Tag Archives: Satire

Things I never knew

Blustery weather means my bee colonies still aren’t ready until this weekend. The builders are still doing their thing and we won’t have liveable conditions at our new house until the end of June. So I’m just pootling around with odd jobs, and whilst doing that browsing around the interwebs just for the shits and giggles. It’s a real education out there, I can tell you, or I’d rather not.

You know, those revelations just pile up don’t they? All these things I never knew, like:

Only ‘far right fascists’ or the ‘alt-right’ believe in freedom of speech. Sensible debating of a topic is ‘hate’ and all the perpetrators should be shouted down, their channels of communication cancelled and their fire alarms set off so no-one can have a reasonable conversation. Who knew, eh?

The Union flag of the UK is a symbol of all that is wrong in the world (especially if you’re an overpaid dickhead like Gary Lineker). All Brits (Especially Expats) are bad, bad, naughty people who should be taken behind the bike sheds for a damned good spanking on their bare bottoms. Three times a week and twice on Fridays Oooh Matron!

What about those awful northern European types? Apparently they’re the only category of people who can be insulted with impunity for being their own ethnicity. They’re all members of the American Democrat Klu Klux Klan or similar and must go on ‘anti-racism’ courses to cure them of something many never did in the first place. Like keeping African descended people as slaves apparently. Even though we’re all supposedly from that continent some hundreds of thousands of years ago. Guilty as charged. Take all their money and send them down to the cells.

If you don’t have a University degree on a topic, you can’t express an opinion. Only ‘qualified experts’ can give their version, but only if they are ‘qualified experts’ who have the politically correct opinion, of course. Everyone else can jolly well shut up, and give back that Doctorate you bigot!

Anything that can be called a ‘weapon’ like an air rifle or pocket knife automatically turns the bearer into a raging murderous psychopath. Because it’s never the actual person pulling the trigger or holding the blade, it’s always the weapon that is the problem.

Teaching pre-pubescent children all about outlier minority sex practices is a good thing, so getting f*cked up the chuff by some random pervert doesn’t come as too much of a shock when it happens. Childish innocence is over rated anyway.

Killing a foetus right up to and even during the birth process is a reasonable form of abortion. Doesn’t matter that the ‘cluster of cells’ in question is capable of surviving independently outside of the womb. The cis-normative birthgivers body, their chosen pronouns ‘right’, right?

It’s not your biology or genitalia that matters. It’s your pronoun, even if you only made it up last Tuesday week. So there, ‘hater’.

Innocently getting someone’s chosen ‘gender’ wrong is as heinous and even more evil than slitting their throat with a rusty razor, or doing horrible things to their bodies with soldering irons and sharp objects. So we are told. ‘Misgendering’ is a horrible crime and should be treated with a life sentence in durance vile. Serial multiple murder and mutilation is a minor offence by comparison.

Destroying someone’s personal and professional life by complaining to their employer, University, bank or other service provider about having one’s feathers ruffled, because they supposedly said something online that you disagreed with, is a good thing, allegedly.

Oh yes, and it’s “Get your jab you science denier!” even if you have reasonable doubts about the risk / reward over said ‘vaccination’ whose clinical trials were cut short and attempts made to hide the data. Oddly enough this view comes predominantly from the “My body my choice” activist types.

Disagree and we’ll send your kids to a “Queer ecology camp” for re-education, you bigot.

Well, that’s me educated and no mistake. No wonder today’s social scene is such a minefield, and I’m sure those in the peanut gallery can come up with a few more examples.

I’m just happy that I’ve got a prospective pickup date for my bee colonies. Providing this unseasonably cool weather warms up by the weekend. Otherwise my hives are going to remain empty. As they would if the Queen decided that all those drones were sexist pigs and drove them out into the cold to die with all the excess workers.

Wonderful thing, nature.

Unintended consequences

Currently pulling twelve plus hour days on and off site, so not much time (or energy) for blogging. However, the little video collation below should be compulsory viewing for anyone demanding “There should be a law!”

It’s an entertaining list, light hearted but not exhaustive. Governments poisoning alcohol during prohibition is one notable omission, and I’m sure any viewer will be able to think of a few more…..

Pretty much….

