Friday, May 25, 2012

Olympics London 2012 : British Empire of Opium Death Dealer Games















In 1421, China's Ming dynasty Yongle Emperor ordered his fleet to convey an imperial edict with hats and robes on the king of Aden. The envoys boarded three treasure ships and left Sumatra to the port of Aden. As we shall see later there was good reason for the gifts, Aden at that time, along with the Suez canal later, being in many respects the naval port and gateway to facilitate east west trade which was critical to Chinese interests.

The Opium Wars, also known as Anglo-Chinese Wars, started with the First Opium War from 1839 to 1842 which were the result of disputes over trade between China in the Qing Dynasty and the British Empire. The Chinese Canton System in 1756  restricted trade to one port, so that they could monitor British trade, resulted in the British East India Company as result of the huge demand for tea in the west, facing an imbalance in favour of China, which the British redressed, with the cultivation of the Chinese population to opium addiction, in return for trading Chinese tea. Similar to Ireland today, after what  they call the peace process, where British intelligence agencies, control the distribution of hard drugs from their military in Afghanistan poppy fields, to their agents and paramilitary groups, in every part of Ireland, to control the Irish population with murderous consequence.   

The British merchants brought opium from the British East India Company's factories in Patna and Benares in British Occupied India to China, where they sold it to Chinese smugglers, who then distributed the drug in defiance of Chinese laws. The Chinese realizing the drain on their silver currency and the growing numbers of addicts, resulted in the Emperor demanding action. Some officials advocated legalizing the trade in order to tax it but were defeated by those who advocated arresting opium dealers and demanding the British turn over their stocks, initially refusing but eventually the merchants surrendered their opium to be destroyed. The British government then sent military forces from India, which plundered the Chinese coast, in order to dictate the terms of a settlement. The Treaty of Nanking allowed further opium trade, ceded territory, including Hong Kong, fixed Chinese taxes at low rates, granting privileges to foreigners not offered to Chinese overseas. Disputes by British merchants in Chinese ports led to the Second Opium War later.


With British Occupied India and its poppy fields under Britain's control and the strong mass appeal and addictive nature, opium was an effective solution to the British trade imbalance problem and the British simply had an insatiable greed. Within the Chinese mandarinate there continued an ongoing debate over legalising the opium trade. The Emperor a teenager who spent most of his time in bed with his concubines, many of them opium users themselves.

The story of the mid-Ming dynasty, where opium was a gift by vassal states, then used as an aphrodisiac in court. Eventually Chinese people from different classes and regions began using it for recreational purposes in a complex culture of opium. The transformation overtime led to its spread across all sections of society, embraced by rich and poor as a culture in its own right. The alternative perspective on life in China during this time is still for political reasons confined to scholars of history, anthropology, sociology, political science, economics, East Asian studies. 


Around this time, the British were selling roughly 1,400 tons per year to China. In 1839, the Chinese Emperor Lin, published a letter addressed to Queen Victoria, questioning the morals of the British government. This was just before the British executed a holocaust of ethnic cleansing in Ireland, which cleared Ireland of 6 million people many of whom died of starvation. Citing a strict prohibition of the trade within Great Britain itself, Lin questioned how they could then profit from the highly addictive hard drug in China. He wrote: "Your Majesty has not before been this officially notified, and you may plead ignorance of the severity of our laws, but I now give my assurance that we mean to cut this harmful drug forever."  The British government and merchant's response to Lin was to send a large British Indian army to enforce their drug dealing.


British military superiority, based on new technology along with warships, raped Chinese coastal towns, with ships supporting gun platforms with very heavy guns. British troops were armed with modern muskets and cannons which fired more rapidly and with greater accuracy than Chinese firearms and artillery. The British took Canton, sailed up the Yangtze, took the Chinese tax barges, a huge blow to the Chinese Empire, as it slashed the income of their imperial court in Beijing. The Treaty of Nanking forced the Chinese to pay taxes to Britain, opening four ports and ceding Hong Kong to Queen Victoria. The Qing empire recognized Britain as an equal to China and gave British extraterritorial privileges in ports.

Opium is a story which historians have failed to set in its proper social and cultural context neither taking account of the extent of its consumption in the history of modern China. Preferring to dwell on the opium trade, opium wars, imperialism and the politics of control, which is very relevant in places as far away as contemporary Ireland. The political history of opium, like its wars are only part of the story. The questions are at the point of which opium transformed from medicine into luxury use and why it was so popular and widespread when people learned of its recreational value. Understanding modern China is not possible, without understanding who smoked opium, when and why. The fact is the Chinese embraced smoking and using opium.

