ODA : Illustrating The Continuity of Crap
ODA : Distinguishing between The Stick and The Beater
If No News Is Good News,
How Is It They Keep Manufacturing It ?
POO FROM ABOVE – THE ROBIN’S TALE
An evolving descriptive picture of our dear revolving land
Pt I of VIII
THE BIRD FEEDER
I had a native Robin who used to bumble about the garden, minding his own business, living quite happily to our mutual benefit keeping inspect pests down. He did then live so happily by simply keeping himself to himself pursuing his trade of eating ground worms, beetles and pests various taking especial interest in sudden population booms of any particular thus keeping the (chemical free) ground in balance. Various native birds other came and went, pursuing their speciality particular and moving-on when they’d fed enough or exhausted the offering of the day. So also did the migratory foreign types when it was their time of year for them to pass through. All in all everyone got along splendidly.
One hard winter I bought a bird feeder.
I hung it on my patio and filled it lovingly with seed . …
It was indeed, a beautiful bird feeder.
It hung there for some time and many local birds came to rely on it in the hard weather
It did what it was intended to do – get them through shortage.
However as time passed, some took advantage, became lazy and fed from it all the time and forgot where to get their natural food from.
Then all of a sudden, from what seemed like nowhere, we had hundreds of foreign birds coming to the garden and taking advantage of the continuous flow of free and easily accessible food source.
Then the incoming birds started building tatty nests on the house, in the chimney, in the eaves, under the boards of the patio, one on the garden table, one under the barbecue and, many in the local trees . …
They drove my Robin away and took over his nest and those of many other native species who have always lived locally. A few stayed on on the perimeter of the garden but they were either old, ill, or couldn’t fly very well having got no intrinsic ability to fend for themselves beyond their familiar habitat.
Then came the bird poo.
It was everywhere; on the house, on the patio tiles, on the the chairs, the table, the barbecue . . …
Then some of the new birds turned nasty.
Some would dive bomb me and try to peck me for more feed even though I had just fed them out of my own pocket.
Other birds were boisterous and loud.
They sat on the feeder and squawked and screamed at all hours of the day and night and they demanded that I fill the feeder when it got low on food. Some of the native species who were left in the area saw this and joined-in with the incomers in all manner of behavior even adopting their calls at times, especially the younger ‘Bro Birds’ who were then apt to emit to all the cry ‘Yo-Bro Yo-Bro Yo-Bro’. Then there were some who tried to talk like scousers
(Always going on about Al Lah)
After a while, I couldn’t even sit on my own back porch.
So I took down the bird feeder and in weeks all the incoming birds were gone, but for a Mr Ahmed Bird who was awake working away most diligently for 18 hours a day at his little corner nest selling just about every grub and seed you could think of (including some curried maggots I’d never heard of but seemed to sell quite well). He never made a sound and was never was any trouble at all to me nor any other. I left Mr Ahmed where he was and put some seed out for him but he politely refused saying he preferred to get his own through honest trading.
I cleaned up the mess of those gone and took down the many nests now uninhabited (and what a state I found many of them in – some had seed from Mr Ahmeds hidden in the corners and the majority where decorated with cheap shiny rubbish they’d picked-up from wherever they could get it). All had gone but for a Mrs Leroy Bird whom I hadn’t noticed ’till then as she kept inside cleaning others mess up for all the hours God sends. I left Mrs Leroy where she was, offering her some seed. Her response was as/ Mr Ahmeds.
Soon, then, the back garden was almost like it used to be . . …
Mostly quiet, serene and none demanding their rights to a free meal, but for a rump of native birds who had lived locally, had got used to the free seed and had fed alongside the foreign species when they arrived. They couldn’t understand that there was now no free bird seed to be had, (indeed that was all the younger ones knew; for them there had always been a bird feeder –
ie They didn’t have anywhere else to go to as they had always known there to be free bird seed).
Those younger ones then mostly drifted off one by one to join all the enveloping HM’s Armed Flocks to be worked to death, but fed. Then having no concern as to where their next meal was coming from and being in close formation with others of the same species, that kept them focused and free from worry, and generally not too much trouble to any
The Enemy Handed Down To Them.
Unfortunately those that survived that employ, when they left, little was done to help them cope without;
but we digress and that’s for another piece, or more.