The almost always amusingly on point AwakenwithJP gives us his take on the current situation in Ukraine,

Well it made me chuckle.

By George I’ve got it!

I’ve done the whole reductio ad absurdam thing and arrived at the only possible conclusion; all these nonsensical restrictions, the bad science, the control freakery.

There’s only one thing it can be;

Vogons.

Look, it makes perfect sense. They’re the most unpleasant race in the galaxy, mean, officious and bureaucratic, it has to be them behind all these irrational restrictions, overblown tests and nonsensical political shenanigans. There’s nothing else that makes sense.

All our political leaders, SAGE, NPHET and the like must be absolutely crowded with the slimy green sods. I think the whole Dial is infected, as is the UK cabinet. They’re all under the thrall of Vogons. I mean you only have to look at Boris Johnsons lack of a hairdo. Who else in the galaxy would be that untidy on purpose?

Am I right? Have we been invaded and our institutions undermined? Comments below please..

Update: In the dear old Speccie, Fraser Nelson may have just busted the whole thing wide open. Longrider discusses in more detail and provides the link. This twitter exchange between Professor Medley and Fraser shows why policy happens as it does and why the worst case scenario is always the model most touted. (If the Spectator link doesn’t work, try this one for the Daily Sceptic)

If you can’t be bothered to pick your way through the twitter thread, have a listen to Mahyar Tousi’s examination in the video below.

The worst case scenario’s on anything appear to be the only ones the ‘policy directors’ ask for. Ergo that’s what SAGE modellers deliver and what gets into the mainstream. I completely agree with (corrected, my bad) Fraser Reg@ratboy101203. It is ‘fucking scandalous’.

This isn’t to say that there isn’t a Vogon in there somewhere though.

A celebration of failure

In the rat infested streets of Glasgow, politicians and activists, in an hubristic attempt to make themselves look relevant, instead of just a flaming nuisance, will gather shortly to ‘save the planet’. We are not directly told from whom, all we’re told is that we peons have to change our ways, not the politicians and activists of course, because they are far too important and need their five star hotels and business class travel to zip across the world being insufferable bossy boots.

Fortunately for us, but maybe not, because according to some sources the talks have already ‘failed’. Because the Chinese and Russians aren’t on board. One can almost hear the giggling from Moscow and Beijing.

To save you the brain damage of actually watching any of the COP26 speeches and presentations I’ve summarised a typical conference speech below;

Non binary gentlepersons, we are here today on trample on the natural rights of everyone but us… blather… blah blah blah (repeat as below)

Build back better, (pause to do some pointless virtue signalling) ten years to save the planet and other such bollocks. We must act now and follow the science, blah, pointless blather, obfuscate, tell blatant lies and deny that the science is still hotly debated where debate still is allowed to happen, despite the much vaunted climate models being inaccurate to the point of worthlessness. Bullshit, more blather, we’re all wonderful and the peasants have to be locked down forever more. Blah blah, blah. Utter cobblers. More lies and “look! over there! an Aardvark!” and anyone who disagrees should be sent to the gulag, their property stolen and we’re doing this not to line our pockets but to save the Earth. Honestly guv’nor. I’m cutting me own froat and the cheque is in the post and of course I’ll respect you in the morning…. Thank you and where’s my over inflated speaking fee?

To quote Dale Arden from Flash Gordon;

“Flash! I love you, but we’ve only got fourteen hours to save the Earth!”

Afterthought. Wouldn’t it be a pity, a humungous crying shame if there was a huge outbreak of Leptospirosis (an endemic rat borne disease) amongst the COP 26 delegates? Couldn’t happen to a bunch of nicer people.

Alternatively, you could listen to Dr Ross McKittrick for a more reasoned perspective.

From an ancient text

I’ve been digging through my ancestral archives recently, and along the lines of ‘some things never change’ thought I would present the following, adapted for the present day;

Noah in the 2020’s : Ye Grate Fludde.

In the years of pestilence; The Lord came unto Noah, now living in Kidderminster, England and spake thusly; “Once again Noah the earth and all the people therein have become wicked and sinful and it is time to purge the face of my creation, save two of every species of creature and a few virtuous humans, including thyself.” The Lord emailed the CAD drawings to Noah, saying; “Thou hast a year to build this great Ark before I send a grate fludde of forty days and forty nights to purge the world. Now get cracking our kid.”

