Thursday 28 September 2017

Politically Correct Shite

Apparently, we are not allowed to say 'blackboard' any more. The politically correct alternative is 'chalkboard'. What is wrong with the word, blackboard? It describes the item very well and I'm at a loss to why it should be considered offensive. Frankly, I'm appalled by the word 'chalk' as it refers to a racial group deficient in melanin; consequently, I find the word 'chalk' highly offensive. From henceforward, in order that my sensitive sensibilities are not trampled upon, I insist that the aforesaid racially charged item should be referred to as: melanin impaired; challenged; deficient; absent; bereft; constrained; unapparent; indiscernible; unobservable; unperceived; amelanin; imperceptible; unnapparent, board. Please choose the phrase that gives the least offense, to everyone. If someone intrudes and challenges your narrow, but still valued view of the world, find a safe space, sit down, take a deep breath and think pure calming thoughts. Or better still hang round with tofu eating, vegan, gender fluid feminists and chant ohmmmmmmmaaaaaarse until your welfare cheque arrives.  

Let's be honest, most of the PC crap originates from 'right on', liberal left, arts Professors and their hoodwinked student lackeys. As always, they are the vocal, whingeing minority. Most folk consider politically correct utterances divisive jargon and an affront to free speech and commonsense. It makes my piss boil and not because I've set alight to my underpants, again.
Read on and weep........  

What's the matter with photon depleted or photon disenfranchised?  Why have a perfectly good descriptive phrase, 'black outs' when you  can introduce ambiguity and absurdity. 

PC bollocks and organic veganism- who would think there would be a connection: 'Let them eat meat'. If you look carefully you can see that the 'ginger bread figure' on the right is testicular enhanced. And surely, the word 'ginger' is offensive to rangas, everywhere.

Note the diversity of hues belonging to the disembodied hands. But if you look carefully you will see a glaring act of omission. I find this sequence racist and an affront to the law of sequence continuity. All races are represented except white Caucasian. The hands in panels 3 and 5 obviously belong to Orientals (are we allowed to use the word Oriental, these days? (I've only recently stopped saying 'Paki'). My hands are Lilly white- where is my representation?  I'm feeling oppressed, undervalued and highly offended. I'm off to riot, loot and burn stuff until my rights as a: bipedal humanoid, cis-gender, patriarchal, Caucasian, stature elongated, economically enfranchised, follicular enriched, hypo-pigmented, finely aged, knowledge accomplished, burgherdom status is respected forthwith (and hitherto, just for good measure).

Gender neutral marshmallow snow being??? Tell me this is a spoof or have we, as a society, descended, nay slithered into the pit where the light of reason shineth, not at all (aka augmented aphotonic, epistemologically depleted, subterranean environment).

A ray of sanity interveneth.......

Just to redress the balance.

Dat's more like it.

Thursday 21 September 2017


I can't whinge about the NHS anymore as I've migrated to New Zealand. The health system in NZ is modelled on the UK and consequently, suffers the same strengths and the same demerits as the good old NHS. My wife suffers from rheumatoid arthritis and is a frequent user of the service. In May she had surgery on her cervical spine and last week she had an emergency op on her lumbar spine. In this regard, I can find no fault. The acute service here is amazing. If you really need prompt medical attention you will get it and the quality is second to none.

If you want your bunion clipped or a hernia operation then proceed to the bottom of the waiting list. Waiting times are a problem unless you have the gelt to go private. Then, of course, everything happens in a bright flash. I rarely burden the health service, but last year I required investigation for a 'bad back'- the bane of the ageing bipedal human. I chose the private route, without medical insurance. A week later after receiving excellent diagnostic testing I was relieved of $1000 and told I had arthritis of the spine; old age is finally taking its toll. I'm not complaining about that. It was my choice and I had the quick reassurance that I was not suffering from something more sinister, such as an autoimmune condition. However, if you are ever unfortunate to visit the Emergency Department, except when the  'All  Blacks' are playing, expect a long wait; generally a very long wait. And if you turn up on Friday or Saturday nights, well don't.

In my experience, the NZ doctors and nurses in the public system are well trained, dedicated and overworked. My wife's neurosurgeon is highly qualified, highly skilled and has a genuine concern for patient care. He could bugger off to the States and earn huge amounts-  he's a brain surgeon, after all.

