Sunday 29 June 2014

Flaxen Saxon's Shit Inventions: Part II

The boffins at ‘Flaxen Saxon Enterprises’ have been hard at work inventing stuff. Clearly, my investment in these ‘creative types’ has paid dividends. Here is a selection of their more practical and innovative ideas. Order early as I have limited stock. If you want the shoe umbrella don’t forget to mention your shoe size. We include free delivery to a mental institution of your choice.

You have heard of heavy water, right? Flaxen Saxon’s diet water should be part of everyone’s healthy regime. We have removed all the deuterium oxide so you don’t have to. Guaranteed to be calorie free. An absolute steal at 5,000 Saxon groats. For informational purposes only: The Saxon groat is equivalent to 450 trillion Rhodesian dollars, at current exchange rates.

Sick of getting your shoes wet on those dreary rainy days. Fret, no more! Simply clip on Flaxen’s shoe umbrellas (patent pending) and enjoy damp free perambulation.

Ever wondered what it would be like to have two colanders strapped to your head. Then wonder no more! Head of research, Dr Teapot Mugumbo has come up with this handy device. Take it anywhere. Be the envy of friends and family.    

Dr Teapot Mugumbo, in repose

Saturday 28 June 2014

Every one Loves a Sinner, Repentant

                 Mother Teresa                                                  Discarded Foreskin

Mother Teresa has been universally lauded and acclaimed for her supposed selfless ministrations to the poor and sick. Her benevolence and unceasing work in third world countries earned her the ultimate accolade of the Nobel peace prize in 1979. The image promulgated in the popular mind and fostered by the Catholic propaganda machine, was that she was a simple, devout nun with a pious devotion to Christ and to the poor. Well this is the official story, however, the reality turns out to be a little more sordid and worldly. Read on and weep.

It appears that for all Mother Teresa’s protestations to the contrary, she was fully grounded to this wicked and secular world. On more than one occasion she sided and supported odious individuals and sundry despots. The wretched Duvaliers who wantonly despoiled Haiti until overthrown in a popular up welling of despair in 1981, were treated to a personal visit from the beatific Teresa. She praised their regime and called these vicious dictators ‘friends’ of the poor.

Remember Charles Keating? Mr Keating, a fundamentalist Catholic, was convicted of fraud resulting in the loss of the life savings of trusting investors. As he was awaiting sentencing, Mother Teresa had the arrogance and temerity to write to the prosecutor, Mr Paul Turley, requesting clemency. Of course, this had nothing to do with Mr Keating’s $1.25 million donation to Mother Teresa’s Foundation. In his reply, Mr Turley rightly pointed out that as the ‘Keating donation’ represented stolen money it would be appropriate for this money to be returned. Mother Teresa returned not a cent. I suppose you could argue that this money would be better spent on the sick providing quality medical care for the poor in poor countries. But apparently this was not the case. While millions of dollars lay sequestered in various bank accounts, earning interest, the poor continued to be treated, well poorly.

You just know something is wrong when a patron of a hospital is quoted of saying: “There is something beautiful in seeing the poor accept their lot, to suffer it like Christ’s passion. The world gains much from their suffering.”  What an interesting statement and doctrine. But you have got to ask how anything positive can come from suffering. If this doctrine doesn't make you sick, you must be a Catholic. In spite of the large donations given to further her work, Mother Teresa kept all her institutions chronically underfunded and destitute of modern health care and above all medicines. Medical doctors who visited her institutions described her facilities as ‘barbaric and unsanitary’.

And yet when we come to actual physical suffering, Mother Teresa became miraculously exempt. When she became sick, instead of being treated in her own devised and pain filled ‘hospitals’, she miraculously manifested to a modern Western facility, receiving the best  medical care.

A paedophile priest who had abused his position of power and who molested boys, over decades, and had been suspended from duties gained Mother T’s particular favour. She seemed more concerned with his succour of the parishioners than his sucking off of young boys. She wrote to the senior ecclesiastic involved: “He has admitted imprudence in his behaviour…. I must say , however, that I have confidence and trust in Fr. McGuire and wish to see his vital ministry as soon as possible.”  Of course, when you see ‘imprudence’ you should read, through Catholic goggles, ‘ buggering young boys.’ Unfortunately, the good Frater was reinstated, and true to form, continued to bugger young boys. To the great chagrin of Mother T the bad Frater was subject to secular justice, eventually, but not before destroying more young lives. Luckily for the choir, the Frater is now serving 20 years in the ‘Big House’ and I fervently hope is being ‘sausaged’ daily by ‘Bubba’, in C wing.   

So there we have it. A Catholic Saint, or a sadistic, paedophile loving, much grounded in this world, filthy hypocrite. Only you can decide.

