Tag Archives: Irreverence

Oh dear

The latest border creep of what constitutes ‘racism’ has just crossed the boundary into the kitchen. Specifically the rather strange claim that drinking milk is now ‘Racist’. Which greatly upsets me. Especially as the white stuff figures largely in so many of my favourite savoury or dessert recipes. Will a new crime of ‘Hate Cooking’ be created making it illegal to prepare things that are deemed ‘Too white’? What of whipping cream? Will that have to be withdrawn from sale because the act of flagellating milk derivative into lovely stiff, creamy peaks becomes the equivalent of statuesque blondes strutting around in swastika encrusted basques and black stockings thwacking people with riding crops? God yes, Helga, take me home I’m ready. Gosh. What an interesting thought.

milk-is-only-for-racist-nazisWhich raises a question. Is milk now so racist even Nazi’s hate it? Fortunately I can answer this question with a definitive “Yes” and have been able to obtain historical photographic proof. My God, this is political dynamite!

Also in the event Marine Le Pen wins the French Presidential election does that mean I will no longer be able to source the delights of Roquefort, Brie or Camembert? Friends, (I know I used to have some) possibly, well, maybe not so many; this is terrible. That nice Mr Trudeau will have to outlaw ‘hate’ dairy products that are deemed too ‘white’. Oh, hold on a minute, I’ve just read the year dates on some of the cited articles. 1997, 2004, 2016, and now 2017. Good gravy! Is there no end to this awful prejudice? When will this madness end! What will happen to the economy of Wisconsin? Is no-one safe?

the-french-resistanceFortunately my fiends, (either of you) there is hope. From Europe comes a brave group of heroic figures, skilled in the art of converting racist milk and cream into lovely, non racist blue cheeses. Meet Michelle, Rene and Yvette, specialist resistance cheese makers who can rid us all of the terrible racist curse of milk drinking.

Oh shit. That’s another of the sacred ‘ists’ isn’t it? The really naughty one prefixed with S-E-X. Oh dear. I’m in real trouble now.

Youtube Censorship

I used to have little ‘mature content’ playlist of rather gorgeous Burlesque performers on my sidebar and am sad to report that YouTube has deleted my selection of delightful prancing young ladies for whom clothing was a secondary concern. Apparently some snowflake decided it was ‘inappropriate’ and I received a missive this morning with the following;

The YouTube community flagged one or more of your playlists as inappropriate.

To which my response is; “Sorry, but you guys hosted the content, I just collated a list of it.” Even if the video’s are deleted, Some kind soul will upload more for those of us over 18 whose blood runs a healthier shade of red. I will find something else to entertain my one remaining reader under the ‘Not Safe For Work’ category on the sidebar. As the mood takes me.

As for ‘community’. Yerss, well. Frankly I never wanted to belong to any ‘community’ or be judged by censorious asshats. They can all just go fuck themselves with a barbed wire covered baseball bat. Which I’m told is something that may appeal to those at the extreme end of BDSM. Not my thing. But hey, if you’re a consenting adult, don’t let me get in your way. I hear that there’s a dominatrix or two that caters for such sexual eccentricities. Chacun à son goût.

YouTube is a resource which I have a membership of, nothing more. That membership was an accident of signing up for a gmail account back in 04′ and Google subsequently buying up Youtube. Not of any ‘community’, which would imply I actually approve of YouTube’s Hyacinth Bucket-level prudery policies. I never signed up for anything but a free email account, the rest of my ‘membership’ was a result of Google’s expansion. So no, I’d simply say this is the result of Google’s ‘Mission creep’ by very creepy people. And lawyers pressured by the prurient.

As for their YouTube ‘heroes’ or unpaid moderators. There’s nothing even vaguely ‘heroic’ about them. They’re generally the type of lowlife who become classroom sneaks, politically correct tattle-tales and virtue-signalling toadies. Committee fodder. About as far from the classical definition of heroic as it is possible to be. The fact that YouTube openly recruits immature (Under 18) people for this unpaid task should be a red flag. How can anyone judge someone else’s standards if they aren’t mature enough to understand their own?

Anyway. The pendulum has swung to extreme political correctness, and now it is beginning the long, inexorable swing back through sanity to the other extreme. Popcorn maker on, butter and salt ready. Catch you on the flip side.

Update: Three YouTube accounts I subscribed to; Ex Top Gear presenters Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Clarkson Hammond and May have been terminated for ‘copyright violation and deceptive practices’.