My gripe concerns the administrators and especially senior administrators. The people want shorter waiting times and the government responds not by allocating more resources, which requires more money, but by placing pressure on the senior administrators who run the various district health hubs. I understand that resources are limited, tis all about money after all and hence tax money and there is only so much shearing of the sheep that is permissible. For that I'm thankful. So what do administrators do? Well, one thing they can do is ensure that patients/clients/stakeholders/consumers: read as to current buzz-word, spend the absolute minimum time in hospital. Once stabilised post-op, you are out. It matters not that the patient, in the best interests of medical care, should have received a few extra days of medical supervision. The inpatient turn round times look good on a graph at board meetings and the CEO gets his/her $200,000 annual bonus. The incumbent government can gloat verily about current statistics and everyone involved in the healthcare business, including senior administrators, knows its all, absolute, complete, bollocks.         

Tuesday 19 September 2017

Stating the bleeding obvious

A few weeks ago I wrote a piece about signs stating the bleedingy obvious. As this post was received with mind-numbing apathy I've decided to repeat the process. Also, this type of post is piss easy to put together as the pictures write the story. Being a particularly lazy, but wonderfully put together fella, imbued with idleness and sloth, this sort of post suits my nature. All have to do is add is a few dry, wry, laconic comments and then I can bugger off to the pub for a quart, or two, of refreshing ale with my beer drinking ferret, Shagger.

Read and be amazed.

To be honest it is probably better to throw away the pizza and eat the box as far nutrition and taste is concerned. Have you tried Domino's pizza these days? The advice on the box is clearly aimed at the product demographic: dumb, young and intoxicated. 

Perhaps aimed at the consumer with a lacklustre appreciation of the gravity concept. Though to be fair most folks don't understand that gravity is merely an artefact of mass warping space-time. You know that 'civilisation' is doomed when you start to see this sort of advice. Of course, the folks who don't know which way up to hold a cup are also unlikely to be able to read. 

I've done some stupid stuff when I was a young man. I suppose it's a natural part of growing up. Luckily, most men learn from experience and come out the other side as decent citizens. For some folk, it is a near run thing. And for a sad minority it turns out to be their continuing reality. There is nothing as sad as seeing a middle-aged man acting like an immature teenager. And being drunk is never a valid excuse. From a developmental perspective they have become stuck. The learning process has become bypassed and they are doomed to become a target of ridicule, for ever. When I was 19 and drunk, I might have thought it a good idea to sit on a patient and inert crocodile. Luckily, for the furtherance of mankind, I never had the opportunity.

Now for me, this is sound advice. I'm drawn to fire. It activates and titivates a primeval atavistic desire. As I've aged, I have managed to keep my incendiary proclivities under control. There are those who aver that I burned down my alma mater (Tipton Secondary Modern) the day after I left. Scurrilous rumours, say I. The circumstantial evidence might have been strong, but the rozzers could never pin it on me as they were reliant on a frank confession, which they never got; eat your heart out, Inspector Drysdale.

Anyway, the notice is rather sensible. Don't ever throw your children onto a fire. C'mon, kids are precious little dumplings. However, if they are really naughty you could always expose them to a little, light singeing.  Nuff said.

If you don't know how to check whether your baby has had a shit then I suspect that this parenting thingy is not for you. Just get a ferret, they shit and piss all over the place. No need for a nappy, just put paper down in every corner. For some strange reason ferrets like to shit in corners. I've always thought it wise that prospective parents should undergo some form of IQ test. Those that don't make the grade are then sterilised. It's an observation of mine that those folk least fit to be parents are the ones that have the most kids.

Continuing with the bad parenting theme. Although it has to said that if you wash item with little L'Oriel (pronounced: poor white/black trash) still inside you will be saving on water and energy. And we must take care of the environment or hippy, greeny, whiney types get very upset. 

Not sure what to make about this disturbing image. When would it occur to anyone to stick a fuel nozzle up their arse (arse)? Takes anal probing to a whole new level. "Honestly doctor I slipped in the petrol station forecourt".  

Enough insanity for now. I promise my next post will be quite sensible about sensible stuff, honest.

Tuesday 12 September 2017

The man who stares at sheep

Looks a bit like Jesus, but a bit Slavic looking for my taste

How would you like to earn loads of cash for doing bugger all? Sounds like a dream job, doesn't it? Surely no such job exists except in the realms of fantasy or a fancy in a madman's dream. But you would be wrong.

Let me introduce you to Braco. This fella holds an audience in his thrall and induces mild hysteria. So what does Braco do to deserve this devotion and attention? Well, not a lot really. He stands on the stage and gazes beatifically into the middle distance. That's it. For the privilege of watching Braco stare wistfully, you can expect to part with $10 for a 10 minute staring session after the obligatory flim flam introduction by his acolytes. At his best, he can entertain 10,000 people a day. This makes Braco a very wealthy man, indeed.

