Latest Posts

Choices, Earlier

Mocking Furriners

With all the brouhaha surrounding the Ginger Prince’s choice of bride and concomitant embarrassment of The Oprah Interview, allow me to highlight a couple of his earlier long-time girlfriends:

 

I can’t help thinking that either of the above would have been better choices.  But that’s not all.

See, in the old days, the royals didn’t so much find soulmates as diplomatic alliances, arranged by the respective families.  So had the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha-Windsors followed established precedent, the Royal Ginger would now be hitched to any one of the following, for example:

Princess Alexandra of Luxembourg:

…although I think this multilingual diplomat would have been way over the Royal Ginger’s intellectual punching weight.

Princess Elisabeth von Thur und Taxis:

She’s older than Harry, but then so is Duchess Whinge.

Princess Theodora of Greece and Denmark:

The last is actually related to the current Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, but the royals have never let that kind of thing get in the way.  And she’s also an actress, so maybe that would have given her the inside track.

And had Harry wanted to be all woke ‘n stuff and marry outside the Ango-Saxon tent, there was always an outside chance of an arrangement with Princess Sirivannavari Nariratana of Thailand:

“Princess Siri” would cause all sorts of problems with Apple People nowadays, which just adds to the fun.

In any event, I can’t help but think that hitching up with any of the above would have had a better outcome for old Harry than what he’s tied to now.  And I’m fairly sure the other members of the Britishland Royal Family would agree with me.

FIFO

Immigration

While waiting for my Chinkvirus jab yesterday at CVS, this Mexican woman came up to the pharmacist — a Chinese immigrant, as it happened — and started trying to tell him her problems with her Rx script, and also asked where could she find some product or other.

She could not speak a word of English.  When he asked her for her birth date so he could pull up her Rx record, she just stared at him blankly.  Then she repeated everything she’d said earlier, as though this was going to change everything.

Amazingly, the pharmacist actually made some sense of the second part of her speech, and said, “Aisle Number 8”, which was met with the same blank stare as before.

Then she started to get angry, and began her little speech again, only louder and irritably, whereupon he said, loudly, “ID?”

That she understood, and groveled around in her Mexican purse (a.k.a. a well-used plastic Fiesta shopping bag), then handed it to him.  He looked up her record — gawd knows what would have ensued had it been a fake ID or something — and shrugged.  “You can’t pick these up yet;  it’s too soon.”

Well, if “Aisle Number 8” was beyond her, that little explanation wasn’t going to fly.  So she grabbed her ID card from his hand, and stormed out of the store.

If immigrants to this country want to take a wild guess as to why they aren’t welcomed with open arms, this would be Exhibit #1.  What got me was not just this fool’s inability to speak English, but her testy attitude when the pharmacist couldn’t speak Spanish.  You would think that before coming to deal with a problem, she’d at least bother to learn a few English words to help her get her point across, but noooo.

What really got up my nose was that the pharmacist — also an immigrant — spoke excellent English;  he’d had to learn it in his mid-twenties when he came over fro China and enrolled at University of Texas to get his degree (as I learned when I was chatting to him afterwards).  In other words, he’d not only learned a foreign language but an entirely different alphabet, and earned a medical degree in that same language.  No doubt at some point he’s going to get a corporate reprimand for his lack of customer service skills.

I know that he probably moonlights as an agent of the ChiCom Party, but I’m still on his side.

And I am even more determined not to bother to learn Spanish (something I’ve been idly considering over the past few months).  Fukkem, and FIFO.

Shot

Gummint, Health

New Wife and I had our anti-Chinkvirus shots yesterday.  Here’s my proof:

Now I want to have it silk-screened onto a couple white t-shirts, with the following statement:

Enough is enough with this timorous foolishness.

Style Points

Friends and Family, Music

I have written before about my old band Atlantic, and with great affection of our late lead guitarist, Kevin.  While I tried to describe his guitar playing, I feel I didn’t do it justice.  But now I can.

As I was stumbling and bumbling around the Internets last night, I happened upon this oldie, and if you want to see exactly how Kevin played, note the virtuosity of Focus’s Jan Akkerman — and it is absolutely no exaggeration to say that in playing this song (as Kevin used to do, just for practice), his and Akkerman’s style, down to the way they held their guitars, are identical.  (Nobody in our band, and quite possibly nobody in the whole world could ever sing like Thijs van Leer.)

Kevin had better hair, though.

Enjoy.

Quite Understandable

Business, Gypsies Tramps & Thieves

Seems as though the British holiday camp chain Pontins is in hot water with the Gummint Over There.

You see, they’ve apparently been using a hmmmm social filter when booking people into their establishments, to whit:

Pontins used a secret blacklist titled ‘undesirable guests’ to ban customers with 40 common Irish surnames in a bid to stop Traveller families booking holidays at its resorts.
Families with surnames including Boyle, Doherty and Gallagher were all barred by the company, with staff told ‘we do not want these guests on our parks’.
Employees also monitored calls and refused customers with Irish accents.

Why oh why do they hate the Irish so?  (I know, I know, but stay with me here.)

Discriminatory practices included the ‘undesirable guests’ list, published on its intranet page, monitoring calls within its contact centre and refusing or cancelling any bookings that were made by people with an Irish accent or surname, and using its Commercial Vehicles policy to exclude Gypsies and Travellers from its holiday parks.

Ah, now all is explained.  You see, when (the mostly-Irish) gypsies descend on a place, several things happen, none of them good:

  • Petty crime increases (pickpocketing, burglary, bagsnatching and car theft, to name but some)
  • Violent crime increases (armed robbery, fights that often turn deadly, and murder)
  • Ordinary law-abiding people see all this and leave, often never to return
  • When these parasites eventually leave, they leave behind scenes like this:

So to the bedwetters and handwringers:  It’s not racism;  it’s self-preservation.

Identifier

Men & Women

From now on (if I remember), I’m going to put a little dot at the end of all my posts which can serve as an “identifier” — I mean, if the LGBTOSTFU can do the rainbow thing, then why can’t I, and people of my persuasion, have their own identifier?  Here it is:

And what does that little bee-like color scheme indicate?

Obviously, it depends on your sex as to which one — women or men — that you’re attracted to.  I, for example, and hopelessly attracted to this kind of (massively heterosexual) woman:

 

 

 

I could go on (and on, and on, and on…) but I think you follow my drift, here.