The few remaining around the garden set out to steal from Mr Ahmed but when driven off by his now grown-up sons, tried to find food by attempting to forage for themselves – with very limited success.
HM Government have seen what I’ve done and decided that no matter what effect the reduction in departmental budget has on The Ministry of Feeder Supply Chief Secretary’s pension, the removal of free feeders, except to those who need them and in times of national shortage and hardship for native species, is to be the Government policy future.
Now when all had quietened, Mr Robin has returned, picked-up where he left-off and continued to feed-off the garden pests.
He makes most of his droppings on the garden, this fertilising the ground to our mutual good.
Those done off-piste are negligible as he seldom overflies the house having more interest in minding his own business staying where his natural food source is.
Mr Ahmed continues to quietly trade in his corner nest and is quite relieved that the thieving Blackbird gangs aren’t around any more. The youngest Ahmed chick is going to work at the local sanctuary for injured birds and the second eldest is going to be an accountant. (Oh well, there’s always one in the brood). Ahmed and Robin get along famously and there is even talk of Mr&Mrs Robins’ chicks flying out with Mr&Mrs Ahmeds’ (chaperoned of course). Mrs Leroy is cleaning Robins nest + Mr Ahmeds nest at the moment as Mrs Ahmeds ill. When Mrs Ahmed is well Mr Ahmed is going to give Mrs Leroy her first holiday ever then put her in charge of his new second corner nest. Robin is teaching Mrs Leroys only chick, Delroy, the trade of pest control. Delroy pisses himself laughing watching the odd feral native species left in the garden still scratching around at random, now not knowing how to do it properly.
Oh well, such is the way of slow, natural, evolution.
I did look over my shoulder at the events past and it does raise inevitable aspects & questions: Why did I continue to work to feed that which is not mine knowing the time of emergency instigating the handouts had past, and then continue further then knowing by observation of behaviour and events that they, the interlopers, will continue to feed off me ad infinitum, even when there is no necessity to do so ?
Then I tried to find someone to blame – I turned round for the culprit but couldn’t find anyone but myself.
Then I tried to blame the incomers but sheer logic defeated me. I had allowed them in and induced them to stay by feeding them, and, after all what they did was just their nature.
Conclusion: Ergo, I was the cause of my own discomfort.
🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁
Pt II of VIII
I’ve heard nothing of, or from the departed foreigners, but, I have had a couple of nasty visits from our local Ist-ist Polezei ‘Ladies’ the first of which hammered on my front door at 8 o’clock one Tuesday evening, firstly ostensibly making enquiries concerning ‘a stolen motor carriage’. I informed her in full and in all truth that I knew not thereof any particular that be stolen, and further, knew naught of any but the mass usual of the machines same of this glorious law abiding land which get borrowed and never returned every day by the naughty boys. Further – My motor carriage particular was perfectly safe and remaining where I left it. She then ‘lost her cover’ and indeed, lost her cool, and started berating me at length regarding seedism, eventually leading on to a shouted declaration that I was a ‘Seedist’ and if she had her way I should be sent for ‘re-education’ at one of their special centres for my ‘rocking of her family’s perch so much’. She was very upset telling me that both her husband and brother work at The Ministry of Feeder Supply and will now be made to retrain for other duties when, after 23 years service each, they’d both got used to the tick boxes they had and couldn’t face having to learn 3 new ones as they’d only 2 more years to retirement. Ist-ist Lady said she’d had a word with her cousin, Trafficop, and I’d better watch my driving from now on, and her Uncle Brother, The Magistrate, had been told of me ‘down The Lodge’, AND if I ever got in the back of her sister-in-law Ijabem’s ambulance, I wouldn’t get out again except in a body-bag.
Ist-ist Lady then became REALLY agitated ranting that ‘She could see an end to Ist-ism if people like me were allowed to carry on the way we were doing’ and ‘She was an officer of HM and beholden to HM to hold up HM’s laws and HM had never handed down to her apparatchiks an easier way of suppressing the raft of previously uncomplaining taxpaying grafters the establishment floated on other than Ist-ism’.
I told the squalid little shit to fuck-off, shut the door and downloaded the video of her intrusion from my front porch camera onto You Tube.
Then I had a nice cup of tea.