Anti-social media

Dentists today, and as usual, no problems. One thing my genetic heritage has blessed me with is a good set of choppers, teeth that have stood up to being abused many times over the years, including being used as adjustable grips, wire strippers and bottle openers. My hygienist was complimentary about their current state, and no fillings or other treatments were required. A state of affairs my Dentist, my wallet and I are very happy about.

While I was waiting for my date in ‘the chair’ I saw the following little missive posted on the notice board, which rather tickled my fancy.

“I’ve noticed recently how successful and popular some people are thanks to Social media like Facebook and Twitter. They post messages telling everyone what they are doing, what breakfast cereal they ate, who they talked to, funny videos of their cat chasing a torch beam, what shoes they like, whose party they went to, how many times they went to the toilet and what it looked like before they flushed it down. The wonderful thing is that thousands of people ‘like’ what these online celebrities post and ‘follow’ their every activity.”

“As I’m not a particularly popular person and don’t have many real friends, I thought I’d take a leap of faith and apply the principles of social media to real life. So I decided to obsessively greet total strangers in the street, telling them my whole life story, who my friends are, what funny things their pets do, the silly things they do when drunk, who my parents are and who they work for and every single thing we talk about including Dad’s recent arrest for sex crimes and embezzlement. I even showed my new friends pictures and videos on a computer tablet that I take with me wherever I go. And when they say they like it, I give them a thumbs up, and they do the same to me! It’s fabulous! I’ve never felt so popular!”

“And great news! My strategy has worked! After only a week I have six brand new ‘friends’; two Policemen, a private investigator, two psychiatric social workers and a nice Doctor Lecter who has already invited me around for tea!”

Okay, you’ve probably guessed that when it comes to the much-vaunted online social media, I am a self confessed Marxist of the Groucho faction. Some people seem to spend their entire lives on it, then get all bent out of shape when some embarrassing feature of their real life is put on public display or their wages disappear because someone has guessed that their online banking password is still ‘password’. To which I’d respond with the old saw “If you can’t take a joke, you shouldn’t have joined.” In Social media’s defence however, I think it would be fair to say that one should always remember that these are public platforms which offer a degree of utility, but perhaps not quite enough to justify throwing your privacy rights and quality time on the fire.

Old joke, but true..

A Biker (Motorcycle rider, not those wussies in spandex) is visiting a zoo when he sees a little girl leaning too close to the lion’s cage. Suddenly, the lion reaches out through the bars, grabs her by the collar of her jacket and tries to pull her inside, right under the eyes of her screaming parents. The biker runs to the cage and smacks the lion square on the nose with his fist. Whimpering from the pain the lion jumps back, letting go of the little girl. The biker then returns the girl to her terrified parents, who thank him profusely.

A reporter watches the whole event and approaches the Biker in the car park as he is about to leave, saying; “Sir, that was the bravest and most gallant thing I’ve ever seen a man do in my whole life.”
The Biker replies, “Why, it was nothing, really. The lion was behind bars. I just saw this little child in danger, and acted as I thought was right.”
The reporter says, “Well sir, I’ll make sure this won’t go unnoticed. I’m a journalist, you know, and I can guarantee tomorrow’s paper will have this story on the front page. So, what do you do for a living, and what is your political affiliation?”
The biker replies “Well I run my own small company, and as for my politics I’m generally but not always conservative.”

The journalist smiles, thanks him again, and leaves.

The following morning the biker buys the paper and reads the following headline:
“Right wing fascist thug assaults African migrant and steals his lunch.”

Well it made me smile.

Waiting…

Mrs S; “Lovely day.” (She turns, advances to front door.) “Inspiring prospects. Time to go out” (She turns to William.) “Let’s go.”
Bill Sticker: “We can’t.”
Mrs S: “Why ever not?”
Bill Sticker: “We’re waiting for Canada Post.”

Excuse me channelling Samuel Beckett, but I’m still waiting for my book order to arrive when the official delivery date was 25th July. Now the gaping void on my bookshelves sings a siren lament every time I pass, achingly begging for fulfilment. It pulls at me like a gravitational singularity, pulling my gaze first to the gap, thence to the void on our front doorstep. A promised space stares at me accusingly. I feel its hunger like a gape in my belly. So potent it’s almost sexual. An unfilled bookshelf is a terrible thing. It haunts, accuses, points and says; “Fill me!” with the urgency of a lover in heat. Thwart it at your peril.