For my mind, and if there is a god, which I doubt. But if I am wrong, and there is a god, and if justice is to be served, I truly and fervently hope, that she is barking in hell.  


Wednesday 25 June 2014

Nowt as Strange as Folk......

I come home after a hard day in the desert shaving my cat and polishing my nipple rings and I find you chilling with the neighbour's Maltese terrier 

The signal is coming in clear now. The Lord wants me to wear less clothes and to burn stuff  

Sunday 22 June 2014

Flaxen Saxon's Inventions. Part I

                                    Every home should have one
Now you can make your own dildos in the comfort of your own home. Often wondered what to do with those old root vegetables cluttering up your pantry. Well wonder no more! Simply place your parsnip (this isn't a euphemism, by the way) into this neat gadget, turn the handle and in no time you have created a dildo for every occasion. Afterwards simply chop and place in your favourite soup. No mess, no waste. 

Satisfaction guaranteed.

Free carrot with every purchase. Butt plug maker attachment available on request.

Available at your local supermarket in the vegetable section.   

                                                          For meat lovers 

Friday 20 June 2014

The Odd at Sea

Isn't this sunset/sunrise, just  divine
Bugger! We have been adrift in our long boat for many a long day. Nothing but endless, blue Pacific waters sweltering under a domed blue sky. Our supplies of water and food are exhausted and our tongues do loll and our lips do swell and crack. Thinking back it probably wasn't a good idea to put Hildraed ‘The Halfwit’ in charge of stores and procurement. He stocked the boat with cocktail novelty twizzle sticks and dehydrated water substitute. Instructions read: ‘Just add fresh water.’ Fuck. For the last few days we have been mightily quaffing our own meagre flow. Atulf says he’s been drinking his for years. For variety we have started to swap flasks. Interestingly, I can now distinguish the taste and aroma of each individual member of my war band’s tinckle. For sweetness I can strongly recommend Osric’s piss. Godcild’s piddle is full bodied, earthy with a faint hint of gooseberries, on the palate. I can’t commend Wendelbeorth’s biofluid. Tis rank, tainted and has the distinctive odour of fish heads; would make a Jute, puke. 

Next we come to the vexed issue of skin hydration. Clearly keeping our fair complexions moisturised and free of brine rime is a challenge. Hildraed also failed to store any moisturiser. Shit, no Oil of Ulay on this trip.

Note to self: ‘On return to the Great Hall, must place Hildraed’s genitals in the garlic press.'

To be continued…….

Thursday 19 June 2014

Idiot Savant

                       Kim Peek doing what he loved most. Good man that Mr Peek 

Kim Peek was born in 1951 in the United States. At birth it was noticeable that he had an unusually large head (macrocephaly) and further tests revealed he had brain abnormalities. Specifically, he lacked a corpus callosum. The corpus callosum is a band of nervous tissue which sits in the middle of the brain and provides a neural connective bridge between the two hemispheres. He was diagnosed with mental retardation and it was recommended that he should be raised in a suitable institution. His parents ignored this advice.

Kim’s unusual abilities became apparent when he was 18 months old when he revealed his phenomenal ability to remember things. As he grew older he began to read voraciously. He was able, due to the lack of connectivity between his brain hemispheres, to read separate pages with each eye, independently. In this way he could read a thick book in about an hour. Even more remarkably he had almost total retention of the information. Over his life he devoured around 12,000 books on diverse subjects such as history, geography, music, sports and literature. Little of the information he acquired was lost and he could recall information from books he had read years before.

As an adult he toured the country, with his father, amazing audiences with his astonishing memory and his ability to recall important events relating to specific dates. Apparently he supplied the inspiration for the film, ‘Rain Man’ although to the best of my knowledge, Kim was not autistic like the character, ‘Raymond Babbitt’ in the film.  

But as is often the case, with great abilities, there are also great deficits. Kim couldn't walk until he was four and throughout his life he remained ungainly and awkward. Although he had prodigious talents for recall, his IQ remained a stubborn, subnormal 87. His abilities did not seem to extend to an analytic appreciation of the things he remembered. He could retain knowledge but could not process it. This illustrates the difference between knowledge and wisdom; there was no real insight to Kim’s repertoire. Nonetheless his achievements remain astonishing and largely unexplained. 
Sadly Kim Peek died of a heart attack in 2009 at the relatively young age of 58. I suspect until the very end Kim Peek was bewildered by the world as much as the world was bewildered by him. 