Until . . . ……
Ist-Ist Lady II arrived . . . …… Hammering on the door at 11 o’clock one Sunday morning:
I was about to ask her if she indeed be of the esteamed constabulary or of one of it’s ersatz spin-offs, as she was, as/ Lady I, affecting such with the reversed ID badge holder worn, when it occurred to me that as I was awaiting news of my push-bike which had been stolen last year by a (white) youth seen riding away into the distance – What news of it pray tell dear Apparatchik Lady ?
Ist-Ist Lady didn’t want to know anything about my polite enquiry and got even more irate at my asking her something which she seemed to have no interest in. I managed to calm her down with a few pleasing words concerning my recent donation (*well . . . … ‘supposed’ – naughty me !) to The Tavistock Foundation for its further detailed research into advanced ist + ist-ist-ism. > *Memo to Self: Must turn Catholic, dump this burden of guilt and ease my leaden conscience – Some time <
Moreover I assured that as she and her sister Ist-Ists were doing such good works that there was a strong distinct possibility of them rendering all UK to an Ist-Free Zone.
I also pointed out to her that should she, and her fellow anti-ist-ist operatives, indeed do come ever out of work due to their own success I will create a special tick-box for them alone in my business of fertilizer distribution so they could again apply their skills with benefit to ‘the community’
She then smiled the most beautiful and widest smile I had seen in years on anybody on hearing that someone was holding her anti-ist-ist-ism in such high esteem.
I do recommend this as an ego management tool in these situations; apparatchiks feel a need to be recognised by their victims (aka ‘Clients’), however do council you further and most strongly, that it be left at that and do be guarded against over-run, as I was not . . . …… I then spoilt things on her departure by calling-out after her and enquiring for a second time about my stolen bicycle – ??????
! DON’T WASTE MY TIME ! she turned and stormed
! I THOUGHT THEN FOR JUST A MOMENT THAT YOU WERE ‘ON-SIDE’ !
I then thought better than to pursue my enquiries further and not to point out the incongruous disparity between the fact of state legislation standing towards common theft and her withdrawal of interest in ‘my case’ as I aspied a nice new white van marked ‘TAG’ full of very large burly PC’s cruising slowly by. They were followed by a smaller van with ‘HMC’s Doggies’ written on the side.
Coincidence, coincidence ? ?
I then had a whimsy to ID the thieving youth to Ist-Ist Lady II as Black/ Brown/ Coloured/ Green, or even (heaven forbid) White, or Any – Set-off with delightfully subdued but somehow positive diagonal orange stripes much reminiscent of early Laura Ashley – etc. But, again, thought better of it, (in all good taste !).
After all, as me old Granny would have it – ‘Devilment is one thing; invoking the devil is another !’ (And it were getting towards me Sunday dinner-time anyway).
After she/ they left, Peter The Postman arrived with the mail of yesterday – He now has the walk of 3 others + his own original walk on his round – all in the cause of ‘efficiency’ so I, and a number of immediate neighbours, have long made arrangements with him to deliver mail of Friday/Saturday of the week on Sunday when he passes this end of the parish to tend the grave of his son (who was killed by legionnaires disease in the local ‘modern hi-tech state of the fart’ privately funded (ah) / PFI krankenhaus), (which won’t be paid for until 2099 and most of whose service ducts are sealed voids which can’t be opened to sterilize), if I know there is nothing urgent in transit for me to bring him to this remote end of his concerns. As we chatted casually & usually I mentioned my stolen bike to him. Oh, he said, that sounds like the one Sam Scrote sold down the pub for a tenner at Xmas.
I could have kicked myself for not asking him earlier – If you want to know what/ who/ where/ when – Ask Pete !
