Tag Archives: Satire

A Saturday Post

Apropos of nothing, a quick rework of an old Moody Blues number for the early 21st century.

I’m just a wandering on the face of this ‘net
Reading ’bout so many people
Who are trying to be free
And while I’m surfing I read so many lies
Language barriers broken
I think we’ve found the key

And if you want the winds of change
To blow through and through
And you’re the only other person to know, please tell me
I’m just a blogger in the Scriblerus band.

A thousand pictures can be drawn from one word
Only who are the artists
We don’t have to agree
Ten thousand miles can lead so many ways
Finding out who is driving
What a help it would be

So if you see this world of ours
And the turns of the screw
And you can see exactly what to do, Please tell me
I’m just a blogger in the Scriblerus band.

How can we understand
Lies by the people for the people
Who want us to enslave ourselves
And you can see the frightened
People who are frightened by the
People who are stealing this world, stealing the Earth.

I’m just a wandering on the face of this ‘Net
Reading so many people
Who are trying to be free
And while I’m surfing I read so many words
Language barriers broken
Now we’ve found the key

And if you want the wind of change
To blow through and through
And you’re the only other person to know, please tell me
I’m just a blogger in the Scriblerus band.

How can we understand
Lies by the people for the people
Who want us to enslave ourselves
And you can see the frightened
People who are frightened by the
People who are stealing this earth, stealing the world.

Words are the travellers crossing our world
Reading so many people who are bridging the seas
I’m just a blogger in the Scriblerus band.
We’re just the bloggers in the Scriblerus band.
I’m just a blogger in the Scriblerus band…

I think I got the syllable counts right whilst keeping the spirit of the original alive. Comments, questions, whatever.

Site update

In keeping with this sites general tone of irreverence and total disrespect for authority, apart from my wife (Sorry Dear), I’ve elected to properly codify the various recipes that are in use on a day by day basis in the Sticker household. Accessed from the main menu item labelled ‘Cooking for Conspiracy Theorists‘ I’ll be posting useful food related stuff for those of you concerned about the state of the world and wanting to eat well while the powers that be screw everything up.

Whether it’s being bombarded by news of stuff like the state of Hilary Clinton’s obviously failing health, potential election rigging in the US presidential elections, lamestream media bias, the tardiness of implementing the Brexit vote, or the various petulant ‘We didn’t get our way so we’re going to make life difficult for everyone‘ proposed measures against the UK by the EU, and the lame irrational mutterings of retarded social activists and their fantasies. I think we’d all feel much better with a hot, nourishing feed inside of us. Even if the world is, as some would like us to think, going to hell in the proverbial handbasket.

Well someone’s got to think about the really important stuff like keeping properly fed. Hell, it might even be organic. Vegetarian not so much, but then you can’t have everything.

By the way. First comment moderation is currently on. Any sensible, amusing and on topic comment will be approved within twelve hours or so for you first timers. After that you’ll be free to post all you want. Hate stuff and irritating whining will probably get binned. Comments coming via anonymous proxies may not even get flagged up for moderation, as these are currently being sent straight to cyber-oblivion.

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.

Trump card

Now that Donald J Trump is officially the Republican Presidential nominee I expect to keep hearing even more stories about people from south of the border (and I don’t mean Mexicans) threatening to move to Canada should he become President of the USA. Trust me chaps, it’s a bad idea. Honestly, as this cartoon by the irrepressible XKCD points out. Our Winters can get a bit brutal, especially in the Rockies and Eastbound. Which is why most of us prefer to snuggle up close to the 49th Parallel or thereabouts. Even here in the comparatively mild Maritime climate of the Pacific Northwest it can get decidedly chilly. Especially Campbell River and north.

Dont move to canada To begin with, north of the 49th parallel we do not enjoy the same diversity of goods as in the US of A. Grocery stores do not stock wine or even lite beer. Did I also mention it’s more expensive to live up here as well? Food and rent prices are generally higher, and property costs more to buy, even with the current exchange rate. A lot of places close on public holidays as well as Sundays and Mondays and Wal-Mart is no longer taking VISA payments in some of its stores. And if you want to shop at Target instead… oh, wait. You can’t. They’re all shut. Permanently. Then there’s the bears. Who aren’t to be messed with, even in the suburbs of Vancouver. They’re are also known to break into cars (To be fair, it was a Lexus). On the plus side, the wildlife does tend to keep the human varmints indoors, when they’re not indulging in the odd gang shooting (The gang bangers, not the Bears or Cougars). Which keeps our local Police busy. Yes, and Marijuana isn’t fully legal just yet. So before you sell up and fill up the U-Haul, take a deep breath.

