It's Never Aliens: Nothing to see here.....

And so the much awaited report has been released by the US. The document is 9 pages long and mentions 144 unidentified objects. As expected, this short report is not ground breaking and there is avid speculation as regard to the 'unclassified' portion of the report, that was not released for public consumption.

There is nothing in the report that wasn't known already. It mentions various 'explanations', including extra-terrestrial and extra-dimensional origins.

Predictably, the Pentagon has been accused of a 'cover up' and that the juiciest observations have been omitted. Also, predictably, the 'conspiracy  crowd' have gone wild with condemnation.

Here is a direct quote from the report:

'The limited amount of high-quality reporting on Unidentified Arial Phenomenon (UAP) hampers our ability to draw firm conclusions about the nature and intent of UAP.'

As expected, nary a word concerning abductions and especially 'Anal Probing'. If you have been reading my blog you will know that this topic is very close to my heart (Arse), as I have been anally probed by aliens on multiple occasions, usually after imbibing copious amounts of strong Ale. Here is a couple of examples for your viewing pleasure. I've included one personal example and a further example concerning my good friend, Mr Ipod Mugumbo (for it is he). Nuff said, for now.......

  The Flaxen Saxon Chronicles: Search results for aliens anal probing  The Flaxen Saxon Chronicles: Search results for mugumbo anal probing

Life Detected on the Planet Tipton

 A concerned reader writes:

Dearest Flaxen,

I write to express my strident, trenchant, and irrepressible viewpoint. It has not gone unnoticed that your posts of late have become unrepentantly sensible. No longer do we hear the forthright adventures of 'Shagger the Wonder Ferret'; the rollicking peregrinations and antics of George Formby and his grilling ukelele (the lard just rolls away). There is nary a reference to Tipton, errant Japanese snipers, filthy thieving gypo bastards, or Arthur Askey's shenanigans prior to and after losing his legs and cock in a sequential series of increasingly contrived and barely credible accidents. No mention of the hackneyed Prof/Dr/Mr. Mugumbo or of lugless Douglas- he of bereft/sans pinna fame. No incendiary inspired tales of woe or increasing bizarre ruminations of a man teetering precariously on the edge of the abyss that is insanity/inanity. Has your medication finally put paid to the cascade of aberrant thought processes that once flowed unceasingly from your mental vault of derangement?

Dear Concerned Reader,

Thank you for your concern. I confess I detect a degree of weariness in your tone. But despair no more! Due to a pharmacological oversight, I haven't received the correct drug dosage that damps down my more lurid and florid thoughts for quite a while. Therefore, my aberrant synaptic electrical impulses have become unleashed and are no longer burdened or labour under the rein/reign of the brain's executive control. Whoop, whoop.

Yours,

Flaxen  

   

Breaking news from our science correspondent concerning news of our closet neighbour in the cosdross, Tipton. For today it can be revealed that convincing and intangible evidence has been unearthed that life apparent may exist on Tipton after all. Tipton, of all the boroughs, was considered the least likely to support life due to its complete and utter feculence. Even Netherton, North West, was considered a more likely candidate due to its abundance of Alehouses.

From his observatory, somewhere in Dudley castle, Professor Ipod Mugumbo, opines thusly: “Whilst looking through a lens darkly, I espied Mrs Winifred Plumpbutton, naked through her bedroom window. Afterward, once satiated, I trained my optical organ to the neighbouring borough of Tipton. I put the olfactory sensors on to maximum and was promptly rewarded with the distinct ordure of faggots and mushy peas with a hint of brown ale. Could it be that I had detected the unmistakable scent signature of primitive life? It has long been speculated, by folk with a tenuous grasp on insanity, that Tipton could be the repository for life. Not complex life, or life as we know it but a vile and low form of existence. However, the exhortations have been cast adrift by others who fart loudly in supermarket aisles adjacent to the exotic lard counter."

This startlingly stark observation has nonplussed the scientific community as far away as Merry Hill. A renowned Dudley chemist, Dr. Deepfat Fryer, had this to say: “We must first rule out more mundane and arcane possibilities. For the universe and the West Midland environ is a fickle mistress, full of perfidy and icky poo.”