On opening ye mail I found my annual rates bill / ‘community charge’/ ‘prole tax’ / nearest metric equivalent wording of current fashion:
aka Wotever buzz words my LA has labeled their local taxes with this year –
You’ll be fascinated to know that they get them regularly from Simon in The Town Hall ‘Marketing’ Dept who dreams them up in order to justify his existence and:
35 hour flexi-time ‘working’ week
Annual new bmw (And reserved parking bay in The Town Hall Car Park -naturalle- That lad’s going straight to the top of the ivory tower; I can see it happening)
£10K Personal Office IT Equipment Budget
£10K ‘Discretionary Entertainment & Subsistence Ex’s’,
‘Use of The Secretarial Pool’
Weekly free accredited training courses in ‘works time’
1/4ly Fact-finding visits to other Simons similar throughout THE EU
Playing host to their attendant reciprocal visits
(All ex’s found over/above the above)
Full leave to visit ‘trade’ shows of his choice
7 weeks paid holiday,
Subsidised canteen and gym and swimming pool
Regular ‘Chill&Bonding Weekends’ with colleagues, with treatment, at local health spa
Paternity leave as/ when the case should arise to be needed, or, should he change sex and his ‘significant other’ remain female and drop a sprog – maternity leave.
etc etc etc
Apologies Dear Reader, apologies – I digress, in total awe of Simon, but I do digress.
Back to basics:
So from my rates/ community charge/ wotever bill and its enclosed info-blurb of this years a/c:
I peruse the spending on Ye Constabulary and find:
*Sworn Police Constable numbers are down.
*Not sworn ancillary staff numbers are up.
Spending on toys:
Bellyflopters, Super-fast cars of prestige brand origin, Armoured cars with water cannon, Tingly leccy sticks and projectiles, Bang sticks proper, ‘Rubber bullets’ of dense hard plastic + their attendant projectors, Ear bursting sirens and ancillary flashing lamps (funny strobe flavour – crowds for the use on), Peppery spray cans, Assorted photographic kit, and so on, and on, and on, and on – etc, etc, etc – Has ‘gone through the roof’
NB All said above/ albeit; no mention received of tactical nuclear rubber-bullets – yet.
In summary conclusion on the above, I think in a very short time I will be funding a small but very well equipped army of those *unaccountable to and not bound to HM.
Oh deary, deary, me. 🙁
I expound my fears of this expansion of power to the unaccountable to my local MP and Councillors:
They proclaim they haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, and it isn’t in their party policy/ manifesto/ mentioned ‘at last conference’ etc but hurriedly excuse themselves stating they have an urgent meeting / briefing-session to attend to, but, ‘they will get back to me on the subject’
I, like many people, fancy I receive messages psychic ‘from beyond the veil’ Mine whisper:
! Lollard !
I heared shouted at me from afar,
! LOLLARD !
! LOLLARD !
Until them’s of Grand Council who decide which of their standing menu of discord to dole out to the masses in order (no pun intended) that the great unwashed be kept at the treadmill taxpaying, viz:
Financial stress to be descended permanently on the land (not this Mickey Mouse ‘credit squeeze’ rehearsal exercise of present)
War involving all
Pandemics of dubious origin
or A shortage of shortages ( Thank you, thank you, thank you Moriarty for that one. I’ll even put the cat out for Min for it )
is threatening to descend on us all.
You get the idea.
To be continued in yet another illustration of that inflicted on you as/ when they get round to it, and I can be bottomed to comment on it here. ( It’ll have to be ‘a new twist on the old story’ though, as I’m now getting very tired of banging the same drum )
Pt III of VIII
NOW, let’s see . . . . . . ……
I was solely to blame for the probs in my garden as I had total control of the food placing.
Outside my garden I had no power to control anything, BUT, I was obliged to continue to pay to and for others to decide at their whim what was to be fed, whether that be man, beast, famine, pestilence or war, and had no influence in whether those whims of theirs did me good or bad. I didn’t even have influence as regards the form those who took my funds decided to manifest that which was detrimental to me personally. Put other: I can’t even chose which type of stick I am beaten with.
Let’s look in close at the current stick of the Zeitgeist with which I, and others like, are beaten:
HM’s Government started to give out:
Free food, subsidised housing
Free medical care
Allows immigrant to bring in rest of their tribe . . …
Allows anyone born here to be an automatic citizen.
Then the illegals, and the waved through legals of no known Parliamentary sanction, came by the millions.
Suddenly our taxes went up to pay for the free services given out:
If you’re native:
Small flats are housing more than one large family at times.
If you’re an immigrant:
Anything you want
I have to wait 6 hours to be seen by a doctor in an emergency surgery because it is filled with illegal non tax payers.
Just forget Emergency Dental Treatment – That’s for immigrants only and of course, it’s free to them.