Then there’s the Governance. It’s a bit more, well, intrusive if you know what I mean. Especially at the local scale. We might currently have a progressive prime minister, but no, Canada is not the progressive paradise you might think it is. Trudeau or no.

Don’t even mention the First Nations land claims or the endless prevaricating over relatively simple decisions like building a new sewage treatment facility for BC’s provincial capital. Or that our Provincial Prime Minister avoids coming to Victoria as much as possible because there’s “No real people” here (Which I find a bit insulting). Dear me no. A can of worms? More like truckloads. It’s why things move at a slower pace up here in the not so frozen north. Especially immigration.

However, we like it, but for Americans some of our more, ahem, eccentric practices might be too much of an an acquired taste. So are you damn Yankees absolutely sure you’re going to head north if, or more likely when, Donald Trump becomes the next US President?

Squirrel!

squirrel-up-dog-gifFrom a recent news item comes information vital to our civilisations survival.  Via the Igors at the Bill Sticker Institute for Assorted Trivia I bring dire news of a global conspiracy.  A real one.  Not local like most terror threats but one whose breadth truly does affect all humanity.  Friends, we are under assault from the most effective cyber attacks ever imagined by a delusional paranoid schizophrenic completely off their meds, with or without added LSD. Oh yes, it’s that bad.

We’re not talking about Cyber attacks by Anonymous, or China, Daesh, threats to civil liberties by the very people sworn to protect us or even zombie armies looking to snack on what little brains we have left after watching daytime TV.  We’re talking about a real threat, responsible for genuine power outages and all manner of suicide attack as well as nut theft on an industrial scale.  The real enemy is….. Squirrels.

Cybersquirrel with bluetoothInformation is emerging of the sheer magnitude of these assaults on our civilisation. A map of power outages caused by these Decepticon borg-like creatures can be viewed here.  The heinous acts by these creatures include causing multi-vehicle pile ups, single squirrel kamikaze attacks on drivers in open topped vehicles, with invasions of licensed premises and failure to pay for their own drinks tab.  Not to mention the recent California terror rampage and reports of Vampire squirrels targeting deer. Even major sporting events are not immune. The list goes on.

So what can we do, how can we protect ourselves from these random terror attacks? What is the actual depth and scope of the threat we face? Most of the attacks appear to be a ‘suicide’ variant; Squirrels throwing themselves under the wheels of traffic or into sensitive infrastructure thus terrorising entire communities. How do we identify the threat?

CybersquirrelThe problem with threat identification is as demonstrated in this rare picture of a cybersquirrel caught off guard by a courageous camera person, who, although they took this picture using an extremely long lens, was shortly thereafter ambushed and hospitalised by several lightsabre wielding assailants later pictured fighting amongst themselves over credit for the ‘kill’ (See below).

Lightsabre squirrels So what are we to do in the face of a threat more real than global warming, mad bankers, room temperature IQ politicians, rogue asteroids, alien invasions and people who forget to carve new calendars? Fear not. I have a solution, but I would caution my last remaining reader to sit down with a stiff drink before proceeding further because what I am about to propose may seem unpleasant and may even make you nauseous. Are you sitting comfortably? Okay, brace yourself. My proposal is that we have to eat them. All of them. Every last single tree rat has to go. Before these cybersquirrels bring our brave 21st century civilisation and all the comforts we have come to rely on crashing to it’s knees. Because it really is them or us.

It may be the only chance we humans have left……..

New year resolutions

Well, they certainly don’t include giving up drinking because I have two decent single malts and a bottle of Famous Grouse gracing my drinks cabinet.  Nor eating meat, which I won’t be giving up because there are no measurable health benefits to doing so.  And I won’t be giving up  smoking.  Talking of which;

I will be restricting myself to taking a little more moderate exercise (Brisk daily walks), completing my college courses and working a little smarter.

A very Happy New Hangover to everyone……

P.S. I haven’t smoked for over a quarter of a century….. I’ve been restricting myself to giving smouldering looks…… (Evil snigger)

Philosophically thinking

As I was preparing the seasonal repast  (It was excellent by the way – best Pork I’ve ever cooked – wonderful crackling), I came over all reflective and philosophical. You know the kind of thing, those useful titbits of folk wisdom you sometimes wish your Dad or Mum had taken the time to sit you down and tell you about. Not the two-fingers-down-the-throat ‘truth posters’ you find in gift shops that are all about such insincere wetness as ‘peace’, ‘joy’ or even more nauseatingly ’empowerment’, but something a bit earthier and pejorative. Something you can paste up on your wall without your mates thinking you’ve gone all born again and religious, yet retaining a positive spin. One you won’t feel ashamed showing to your tougher friends. Who knows? They might want one too. Copyright free for non-profit and personal use.  Use it as a get well soon card.  Knock yourself out.