His adherents say that Braco's gaze has healing properties, although Braco has never explicitly stated that his gaze can heal he is clearly complicit with the notion and has never denied the claim. Actually, we never get to hear Braco talk on his 'abilities' as he never gives interviews or talks in public, at all. Tis all part of his mystique and enigmatic character. Usually, scam artists are adept at the patter and have a certain verbal charm and elegance/eloquence. Not so with Braco, he has stripped down the process to a bare minimum. It is even reckoned that simply staring at a picture of Braco will elicit peace, harmony and a cure.  

There will always be folk looking for a spiritual quick fix to find meaning and happiness in this life. Likewise, there will always be those who are happy to exploit the gullible and hard of thinking out of their gelt. Shamans, priests, gurus, televangelists and other charlatans have always been there to benefit financially. Rarely do mystics provide a service for free. And not only do they make money they make a hell of a lot of money. So much for the austere spiritual life. 

And is often the case with 'gurus' he has attracted celebrity endorsement. Apparently, Naomi Campbell is quite a fan. Why we should take heed of an unpleasant, air-head, clothes horse is completely beyond my ken.  

I've left a couple of links for my reader's perusal. I'm interested in hearing other opinions on 'Braco the Gazer' in the comments.


Monday 11 September 2017


It has been incumbent upon myself to invent a novel device for the measurement of testicular movement in all three planes. This is a neglected area of study and to date, I can find no article dealing with this most sensitive of topics. I, therefore, provide valuable and ground breaking research into this vexed area of study. Truly imbued with the pioneering spirit it is my fondest desire that others will take up the challenge and cast new light onto the field of scrotal metrics.

Try this at home
This invention was suggested to me after taking a hot bath, and noting while lying naked on the bed, the random, rapid and independent movement of my testicular tissue, without the intervention of external forces. I have been researching this phenomenon for many years and have come to the sound empirical conclusion that this represents normal scrotal behaviour after a thermal challenge. Hence, I have invented, the ‘Scrotometer.’ This device allows quantitative and objective measurement of scrotal activity. This is a scientific instrument that anyone can make in their home and should be a ‘must have item’ in every man’s bath room cabinet.

The Technical bit………
After a leisurely bath, simply take a sterile wooden skewer and insert into the posterior portion of the scrotal sac, taking care to avoid sensitive testicular tissue. Please note, a metal skewer will not do as the weight detracts from the instrument’s sensitivity. Place a child’s crayon on the non-testicular end of the skewer. Feel free to choose a coloured crayon of your choice. I like to use a mauve crayon as it contrasts nicely with the blend of seminal fluid and blood. Try to avoid an erection during the process. Place a piece of card or stiff paper next to the crayon. Your palpitating scrotum will do the rest. Consequent renditions make a suitable counterpoise for your living room d├ęcor or failing that you can stack them adroitly on your coffee table.

Friday 8 September 2017

More shit about Tipton......

How pickled I am.

The Mayor of Tipton, Sir Enoch Vowel Jnr III, announced today that Tipton will host the forthcoming ‘Miss Gypo Universe’ contest. Sir Vowel is earnestly seeking a compere to judge the prestigious event but unfortunately suitably slimly and ingratiating ‘hosts’ keep dying by the bus load. It was hoped that Sir Benny ‘How pickled I am’ Pod would be in the running for the job. However, it was revealed that Pod had actually been dead for the past five years unbeknownst to his manager and wife, Trixie Bell. Apparently, Sir Benny’s high blood alcohol level had prevented major decomposition and his inactivity was ascribed to a period of rest following extensive dental surgery.

Already, glamorous gypos from all round the West Midland Metropolitan region have been clamouring to register for this once in a life time event. Sharon ‘It’s not eczema it’s impetigo’ Mugumbo, from Dudley North East, is as excited as a ferret eating polystyrene and gushed wantonly: “I be so excited, innit. I can’t wait to meet *****". Complete as necessary from the following 'celebs' according to current animation status:  Ben Pod (dead); Arthur Askew (dead); Henry Kissinger (mostly dead from the neck down); Richard O’Sullivan (not sure if he’s dead. Will have to Gogle it. Definitely did not look well last time I saw him in Aldi); Wee Kranky McSherbet (not looking good, might not make it to the podium). Sharon can’t wait to grapple with Chardonay ‘Hep C’ O’Magumbo (Smethwick West), in the emptying crap everywhere and not paying taxes round. She is certainly a strong contender in the whippet hurling and being drunk and obnoxious in the local hostelry playoffs.

If she wins the contest Sharon would like to work with children displaced by war and hunger; foster goodwill amongst all nations; promote world peace and round up of the inhabitants of the Gornal Wood gypsy encampment, hand them over to the special Einsatzgruppen battalion for special treatment and liquidation with extreme prejudice.

