Month: December 2018

Broken Bones

Crime

In response to the scourge of “moped thieves” (louts who rob people, often violently, then speed off on little — stolen — 50cc scooters and motorbikes), London’s Metropolitan Police have instituted a policy of “chase and knock down” — in effect, chasing after said thieves, then ramming them with their cars if the criminals refuse to stop.  To the surprise of nobody, this has been extraordinarily effective in getting arrests.

[pause to allow the cheering and applause to subside, on both sides of the Atlantic]

Of course, knocking some little scrote off a moving motorcycle can cause injury, and has.  (Okay, you can knock off those catcalls and jeers now, my ears are hurting.)

And predictably, the Usual Suspects are wailing that this is Crool & Hartless, and Nobody Deserves This Rough Treatment, etc. etc. etc.  You’ve heard all this nonsense before.

If you follow the above link however, do not miss the Comments section below the article.  And in case you don’t have time to go over to the Mail‘s website, here are but a few of my favorites:

“Forgive me if I see violent criminals being injured as a bonus.”
“I’m just disappointed they’re not reversing back over them.”
“I don’t care if they suffer breaks to all the bones in their bodies. Quite frankly who cares?”
“Good job. Don’t stop.”
“Who cares about dead robbers? The more the merrier!” — and from one man who could well have been one of my Loyal Readers:
“Don’t chase them, very dangerous, use snipers!”

And here’s the reason for the anger and vitriol.  Most of these larcenous little fuckers (and they’re almost all teenagers, by the way) have little problem in using violence to rob people, whether the weapons are hammers, clubs or machetes — imagine having your arm nearly sliced off just so that some little shit can take your iPhone — which is why the public, if the commenters at the Daily Mail  are at all representative, are so angry about all this.

Furthermore, the use of mopeds means that these armed robbers can roam all over London — meaning that nowhere is “safe” anymore — thus this kind of crime can affect literally anyone in the street, and it is:  from grannies to housewives to toffs and to other teenagers, all are potential victims.

No wonder people are cheering.

Trends

Food & Drink

…and not any trends that I can enjoy, either.  Here’s the first:

Trendy cafes ban ‘superfood’ [avocado]  amid fears they are damaging the environment and boosting criminal cartels

Seriously?  Feel free to read the whole thing, but it may make you ill when you see how the Trendy Elite justify total foolishness.  (Then, on the other hand, these are the same people who read the Guardian and the NYFT, and blindly vote Labour / Democrat [i.e. socialist], so small wonder they’re vapid idiots.)

But if you thought that was stupid, try this piece of utter bullshit:

Chef Heston Blumenthal reveals newfound taste for GRAVEL after adding pebbles and rocks from his garden to soup

So, to sum up the meals of the future:  avocados bad, gravel and pebbles good.

Got it.  Fucking morons.

Censors And Their Censoring Ways

Freaks & Loonies, Two-Minute Hate

Aaaaaargh FFS I’m just about to explode with rage over here.  Why?  Because the Language Police are out in force, trying to circumscribe my speech yet again, but this time from another direction.

It’s bad enough that I can’t say the words “snigger” or “blackball” without some fucking snowflake or race hustler getting triggered and calling me Worse Than Hitler — we’re all familiar with that form of PC regulation.

Guess who’s next?

Here’s the list of ‘helpful’ suggestions from PETA for teachers to use with their pupils instead of the current ‘harmful’ phrases. It recommends:

  • ‘Let the cat out of the bag’ is changed to ‘Spill the beans’
  • ‘Be a guinea pig’ to ‘Be the test tube’
  • ‘Hold your horses’ to ‘Hold the phone’
  • ‘Open a can of worms’ to ‘Open Pandora’s box’
  • ‘Bring home the bacon’ to ‘Bring home the bagels’
  • ‘Put all your eggs in one basket’ to ‘Put all your berries in one bowl’
  • ‘Kill two birds with one stone’ to ‘Feed two birds with one scone’
  • ‘Take the bull by the horns’ to ‘Take the flower by the thorns’
  • ‘Flog a dead horse’ to ‘Feed a fed horse’
  • ‘More than one way to skin a cat’ to More than one way to peel a potato’

Now the fucking vegans have to get involved in language?  Great Caesar’s bleeding hemorrhoids, isn’t there any  part of my life which can escape the censure of these bastard busybodies?