Another victim of Canada Post Will the postman eventually leave my package on the doorstep while we’re out, or one of those faux-cheery accusatory little cards saying; “We tried to deliver your package, but you were out. Pick it up at your local postal depot next week.” Next week! No, no! I wasn’t out, I was here, waiting. I’ve been good. Honestly. Eagerly anticipating my orders arrival with an acid sense of anticipation, ears pricked. Listening for the faintest thump on the doorstep which will announce my books arrival. Afraid to go out less I miss the slightest clue. Hoping against hope that my package has not been delivered to another household, where my precious purchases will be treated with contempt by someone else who is not capable of appreciating their contents, or horror beyond measure, callously left out in the rain, wrapping soaked and wood pulp pages beginning to rot, for my package to be picked up by the delivery person next time they pass for redelivery. If they ever do.

I’m driving my wife nuts.

Update 5th August 2016 12:48pm: All ten books have arrived.  My bookshelf is now whole.

Meanwhile, away from the politics…

A pick a nic basketPolitics, like all creepy crawlies, gets everywhere doesn’t it? However, today I will be making a strenuous effort to avoid the wretched topic by staying away from the Interweb and going out for a picnic. We’ve been doing quite a bit of that recently. Going out to the park, choosing a shady spot away from all the noise, and just sitting to relax and partake of a little light lunch and delve into something literary. We’ve even got a proper picnic basket, just like the one in the picture. We have a small cool box for the food, a chill sleeve for the wine. Well, non alcoholic Cider really, as I don’t drink and drive, ever. Not even one glass of wine with a meal, but that’s just me. All of which fits in the pictured basket. Stylish, huh? Well I think so. No sitting on insect infested blankets for us, as we’ve also purchased two sturdy and very comfortable lightweight folding chairs which now live in the back of our pert little SUV.

Anyway, today’s little repast is spinach, salami and cheese stuffed chicken breasts, a small side salad with my patented hard boiled eggs (Large egg, boil for 8 minutes and 45 seconds only, then immediately dump into iced water for half an hour before serving – golden yolks with a still oozing centre) and a couple of nice crusty buns. I would have included a couple of small slices of cheesecake, but felt that would be gilding the lily. Did also toy with the idea of Salmon (It’s cheaper than chips locally at the moment), but decided against it. The idea of taking a small barbecue along has been mooted, but frankly they’re just too much fuss. Especially for just two of us.

Such is currently setting the tenor for our Late Spring / Early Summer Sunday afternoons. Mrs S and I chew the fat, set the world to rights, read, or just watch the antics of everyone else letting their kids burn off steam away from their Xboxes. Which is as pleasant a way of spending an afternoon as I can think of, short of fishing. Which is the next step. Leaving Mrs S to watch while I do some casting practice so she can have a giggle when I screw up. I can think of worse ways to spend my downtime.

The idea for today is to avoid politics. No American election news or reading about the forthcoming EU Referendum. Even though Mrs S insisted upon reading an article from the Spectator to me this morning about Donald Trump. Yes, he’s pissed off all the political insiders, which is no bad thing. They’ve had it all their own way for too long, made too many messes, and need a kick up their collective arses. Frankly I don’t care about whether some journalist thinks he’s ‘presidential material’ or not. I’ll reserve judgement until if and when he actually gets elected. The scary lady hasn’t finished singing yet. Or is there an Aria yet to be composed when the FBI finish messing around and decide to play hardball?

That is speculation for another day. For today we are going on a picnic.

A short pause

… for a commercial break and a word from our sponsor.

Still hereWell, isn’t all the doom and gloom out there wonderful? The world is supposed to end today. Again? On a Saturday? Bugger. Is there still time for morning coffee? Well, they missed the last big one, so I presume the “We’re all doomed” faction got it wrong yet again. Why do some people want the world to end? Can’t they make it in this one? Sheesh.

Talking of doomsaying, we’re told voting for Brexit will cause economic chaos. Well colour me sceptical, but the odds are that any extrication from the bloated monster that is the EU is going to take a few years at least. Even if the ‘out’ faction win by a massive landslide. In which time new trade treaties can be negotiated with new partners, so the transition doesn’t promise to be as traumatic as the ‘Remain’ camp would have everyone believe. There will no doubt be a couple of wobbles, but trade won’t come to a crashing halt, and the City of London and all its important financial markets will keep on humming away. Quite frankly I think the UK will be far better off without the bureaucratic busybodies of Brussels and Strasbourg. The EU on the other hand, will be in deep shit, having just lost its third largest contributor. Boo-fcuking-hoo.

