Shit, this story has it all. Guns, sex and space aliens.

I suppose you've got to ask why she was packing heat in her vagina. Most gels would simply put their .44 magnum in their snatch bag. I’m hoping she didn't leave it in during sex. Poor fella would go off half cocked. I fully understand why she pulled out a gun- now that must have been an interesting scenario. You have got to admit, the topic of space aliens is a contentious one. Next time I discuss this vexed issue with the mistress I will astutely study her body language. If she starts rummaging around in her twat, I’m leaving da building. 

Of Pixies and man...

Atheism is the most misunderstood doctrine. People are confused. So to set the record straight let us determine what atheism is and what it is not. Atheism is a lack of belief in deities. Thus it is not a positive belief. The atheist, as such, therefore does not have to defend his position or offer evidence for his stance. The onus of argument and proof rests solely with the theist. In the same way that a non-believer in pixies is not required to posit evidence for non-belief in pixies. If you believe in pixies it is incumbent on said individual to provide rational evidence for their belief. Otherwise, their belief exists outside rational scrutiny, and therefore is not worthy of sensible consideration.

There is a lot of baggage when it comes to being an atheist. People make assumptions. Atheists are amoral, immoral, communists or nihilistic. It is true that all of the preceding characteristics are not incompatible with atheism, but this is not the point. There are atheists who are communists, philanderers and full of despair, as are Christians. The point being that when someone tells you that they are an atheist all you can discern is that they are a non-believer in gods. Nothing else is discerned. Atheists don’t have to agree on anything else, whether in politics, morality or philosophical stance. There only common accord is atheism.

How can morality exist if there is no god? A world without god will surely lead to anarchic and immoral chaos. But surely a moral code can exist without a belief in god. We know it is wrong to kill, steal and covert your neighbour’s wife. These basic tenets are necessary for any well-ordered and civilised society. Indeed, you could argue that an atheistic morality is superior as it is justified by the merit of doing good and is not tinged and influenced supposedly by rewards or punishment in a mythical hell or heaven.

Surely let us enjoy this life. Feast, drink wine and make love to your wife. Arse…..

“Do not pass by my epitaph, traveller.
But having stopped, listen and learn, then go your way.
There is no boat in Hades, no ferryman Charon,
No caretaker Aiakos, no dog Cerberus.
All we who are dead below
Have become bones and ashes, but nothing else.
I have spoken to you honestly, go on, traveler,
Lest even while dead I seem talkative to you.”

Hello Dad......

This piccy was taken of my father after a heavy drinking bout at the Christmas tide family party. Sadly the old man is not the murdering old bastard he used to be. He's  delusional and a bit  farty. Sometimes he thinks he's a small furry gerbil called Gerald, sometimes he's a sausage. Today he is mostly Miley Cyrus, hence the tongue a protruding. I much prefer his incarnation as Gerald. A lot more cute and a lot less 'twerking.'

Afterward the prominent men of the family met and debated whilst the women folk tended to the scalding pot. The agenda was a short one. It concerned the dispersion of land and spoils once the sad, but inevitable day came, when my vainglorious father descended/ascended to the feasting hall that is Valhalla. Initially my father was of the mind that all his chattels, land and sundry items should be bequeathed to my half brother, Hrofgar 'The Bastard.' Anyway, after a brief exchange of views, my poor halfling brother was found dead; feathered by a dozen yard arrows. Murdered by a wandering band of Jutish warriors, no doubt.

Thereafter, my poor gerbil of a father scurried unto a disused mine shaft and expired. Sad family tragedy. I cried all the way whilst inspecting my new kingdoms. So, my father was burned on a funeral pyre and his soaring soul was dedicated to Woden. As for his reward, it is said on the wind, that true adherents are bestowed with 40 Jutish virgins in heaven. Frankly I'm disgusted, even the prophet waited until they were eight.

 As for my poor, dead,
half brother, Hrothgar.....

This is a rendition of dad, on a good day. 