The social life of ‘Mr. Opium’ from birth as a recreational item to his old age as a social icon, is a perspective on the circulation of commodities and the things that are exchanged  with their meanings inscribed on their forms, uses and trajectories. In the analysis of these trajectories we can interpret the human transaction and calculations that enliven China, for example.  The social significance of Opium smoking was inscribed in its vanguard consumers, who were the literati, the officials with the pipes packed with precious stones and symbolic designs. Chinese people from different classes, regions and times, endowed many meanings to opium from luxury to necessity.


Many of those who wrote about opium, used sources prohibitionist in nature, the products of political revisionism. It is  the same problem of writers about drinking and other popular cultures. Information on the lives of the common people or Ireland for example usually comes from the outsider or from those regarded as a 'socially superior perspective'. Opinions of elite observers, have shaped historical generations, as opposed to that seen through the eyes of popular cultures on say public drinking, resulting in expressions of a degraded perspective, on the lower classes, and the pub or bar a symbol of misery and debauchery. 


The perception of opium suffered the same fate. Historians using prohibitionist sources, provided by  governments of the day perpetuating the prejudiced official line in condemnation of opium. Scholars and officials have cautioned about the prejudice of official histories. Sources of a historian are threefold; official history, family history and unofficial history. Older generations of Chinese warned about the problem of Chinese history being written by bureaucrats for bureaucrats, explain why official history has a solemn ethical function, the duty of expressing praise and blame as in the instance of say modern Irish revisionist history. Below is an excerpt from an alternative.

"The ‘genealogical method of anthropological inquiry’ is revolutionary, as Kopytoff has pointed out. His example is slavery. Slavery began with capture; an individual was dehumanised, commoditised and later rehumanised when he/she was reinserted into the host group. Dehumanisation begins the biography of a slave; it also marks ‘the diversion of commodities from preordained paths’. Opium was likewise diverted; from a herbal medicine it moved to become a luxury item. Diversion is ‘frequently a function of irregular desires and novel demands’. This could not have been more evident with opium in 1483, when a medicinal herb became ‘the art of alchemists, sex and court ladies’.2 This diversion shaped the history of opium and indeed of China for five hundred years to come. ‘A more theoretically aware biographical model’, Kopytoff stressed, should be ‘based on a reasonable number of life histories’. This book is the life history of opium as an aphrodisiac from the mid-Ming, as an expensive yanghuo or ‘foreign stuff’ and hobby among the scholar–official elite in the eighteenth century, and as a popular culture in the late Qing–Republican era and beyond. These histories tell us who smoked opium, when and why; they also help us to stitch together a much more complete picture of the Ming–Qing–Republican economy, and of its culture and society, and enable us to see both change and continuity in the culture of opium consumption.

This book examines opium from a cultural perspective because, as Daniel Roche has emphasised, ‘Any object, even the most ordinary, embodies ingenuity, choices, a culture. A body of knowledge and a surplus of meanings are attached to all objects.’3 Roche’s example is clothing. ‘Clothing speaks of many things at once, either in itself or through some detail. It has a function of communication because it is through clothing that everyone’s relation to the community passes.’4 The same can be said of other forms of consumption, including opium smoking. Roche emphasised that one should pay attention to the whole as well as to the parts; the signs that indicate  minorities, the colours that can characterise social functions and membership of different groups, the cut, the material, the types of jewellery. For this, reference the smoking sets and accessories that accompanied opium smoking. Roche also advanced much more: ‘the history of consumption must include analysis of demand, and therefore of the structuring of needs, the classification of consumers, the circuits of distribution and the spatial organisation of supply’.5 To understand needs, we must understand ‘the texture of our ordinary life’, that is, ‘the real weight of everyday life’, or the ‘history of what seems to have no history: material life and biological behaviour, history of food, history of the consumption of food’.6 For the Chinese, opium smoking, like tea drinking, was material life and biological behaviour, a history of food and a culture of consumption.