The next stage in this well-versed farce/arse is to send a probe unto the Tipton miasma to captivate a representative of this putative life form. The probe, code-named, the number 127 bus from Birmingham to Dudley is hoping to arrive next Sunday at approximately 3.30pm depending on the vagaries of the weather, traffic, and last-minute time table alterations. The bus will be driven by Cap'n Jean-Luc Pickarse. He will boldly go into the void where no baldy bastard has gone before. This intrepid escapade is dependant upon the munificence from the prominent Dudley entrepreneur and dedicated wanker, Mr. Earlobe Musky-Bollox. He has promised to invest the full fare from Birmingham to Dudley at the proscribed tariff.

                        Pickarse (Arse) has let himself go a bit

Additional motive force will be provided by the ejection from the rear of the vehicle of several hundred Japanese snipers at frequent and allotted intervals when cresting a hill. Thus thrust will be supplied according to Newton's 4th Law of Motion: Slopes roll down a slope. Dudley, at this time of year, has a glut and surfeit of diminutive, shortsighted, and rhotacism prone adherents to the God/Emporer, Hirohito.

The probe will enter the inhospitable Tipton area after a detour through Smethwick West. Onboard will be the state of the art detection and capture apparatus: some bloke with a net and pointed stick. Prior to entering Tipton, a predictable gaggle of ferrets will be released to reconnoiter the dodgy neighbourhood. The band of ferrets will be led by the inevitable, Shagger, the Wonder Ferret. It will be recalled that Shagger was the first ferret to be placed down Arthur Askey’s (I spank you) voluminous undergarments with hilarious results- I digress.

Dudley, we have a problem

The voyage is not without its incipient dangers. The bus could get lost in the vast reaches of the West Midland environs and end up bereft of purpose somewhere in a canal. Furthermore, a virulent form of life, called the ‘gypo strain’ could inadvertently catch the bus back and be unleashed on an unsuspecting Dudley populous. Imagine hordes of gypos demanding money for lucky heather and wooden pegs. On the upside, everyone has a lucky face.

Renowned Dudley artist (arse) and invert, has produced an impression of what the alien life form could look like. The xenomorph, ‘Stinky Eric’ or aka, the itinerant inebriate, has been rendered in crayon. If captured, Stinky Eric will undergo extreme cauterisation with chlorox and DDT. Afterward, Eric will receive an extensive and prolonged anal probing. This will no doubt celebrate the numerous occasions when Flaxen was callously and extensively anally probed by aliens with uncut fingernails.

                                                   The Xenomorph in his element/milieu
                          

Afterward, the organism aka 'Stinky Eric', will be returned to his natural environment, aka the Tipton Wet Hostel. 

The probe after rear entry

Fibonacci Sequence

Okay, enough with this COVID-19, although it looks as if New Zealand, after 6 weeks of lockdown is about to enter status 2 after a moderate run of no new (or few) cases. Well done NZ! Although it is a lot easier for an isolated island country with a small population to control this sort of thing than land connected, populous nations.

Today, I would like to consider, albeit briefly, the 'Fibonacci Sequence'. This mathematical progression is easy to understand even by those with an intense aversion to everything number and mathematics. Tis a sad reality, that most folk avoid mathematics and consider the concepts too hard to learn. Well, it is true that maths ain't the easiest topic to master (no one can master all mathematics) but it is well worth the effort. If you do bother to put forth the effort then you open a whole new and powerful vista that will put you on the solid path to intellectual Nirvana and you might develop into some form of a deity. Enough bollocks, let's tackle the subject in hand.

The sequence is named after the Italian mathematician, Leonardo Fibonacci as posited in his 1202 book, 'Liber Abaci'. Fibonacci was not the first to describe this number sequence and it was appreciated by Indian mathematicians at least 2,000 years ago and perhaps as long ago as 450BC.

The Fibonacci sequence in all its formal glory: An unending sequence where each term is defined as the sum of the two preceding numbers. Let us examine a simple case as outlined below.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34,....... on until infinity and perhaps beyond.

