Tag Archives: Satire

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.

Red tide

I greeted my wife with one word this morning; “Trudeau.”
Her response; “Oh, fuck.”

Yes it’s true. A toxic red tide of votes has swept the nation and there’s another brain dead Trudeau as Canadian Prime Minister. God help Canada.
red tide warning
Well I know that Harper wasn’t the most popular choice, but picking a party headed by a Trudeau? Seriously? That is soo coming back to bite us all. Mulcair would have been better as a national leader.

Why? Because I remember the economic disaster Tony Blair made of the UK, and Trudeau is a politician very much out of that mould. So we can look forward to higher taxes, extra ‘Carbon’ levies, more foreign involvement of our (Canada’s) armed forces and a deeper economic downturn caused by ‘capital flight’ as investors seek safer, or more profitable havens for their hard earned cash. On the plus side, he’ll probably cancel the problematic F-35 and legalise Marijuana, so it’s not all bad news. Even if Trudeau’s policies will probably squeeze out the little guys on the Grow-op front and put up the price of groceries.

For my part I’ll be keeping an eye on real inflation and currency fluctuations over the next year or so and keeping my European funds out of Canada until I’m sure which way the wind is blowing. As I observed to Mrs S this morning, it’s not time to pack our bags just yet. There may yet be a silver lining under this cloud. Canadian dollars ran at 2.15 to the pound sterling back in 2006. Due to the economic downturn in the oil and gas industries occasioned by the Saudis dumping their oil at ridiculously low prices, CAD to GBP is currently about two bucks to the pound. With a Liberal government in power, I can see that value dropping to about CAD$2.20 per GBP along with a drop in local property prices as the canny move their money elsewhere.

Looks like I’ll be using my ‘get a free apocalypse’ card sooner than I thought.
Apocalypse gift card

Warm is good

Curry night in the Sticker Household tonight, with guests. So we’re going to go the full nine yards, poppadoms, a little mint raita and Major Greys Mango chutney. Cocktails, followed by a modest but economical Malbec for quaffing. There may be cheesecake. After that I’m going to fade into the back room to let Mrs S and sisters chew the fat, or more often these days, the fat free. Whatever.

Still blogging at a much reduced level because there’s so little I want to blog about. The sun is shining, the skies are blue, and I’m feeling quite relaxed about everything. Even if my little office overlooking the garden is a little chilly first thing. Once I’ve been in there for a couple of hours it’s cosy enough. Still waiting for this global warming to turn up, failing that my cheque for being a ‘shill for the fossil fuels industry’, or my arrest for being a ‘denier’. Not that I’m holding my breath you understand. I think a late January break in Hawaii or somewhere warm is on the cards. I like warm, warm is good.

So, what’s in the news? Volkswagen have become ‘Smokeswagen’ after being caught cheating on their emissions test. The penalty for which is having your green pass removed and sent to the headmasters office for a quick spanking with your share prices around your ankles.

The current middle eastern refugee crisis is full of people we’re all supposed to feel very sorry for, even if a goodly proportion may want to see us western types and our culture ground under the heel of religious repression. It may mean the end of free movement across European borders as countries like Hungary stick up massive razor wire fences and drop their Schengen treaty obligations like a hot rock. Oh well, at least it will increase employment opportunities for border guard work. Perhaps some of these new wannabe immigrants might be considered for all the new customs and immigration jobs this will create? Germany seems to have some vacancies.

Yes, and more inconveniently, Skype fell over big time yesterday. Well what do you expect? It’s owned by Microsoft, which is one of the reasons I won’t buy Ford. All the onboard satnag and stuff on the Escape for example, have been running on Microsoft for a while. It’s what steered me away from buying one and towards a Subaru instead.

The more observant of either of my readers might observe that the header image has been adjusted. Our motley crew of Igors slaved day and night for at least half an hour to make the ‘improvement’ which saves me having to post the ‘trigger warning’ graphic all the time because this whole site can be considered to be chock full of ‘triggers’, but not Roy Rogers. Incidentally, that old joke was found in a Downtown Thrift Store, where it has been hidden (Some would say rightly so) for over thirty years. As for the ‘no soliciting’ rule, well, that has been covered on the comments policy page.