Pierre Bourdieu is significant here. His influential La Distinction: critique sociale du jugement studied ‘the science of taste and cultural consumption’.7 Bourdieu applied this science to the consumption of the arts and music; I shall extend it to that of opium. Bourdieu saw taste as ‘markers of class’ and consumption as ‘predisposed, consciously and deliberately or not, to fulfil a social function of legitimating social differences’. This was true with opium as its vanguard consumers, the literati and officials, enjoyed opium long before the ‘ordinary’ people heard about it. It was they who made opium smoking cultured and a status symbol; they who marked themselves apart from those below them, legitimating their social differences. Bourdieu analysed the consumption of pictorial and musical works. ‘A work of art has meaning and interest only for someone who possesses the cultural competence, that is, the code, into which it is encoded.’8 An opium pipe carved with an epic poem and served by a highly literate courtesan was limited to and had meaning for those who could appreciate the poetry and exchange-coded language. Bourdieu had ‘one foot in structural Marxism and the other in cultural studies’.9 The case of opium supports this approach. Opium was an aristocratic luxury item during the Ming dynasty. It became a necessity during the late nineteenth century. The story of opium is the story of taste and distinction; it is also the story of politics and class formation.

One of the most influential works on consumption is Jean Baudrillard’s La Soci´et´e de consommation: ses mythes, ses structures. For Baudrillard, consumption is ‘a language’.10 Breaking away from a standard productivist orientation, the post-modern social theorist believed that consumption was ‘both a morality and a communication system, a structure of exchange’.11 This was certainly true of opium smoking, where offering the smoke to friends, colleagues and guests involved a fundamental Chinese socio-cultural value in the late Qing–early Republican era. Regardless of whether one sanctioned opium or not, one must offer the smoke in order to be ‘ti mian’ (polite or fashionable), thus a Chinese ‘morality’, ‘communication system’ and ‘structure of exchange’ was created. Many sought to catch up with the Joneses; consumption became conspicuous. Consumption itself is subject to individual manipulation; it is also ‘subject to social control and political redefinition’.12 Parallels can be drawn to alcohol in general and vodka in particular. Opium is a perfect example of the political redefinition of consumption. When the rich smoked it, it was cultured and a status symbol; when the poor began to inhale, opium smoking became degrading and ultimately criminal. The lower classes made the consequences of smoking visible and social; the literati and officials had the power to reinterpret consumption. Consumption has never been a simple economic matter.

Mary Douglas proposed ‘a distinctive anthropological perspective’ in Constructive Drinking.13 Anthropologists brought ‘their own professional point of view to bear interestingly upon the same materials studied by specialists on alcohol abuse’. They argued that medical and sociological research exaggerated the problems. As Dwight Heath pointed out, ‘Even practitioners of the so-called “hard sciences” acknowledge that social and cultural factors must be taken into account, together with physiological and psychological factors, when one attempts to understand the interaction of alcohol and human behaviour.’14 I extend this distinctive anthropological perspective to opium because drinking and smoking are the obvious analogies. ‘Drinking is essentially a social act, performed in a recognized social context’; so it was with opium smoking.15 Many authors have studied the social context of consumption. David Christian’s Living Water argued that vodka played a crucial role in Russian society on the eve of the Revolution. Thomas Brennan illustrated the ‘positive uses of drinking’ in prerevolutionary Paris. And David Hardiman exposed the different political agendas injected into drinking in colonial India. Brennan’s work is important because it challenged the heavily used accounts of the intermediaries, ‘the three robes’ – the clergy, the nobility and the liberal professions – their condemnation of taverns and consequently their influence on the study of popular culture.16 Here, I will challenge the heavily used accounts of ‘the Chinese robes’.

Deborah Lupton has furthered our understanding of the history of food and the culture of consumption. ‘Food and eating habits and preferences are not simply matters of “fuelling” ourselves’, she writes.17 This was true of opium, since smoking did not fill one’s stomach. ‘Food is inextricably interlinked with group membership as well as kinship’, Lupton continues, and again, opium is a good example where friends and family gathered to share leisure through smoking. Food is ‘the ultimate “consumable” commodity’; so was opium.18 George Ritzer has identified ‘McDonaldization’, a process whereby corporations cater to the ‘lowest common denominator’ of mass consumer culture.19 The same happened with opium in the late Qing, when smoking catered for the lowest Chinese common denominator – coolie labourers and peasants. Peter Atkins and Ian Bowler have summarised recent trends in food studies. Where functionalists emphasise ‘the utilitarian nature of food’, structuralists focus on the ‘broader and deeper causes and meanings of food habits’ and on how ‘taste is culturally shaped and socially controlled’.20 Opium smoking was utilitarian in nature, but it was also socio-culturally conditioned. Structural functionalists such as Mary Douglas draw upon elements of both approaches. Douglas has deciphered the grammar of the meal, a structured social event. I will decode the syntax of opium smoking by ‘mov[ing] away from a reliance upon the production-oriented explanations of society, which [have] for so long dominated materialism, towards a framework that can accommodate considerations of consumption and lifestyle’.21 This is pertinent to the study of opium as a commodity and smoking as history of food and culture of consumption."


