found a way to make a dangerous product more available, some like Gatling were either hopelessly naive or wickedly hypocritical. These genius fools spread their immoral ideas through the channels of moral enterprise.They profess to bring improved technology to benefit men of war but they insidiously encourage the use of tools that offer all men more efficient  ways to kill.

The US Navy say their "consevative" data tells of the cheap cost of  a shot of "directed energy". What their data may not tell them is the real cost of delivering that energy. Are they again faced with the dilemma facing Gatling in being able to deliver the power effectively to the battle zone? Apparently, the installed laser's power can be "scaled" down to provide a "non-lethal"  alternative to ward off threats such as pirates, smugglers and terrorists. The laser does, however, have its drawbacks, testing has revealed it is disrupted by bad weather: Rain and clouds can scatter the beam, as can smoke, sand and dust.

The USS Ponce and its laser will be deployed in 2014. This follows the successful mounting and firing in 2011, when the laser set fire to an empty motorboat bobbing in the Pacific Ocean. However, generally the development of laser technology has been plagued by setbacks. Testing has revealed it is disrupted by bad weather: Rain and clouds can scatter the beam, as can smoke, sand and dust. It is not reassuring that the ship is an old rustbucket and has been saved from being scrapped and hastilty refitted. That the Pentagon did not risk the investment on a better ship should be a warning of their faltering belief in the success of the project. It seems that it is only an amphibious ponce with a laser gun, a floating platform for a new age Gatling gun.

At least now we know we may soon be safer from attack by those terrible 'terrorists' and other hostile seafaring mongrels. As long as a reliable power source can be found and the weather is perfect we will again have another machine of war. Leave it to Uncle Sam and the media to sensationalise the threat of war and our loss of freedom. We live in a virtual state of fear in the new age of paranoia, confusion and technology. When the weather is clear and their are no obstacles in the line of fire, and there is an experienced operator, and there is a reliable power source, and the ray is set at the right intensity, and the number of operating technicians is minimal, and the hardware damage isoptimum, and the casualties are maximum, and the cost is negligable - only then will the Pentagon have the perfect weapon of mass destruction.

And finally, there are two quotations that seem to reflect my opinion:

"The appearance of the machine-gun had not so much disciplined the act of killing - which was what the seventeenth-century drill had done - as mechanized or industrialized it." - John Keegan, The Face of Battle (1976).

"War always reaches the depths of horror because of idiots who perpetuate terror from generation to generation under the pretext of venegance." - Guy Sajer, The Forgotten Soldier (1971).

Fare thee well me hearties, damn the torpedos and full speed ahead.

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