Then there’s all the “You’ll die if you eat this” faction in uproar. What happened there? The official report, which has annoyed many lobby groups, has come out with a solid “No it doesn’t.” Repeat after me. Dietary cholesterol does not equal blood cholesterol. Dietary fat does not equal body fat. We wouldn’t need a digestive system if they did. A carbohydrate rich diet on the other hand does result in more body fat. Snacking on Pizza and fries with a large side of chocolate while sitting on your arse watching daytime TV is probably the culprit for the much vaunted ‘obesity crisis’. As for ‘low-fat’, what do you think replaces the fat? Starch fillers, that’s what. The ‘official’ advice has been wrong for years, and may even have made matters worse. Who knew, eh?

Make mine a large steak with a small side salad. I may go fishing this afternoon.

TTFN

Sums

Apocalypse gift cardWell hooray! I’ve just won a free apocalypse, as I’ve just filled the last space on my gift card.  Isn’t that nice.

Let me explain; a few weeks ago, there was a story running about Asteroid 2013 TX68, due to make a close pass and possible impact with Earth at 0.044 Lunar Distances (Within 15,076 Kilometres or a smidgeon over 9,367 Miles) on March 5th.  Well, that’s today, and from Spaceweather.com we find that said lump of space rock is going to miss by a whopping 13 Lunar Distances (4,997,200 Kilometres or about 3,105,116 Miles) in three days time.  So, no fireworks.  Unless it’s like the Chelyabinsk meteor in 2013, where everyone was watching one specific asteroid sail sedately by that an undetected bolide from another direction altogether sped in and detonated near a snowy Siberian town, breaking more than a few windows.

Someone got their sums wrong, didn’t they?  Or was it our ever reliable (cough, splutter, guffaw) media misinterpreting the data yet again?

Notwithstanding, I am still planning on having a lazy day today.  For a given value of ‘lazy’, which comprises of chauffeuring wife and sis-in-law around town, writing around  1000 words, editing another 3,000 for my final coursework followed by a leisurely late lunch, in turn by a couple of glasses of a modest red wine when everyone is safe home and giggling from their ‘shop and scoff’ trip downtown.

Have a nice weekend.

Bloody hell, Sarge

Oh this is absolutely precious. The ultra PC British Brainwashing Corporation made a ‘Documentary’ about how recruits are treated in the Army, then got all upset when a noncom instructor took a squaddie to task for not doing what he was supposed to and swore at the newbie. Yes, he swore at the delicate little petal. He said nasty words because someone couldn’t follow a simple written instruction. Aw, bless.

Then the BBC got their undergarments all rucked up about a few four letter words and complained to the MOD. Swearing in the Army? Heavens to Betsy old thing, you’ll be asking them to kill people next.

So what? I’ve never been in the Kate, but a good few acquaintances and boon companions have. They have told me that when you join up you should be certain of two things; people will try to hurt you, and no-one gives a flung turd about your ‘feelings’. You’re there to do what you’re told smartly and effectively, be that pulling a trigger, wielding a spanner, filling in forms or digging a hole. It’s called obeying orders, and according to my old acquaintances the Corporals, Sergeants and Officers tend to get rather cross if you’re a bit slow. So yes, they swear at dunderheads and people whose self centred little world view won’t allow them to keep their kit clean and tidy or turn up when they’re supposed to, and justifiably so. No matter what some prissy middle class pursemouth at Al-Beeb thinks. Or rather doesn’t.

However;

“The BBC says it has now been informed a meeting will he held to address the issue, but that it is unlikely swearing will be banned throughout the British Army.”

An amused thought just crossed my mind. I have a vision of a British RSM loudly telling off a bunch of new recruits and brandishing the regimental swear box : “So you ‘orrible lot. There will be no more fucking swearing. One more incidence of bad sodding language and you sad bunch of useless cunts are all on a fucking fizzer, got that?”

Well, it’s put a smile on my face.

Addendum: I’ve just seen that the paedo-witchhunters have been going after Tony Blackburn. Yep. I thought that too. Tony fucking Blackburn? Now that’s just plain desperate. Back in the day he was the breakfast DJ everyone loved to hate because of his corny jokes, but no-one in their right mind would think he was a groupie-groper. I hope he sues his accusers and their sponsors back to the dark ages. This whole persecute a retired celebrity thing is so blatant that it’s got to crash and burn soon.

Chowderhead

I confess. I’m becoming a full blown chowderhead, but not in the classical definition. No. Today I shout my new found affiliation from the rooftops. I love chowder! I’m getting quite good at it too, developing my own recipes from the many variants out there on the jolly old Interweb.