[deep breath]

I think the best thing I can do (apart from some activity involving an AK-47 and a few Molotov cocktails) is to offer up some suggestions which escaped the above list, but that we may use just to antagonize these pricks a little further:

  • Bleeding the lizard (male urination)
  • Choking the chicken (male masturbation)
  • Spearing the bearded clam (shagging)
  • Harpooning a whale (fucking a fat chick — a twofer, because body-shaming)
  • Bonking a buffalo (ditto)
  • Poking a panther (fucking a Black chick)
  • Tonguing the trout (cunnilingus)
  • Eating an eel (fellatio)
  • Playing with the puppies (fondling a woman’s breasts)
  • …and all the expressions involving the word “pussy”, e.g. pussyfooting.

If anyone has any other suggestions, go at it in Comments.  I’m too angry to think.

No I’m not:  I think I’ll go and roast me a leg of lamb for dinner.

Here’s the source:

In fact, this may be our best revenge on these gastronomic Puritans:  every time you read something about vegans that pisses you off, make yourself a meat dish for dinner.  Or go completely overboard at lunchtime:

*I should point out that “Open Pandora’s box”  is probably offensive to some feministicals because of its quasi-sexual connotation, but I’ll let them fight it out with the vegans, preferably with nuclear weapons so we can have a little mutually-assured destruction.

Okay, that thought put a smile back on my face.

No Mercy

Crime

Somebody explain to me why these people should not be publicly scourged when caught:

Parents have been urged to check playground equipment after thugs attached razor blades to a slide.
Potentially deadly blades were cellotaped to a slide in Winifred Lane Play area in Aughton, West Lancashire – and left in a prime position so children could easily slice open their hands.

Here’s an example:

Now go ahead and tell me why I shouldn’t start assembling the whipping-frame.

Snatchers

Entertainment

Some Brit toffs just got married at the groom’s future digs (which he gets when his dad snuffs it), said shack being so vast that no ground-level photo can quite do it justice :

Now ordinarily I am disinterested in the couplings of nobility;  the nuptials of Lady Fontinella Waxwork-ffolkes and Lord Beastly Stiff-Upper-Lypp pass by my gaze unnoticed, and even Prince Harry’s marriage would have been disregarded by me but for the fact that the poor royal ginger ended up with some foul feminist Hollywood slag and was therefore only worthy of comment insofar as I predict that this unfortunate alliance will not end well (you heard it here 455th).

Anyway, the thing which caught my idle glance in the above report was this unfortunate description:

“George, the Marquess of Blandford, 26, married childhood sweetheart Camilla Thorp, 31”

Say what?  I’m assuming / hoping that he wasn’t 5 years old, and she 10 when they became sweethearts… oh wait, it turns out that they met ten years ago when he was 16 (not really a “child”, was he?) and she ummmm…. carry the two, 21.  That’s a fair age difference but not overly so.

Phew.  I am relieved.  Of course, had this liaison been consummated in Murka, she’d have been facing statutory rape charges at some point (assuming that they’d started bonking soon after first meeting, as seems to be the custom these days), but I suppose the aristocracy has a much more benign attitude towards this kind of thing so it’s okay, albeit risky.  (Remember that Chinless Charles married Super-Sloane-Ranger Di when he was in his thirties and she yet in her teens, and we all know how that turned out.)  Also, the Dukes of Marlborough are outrageously wealthy, thanks to Great-Grandpappy Marlborough marrying a Vanderbilt girl, so maybe there’s a different rule for the rich when it comes to bonking sixteen-year-olds.