My child’s year 12 class is behind other schools because over half the class doesn’t speak English.
eg Normal Purchasing:
Corn Flakes now come in a multi-lingual box.
I have to ‘press one’ to hear my bank talk to me in English.
eg Street Theatre:
People waving flags other than ‘The Union Jack’ are squawking and screaming
in the streets, demanding more rights and free liberties.
I further note:
Urdu + other tongues various are advertised everywhere – I, nor any I know, (but for Mr Ahmed when he’s scolding his chicks), have ever Urdued in their lives.
If we are to publish all a la Internationale, then Latin or Diplomatic French are the languages to be used for all traditional pronouncement and intercourse, that agreed between Nations for longer than is known to any.
A la Internationale again, by the natural convention of evolution, today English is predominant for www business. It is yet to be ratified by international agreement formal. When/if that be done, then that is what it should be; or indeed, another if such be chosen.
In short, English is the agreed mode of intercourse in UK (except for Welsh pubs ) therefore all should learn and use it.
Pt IV of VIII
LOOKING-BACK IN BEWILDERMENT
With mind to the late Jeffrey Bernard’s great summation of caution on application of ‘The Retrospect’:
‘Things aren’t what they used to be, but then again, they never were what they were’
[ RIP : (JBe) : 1932 – 1997 ]
and so discarding the rose coloured glasses in favour of clear lenses,
I DO SEE:
I, and everybody, had:
Free, and readily available medical care of all types incl prescribed medicines and dental treatment.
Free, and of good standard, education through to University degree and onto doctorship level.
Free, to at least base level, legal services which would provide at least a safety net of protection from all predators including The State and its apparatchiks machinations, thus providing a shield for those unable to defend themselves.
Automatic retirement with pension at 60 for Ladies & 65 for Gentlemen.
Free, albeit of much variable standard, retirement care if needed.
A railway system, albeit antiquated for most part in the technology in use for the day, and mostly dirty in aspect, generally untimely in departure and arrival, with poor quality pies but having the buffets to serve them from, and with impossibly tight and confined on-board bogs, but having platforms you had pay to get onto thus precluding casual entry of casual undesirables by means of manned barriers, and tickets that stated where they would take you to but not when to the last detail how you HAD to travel, and a management regime
TO WHOSE STAFF IT WOULDN’T EVEN REMOTELY OCCUR TO IN A MONTH OF SUNDAYS, TO FINE YOU FOR CURTAILING A JOURNEY SHORT OF THE FINAL DESTINATION ON YOUR TICKET THEREFORE USING LESS THAN YOU’D PAID FOR,
AND, ABOVE ALL,
A SYSTEM YOU COULD AFFORD TO USE WITH STANDARD SET PUBLISHED FARES, AND WOULD TAKE YOU TO EVERYWHERE IN THE LAND.
And, with mind to the ambience of ‘the art of travel proper’ –MOST IMPORTANT– Trains with A PROPER GUARDS VAN with proper vertical slide windows with thick leather notched straps in heavy coach-built slam doors which would claim your fingers if you were daft enough to leave them in the rebate when the you were being whistled-off, and a T&G boarded floor with holes in so that you could look through at the track ‘passing under’ and so you would decide to pass the time trying to count the sleepers against your watch and work-out your speed (now there’s design for you) but you never managed to reach a sensible answer but you kept trying anyway, and a barrel vaulted roof which internally was originally finished in an Old English Ivory White colour now long since nicotine stained to an even sepia, with ventilators stuffed-up with The Racing Post to keep the draughts out and that also long since done and born-out by fragments of pre-war gallop reports fluttering down occasionally, and push-bikes by the dozen, and milk churns, and straw bales you could sit on and had to as that was all that there was available and comfy, and racing pigeons which you weren’t supposed to feed but you always managed to by keeping yourself between them and the Guard and slipping them your butty crusts, and bound stacks of newspapers, and mail bags in a wire cage, and a piece of a machine with a cardboard tag label on which no matter how much you looked at it and read the label you could never decide what it was, and two silly little chemical fluted tube fire extinguishers strapped to the wall with leather straps which always had dried dribbles of their leaked contents down the sides and would never have put much more than a large pipe of baccy out each even when they had been brand-new and less than half the contents of just one would have poisoned every bugger in the van whilst doing it anyway, and what looked like a coffin stood on end wedged into a corner but you couldn’t tell ‘cos it was double wrapped in thickest waxed corrugated cardboard and tied-up, tight-knotted, with sisal, and a pot bellied stove always with a brew can on, AND a permanently nowty Guard who told you and everybody he was ‘Still pissed-off that he had been laid-up at field hospital with just a touch of the shits, which The MO said was dysentery, but what did he know ? – it was his arse after all – etc, just before his unit went in for the third pass through Benghazi, (with the rest of The Eighth Army following-on who were only incidentally there to help out if needed etc etc etc), and that’s where his best mate got it, and he never found the grave, and he’d still got his mates watch which he’d tried to return to his parents when he finally got back home, but they had been bombed-out and nobody knew where they’d gone, and it still works perfectly, and . . . . . . …………………………………………………….’, and welcoming open coal fires in waiting rooms and booking halls, and separate waiting rooms for ladies available even at small stations, and proper gas lamps with glowing mantels that hissed gently, and . . . …… the smells . . . . . . ………………………………………………………… and it does feel, an almost ad infinitum, of good and proper things other.