At the end of twelve months, under darkened skies, The Lord looked down to see Noah in his back yard. There was no great ark, no two of every species, just Noah, weeping. “Noah!” Roared The Lord. “Where is my ark! Where are the two of every species! Come on mate, I’m about to kick off here. I’ve got storms queueing up like Friday afternoon traffic on the M6.”

“Forgive me Lord.” Begged Noah. “But things down here on Earth have changed. Because of COVID there’s no hardwoods to build the hull and I’ve been told by the council that I’ll need planning permission, even though I told them it’s within the regulations for temporary structures. So they forwarded the decision to the secretary of state, so you’ll appreciate the length of time that’s going to take. I was going to cut down a few trees instead and got a permit for that, but then a local environmental group kicked off on FaceBook and now there’s a thousand people chaining themselves to trees. Then there’s building regulations approval and the Fire Brigade Inspector has demanded smoke detectors in all the cabins as well as a sprinkler system. The department of transport have demanded a bond for temporary re-routing of power lines and an excessive load. I’m also in trouble with the Animal Rights activists for imprisoning animals against their will. I said I was gathering the animals to save them, but they said; ho-ho pull the other one chummy and reported me to the RSPCA, who told me the accommodation is too restrictive, then they in turn reported me to DEFRA, who demanded animal movement permits for such a large menagerie. Then the County Council got involved along with the Environment Agency, and Rivers and Waterways Authority who ruled that I couldn’t build the ark until they’d conducted environment impact reports on the forthcoming flood. Not to mention a full risk assessment on shipping movements through built up areas. I’ve also got a diversity team from the Department of Work and pensions who tell me my family is all too Jewish and we have to recruit a more ethnically mixed crew or be in contravention of employment legislation. Not to mention I’m having to wait to get my Masters certificate to pilot the vessel. The Unions are threatening to picket, saying using my sons to build the ark is taking jobs away from skilled ship builders and have reported me to the Health and Safety Inspectorate. Last week border services came calling and rounded up all my animals, saying that I was potentially in breach of the live export regulations. Then Customs and Excise froze all my bank accounts because they thought I was going to leave the country illegally as part of a massive money laundering scam, and the Police broke down my door because they’d had a tip off that I had more than the permitted number of people at my house in breach of the COVID regulations.”

“So forgive me, Lord God, I’m a bit up against it here, and it looks like I’ll need another twenty five years to finish the Ark.” Sniffed Noah, cowering in response to an expected smiting.

Instead the leaden clouds suddenly cleared. A wonderful triple rainbow spanned the sky and the birds all began singing again. Noah looked up in open mouthed wonder. “Does this mean there will be no Grate Fludde of forty days and forty nights and you’re not going to destroy the world oh Lord?” He said.

“No.” Said the Lord God. “The government beat me to it.”

The NHS app in action!

Exclusive footage of the NHS app in action as it sends people into ten day self imposed lockdowns.

The Covid Shuffle

Having just been (Or should that be nagged into going?) for my second SARS/COV-2 jab, I was in the queue for getting the needle yet again, I found my mischievous brain rearranging a popular song lyric into the one below.

Everybody’s doin’ a brand new dance now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
I know you’ll get to hate it if you give it a chance now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)

Your little crabby grandma has forgotten ID
She’s here under ten minutes and she needs a pee
So come on, come on, do the Covid Shuffle with me

You gotta scuff your toes now
Come on baby, step up, step back
Well, I think you got the knack, ohh

Now you’re at reception, forget your phone now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
Patting at your pockets like a mindless drone now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)

Do it nice and easy now you ain’t got control
You ain’t got no rhythm and you lost your soul
So come on, come on, do the Covid Shuffle with me

Come on, do the Covid Shuffle
Come on, do the Covid Shuffle
Come on, do the Covid Shuffle
Come on,…

I’m not here for the rest of the week. Play nice

Regards

Bill

Just in passing; why did the person giving me the jab feel the need to cover the vaccine phial over with a papier-mâché kidney dish? Answers in recycled grey wood pulp please.

Freedom is bad for you?

Through the satirical anti-logical lens of AwakenWithJP

Ignore the Ad at the end. A Youtuber has to make a living somehow.