My Faithfull Wolf Eingar, in Repose

I love that wolf, I really do. I found him one night foraging round the midden pit eating dead gypos. 'Good boy, Eingar!' Ever since we have become constant companions. He feasts on the entrails of my fallen enemies and small kibble.

Got to admit though, in this picture, he does look a bit like a furry cock and balls.

Mr Potato Head

Arrrgh, my eyes, my beautiful blue, eyes………

Shit, do you think he was a beautiful baby? I’m guessing, no. I suspect he was a large child and a big boned adolescent, finally turning into a fully-fledged, fat cunt. Probably has to rummage round for an hour just to find his dick. Half the time he just comes up with a bit of old spaghetti which became lodged in the crevices and rancid folds. Mayhap he has a nice personality and does a lot of work for charity, but I doubt it.   

In the Great Hall: Part VIII

Okay, so Echolalia wasn't wearing this exact same outfit when she visited me in the Great Hall. C'mon she's a chick and has more than one outfit! Have you ever searched on google images using the phrase: 'Red haired warrioress with gold breastplate with pierced nipple holes.' Jeez, give me a break..... Arse.

Harold the Herald: “My Lord Flaxen, Echolalia ‘The Amazon’ and her chief minister are at the great door of the Great Hall, craving an audience.”

Flaxen: ‘Bring them to me.”

Echolalia stood before Flaxen, bedecked in the finest Jutish cloth and wearing a breast plate of spun gold. Two holes had been cunningly wrought in the plate and Echolalia’s nipples poked through in erect and pert defiance. Flaxen stared blatantly at the nipples and seemed oblivious to the astonishingly crafted fretwork. In contrast, Flaxen’s son, Deirdre seemed to care nought for the maid’s teats and instead his eyes lingered over the flamboyant, ostentatious and resplendent cuirass. He wondered how the smith had fashioned the lush and discreet niello accents making the whole ensemble a bedazzling display of 9^th century craftsmanship. Flaxen thought she had nice tits.

Flaxen (for it is no other): “Echolalia, what brings you here?”

Echolalia: “What brings you, here?”

Mendacity ‘The Minister’: “We come to forge an alliance. A mutual bond between our folk in a crusade against the Golders Green Jews.”

Flaxen: “Us Germanic folk have always treated the Jews with love and respect and it will always be so.”

Mendacity: “But the Jews have usurped the land. They say it is Canaan and it has been granted to them by their warrior storm god, Yahweh and his consort Asherah. They will not leave and they are dug in deeper than a tic on a hound.”

Flaxen: “This is of no concern of the Tipton Saxons.”

Mendacity: “But they are swarthy complected (not a real word), have hooked noses and say shalom, a lot.”

Flaxen: Shalom, you say!

Echolalia:” Shalom, you say?”

Flaxen: “Forget what I said previously. I am convinced. We shall oppress this people and they shall rue the day they ever uttered the accursed word, shalom.”

Ecolalia: “Shalom.”

Flaxen: “Also I am capricious, quirky and full of whims.”

Mendacity: “We march together, on the morrow!”

Flaxen: “Raise the host we go to war with the Golders Green Jews! Henceforth this quest shall be known as ‘Pogroms Progress.’ My mighty sword, ‘Arse big fat arse biter’ will smite many a Jew, this day.”

Echolalia: “Arse.”

Flaxen: “Oy vey……”

To be continued………

Mom Would be Proud

Oh well if you look like this your career options are rather limited. I'll take a wild stab in the dark on this one and guess that he is a hardened  criminal. Of course he could be a scion of society and a noted professional, although I doubt it.  Even MacDonalds would balk at this one. Couldn't even get a job in a hospital kitchen. Not front of house sort of shit, I'm talking about the lower life creatures which invariably end up washing dishes (Arse). The poor bugger is Maori, so doubly condemned.  

Life is inherently unfair and cruel I hear you say. Aint that the sad truth. But some don't make it easy for themselves. Must try harder. Me? I'd shoot twats like this in da face. No future, no hope and a complete drain on society while he draws breath. I suppose I'm no bleeding heart socialist- go figure....