I digress into mists of nostalgia for a time when a lot of things were, in truth, as said above, antiquated in standard even for their post-war time then, with much coming to the end of its natural working life anyway and not being replaced and a lot poorly maintained at that,
BUT a lot was done ‘PROPER‘ and cannot be improved on – EVER.
Its just my opinion but . . . . . . ……
Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for the government to take down the bird feeder.
If you agree, pass this on.
If not, continue paying for the generation of STATE SPONSORED shit and wading through the same.
It does raise the inevitable question same as above: Why are we running a country v/v throwing open the borders giving over everything we have and working in perpetuity to feed the ensuing hoards ?
Pt V of VIII
! STOP PRESS !
Since writing this I have had a stern letter from The Ministry of Bird Feeders, aka HM Government.
Dear Milk Cow,
We are in receipt of a letter from Ist-ist Operative 101 ref your instigation of the removal of Free Bird Feeders.
We have analysed your pronouncements and have detected you have more than one brain cell.
That second one appears to be exclusively engaged in detecting and publicising cause and effect of HM Government Policy.
As the prime shite producing and distribution operatives for HM, we do here
enquire of you just how we are to continue in our subsidised ivory tower should your plan come to fruition ?
The general ethos of what you have done has damaged HM Government reputation beyond repair now making us accountable for what we do.
For example: It must be said that our current PFI scheme scheme has so far been showing promise beyond expectation. Us string-pulling mates in The City Lodge think it’s a hoot – They were looking forward to being rid of the nonsense soon and flogging the kit back to the taxpayer for a nice little earner.
(Before we kicked-off we had a quiet word with those nice Bros @ The RICS, who live across ‘The Sq’ from The Employer, and got the lot built as cheap as we could get away with anyway, so there ain’t much point in hanging on to it all now we’ve had the cream out of the situation).
Being fine upstanding chaps, the City Bros look forward in investing the proceeds in creating the next bubble – They’ll give us the wire as/when, and we’ll throw a few bob in when told.
ALL THAT WORK AND YOU FUCKED IT ALL UP !
We submit to you and other malcontent’s – Our Way Forward Together:
! COME & JOIN US !
BE A FULL GROUP PSYCHOTIC AND TOTALLY OBSESSED WITH *SOCIAL ORDER
*Social Order Here:
ie / aka WHO KISSES WHOSE DOWN THE LODGE (Who cares ? Ed) WITHOUT GIVING A SHIT FOR **SOCIAL ORDER BEYOND !
**Social Order Beyond:
ie / aka THOSE WHO HAVE TO LIVE OUTSIDE THE NICE SQUARE COMPOUND AND HAVE TO:
GET A LIVING IN AN UNPROTECTED ENVIRONMENT:
aka HAVE TO WALK DOWN THE PUBLIC STREET AND BE EXPOSED TO IT’S FALLOUT. NOT HAVE FREE FEED AND NOT HAVE A SUBSIDISED NEST.
In summary and ending:
The above Mass Swamping Scheme we’ve been living off is the best scheme we’ve had since WWII to keep ourselves safe in clover and the uncomplaining taxpaying populace at large in their looped existence of
pay-out – try and catch-up – pay-out – try and catch-up
and so fully occupied that they don’t have chance to look upwards and see who is dropping it on them.