Over these comparatively mild Winter months, Mrs S and I have elected to eat a little more frugally, as our mainly sedentary jobs don’t involve burning up a whole lot of calories to keep warm. So I’ve been batch cooking in the kitchen and storing my output in the freezer, ready to be taken out and defrosted for a hearty late lunch. My current chief favourites are; Tiger shrimp and Basa fish with mixed veg; Chicken, bacon and sweetcorn and variants thereof, and they’re pretty easy to make. Guaranteed brownie points and a Nobel Peace prize.

All you need for this particular gastronomic delight are the basics; onion, potato, celery, sweet corn niblets (canned or frozen) chicken, bacon, flour, salt, black pepper and garlic or garlic powder, oh yes, and water. For seafood variant, simply replace the chicken and bacon with your preferred frozen or fresh (but never canned) seafood. There are ugly rumours that you can make a totally vegan chowder by substituting bean curd or Quorn, but as I’m not a fully paid up follower of Leopold Ritter von Sacher-Masoch I won’t be turning my culinary eyes to that corner of the kitchen, ta very muchly.

Now chowders are meant to be thicker than a Vice President of the United States, but far more tasty. That is, almost dense enough to stand a spoon up in. Gloriously glutinous, cheerfully chunky, and stick to yer ribs slick. Anything else is just soup.

To achieve such a state of nutritional nirvana, simply follow this basic recipe and you can happily disappear, leaving only a simple message reading; “Missing, presumed fed.” while your stomach hugs your spine to say thank you. Oh yes. It’s that good. Well, I think so, anyway. My blog, my opinion, so there.

Right. Here we go. Chop up one very large onion fairly finely. Likewise one stick of celery. Put the celery and onion in a very large saucepan over a low heat with about a tablespoon of cooking oil, canola is okay, as is vegetable oil. For that little extra edge, a dollop (tablespoon) of peanut or olive oil can be substituted. Leave to sweat down and soften thoroughly. Half a teaspoon of garlic powder or two crushed and finely chopped cloves of garlic may be added after it’s all gone slick and semi-translucent. Some authorities advocate a large pinch of allspice, others chilli. But as seasoning is such a personal thing, I’ll leave that to you.

While the onion and celery is on the go, take one cardboard (skinless and boneless) chicken breast, or three boneless chicken thighs. Chop into small chunks. Do likewise with two rashers of bacon. Put on one side. Mix a tablespoon of flour with salt and black pepper, roll the chicken and bacon chunks in the flour. Heat up a tablespoon of cooking oil (Canola, Olive, Peanut, Vegetable, whatever) in a frying pan and throw in the floured chunks, turning and stirring almost constantly until light gold. Keep the remaining flour mix. You’ll need it.

Take a baking potato and partially (over 50%) cook it in your microwave (If no microwave, peel and dice spud, the only difference will be to extend the cooking time by half an hour). Remove potato skin and cut into thumbnail size chunks. Add chunks to the frying chicken and bacon and keep stirring. As the chicken is turning light gold, add a cupful of sweetcorn niblets and fry gently with the potatoes, chicken and bacon. When chicken is cooked through and can be easily cut with a wooden spoon, add frying mix to the pan of softened onion and celery. Stir. Add enough water to the same level as the mix in the pan. Do not cover with water. Bring to a slow simmer and stir every five minutes or so. Do this for half an hour.

If you have a liquidiser or blender, ladle in two or three medium ladlefuls (about half a cup size) of the chicken, bacon, potato onion and celery mix. Blitz. Put liquidised mix back into the main cooking pan. At this point take the remaining seasoned flour mix and add water until it’s the consistency of thin mud. Add flour and water mixture to slowly seething mass of chowder in the large saucepan. Stir every five minutes or so.  Keep on heat until reduced to a thick, glutinous and chunky consistency, tasting the mix periodically to ensure it is neither too watery and bland, or too salty. Add salt and black pepper to taste. A little extra garlic or garlic powder can be added at this late stage, just to get the desired flavour.

When you’re happy with the taste, take chowder off the heat and decant a couple of ladlefuls into a bowl. Cut some fresh bread or get some crackers. If you’re feeling really posh you can sprinkle a pinch of fresh parsley to give a little visual appeal. Eat. Enjoy. Relax. Let your taste buds do the talking. Think deep thoughts. Solve the worlds multiple crises. Chowder is so good it can help you do this. Although it is recommended that you do not try to leap tall buildings in a single bound afterwards, no matter how good you feel, as that kind of behaviour always ends in tears, charges of criminal damage and multi million dollar civil lawsuits.

When the rest of the chowder left in the pan has cooled, decant into some one or two serving freezer containers, and when cooled completely, seal these and put in the freezer for future consumption. You know it makes sense.

TTFN