Sunday 15 June 2014

Silent Spring

                                         As endorsed by Rachel Carson

Remember DDT? Wonderful stuff? Killed all life forms in a matter of minutes. I remember my dad using it on his allotment in the 1960’s. He used to shovel the stuff all over his vegetable patch. Beetles, spiders, bees, the neighbour’s cat would be on their backs in seconds kicking and spinning before expiring. Consequently, we had the largest and juiciest veggies in the locality. No spots on Mr Saxon’s marrows. I was reminded of these halcyon times the other day whilst cleaning out the garage. In the corner I found a large container of the stuff unopened. As I was having trouble with boring weevils on my tomatoes I thought it worth a try. I dusted the stuff liberally all over my garden. I wasn't disappointed. Next day the garden had taken on the aspect of a graveyard. Whole generations of creatures were bestrewn throughout. I suspect I might have driven a couple of species to extinction. I was so proud. Anyway, I was suitably impressed and moved to such an extent that I decided to pen a poem extolling the virtues of this most wondrous and versatile of chemicals.

       Ode to DDT
O, DDT where are you now, when we need you the most,
I sprayed you on my tomatoes, I sprayed you on my toast.
You killed the diptera, hymenoptera and all orders under the sun,
Watching the buggers wriggle, jump and jiggle was always so much fun.
The wasteland you produced gave me such a thrill,
The pleasure of watching things die quickens my pulse still.
O, DDT it is time for you to make a comeback,
The insecticides of today are weak and indiscriminate powers do lack.
The local rats, the neighbour’s cat, have all to Vallhalla gone,
I can’t think of a suitable end to this rhyme so I’m just going to say, Herbert Lom.

Saturday 14 June 2014

Too Poor and Dumb to Rent a Trailer

                  If only there was a banjo somewhere to make this image, sublime

This picture begs for analysis, but where do you start? There seems to be a certain degree of agitation going on amongst the participants. I suspect gramps may be the prime mover in this situation. Of course sitting naked on the wood pile and protecting your modesty with a scalding pot is probably normal fare for this neck of the woods.

Grandma says: ‘Jethro, get your cock out the scalding pot. It dun taint the chicken heads.’

Ma on the right says:Officer, take care with the scatter gun, an all. Jethro can take a shot to the head, but mind the scalding pot.’

Everyone certainly loves that scalding pot.

Why hasn't the silly old bugger taken his boots off? Methinks plantar splinters are the least of this man’s problems.

Friday 13 June 2014

Not Another Fucking Toaster

                                            That’s what you get for pissing in the gene pool    

Today is the wedding of my exalted cousin Beadwof ‘Half Dane’. I say exalted only to the extent that it behoves me to be pleasant to the king of the adjacent land of Mercia. His domain is extensive, his army of Carls is large and he has exclusive rights to the cleaning of the midden pits hereabouts. When I say we are cousins, I mean we are third cousins, twice removed on the distaff side. Taking into account the degree of inbreeding in this part of the world this practically makes us full blood brothers. Beloved Beadwof gives mute testament to the value of extending your family gene pool; there is profit in raiding the next village for women. When you start to exhibit traits such as additional toes and nipples you know that outbreeding is a distinct advantage. Don’t be fooled by the appellation half Dane to his name either. His father married his half-sister, whose mother perchance was Danish. Beadwof ‘Three quarters Dane’ never really caught on.

Methinks the prospect for successful issue from this ill/in bred union is doomed judging from the closeness of the eyes of Beadwof’s bride, Hrosefrith. She needs a vigorous sire, no doubt. I’d voluntary myself but I don't 'do', fat ugly wenches.

Wednesday 11 June 2014

Pareidolia. Me pareidolia?

                                                Mr Lighttoast Mr Mugumbo

Consider my chagrin and utter amazement to find a finely wrought image of my best friend, Mr Lighthouse Mugumbo starkly displayed in my early morning toast. Never have my comestibles been so violently and blatantly sullied.                                   

           Mr Marmite remove yourself from my breakfast Mugumbo!

In order to steady my flayed nerves I decided to thickly apply my favourite yeasty spread to my image befouled bread. As I unscrewed the Marmite jar I was immediately assailed with a second, cunningly deported image of Mr Lighthouse Mugumbo. His unmistakable visage seemed to jump out and violently mock me into an uncontrolled paroxysm of dread.

My total stupefaction was totally compounded when I went to take some solace in my morning cup of coffee.....

              Mr Latte Mugumbo

I reached for my latte to fitfully imbibe and hopefully annul my clouded senses. Imagine my consternation to find the ubiquitous form of Mr Lighthouse Mugumbo frothed into my early morning 'wake up' beverage. Enough I cried, and avowed never to break my fast again!


             C'mon Mr Mugumbo, time for your morning walk.