Anyway:  congratulations and good luck to the happy couple, who seem to be quite charming.  And as wedding pics go, you have to admit that this isn’t one of yer ordinary backgrounds:

And all over Britain can be heard the gnashing of desperate debutante teeth as another eligible “catch” escapes their hooks.

Another age-distinct couple got married recently, and their backdrop was also rather special:

That’s the Umaid Bhawan palace in Jodhpur, but it’s not likely to be owned by either the bride or groom anytime in the future, as they are neither royal not even noble.  Like we couldn’t tell (note the bride’s ceremonial hand tattoo UGH):

Anyway, he is someone called Nick Jonas, a one-time (or current?) pop star of whom I know nothing except that like the future duke (above), he’s 26.  His bride, like the Royal Ginger’s wife, is some houri actress named Priyanka Chopra, and who like the Marchioness Blandford is older than her husband, but she by some ten summers.

At least this couple are not “childhood sweethearts”:  the thought of a twenty-one-year old woman bonking an eleven-year-old boy… well, you know.

This marriage, I give a couple of years.  Call it a hunch.

The Doom Wagon

Crime, Drive Time

My friend Doc Russia has a fixation about being prepared for any eventuality.  His gun collection is, shall we say, comprehensive — so much so that the last time he rode out with the North Texas SWAT team (a gig he volunteers for, uncompensated), he arrived with his latest toys and one of the guys burst out:  “Damn, Doc!  You’ve got better gear than we have.”  And it’s true.

One of the things that the SWAT guys need is transportation for the emergency doctor who rides out with them — to be more specific, transportation for Doc’s successor, because of course, Doc’s ride (which we his friends dubbed the “Doom Wagon”) could probably not only survive a nuclear blast, but also outlast the cockroaches which would survive that.  Even Keith Richards would shake his head and give up.

For those who are interested in such things, it’s a Toyota 4Runner, although after he’d finished with the mods, it looked like nothing Toyota ever dreamed of.  Here are a couple pics, just for you to get the idea:

All this came from Doc’s need to be prepared for any eventuality:  it’s a bugout wagon par excellence, and as you can see from the latter pic, it carries spare fuel (it has to, ‘cos it be thirsty, mon).  Also inside is a giant medical bag, to save lives, and to take lives (if necessary), a semi-auto rifle in a hidden compartment and a spare Glock 17 in the glove box, along with shall we say an adequate  sufficiency of ammo for both.  Alert Readers will have seen the light bar, and the snorkel for deep-water fording, but would not have seen the massive steel underbody plate, the beefed-up adjustable suspension or the built-in air compressor (to be able to re-inflate a tire in case of a puncture).

So much do the SWAT guys covet this beast that Doc promised to transfer it over to them should he ever have to quit the gig, so his replacement would have its full use.  (It’s even deeded to N. Texas SWAT in his will.)

I don’t know why I’m using the present tense in all this, because last week the Doom Wagon was stolen out of the hospital parking garage while Doc was on duty in the ER.  According to an eyewitness, it wasn’t gone in sixty seconds;  the pro team of thieves (which it must have been) only needed about half  that before driving off in it.

So while Doc was saving lives in the emergency room, some fucking bastards stole his truck.

He’s insured, of course, but that’s not the point.  I’ve been with him almost all the way in his quest to create the perfect utility vehicle — we’ve sat and talked and argued about this option versus that option, weighing cost vs. performance vs. utility and so on — and in the end, all for nothing:  gone to a mope with a crowbar and a screwdriver.

Here’s what’s interesting.  Needless to say, Doc’s medical kit and the two guns with it are also gone, but that’s not what bothers him the most.

You see, his eight-year-old daughter’s favorite water bottle, complete with her name engraved on it, was also in the truck — and when I picked him up from work, he was most upset that he was going to have to explain to her that yes, there are bad people in the world, and because of them, she’ll never see her water bottle again.  It would have been her first experience of evil because like most good parents, he’s tried to shield her from the ugliness as much as he could.  No more.

You don’t  want to hear the details of our revenge fantasies, should we ever lay hands on these bastards.