Laudable sentiments indeed, Miss Mugumbo.  

Sharon in repose

Tuesday 5 September 2017

Charles Robert Darwin

Behold a great man

Charles Darwin was typical of the gentleman savant of 18th/19th century Britain. An amateur meddler who, because he enjoyed financial independence through inheritance and land, could do as he pleased. And fortunately for the furtherance of science he chose biological research.

Charles Robert Darwin was born in 1809 to English landed gentry in the town of Shrewsbury, situated north-west of Tipton. Darwin was originally destined to become a physician, like his father, and began study in 1829 at Edinburgh University. However, Darwin was not enamoured with the profession and had the ungentlemanly (not a real word, but you get the drift)  habit of fainting at the sight of blood. Darwin's father thought that a change in career choice would be in order and Darwin dutifully resumed his studies and prepared for a career in the Church as an Ordained Minister. During this time Darwin developed a passion for natural history and geology and he was fortunate to come under the wing of a succession of eminent scholars. In 1831 he was awarded a BA degree in Theology. Darwin was considered a lack lustre student and perhaps a poor intellect by his father and peers. In Victorian England the route to the parish was paved with the sons of the rich who were considered not bright enough to pursue a conventional career in Medicine or Law.

Darwin's zeal to embark on a life as a 'Country Parson' was non-existent and in 1831 Darwin obtained passage as resident naturalist on HMS Beagle. For the next 5 years the Beagle would explore the Southern Atlantic before traversing the Straits of Magellan and entering the Pacific Ocean. Stopovers were frequent on the mainland and the many islands encountered en route.

As the ship's naturalist, Darwin took a keen interest in the exotic fauna he encountered. I'll not dwell too much on his research as it is not the purpose of this brief post. Needless to say his experiences whilst on the Beagle gave forth to a germ of an idea which when fully matured gave birth to his theories on natural selection and evolution. His famous book: 'Origin of the Species' was finally published in 1859. Even without his work on natural selection, Darwin would be considered an exceptional scientist due to his ground breaking work in geology and biology in general. He was the foremost authority on earthworms, beetles and animal husbandry. What is so astonishing is that he never received a formal education in the sciences. Darwin represents the last of the Great English Gentleman Naturalists.

Darwin rushed his book into print because it became known to him that he was not alone in his conclusions. The Englishman, Alfred Wallace, had also worked out the same thesis. A Gentleman's agreement was swiftly reached and papers written by the two men were presented at the Linnaean Society in 1858. How interesting that these men, working at that time and independently should arrive at the same intellectual place? Curious indeed, but not unprecedented. It is to be remembered that Isaac Newton and Gottfried Leibnitz invented infinitesimal calculus at the same time. In the case of Newton and Leibnitz no gentleman's agreement was reached resulting in a nasty, permanent, petulant break between the Great Men.

In regard to the theory of evolution, all the pieces of the puzzle were available to the astute biologist of the mid 19th century. It took a genius to place all the bits of evidence into a comprehensive whole. Actually, the theory of evolution is deceptively simple, so simple that only a genius could have worked it out. So what were the great Darwinian/Wallace insights? It can be considered thusly:

It is an observation that organisms will rapidly breed until a check intervenes. Most likely this will occur due to an exhaustion of available resources, usually food.

Individuals within a species differ in their behavioural and physical characteristics and these characteristics are heritable.

Changes in the environment drive selection. Those organism best suited to a given environment, at a given time, thrive and beget more offspring than their less 'biologically fit' brethren. Thus adaptive traits become fixed in the surviving population. Over eons large scale biological change can occur in a population resulting in the formation of new species. .

That is the quintessence of evolution. The rest is mere commentary- go read.

It is difficult for modern educated folk (most at least) to imagine the impact Darwin’s theory had on the scientific community and Victorian society in general during the mid 19th century. Most scientists welcomed the theory and rapidly assimilated its implications. The established church and those of a conservative nature, or of a pious disposition (often the same thing), recoiled in horror. The advance of science was almost complete in removing the need for a deity to describe nature and natural phenomenon. The ‘God of the gaps’ had nowhere to scurry and shrivelled under the cleansing light of the scientific method (you couldn’t resist waxing lyrical, could you Flaxen?). As for poor Wallace, the man never received the credit he deserved. But this was not of Darwin’s doing. Darwin remained, always a fair, equitable man and it is not Darwin’s fault that history has been unkind to Wallace. Perhaps one day I’ll redeem and redress the balance and give fair credit to Wallace’s contribution. Or perhaps I’ll forget, who can say?

If you would like to gain insight into Darwin and 'Evolutionary Theory', consider the following links and be amazed: Darwin influences   Preamble  Evolution