Good words to live by.
Just a quickie for all you youngun’s out in jolly old Interwebland. A small antidote to the doom and gloom about insane mass murdering death cults, inept Presidents, the dunderheadedness of bureaucrats, radical vegetarians, idiots who still believe against all evidence to the contrary that CO2 driven man made global warming is real, professional protesters and the general lack of worthwhile cerebral activity in the online world……
A pre Python Michael Palin introduces the legendary, the phenomenal, the so incredibly awesome Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band from Do not adjust your set (A 1960’s children’s TV show? Link to playlist here Oy gevalt already).
How can you not love a show that invented the ‘electric spoon’ concept? Which was so good someone had to invent one.
Well, they were more innocent times.
Welcome to the Bill Sticker Institute for Axiom Testing and Infinitive splitting. Our team of highly trained Stunt Grammarians and specialist word jugglers (We recruit only those who can handle a minimum of ten syllables) have been working day and night for at least half an hour testing some much cherished political sound bites to total aphorism destruct. We’ve saddled up our Thesauri, loaded our dictionaries, and straightened our phrasebook armoured trousers meaningfully before heading ‘em up and moving out to rope and brand a few of those consarned political soundbite critters for the last big drive to the railhead, pardner. Yee-haw. We think. Possibly.
Here’s how it works; A statement is selected and its underlying concepts thrown into our patented axiom tester for a full rinse and spin cycle before careful drying. Once cleaned, the statement is then carefully scrutinised for any bits of truth it might contain. There are no half way houses here. A statement is either proven or not proven.
Bill Sticker is a complete bastard.
Axiom test result: Proven. Bill’s parents were not married when he was conceived and born, therefore he was legally born out of wedlock, specifically a bastard. As far as ‘complete’ is concerned, several of our in house team thought that this was rather gilding the lily, because one is either a bastard or one is not. (Bill has also developed an evil streak that could be used to pave the entire two lane length of Highway One from mile Zero in Victoria BC to Halifax, Nova Scotia, including hard shoulders, but that’s by the by). Therefore Bill can be called a ‘bastard’ to his face with impunity, as the statement is proven. Cutting remarks in response are extra and will be charged accordingly.
Here are three left wing sound bites and concepts which were given exactly the same treatment.
Governments can create a fairer society.
Axiom test result: Not Proven. Repeated attempts by various governments around the globe to produce legislation to promote ‘fairness’ have so far failed because one persons ‘fairness’ is demonstrably another’s injustice. Giving privileges to one section of the population invariably requires removal of rights from another according to the well known rules of societal causality.
‘Social Justice’ is fairness for all
Axiom test result: Not Proven. The phrase ‘Social Justice’ was found by our team of extreme Axiom testers to be little more than a hollow political sound bite, a speechwriters catch-all with little or no real meaning. To say it is ‘fair for all’ is also palpably not true following the well known principle that taking another’s possessions without recompense is theft. Our chief Grammarian was also heard to remark that the phrase is “Utter bollocks” and has had to contribute a good deal of his disposable weekly income to our Axiom Testing Stations swear box.
Redistribution of Wealth is fair.
Axiom test result: Not Proven. Actually it’s complete and utter nonsense. Asset stripping the active middle to support the growing inactive lower simply creates more poor people. In addition, a consulting team of highly skilled Stealth Economists who are currently Chair of the Society for Artful Accountancy have discovered that the money rarely gets where it’s meant to go, and often ends in the pockets of those least entitled to it. Usually logged as expenses.
Thank you for visiting.
Remember all that fuss about Sony corporation getting hacked by ‘North Korea’ over a movie called “The Interview”? So badly hacked in fact, that they can’t do their taxes?
Guess what just became available via Netflix?
A major, leading Tech Corporate hacked by a country that has to struggle to make it to third world status? Seriously?
The question is; hack, or marketing hype?
Bill Sticker: Doctor, I think I’ve got a bad case of cynicism.
Doctor: Sorry Mr Sticker, I’m afraid there’s no cure. My advice is learn to enjoy it.
Friends, wossnames, countrymen. Lend me your thingummyjobbies. I come, not to praise liberty, but to bury it. That’s right. Freedom is dead, or very much on life support. Shakespeare himself might have done a quick rewrite to outline the situation (Julius Caesar Act 3 Scene 1, Mark Anthony’s speech)
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of truth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest concept
That ever livèd in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that drained this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy—
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips
To beg the voice and utterance of Twitter—
A curse hath lit upon the voice of man.
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Doth cumber all the online world.
Blood and destruction is so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,
That Mumsnet shall but smile when they behold
Their infants smothered by the nanny state,
All pity choked with accusation of sex crime,
Yet Freedom’s spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Whatsap by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice
Cry “Havoc!” and let slip the words of war,
That these foul deeds shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
I think Bill the Quill would have approved. Or what’s that whirring, buzzing sound from the chancel of Holy Trinity Church, Stratford upon Avon?
Seriously. I woke up thinking this morning that the country of my birth has turned into a warped version of Orwell’s nightmare 1984. This isn’t me being paranoid, it’s so in your face it’s not true. Twitter storms have become the “Two minute Hate”. People are regularly arrested for “Hate speech”. Voicing legitimate concerns has become “Thought crime”. Constant warfare. Near ubiquitous CCTV. Surveillance of e-mail and web activity. Webcams that can be remotely switched on. I don’t need to provide links. The evidence is in plain sight everywhere. If you don’t see, then you ain’t looking.