Sunday 8 June 2014


                                            "Today, I am mostly smiting the Tiptonites"

There is much in the bible which troubles thoughtful Christians. Most Christians are blissfully unaware as they have not read the book they base their religious beliefs upon. Also these pesky troublesome bits are never the basis for the Sunday sermon. They are conveniently ignored and brushed under the ecclesiastic carpet. As an atheist, I have read the bible and appreciate it for what it is. The Old Testament is a collection of diverse literature spanning a thousand years. It contains ‘history’ (but not as we know it), laws, exaltations, mythology and love poetry. It is written by men, often barbarous men, untainted by sophisticated philosophy. It throws light on the state of affairs at the time of writing. The men who wrote the bible where not unintelligent, but they wrote as they saw things through a lens of perceived piety. A pre-scientific world view dominated by miraculous events and an unswerving belief in their warrior storm deity. The bible is not the inspired word of god. It was written by fallible men tainted by their narrow perspective and petty prejudices.        

Saturday 7 June 2014

Japanese Sniper Found on the Roof of Dudley Aldis

Mr Teapot Mugumbo

Breaking news: A Japanese sniper has been found sequestered on the roof of Aldis in Dudley town centre. Apparently Sergeant (first class) Kendo Nagasaki was parachuted in 1944 on a clandestine mission to kill, the then incumbent Mayor of Dudley, the Right Honourable Enoch Fourtesticles. Unfortunately for Sergeant (first class) Tanto, he landed on the roof of Aldis and couldn't open the roof hatch. He has spent the last seventy years subsisting on pigeons and the occasional migrating sea bird. Although deprived of his primary mission, he thought it prudent to perform his military duty. Consequently he has spent his time sniping at the good burghers of Dudley. Luckily for Dudleyites, Sergeant (first class) Hiroshima is very short sighted.    

The only casualty appears to have been Mrs Soretwat’s cat, Mr Mittens. Mr Mittens developed a slight limp in August, 1974. When Mrs Soretwat examined Mr Mitten’s paw she found the remnants of a bullet. In her own words:  “I knew straightaway that the bullet was a type 99 fired from a Japanese Arisaka sniper’s rifle. I thought it prudent not to tell my husband, Bert, as he was suffering from a very nasty infection of the pineal gland, at that time. ”     

                                                          Mr Mittens before the accident

Sergeant (first class) Karate was only discovered when Aldi staff performed their centenary spring clean of the roof. Initially, Sergeant (first class) Bushido mistakenly took the cleaner, Mr Teapot Mugumbo, for Emperor Hirohito and delivered a ceremonial low bow. Slow thinking Mr Mugumbo mistook the opportunity and after 20 minutes of deliberating and picking fluff from his navel, twated Sergeant (first class)
Katana with a mop bucket.

Sergeant (first class) Sushi had this to say after been apprehended by the Dudley constabulary: “I am most humbled and in awe of the most wonderful innovations which have taken place during my confinement on the roof of Dudley Aldis. So much has changed. There are computers, internet, televisions and nuclear weapons. I can’t wait to return to my home in Toyama prefecture and live my remaining dotage in quiet solitude."

Sergeant (first class) Wasabi will be hanged later today, in Dudley Town Centre, for war crimes.   

Thursday 5 June 2014

The Dual Nature of the Lord is an Ecumenical Question

                                                              I expected Jesus to look a bit more Jewish

Not much point in telling Jesus to fuck off as he is omnipresent, although not always manifest. Of course, it depends whether on this occasion he is present in wholly human form; wholly divine or one person partaking of both natures. Confusing, innit? And you thought all this was decided at the ecumenical council of Chalcedon in 451AD?

On this occasion he decides to manifest at a most inopportune time. Now to my mind that smacks of cussedness, or at the very least a warped sense of humour. C'mon Jesus, give the poor squaddie a break and piss off. Your shining countenance and radiant white robes are a bit of a give away to snipers. Better still, wear battle fatigues, pick up a rifle and start helping out. I bet Jesus could lobeth a Mills bomb a lot further than most.      

Sunday 1 June 2014

Moses Loves You, Jesus Don't

                                Jesus contemplating whether he should eat Moses.

A burglar broke into a house one night. He shined his flashlight around, looking for valuables when a voice in the dark said, 'Jesus knows you're here.' He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight off, and froze. When he heard nothing more, he shook his head and continued.
Just as he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he heard 'Jesus is watching you.' Startled, he shined his light around frantically, looking for the source of the voice. Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam came to rest on a parrot. 'Did you say that?' he hissed at the parrot.'Yes', the parrot confessed, then squawked, 'I'm just trying to warn you that he's watching you.' The burglar relaxed. 'Warn me, huh? Who in the world are you?'
'Moses,' replied the bird. 'Moses?' the burglar laughed. 'What kind of people would name a bird Moses?'' The kind of people who would name a Rottweiler Jesus.'