When you’ve worked, (like we have), at a scheme and got it to this level, it gives great pride to us, The Craftsmen, knowing it gets and keeps the donor animals nicely stressed up to the eye-balls and out of the good pasture.
(Some of which indeed, do not survive ’till their weekly/monthly milking time)
It does keep the survivors uncomplainingly running round in their hamster wheels of taxpaying eternity until they eventually drop – either permanently out or into retired oblivion from whence our mates at Care Home Lodge can then do the final asset strip and we can consider the udder dry.
SO COME AND BE ONE OF THE BOYS & GIRLS @ EMISSIONS R US
Together we’ll be able to drop bigger ones on those below.
If you don’t, we will sideline you from all of value in your life that we can, and if you persist, kill you.
The Chief Apparatchik.
The Soft Cushion,
I then really did look over my shoulder at the events past and inevitable aspects & questions raised:
! Suprise !
They are almost identical to those of my garden feeding, the one great difference being is that in my garden I did the feeding directly and could and did stop at will. In the macro garden of UK there is, by necessity of scale, a great rump cohort of feeders who have to be fed as well – all by me and those like working souls, and stopping these being fed is a problem major.
Oh deary deary me 🙁
I then looked to the highest in the land who are so highly placed that they can see so much further and wider, and with far greater clarity than us poor humble workers at the bottom of the heap. I looked to them for illumination, justification of the situation and guidance. They pissed themselves at my impertinence of approach, laughing at me being tied-up in a feed-back loop of work/taxation futility, but did illuminate me by the simple expedient of turning my enquiries on their head by asking:
WOT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK KEEPS YOU IN YOUR PLACE OIK ? 🙂
WE’LL LET YOU OFF THIS TIME, BUT SAY ONE WRONG WORD AND WE’LL PUT THE IST-IST PROLETARIAN GUARD INTO YOU 🙂
KNOW YOUR PLACE – KEEP WORKING AND PAYING FOR US TO SUPPRESS YOU 🙂
ANY MORE LIP AND IT’S WAR FOR YOU AND YOURS AGAIN – PROPER 🙂
(Venue to be arranged + Other team to be announced – For full details: Just ask the nice military policemen when they drag you off to the muster station)
Once again I tried to find someone to blame – I turned round for the culprit but again couldn’t find anyone but myself, after all I had not taken the blindest interest in the election of those who sat at High Table and laughed and feasted off my back.
Once again I tried to blame the incomers but again, for the same reasons as/above, sheer logic defeated me.
Conclusion: Ergo, after all, I was the cause of my own discomfort.
🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁
Pt VI of VIII
IF YOU’RE IN AGREEMENT WITH THE ETHOS OF THE ABOVE –
WE PROPOSE THE WAY FORWARD FOR WHAT’S LEFT OF THE NATURAL POPULATION:
We propose a forced mass emigration policy for *all who have made their unprincipled livings on the back of this scam.
If they like supporting foreigners so much, then they should be given the opportunity to do so at root source.
ID + LABEL + COUNT + SEND THOSE UNPRINCIPLED, SLIMY, BAND-WAGON RIDING, LEACHING APPARATCHIK TWATS* TO W~GOVIA
(~ Whoops – Nearly wrote a ‘proscribed’ word then for the Ist-Ists to jump on).
After all, they, as advance party, could dig the shithouse and brew-up.
After all, but for tick-box filling, book passing and taking 6 months off with stress, that is all they’re fit for (And THAT refers to the Grade I ones only).
Their abandoned assets to be sold at open public auction and the proceeds put to a transparent fund for Public Works.
ID + LABEL + COUNT + PUT TO TRIAL FOR GROSS EXTORTION AND TREASON THE **ARCHITECTS OF THE SCHEME.
A Nuremberg sentencing policy is advocated for **those proven guilty.
The inevitable *grey escapees of not proven verdicts to be sent to accompany the Phase 1 cohorts*.
After all, someone will have to direct the apparatchiks as they have proved themselves capable of subservient robotic self-serving action only.
And then let’s all watch how the w~gs treat them. (On Al Jazeera – Obviously).
*One-way tickets ONLY for all.