Offended? Oh I do hope so.


Sargon of Akkad on the week in stupid. Dickheads wanting global ‘blasphemy’ laws. Dickheads getting excised about a Muppet and so much more. Do any of these people step back for a moment and think?

On the other hand, in order for some people to be of above average intelligence, there must be a far greater number below, because that’s part of how we derive an ‘average’.

Another weapon in the Victimhood arsenal

Institute for dead horse floggingA message has been received from the lads down at the Bill Sticker Academy for Dead Horse Flogging (I thought they’d all retired, but there you go), about a relatively new practice called being ‘Ghosted’ or ‘Ghosting’. Actually it’s not new at all. Apparently in some journo’s lexicon to be ‘ghosted‘ is to be ‘dumped’. Specifically having a relationship truncated for reasons not made clear to the person who is being dumped and further contact denied. You know the sort of thing, ex has dumped all your emails in their spam filter, they’ve changed their telephone number and gone ex directory, changed job, moved with no forwarding address, run away to sea, joined a circus, a monastery or became a Nun.

It happens. People walk out on relationships every day and there’s nothing remarkable about it. That said, it’s no fun getting dumped with your ex refusing to talk to you any more, but there are perfectly good words for it rather than taking another word and painting it in rainbow colours for the aggrieved victimhood industry. Just for the sake of a piece of complete and utter Fark.

The rest of us understand that dumping occurs when one half of a relationship decides that enough is enough and it’s time to bail out. Whether the reasons given are good or not is always very subjective and not worth making a federal case out of. Which is probably what those claiming to have been ‘Ghosted’ want. They want a new legal tool to bloodlessly beat ex-partners into submission with even if erstwhile whatever think the ‘Ghosted’ are too much of a flaming nuisance to bother talking to any more. What the perpetually aggrieved want is a way for those of the ‘bunny boiler’ persuasion or perennially annoying (Which might be a gentle hint as to why someone got dumped in the first place) to enforce contact long after the rabbit is dead. Even though the world has turned and the ghosts have given up on whatever feeling there once was (at least for one party) and buggered off to haunt somewhere else. My advice? If whoever won’t take your calls after a week or so and has changed their number and details, move on. They’re not worth the heartache. Unless they’ve got your property or money, in which case may I advise hiring a decent lawyer.

We live in an age where language is becoming ever more of a lottery. Everyone wants to stake a claim in ‘cool’ (Whatever that is) and make a word or phrase their own. Even if it does sprain your grammar (And put a crimp in poor old Grandpa). However in this particular case I’d say they’re selling metaphorical Belgian beefburgers. It doesn’t matter how you dress it up, getting dumped is just that. A full stop in the story of a relationship. Changing the language to justify chasing after an ex is a truly bad idea because if they cared about how you felt they wouldn’t have dumped you, right? My advice? Don’t flog a dead horse. Lovers are like taxis. It may take some time and effort to flag another one down, but it will pay off with a comfortable ride, if of course you’re willing to take the necessary leap(s) of faith with your eyes wide open this time. You just have to get out more. To change metaphors, it doesn’t mean you have to ride a lot of horses until you find your My Little Pony, but there’s a lot to be said for hanging around the right (for a given value of ‘right’) paddock and just checking stuff out before making a bid.

Being ‘dumped’ therefore shouldn’t be viewed as a totally negative event. Looked at properly it’s actually a time for personal growth and new opportunities. Even if the miserable bitch / bastard in question won’t take your calls. You’re probably better off without them. No matter what words you use.

Old jokes, a disambiguation

Following a little transnational cultural mistranslation in the comments of yesterdays post, I would like to offer a little clarification. Here at the Bill Sticker Institute for the preservation of old jokes, japes and facetiousness, our single becobwebbed researcher has been moved to lift his weary Jesters cap off the pages of the ‘Bumper Compendium of Auncient Fooleries‘ by Geoffrey Chaucer (1st edition). A venerable vellum tome which we alone own the copyright to, and have the last extant copy of. So there. It’s even got the one about the ‘Last goose in the shambles’. For any connoisseur of English humour, this should be a clue to it’s comprehensiveness.

