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.