The UK, now rebranding as Orwell’s World theme park. Try the Grauniad rollercoaster, where tribes of shrieking lefties throw shit and outrage at everyone. It’s a blast. Thank you for not smoking or drinking. Or thinking. Anywhere.
Bloggers now have to register with the electoral commission? What about bloggers outside the UK? Go forth and multiply. Fornicate in another locality. Arkell v. Pressdram. Zero compliance predicted.
Inspired by Longriders’ wonderful description.
Pass it on if you like, adapt as necessary.
New year in a couple of hours. At least in this time zone – it’s already New years day in Oz. There’s also a curious sense of change in the wind. Although maybe not the ‘change’ those on the big government side were hoping for to keep them in their cosy sinecures. Or the ones Lennon hoped for. He forgot that class is a veneer, an illusion, which can be altered by anyone with a minor talent and will to change. It’s the secret of self made people all over the planet. Want to be working class? Dead easy; take on an accent, move to a new town, slip into that way of life and you’re there. Want to be upper class? More difficult as the credentials are harder to fake. Ask any con man. Better to be (the toughest option by far) your own person. Besides, the notion of class is merely a hangover from feudal times. You don’t have to be in any class if you don’t want to.
As far as this blog is concerned, I’m going to put a few things together and post them, just for fun. See what happens when lightning strikes. (Igor! Throw the switch! Not at me! You just can’t get the henchmen nowadays, I blame the media.) I’m sick of bitching about the ‘do as I tell you’ brigade. Fuck ‘em. They don’t listen anyway, so I’ll be returning the compliment. Apart from sticking my oar in on the occasional blog post or lamestream comment thread. So, no change there then.
In future, I’ll be focusing a little more on the humorous, satirical, scatological and sarcastic. That and perfecting my Martini mixing technique. I’m developing quite the taste for them.
TTFN. See you next year.
We have house guests over this weekend, so have been pouring libations to Bacchus like Niagara in flood. Which is nice, as Mrs S and I have had some very happy news for a change. About bloody time too. So we’re celebrating, or should that be decerebrating. Whatever. At the moment of writing, Mrs S is introducing them to ‘Lord of the Rings’ on DVD.
“Must ask you Bill.” Said one of our guests, a friend Mrs S has known since she was five years old. “You wrote a book once. About your time working as a Traffic Warden.”
“Oh that old thing. I thought ‘Walking the Streets’ was dead and buried. What about it?” I replied. How did she know about that?
“Can I have a copy?” She asked.
“It’s out of print.” I told her. “Has been since 2009.” Then I had an idea. “Hang on.” I dived off and rootled around in our bookcase. Sure enough, there was the one proof copy I’d kept, although God knows why. Must ask him some day, he seems to have all the answers. I handed it over. “Take it. My gift.” I said.
“I’ll pay you for it.” She said.
“Nonsense. I won’t hear of it.” I demurred.
“Are you sure?”
“Can I share it with my friends?”
“Err…” I replied. Our family friends are very proper people and might not take kindly to the often rather fruity and non-PC language couched within the pages. “Are you sure?”
She read one of the excerpts and giggled like the schoolgirl she’d been nearly eighty years ago. I almost blushed.
“Ooh yes.” Said our old friend.
Well, when you’ve passed your eighth decade I suppose you’re allowed a little more latitude than most. Now I’m sitting in my office typing this post, glass of Argentinian Malbec in one hand, I recall that the offending text still resides on my hard drive. There’s also a few other anecdotes which weren’t included with the 2007 edition because they were too damn near the knuckle.
Which midwifed the thought; if I put out the text as an eBook at five bucks a pop on Amazons Kindle, Kobo, iBookstore or suchlike, would anyone be interested? Just a thought.
Halloween is a big deal over here. People deck their houses in carved pumpkins, fake cobwebs and all sorts of foolery. Lots of kiddies dress up in silly and totally unscary costumes, students put on Zombie makeup and totter around the streets muttering “Brains, brains.” Are they asking for a donation or lunch? So I thought I’d get into the spirit of things. Join in the fun. For a given value of ‘fun’ (Evil snigger).
This whole trick or treat business however, has always struck me as rather mean spirited. A “Give us sweeties or we’ll kick your bins over, spatter your windows or scratch your car” kind of meanness. Which isn’t really fun at all and simply encourages tooth decay and hyperactivity.
My Halloween tradition circulated around bonfire jumping (Small bonfires), bobbing for apples, pub crawls, cider drinking games and general horseplay between consenting youth. No one went round banging on doors demanding candy with menaces. The older folk were always part of the festivities, but mostly as spectators while the youngsters made bloody idiots of themselves. Those who didn’t want to play stayed home and no one bothered them. Well, apart from drunken singing stumbling past at two in the morning. The only real fallout was massive hangovers and the odd inexplicable bruise the following day. On one rare Halloween when it wasn’t raining, a bunch of us ended up on top of a local hill having a howling contest at the Hunters Moon. No-one called the cops. Although I recall one old farmer type did turn up in his Land Rover with Purdey on the front seat. He took one look at us, muttered something about ‘bloody kids’ before promptly turning round and going home to bed. We got the hint and dispersed. Of course this was a long time ago. Nowadays we’d have a bloody SWAT team round our necks. Which begs the question; when did people become such wussies?
This year my fancy dress is going to be a ‘biohazard’ sign for the front door, hooded painters overalls flecked with a little red, breath mask, face shield or safety glasses. Perhaps Wellingtons or even these to top off the ensemble. Which can all be used if and when I get round to a little DIY, or there really is an Ebola epidemic. So win-win there I think.