One of our helpful customer service IgorsHowever, the jest in question is more recent than that, I merely mentioned that we have a copy of such a rare volume to demonstrate how seriously old jokes are taken around here. Notwithstanding, our researcher has been despatched, capering into our catacomb like archives with a jingle, a hey nonny-nonny and a blow ’bout the cheeks with his inflated pigs bladder (Which we hope is not a permanent condition). Not to find anything out, we just want him out of the way so our trusty crew of Igors can do the real work.

What they have come back with are the references to late Victorian music hall routines, where a comic actor or actress would make the statement “And my case comes up next Tuesday.” as a throwaway punchline. The focus for this line is a mockery of the various obscenity laws then being enacted, where any heretofore innocent act would reputedly result in the perpetrator being arrested and subject to trial in the various Police or Magistrates courts. Having one’s ‘Case come up’ means that one had been summonsed to appear before the magistrates on some unspecified charge of obscene conduct. The date of the appearance to be set by the teller of the joke. To wit; “My case comes up on Tuesday” is a statement that one has been accused, and a court appearance has been set for the following Tuesday. The ‘Tuesday’ is a random variable, and has no effect on the jests efficaciousness.

Therefore; “Embrace your inner Englishman.” Made as an exhortation to behave in a given fashion, would be met by;
“I did, and my case comes up on Tuesday.” To imply that embracing one’s inner Englishman, presumably in public, was a public decency offence and having a degree of obscenity sufficient for the forces of law and order to become involved. The subtext being that the exhorted would not be complying with the requested standard of behaviour.

This particular joke has largely fallen into disuse since the 1960’s and 70’s, when its last recorded use on UK nationwide Television was on the Morcambe and Wise show. Other notable users of this specific joke are Tony Hancock and the entire ‘Carry on‘ team. Researchers have also recounted how it was also a favourite of Benny Hill.

There are those of course, who will become outraged and scream like demented toddlers that such a statement is ‘anti (Insert cause here)’ because the use of said phrase implies that their chosen cause is an offence against public mores and morals, which in retrospect is probable. But these are people who take themselves and their opinions far too seriously. Therefore we should be cautious, and approach such topics only when heavily armed. Just in case.

For those of you who don’t give a fig for trendy causes, we are pleased to announce that our playlist of young ladies getting their kit off in an artistic fashion is an ongoing project, with videos being added at least once every day or two. We are happy to add that most are definitely not safe for work.

We hope the aforementioned has been of assistance.

As an appendix we would like to introduce, at least to lovers of satirical Country music; Miss Shirley Gnome.

Interesting question

Well our guests have returned to blighty in safety, with many a sigh and parting hug. Over petit dejeuner at a cafe yesterday, we hopeless old romantics were greeted with the news that all the padlocks on Pont des Arts over the Seine are being removed, and the easy to padlock to steel mesh replaced by solid panels.

Locks and hearts brokenThis news sparked a short lived philosophical discourse about reverse causality, and the disastrous effects on all those relationships ruined by the locks removal because of the well known principle of metaphysical consanguinity. Lock represents relationship, therefore using the symbolic shamanistic principle (upon which all such beliefs are founded) the symbolism of the lock being broken or scrapped ultimately means the relationship symbolised by the cheap security device in question will fail.

Have the local authority in the city of romance and light ironically unleashed a wave of broken relationships? Perhaps divorce lawyers will be heard singing “Happy days are here again.” as their business undergoes an uptick. Could this prove the stimulus the worldwide economy needs? Enquiring minds would like to know.

Update: What the Pont Des Arts looked like about 5pm June 3rd 2015. Is there an art critic in the house?
The new look Pont Des Arts Paris

Trigger warnings and microaggressions

Trigger warningGood morning. This is a warning, courtesy of the Bill Sticker Institute for pointing and laughing at self destructive hypersensitivity. We have been informed by our lawyers, Lye, Cheetham and Runne that there are persons out there in interwebland whose single purpose in life is to detect things which might offend other people they’ve never met, and wouldn’t talk to even if they did because the offence takers are such delicate ickle bunnies. On the behalf of others, of course. Sorry, we’ve been told that describing people as hypersensitive should have had a ‘trigger warning‘ before it. We apologise for the microaggression that might be construed from this paragraph.