Thus, we can represent this sequence with the following mathematical formulae.
Fn=Fn-1 +Fn-2,
Where n is a positive integer greater than 1 (<1); Fn is the n-th Fibonacci number with Fo=0 and F1= 1. Seems simple, doesn't it?

You may consider this sequence as just an interesting number progression of pure theoretical appreciation without any practical consequence. But oddly enough this is not the case, well at least in certain instances. While it is true that great swathes of pure mathematics are pursued for their own intellectual rigour without any practical benefit, in the case of the Fibonacci sequence unexpected results insinuate and reveal some of nature's dark secrets. As an aside, or digression, I wrote a post in a previous incarnation about Professor (not Mugumbo) Andrew Wile's prodigious effort in proving Fermat's last theorem. You can read it here. As I understand the situation, the proof has absolutely no practical use but it has engaged the best mathematical minds for nearly 400 years. Wile's proof is a clear example of pure intellectual endeavour for its own sake. Some may argue that this is a waste of effort for a brilliant mind. Shouldn't Wiles have been directing his prodigious intellect into a useful practical aspiration like the pursuit of world peace, or the production of fusion power? Obviously, opinion is gravely divided on this topic. I am of the opinion that pure 'blue sky' research is worthy of contemplation and effort even if it produces no obvious benefit; to be honest, most research undertaken, in the majority of fields, is practically useless. After all, I spent three years researching dandelions.   

Dandelions: A very underestimated plant, in my opinion

Getting back to topic.   
If we take any two successive Fibonacci sequences, the ratio of these numbers gives a close approximation to the Golden Ratio (Phi= 1.618034....). And indeed, the larger the numbers used in the sequence the closer the approximation. Phi is another example of an irrational number and therefore represents an unending and unyielding sequence......Some folk aver that if Phi is translated into form and dimension then it represents 'ultimate beauty', whatever this may be. Phi has been imbued with almost magical and majestic qualities. Its form has insinuated its way into art and architecture. The great polymath, Leonardo Da Vinci was fascinated with the 'Golden Ratio', which he termed the 'Divine Proportion', and incorporated its geometry into his works of art including the 'Mona Lisa' (or perhaps not- see later discourse).

The council is about to poison the rabbits in our neighbourhood

The Fibonacci sequence is represented in nature, although perhaps not to the degree as claimed by some adherents. Indeed, there are those of a mystical bent who consider the sequence to represent a secret code of the universe implanted by benevolent aliens (how quaint- what happened to anal probing?). Returning to Leonardo and his weighty tome, 'Liber Abaci': here we are introduced to the association of the Fibonacci sequence with the fecundity of one of nature's most prolific breeders, rabbits. He considered the following scenario. Imagine a male and female rabbit, who love each other very much. In a month they produce issue of a single male and a single female. After a month the progeny (incest works- look at Adam and Eve) also produce a litter of a male and female rabbit. This improbable biological sequence continues and after a year we are in receipt of 144 rabbits which, of course, is in accord with the Fibonacci sequence. Another example involves certain aspects of plant growth. Thus, the spiral configuration of leaves, petals, and pine cones in a variety of plant species follow this benign natural rule. Other supposed associations in nature, oft-repeated by scientists and lay folk alike, have been found to be false and totally unfounded. Famously, the coils of the nautilus shell, and other mollusks, have been deemed to follow this esteemed pattern however on close inspection this has turned out to be a complete fiction (bollocks)- there are other examples; too many to enumerate and stark and persistent rationalist rigour/vigour has found these so-called associations, wanting. It seems that our brain has been fine-tuned, over millenia, by the mechanism of natural selection and evolution, to appreciate patterns in nature that are conducive to our primeval survival. We have a natural tendency to 'over- associate' and herein lies the problem. Add a hefty dose of mystical insanity/inanity fictional  'pattern association' becomes unsurprisingly banal and commonplace (tautology reigns-arse).  

This is not a dandelion

It seems that Da Vinci's 'Mona Lisa' may not be a cast-iron example of the Fibonacci sequence (and by extension, Phi), but the results are not definitive and consequently subject to much debate by art experts and mathematicians alike. Although it is true that Da Vinci was well aware of the sequence it is not always obvious that he was consciously inserting this mathematical form into his art- we have no written evidence by the man supporting the Phi contention.