THIS IS YOUR LIFE

For those who have difficulties reading the odd bits of upside down and back to front text, I’ve transcribed the key phrases below with a few hopefully helpful notes. Although not necessarily in the order you read them.

 

  1. This is your fucking Life (Well this is a no-brainer, surely?)
  2. You will fuck up (Also true, but I’m always amazed at how many people this catches by surprise.  Even the greatest of us has feet of clay.  Or just aching feet.  Or aching whatever.)
  3. Learn to say “Fuck you!” (But always with a smile, because some people really, really, really deserve it.  You might also want to learn how to run away really quickly.)
  4. Learn to fucking apologise.  (If you’re wrong, put your hands up to an honest mistake – you’ll be amazed how much respect this can earn you.)
  5. There is no fuck up so big it can’t be fixed (With enough time and effort, yes – sometimes not worth it.)
  6. You are not fucking God (Also self evident. Religion has its limitations and should only ever be considered as a rough guideline.)
  7. Learn to smile at your fuck ups (A much better way than endlessly beating yourself up about whatever you previously fucked up)
  8. It’s only fucking pain (Even the most intense pain is temporary, it always goes away eventually) 
  9. Suicide is fucking pointless (No matter how big the hurt, the sun will rise, whether or not you make the poor quality decision not to see it. So long as you’re breathing, you have the opportunity to right the wrong done to you. If not, your friends and family might mourn for a week or three, but the unrequited ‘love of your life’ will eventually move on to someone else or some other lucky sod will reap the rewards of all your hard work.  Sorry, but that’s the truth of it. The only exception to this rule is the alternative of a slow, painful death.)
  10. Get the fuck over it (Too much pride is an Achilles heel – learn to forgive – but not absolutely everything.)
  11. Sometimes you have to walk the fuck away (Truly,  you really have got to know when to move on from a bad situation)
  12. Don’t fuck over your family (Like it or not, these are the most important people in your life. Without family, your life is based on shifting sands.  Although if they fuck you over first – all bets are off.)
  13. Fucking is not love (It’s just sex.)
  14. You can love without fucking (Oddly true.  The physical act does not automatically require emotion and vice versa.)
  15. This is not a fucking dress rehearsal (Get on with it or your dreams will never come true. All good things do not come to them that wait.)

Oh yes, and prepare, because adequate planning and preparation prevent piss poor performance and also the avoidance of complete clusterfucks.  Even if you never have to use the skill or resource.  Happy New Year.

Sex and the thingle Igor

Thorry for the lakthity in pothting, but itth been hell down here. Igor hath caught a nathty computer virus, Igor is on a thtake out, and young Irog ith indithpothed with a bad cathe of dythlekthia. Dethpite all thethe perthonnel problemth, we at the Bill Thticker inthtitue for Irony and Thatire have notithed the reathonth behind all thethe nathty terrorith attacks and people lothing their headth to the Daeth. The prethident of Turkey hath been buying their oil, the Various Gulf thateth thent them money, and the United Thtateth ith thending them gunth.

Nonetheleth; over the weekend, the ladth fell to talking about that old perrennial, thex. You know, bonking, boinking, beatht with two backth, humping, shagging, fukcing and fornicathion, and how whole magathineth theem so fixthated by what ith, after all, a natural human functhion. Which ith, if one thinkth about it logically, ith rather like having magathineth dedicated to going to the toilet, although at thith point we recalled the experimetth of Great Uncle Igor, who briefly potheththed two penitheth. “Double the pleathure, double the fun.” Ath he wath moved to thay at the time. Great Aunt Igorina, a broad minded woman by all accountth, got thick of him fainting every time he and the were in the mood, tho he went back to jutht the one, tho they lived happily ever after.

Thith being the cathe, and after much discuthion, we thent young Igor out to find out what he could.

He found thith;

Which rather contradicth all thethe claimth of North American and European collegeth camputh ‘Rape’ culture, which ith, according to one of the nativeth ladieth, more of an African phenomenon. Thee her TED talk below.

Thith tendth to confirm Young Igorth experienth of Englith Colleges, where it wath not tho much ‘rape’ ath waking up in acute embarathment with the wrong Igorina after a heavy night on the embalming fluid. Thtorm, teacup. Ath marthter William ith wont to obtherve; “Nothing to see here folks. Move along.” Thame ath the whole ‘Thlutwalk’ protethth being originally bathed on one Ontario Politheman’th public pronounthement. It’th jutht activitth posing with their pet peeveth. Maybe if they had better thexth they’d be happier? Probably not.