No we don’t. We lied. OMG! We lied! Well spank our nethers and tie us to a bondage bed (Yes please Monique, I’ll turn the other cheek). We’re not apologetic at all. Frankly we didn’t know that you might be offended, and can tell you in all honesty, that we do not care about your mealy mouthed, spineless victimhood. If you can’t take a joke you should stay out of the closet. Or come out of it. Whatever. Nobody of any account really gives a shit anyway about your personal ethnic or sexual sensitivities. Apart from our lawyers, who can smell a mobius twisted buck ten miles upwind in a blizzard.

Frankly, no-one cares if some immature, thin-skinned offence seeker fresh off mommies teats gets their panties in a bunch over what they thought was written that might have infringed upon their ‘rights’. Whatever those are, apart from some invented inanity claimed by emotionally stunted wankstains who had a hard time getting out of their Mother’s womb with someone else doing all the bloody pushing. A wet fart has a better right to existence.

We’re sorry, should we have inserted a warning of some sort before the aforementioned? Really? Christ on a bike, that’s sad to the point of derangement. Only in Academia could such garbage take hold and flourish like some bizarre, pointless, poisonous bloom kept alive for its curiosity value alone.

If anyone is offended and wants to send their lawyers, just try our nearest Bar Tabac in the Rue de Charonne, 11th Arondissement, Paris. Little bit of a rough neighbourhood but we like it. The graffiti’s spelled correctly. If the second hand smoke doesn’t get them first. Or the Pernod fumes. Or getting looked at in a funny way as they enter. Any resultant abuse will be free of charge and multilingual.


Should we have posted a warning or something……..again?

(Merry mocking laughter tinkling somewhere in the distance…)

There is nothing worth quite so much doing……

………..as simply messing around in boats. Truly. You see so much more from the rivers that still form trade arteries. Details on bridges, views of strange architecture and places, people and oddities that engage a mind more fully than any bus tour.

Recommendation: BatoBus day tours. Sixteen of the best Euros you will ever spend, and a reminder that when it comes to real Fcuk off monuments, I don’t think anyone does it better than the French. Even the most crazed dictator with a coterie of truly terrified style advisers simply lacks the flair of the Frogs for commissioning and placing poems of gilded rock and bronze around the landscape. Style. Bags of it. Even the beggars have a certain je ne sais quoi.

This is rapidly becoming my favourite city in the whole world. Although my feet are telling me not to try walking so much of it at once. Letting my pauvre pieds have the day off tomorrow, when I shall be attempting to improve my French by launching into Marc Lemonier’s epic treatise; ‘Dictionaire de Gros Mots‘. A tome worthy of minute study for the really serious student. I mean I did the stuff for the citizenship test, but you can never really claim mastery of language until you can freely bandy insults around, and understand when they are friendly banter, and when they are fightin’ words.

By way of an aside; I hear Ed Millipede has slunk off to Ibiza to lick his wounds. The moment I heard the news, the thought crept into my head; what if Millipede got all tranced up to dance naked on a nightclub table. I’m reliably informed that such events do happen in certain Ibiza clubs. And nobody noticed? Evil snigger (Simultaneously in English and French).


Those of us who blog are often accused of being “Some guy in their Mom’s basement who lives in their pyjama’s.” by ‘professional journalists’.

Now I wish to make a clear and unequivocal statement to distance myself from this foul calumny. I do not live with my Mother (as followers of this blog know, she passed away last year and I have not lived with my parents for many years). Furthermore, my Mother never had a basement. Garden sheds, yes. Attics, yes. Basements no. Mrs S and I did have one basement in our last UK property, but that subterranean space was used as the laundry room and as an occasional workshop. With the advent of Wi-Fi, I’ve even blogged from the conservatory, and yes, our garden shed when the kids were having a party. Besides, our last house was an old Victorian building and far too damp for electronics. In addition to which is our mutual dislike of dankness, we prefer the sunshine. Yes, I will occasionally concede that I have written partial posts and managed comment threads whilst in my dressing gown and PJ’s, but 99% of the time I am properly attired for the days travails.

However, here’s a challenge; ‘Like’ this post if you’ve ever blogged naked.

No pictures, animated Gifs or video clips in the comments please. This isn’t Tumblr.