Due to 'blogging' constrictions/restrictions, I will have to leave the topic there, hanging like a ripe plum on a plum tree (what else?). However, I do believe this topic is worthy of further attention. A second more elaborate post is in fruition- just waiting for the plum to fall from the tree. 

Not quite ripe, yet

Ken Pod

Ken Pod with his proctology 'wand'

Sir Ken, ‘How Pickled I Am’, Pod has died in pieces at a rest home in ‘Tipton on Canal’. Famous for his anal probing stick which would insinuate into any public orifice on display. His catch phrases were endless; who can forget: “Oohh missus where’s me anal probing stick. O no, it’s rammed up your big, fat, ARSE.” And the timeless, “Ooohh missus I’ve lost my wrist applied chronograph. Has it slipped up your ARSE to remain supine on the second colo-rectal shelf?”  He did laugh.

He was often on stage with a coterie of midgets. They would shout and prance upon the stage caterwauling and howling like demented banshees. Occasionally, as a team and en masse, they would run offstage and retire to the local hostelry, ‘The Felching Ferret’, for a cheeky 15 pints of ‘Ole Scrote Blaster’. The audience didn’t seem to care or notice as they were mesmerised by Sir Pod’s frenetic antics. His hair would stand erect and move with the air currents in a hypnotic sway of despair. Meantime our buck toothed entertainer would regale and amaze the audience as he ate an apple through the mesh of a tennis racket. A true testament to his rather large protruding gnashers and dedication to flossing.    

Pod would cackle off jokes with rapid fire delivery. Here is a random selection of his most memorable routines: “Well missus, take my mother in law, call me a taxi; call the taxman”. And who can forget: “My dog has no nose”, with the inevitable report, “How does he smell?” and quick as a flash, Pod would reply, “He can’t you dozy cunt. Didn’t I just tell you that he’d lost the power of olfactory sense?”

His manager, Mr Tenpercent Magumbo, had this to say on the recent demise of the much loved comic: “A true comic genius with immaculate timing. We will never see his like again. Always paid his taxes on time except when he didn’t. A man of integrity who had a poor track record with engaging creative accountants.”

Mrs Generic Mugumbo, of no fixed teeth, was unable for comment due to a particularly rampant and purulent case of moist scrofula.  

Sadly Sir Pod was never suspected of nefarious sexual activity involving midgets.

We have lost Ken Pod, Prof. Steven Hawking and Jim, ‘Could Have Been a Caravan’, Bowen in just a few scant days- surely there is no god!

  

Pissed Midgets

DULL

I wrote a post about 'Dull News' in Newspapers about a year ago. It tackled the mind numbing banality and often vapid news stories which erupt in small town England. The sort of thing such as, 'Dog bites man' and other reports of mind numbing inanity. You would think in an age where all the world's news is just the flick of the wrist and a finger fumble away there would be something important to report. But small town England (bless em) is content within its parochial and short sighted viewpoint and is keen to ignore a global theatre full of majestic drama and frank insanity. Can we really blame folk in Chippen Camden if they contemplate, not at all, the complex weave of international politics and its Machiavellian machinations? Much better to drink herbal tea on a fine summer's afternoon and smell the roses in ones perfectly maintained garden. Simpler times, indeed.......

So there we have it, for good or for ill, Flaxen's dullest news stories from a place not near you, possibly.

Shock horror! How could it be that 'Boots the Chemist' is closed? Perhaps the shoppers came outside normal opening hours. Surely this story needs to relayed to all the good burghers of Smalltown so it doesn't happen to them. Arse biscuit.

Add caption

Poundland thief has struck again. What could our master criminal be using the tin foil for? I suggest he is making a tin foil hat to save himself from an alien abduction and a good hard anal probing. Fear not good citizens for Inspector Mugumbo of the Yard is relentlessly persuing the thief with his crack 'Poundland Squad'. Fumble biscuit.

Sunny Birmingham, is a city not far away from my home town of Tipton. Clearly there is mysterious link between the Papa's visit and his resignation. Could it be that after visiting this incredibly crap city, Pope Mugumbo suffered a deep malaise culminating in a desparate despond precipitating his spiritual desolation? I think we should be told. Only Brum can do that. Crack biscuit.