The Marthter hath popped in on hith way home and pointed out that both hith thtepdaughterth went to two theparate Univerthities, and while they had thteady and not tho thteady boyfriendth during thothe timeth, neither young lady ever complained of anything untoward.   No young gentlemen of their acquaintanth ended up with their trthticleth for tonthilth either.  Ath would have happened if unwelcome advanceth had occurred.   Youngetht kickboxeth and Eldetht doeth Karate and Krav Maga tho we are told…….

Whatever happens to……..?

Bit of a loose end day today on the run down to the festering season. Just had some good career news from both Stepkids. They’ve both had promotions and pay rises recently, so I’m feeling fairly light of heart.

Whilst decking our modest hall prior to our planned low key Xmas break I found myself wondering whatever happens to Social Justice Warriors as they age? The majority are young, highly political, idealistic and energetic in their criticism, ostracism and even real life harassment of people they disagree with. To them, all appears Racist, elitist or sexist, and God help you if you’re not their preferred skin colour or sex.

But what happens to these latter-day Wolfie Smiths when they actually try to grow up? Do they hang up the keyboard, learn to wear business clothes and embrace the culture they once hated so virulently? I remember one guy from college who was a long haired extreme left winger until he discovered the joys of capitalism in the late 1980’s. Last heard of in 2005 on his second trophy wife and buying a new Porsche Carrera. So it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility.

Yet what actually happens to people who have boasted about being a ‘social activist’ on their Twitter, Facebook, Tumbler or Insterwossname feeds? Nowadays it’s well known that the HR departments of many companies routinely vet prospective employees by checking their social media profiles, but how does that affect their recruitment? I put the question to the Staff Igor at the Bill Sticker Institute of Asking Awkward Bloody Questions.
A prothethional igor“Dunno Botth. What I do know ith thoth thothial activisthts are jutht a pain in the bums. No thenth of humour. Did you know one came in yethterday and told me to check my priviledgeth?” I was told.
“How’s that again?” I replied, wiping spit off my sou’wester. “Would you mind dropping the lisp.”
“Thorr- sorry Boss. She told me I was too male to be a proper evil assistant.” He complained. “Said I had to cut off my genitalth and wear a dress.” He added. “I told her the whole transgender thing was so last year and I’d changed back because I didn’t like it much. Aunt Igorina wasn’t happy with me because I kept borrowing her best dresses and getting them taken in at the hips.” He replied ruefully “If you ask me I think the activists are just professional pains in the bum. No sense of humour because they actually think what they’re doing is socially useful. No wonder thome famous comedians have stopped playing colleges.”
“And are these activists useful?” I enquired.
“They’re a bloody nuisance, pardon my Quirmian.” Igor said. “Always trying to shut people up. Po-faced bunch of puritanical perverts.”
“What I mean is; is what they do of benefit to the rest of humanity?” I reiterated.
“Only if you’re in their preferred minority group.” Igor replied candidly, fixing me with a look that said that whilst he might be in a minority, no-one in their right mind should mess with an Igor. At least if you don’t want to wake up with your nose on upside down. Especially when it starts raining and you’ve forgotten your hat. Decent bunch, Igors. Great with the old cut ‘n paste surgery but with a funny sense of humour.
“Yes, but what happens to them when they finally finish college and have to get a job?” I asked.
“Local authorith. Thothial Work. Non-profithts. Academia. Politicth. Living off social security or parents money. Prothethional protethting.” Igor replied. Thtealing Chihuahuas off peopleth front porcheth. Thupermarket thelf thtackerth.” He added darkly.
“You’re lisping again. It’s going to take me hours to get dry.” I complained.
“Tho- sorry Boss.”
“No problem” I replied, thanking Igor for handing me a freshly laundered towel. “So what happens to them, these Fascist anti-racists and Racist anti-sexists?”
“Thome- sorry some, get low level jobth, thorry Botth, can’t drop the listhp, it’th cultural.”
“Along with the extra thumbs and fingers you mean?”
“Prethithely.” Igor grinned back at me. Which was a bit disconcerting as he’s experimenting with his teeth at the moment. Don’t ask. It’s too weird. Let’s just say people should not have triangular dentition, no matter how good that type of tooth is for cutting gristle. I feel sorry for the Sharkth – damn! He’s got me at it now.
“So they’re ‘B’ ark people?” I said.
“Yeth.”
“Got it.” Right, I’m going to go off to have a good long shower and dry off. There are some things I’m happy to do in the spirit of enquiry, but in future I’ll ask my faithful crew of Igors to simply write their answers down.

Where have all the Eagles gone…..?

From the very talented Minnesotans for Global Warming

H/T Jo Nova

No wonder we get Bald Eagles and Peregrine Falcons hanging around over my landladies suburban chicken coop. The wind farm up island is just too dangerous an environment for them. Maybe that’s why the Cougars and Bears are heading into our locale, they’re pissed off with the whoosh-whum noise of the bloody things.