Associated; new collective noun. Tyranny.

A tyranny of Doctors.

See also;

Diagnosticians A guess of diagnosticians
Dictators A tyranny of dictators

Just for fun

No further comment is required. Enjoy.

The downfall of lockdowns

Well it had to happen sometime. Yet another ‘Downfall’ parody.

Sweetly apposite. ‘Nuff said.

It’s at times like these…

…that I just want to swear at the proponents of lockdowns like Samuel L Jackson.

Included in this number; The entire political establishment of Canada, the EU, New Zealand, UK and USA, and most of the panic mongering mainstream media. Also ‘Progressive’ NGO’s and anyone who follows their specious diktats are especially included in this number.

None of them have the wit to run a bath without inflicting their half-baked progressive politics on the rest of us. Neither do people who say they believe in ‘science’ without actually reading any of the scientific literature properly. Witless bunch.

My ill temper has been mostly created because I’ve just had a very trying meeting over building design with someone who just doesn’t understand about structure, services or the basics of sketching and don’t see why anyone should be exempted from a damn good swear. The mess we’re in is all the fault of people like the aforementioned. Every last single Muthaf*ckin’ thing.

I feel strangely better for having said that.

Muthaf*cka’s.

Being mindful

We are continually being told that ‘mindfulness’ is a good thing, a goal to be aspired to, the epitome, the acme of all that is good and righteous. To be ‘mindful’, practitioners inform us, is the path to enlightenment, nirvana, and paying off the mortgage on time. Now it seems that this key precept is failing, with many practitioners straying from the path and in the process becoming narcissistic, vile little eejits you wouldn’t cross the road to piss down their throats if their lungs were on fire. But they weren’t nice people to begin with, and no amount of ‘awareness’ and Yogurt can change their true nature, merely the way it is expressed, in saccharine insincerity, passive-aggressiveness and massive self-delusion.

Now it may surprise you, dear reader (Look, there’s one of you out there, I think) but I too once delved into the innermost secrets of the universal soul through meditation and Yoga. Through my contemplations of the infinite and divine, I have become the person I am today. Does this surprise anyone? Yes? No? Don’t give a monkeys? Whatever.

Now my yoghurt and mendicant training goes back a few years to the Dojo where I studied, a small covert room over a Chinese Restaurant in sunny Stoke on Trent. A secret place where ancient masters taught the stoic arts and the ancient, obscure Welsh martial art of LLap Mivitalls, which consists of disciplining mind and body to hardship via the use of large cups of tea and bacon sandwiches consumed in the vast hidden reaches of industrial estates and lorry parks. The major part of which consists of learning how to eat your bacon sandwich in a torrential downpour without diluting your tea or letting your bacon sandwich get soggy. You can brag about the athletic prowess of Shaolin monks all you like, but such things are child’s play when faced with the inner serenity a black belt in this Welsh martial art can attain. Let’s face it, when you can calmly munch your way through breakfast in a heavy Welsh downpour whilst looking totally relaxed, you are indeed a force to be reckoned with.

BC, my home for the last decade or so, is now infested with a plague of ‘mindfulness’ and narcissism to the point where recovery is not possible. There can be no vaccine for this plague, only the burgeoning awareness of the sufferer that all is not well with them, and why their friends seem to clam up or roll their eyes whenever the practitioner of mindfulness opens their mouth.

At my Dojo, we were warned about this outcome by the Dojo’s chief mentor, Lobsang Dai, a Cardiff born man and part time Tom Jones impersonator (Ask your Granny). “Now young disciple, look you.” He would say. “All this talk of inner focus is all very well, but will it keep the rain from getting inn your tea?” He would opine further. “The path to inner serenity lies not in the actions of others, but of looking to yourself and not letting the water in. And putting your right leg behind your left ear isn’t that impressive.” With such sage teaching has my path to inner enlightenment been scattered. If we studied hard that lesson, he would demonstrate his hip twist, and how it could instantly bring down ladies underwear. Never understood why he wore such apparel, but to each their own. We were a very progressive class.

Sadly Lobsang Dai is no more, having fallen from grace to the charms of a Hungarian long distance lorry driver called Magda, but my fellow disciples and I remember his teachings with great fondness.