Why not release your anger and frustration with a good 'tanty'? You could always take out your frustration on the little kiddies, especially the one who comes into your shop for a 5 pound item and labourisly counts out the amount in pennies.... Deserved of death in my opinion. Finger knob.

Shit, aren't all 2 year old boys noisy? Why not offer the little brats 10mg of Valium with their blue pop. That'll slow the little buggers down. Muffin bollocks.

 Pareidolia strikes again! Imagine the Editor: "Hold the press, we need to get this picture of spilt milk into the early edition. Look, it slightly resembles a sheep with black legs, how fucking amazing. You better be quick because there is a light drizzle forcasted and we may lose this beloved artefact and the populous of Taunton may never see the like again". Ferret, moist crinkles.

Shit on a stick. Imagine you are a patient on a busy ward and instead of a gown the harrased over worked nurse produces a pillow case. As you already have the requisite number of pillow cases you are at a loss of what to do with the surplas variety. Mayhap you could cunningly fashion a gown with a pair of scissors and surgical tape. Or you could place the unadultered garment upon your head and shout: "Wibble bollocks". I prefer the latter; it takes less work. Fart numbing buttocks.

Yea, this why I advocate involuntary euthanasia for the over 80s. Come on, let's face it most octergenarians are completely useless and gaga. Would be a kindness after all, Poor Alf has not received a letter in years, except from a rather frisky Maltese, called, Peanut. Woof, bloody woof.

O dear, the hat up the tree phenomenum. And a red 'bobble' hat at that. Surely this is some sort of spoof? Published on the 1st April, perhaps? No further commentary required.

Refer to previous. The hat was of obvious sentimental value. Clearly little of criminal consequence occurs in this soporific backwater. The police should instead harras motorists and extort money for minor infractions. O bugger, they do this already.

That's enough today folks. Today is my birthday and I have a duty to engage in some serious drinking with my second bastard seed. 

Mr Mugumbo Abducted by Aliens, Again!

Mr Mugumbo just before the anal probing 

Shocking news has just emerged from the picturesque black country town of West Dudley. Read on and ponder your existence anew.........

Mr Bibulus  Mugumbo (of Dudley West) claimed yesterday, that as he left his local hostelry 'The Felching Ferret' late last Saturday night, he was abducted and thoroughly anally probed by slime producing aliens.

Mr Mugumbo picks up the story with characteristic gusto: "Er, I had just quaffed my sixth pint of creme de menthe extra when I decided to wander outside for some fresh air. As I left the public house my senses became eerily dulled and the world began to spin in a counterclockwise direction. Just before I lost consciousness I became aware of a descending disc surrounded by a pulsing blue light and my ears became assailed by a piercing siren like noise. I surmised later, that the aliens (for it is they) befuddled my wits with ethereal electromagnetic radiation. Unfortunately, on this occasion I had left my flat cap lined with tin foil at home. When I awoke my hands were restrained by alien technology unknown to man. I had been deposited in the hold of an alien space ship which can only be described as a cell. It appeared to teem with strange alien beings uttering incoherent sounds. Occasionally one of the extraterrestrials would gush forth foul fluids. The whole floor was awash with exotic and rancid smelling ichor. It was at this juncture I became aware of sundry deposits in my undergarments. I deduced that this represented frank testament to my own anal probing culminating in the leakage of sundry bodily fluids. As I speak, I fear the aliens are using my semen to impregnate an alien race to produce an invincible army of killer robots. The spacecraft finally landed and disgorged my raddled carcass onto the main Dudley thoroughfare. My head was pounding after my terrible ordeal and I could only relate my heart rending tale after drinking a further 6 pints of creme de menthe extra, whereupon I was promptly abducted by aliens, once again. This will be the twelfth time I have had the distinction and indignity of being abducted by an alien life force called constable"   

Mr Mugumbo will appear in the Dudley Magistrates Courts this Tuesday charged with public intoxication. If convicted this will be his twelfth conviction for drink related offenses.    

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrse

Artists rendition of the alien