AFTER, AFTER, AFTER ALL, THE APPARATCHIKS WON’T BE LONELY, THERE’LL BE PLENTY OF THEIR PREVIOUS RAW MATERIALS COMING HOME TO ‘LOOK AFTER THEM’.
(~ Whoops – Nearly wrote that IstIst feeding word again !)
Pt VII of VIII
YE FINAL VIEW + RECOMMENDATIONS FURTHER – FROM ON HIGH
Oh, the subsidised incomers I hear you say, what will happen to them ?
As/above – Their free food source has been removed, so they will return from whence they came ASAP of their own accord, but for the Mr Ahmed + Mrs Leroy Birds who will carry-on no matter what. As said – These we should treasure.
And of HM ? It is said that concern is abroad at Court.
SOME PROLE SOMEWHERE HAS NOTED THAT WHOEVER IS IN CHARGE, IS IN CHARGE.
THEREFORE THEY ARE THE RESPONSIBLE PARTY FOR THE RESULTS.
aka JOINED UP GOVERNMENT = JOINED-UP RESPONSIBILITY.
You’re lost and in need direction again poor things.
So – Just start another war with somebody* and we can get all the malcontents and malingerers out of the way and nicely killed-off.
The boys in The City can make a few bob from bang-stick & bullet production and we can all get back to business as usual after the kerfuffel.
Newmarket’s back to running now the rain’s stopped so one’s going to put me bet now.
Don’t bother one again with trifles.
Pt VIII of VIII
*WE haven’t done China recently . . . . . . ……
Looking Back Over The Shoulder:
There was an Old Count named Otto,
Who knew just was wot and what was wotto,
He set up his stand,
To give Deuchners their land,
And fuck-off those who weren’t . . . kosher.
(Gorilla poets eat your hearts out)
The working of this,
Please don’t take the piss,
Was the foundation stone of
GASTARBEITENKRAFT (und SCHAFT)
(You try making that lot scan for rhyme – The Macclesfield Boys Choir once managed to make ‘Altrincham’ to work to couple in a song, but I don’t think even they would attempt that wort !)
And then, as we all know, along came The 3rd Reich who pinched and bastardised the term.
(To some tune)
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
THE SUB-NOTES STANDING, STD & USUAL:
VERGESSEN SIE NICHT:
IF NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS,
HOW COME THE BASTARDS KEEP MANUFACTURING IT ?
Oportet Operam Dore
However, me thinks, it just depends what you’re working at.
Old : Ed.
And, don’t forget, ODA, supports, the Oxford,.
! HELP ! – THEY’VE GOT OUR DNA !
! STOP PRESS !
An Inverse But Still Tasteful Marketing Promotion:
THE MERCHANDISE SHOP IS SHUT:
CLOSED FOR RE-FURB’ UNTIL
AUTUMN 2013 (Rev 1)
SEE THE NEARLY HEAD OF PAGE NOTICES
TO NEARLY THE HEAD OF THE WOM PAGE !
! BUY ODA T-SHIRTS WHEN WE RE-OPEN
(YOU BASTARDS) !
Or the girl gets it !
(I wish – PLEASE don’t tell Mrs Ed)
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Dressing well and looking good are essential.
A purpose in life is not.
Pinched from: Dear Oscar (who else ?)
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COMING SOON – POST TAB RESPONSE FACILITY TO ALL ON ODA SITE
ie Your chance to comment
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> THIS PAGE : Description : A description of the polluted sea in which we swim <
> THIS PAGE : Make-Up : Single Piece
> THIS PAGE : Last Update Proper Loaded : As/ immediately below <
> THIS PAGE : Latest Draft to Above : AM Monday 01-JULY-2013. <
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All times noted to writings to >Railway Time=London Greenwich< * PROPER.
None of that funny foreign ‘Eastern Seaboard Time’ etc
(Which they use in Wye-Eye Land)
or even any of that UDT. (Lark wot owr milkman ‘as)
* GMT. + When in season, easy-read BST.
(Which surprisingly contains no added E-Numbers, hydrogenated oils or salt
and is thought to be non-fattening and harmless to animals)
May Might Does not contain nuts.
(Noted for the sake of any passing plebs who
may might be considering it
for referral to their social worker as grounds for their next claim)