Dear Santa…..

Dear Santa,

Now as a grown up I’m told you don’t exist, but if, on the off chance you somehow do, I’d like to point out that I’ve been very, very good this year and would like to ask for a few things. If you think some of my listed items are a bit of an ask, I’d like to point out that I haven’t asked or begged for anything from you before in my entire life, but I would very much appreciate one or all of the following;

1. An end to all the palaver over BREXIT. I’d just like to see no deal happen so the EU wakes up and give the UK a Canada style free trade deal so we can all move on.
2. An end to the relentless propaganda over this virus thingy. Some unpleasant accidents to befall those constantly advocating for lockdowns. The demise or shutting down of Piers Morgan and his entire propaganda team would be nice. Something messy and public please, so we’re left in no possible doubt why it’s happening to them and their fellow travellers.
3. An end to the lockdowns and mask restrictions please would be appreciated. They serve no useful purpose.
4. Some kind of legal safeguard to be put in place so that these lockdowns can never ever happen again.
5. A return to pre-COVID normal life and sanity please.
6. Some kind of serious poetic justice against the most enthusiastic COVID enforcers and snitches would be much appreciated.

You see Santa, I’m not asking for myself, but for the rest of humanity who are continually watching their human rights and livelihoods being trampled. Not by any virus, but by stupid panicky people whose brains have shut down with all the fear being pumped out by the politicians and media.

Would really, really appreciate some intervention. Please and pretty please with sugar on it.

Many thanks in advance and a happier 2021 to us all.

Bill Sticker

P.S. For me, a small Christmas stocking with a Satsuma orange or two, a small bar of chocolate and maybe a packet of wine gums would be highly appreciated on Christmas morning. There’s a large bottle of vintage Port in the drinks cabinet. Put your boots up, give the reindeer a breather and have a large drink on me.

Lemon and Lime Mousse

Food post. As if you didn’t know from the title, but literacy is so neglected in these times that sometimes one is forced to reiterate. Right, this mousse comes with a mental health warning. If it were human it would be a bullwhip-toting dominatrix clad in white stockings, leather basque and no knickers. And heading your way with a knowing smile. Seriously. This little dish is salacious.

There are some times you luck on to something which teases some taste buds, putting the rest in chains then bending them over a chair. Similarly, this is a recipe for the BDSM crowd that punches back through your salivary glands and leaves you with a sensation of pressure at the back of your shoulders. Well it did for me. Mrs S is reporting similar sensations. Caveat; this is very, very grown up. Children will not like it because it is not very sweet. Grown ups will because it isn’t.

Mousse is normally a fairly mundane dish. Soft and billowy in the mouth, tasty and refreshing, but fairly unmemorable. Mousse can be the base of a pleasant savoury starter or a lightweight dessert but this one is neither. The texture is light and billowy like a ballerina’s tutu, but with the bite of a lime flavoured mongoose on methamphetamine.

To experience this sensation you will need;
1 lemon
1 lime
1 tablespoon of granulated sugar, no more
Half a pint of whipping cream
1 dessert spoon of full fat Greek Yoghurt
A large bowl and a whisk
3-4 raspberries for garnish per serving

The above recipe will make enough for three people. You may also need a bucket of water with five pounds of ice in it. Or not, depending upon your personal predilections. The great thing is that it’s very unfussy. No eggs, no gelatin, no unpleasant bending, just simple ingredients in proportion.

Squeeze the juice of both the lemon and the lime into a small glass. Remove pips but not the pulp.
Put the cream in the mixing bowl and whisk until it begins to thicken.
Add sugar and continue whipping until the cream stiffens.
When mix is stiff enough that most of it forms a soft lump inside your whisk, fold in the Yoghurt.
Mix in the lemon and lime juice.
Decant into serving bowls. I use small Ramekins.
Put in fridge for half an hour to finish setting.
Garnish with raspberries.
You may also garnish with a little lemon and lime zest. If you dare.

Eat and enjoy the savage tartness. At this point you may need to use the bucket of iced water. As for the rest, well disclaimer alert; this blog takes no responsibility for your actions during or after consumption. Do not eat in public. We will not pay your bail money.

Now I must go and polish my mistresses high leather boots.