This culture is of course quite similar to the Concubinage culture, where a concubine generally a woman is in a marriage like relationship with whom she cannot get married for other reasons. Often only men of high economic or social status have concubines, because it can be expensive. Historical rulers maintained concubines, sometimes thousands, as well as several wives. Normally concubinage was voluntary by the woman or her family's by arrangement, providing a measure of economic security for both parties. In ancient China, concubinage was similar but inferior, to marriage. The children were recognized as legal offspring but their inheritance were inferior to children of marriage often receiving a smaller inheritance. Often concubines  bore heirs, when a wife was unable to produce sons.Western laws do not acknowledge the legal status of concubines or recognize only monogamous marriages as legal, leaving the woman a mistress without protection.  Romans did not class same-sex relationships as homosexual and a concubinus was a young male slave chosen by his master as a sexual partner.


Chinese Emperors sometimes kept thousands of concubines and in ancient China, successful men often supported several concubines and their families. Concubines on a few occasions were buried alive with their master to keep him company in the afterlife. Concubines sometimes achieved much power and influence. In the 'Four Great Classical Novels of China' there is the story of 'The Dream of the Red Chamber' believed to be a semi-autobiographical account of author Cao Xueqin's own family life where three generations of the Jia family are supported by the favorite concubine of the Emperor. Imperial concubines kept  in the Forbidden City, were always guarded by castrated eunuchs, to make sure they could not be impregnated by anyone, other than the Emperor. Dowager Empress Cixi who liked her opium, was perhaps the most successful concubine in China’s history. Cixi gave birth to the only surviving son, who became the Emperor Tongzhi. She eventually became de facto ruler of the Manchu Qing Dynasty in China for 47 years after her son's death.


In the Mao era,  the whiff of an affair could get someone fired from their job, demoted or sent to self-criticism sessions and even jail. In the Cultural Revolution, extramarital affairs were condemned, labeled as Male-Female-Relationship Lifestyle. One of the most popular videos on the Internet  was a clip from an Olympics promotion event, rebrand the CCTV sports channel as the “Olympics Channel.” In the video, the wife of a popular anchor  crashes the event, grabs the microphone and accuses the anchor of sleeping with another woman. Polygamy is still around among upper class members of some minorities. Polyandry exists among Tibetans, Naxi and Pumi minorities. Modern marriage procedure have led to a rise in bigamy. In the old days wealthy Chinese men, married three or four women at the same time. The wives sharing different duties and responsibilities, raising the children.The first wife usually had the right to order secondary wives around and her children given precedence.


In consumerist China today sex, corruption and money are often intertwined in people's consciousness. Money scandals have a sexual element with Chinese expression saying: "Where there is corruption, there’s sex. And where there’s sex, there’s corruption. A wife dumped for a mistress says, ”Mistresses are always lurking in shadows of corruption cases. If you don’t have money, you can’t hold on to your mistress.” In Shenzhen there are "concubine villages," where thousands of young women live in luxury apartments, paid by their lovers, close enough to the border that the men can take off early from work, visit their lovers and be  backhome in time for dinner with their wives. 

Zhang Yu Fen a wife dumped by her husband for a mistress organized a “guerilla squad for attacking mistresses” made up of dumped wives.“Unless mistresses are completely wiped out, we won’t be able to achieve a harmonious society and will only be left with the menace” mistresses present, Zhang says, “We, the socially vulnerable, have to get together to eradicate the existence of mistresses. Our organization’s aim is to punish these husbands and claim the assets we are entitled to.”  The local media call them the “mistress killers,”because they have assaulted some mistresses.

There are many credible stories in Ireland of asylums being places for specially trained concubines. The asylums it is believed, trained young Irish girls in speciality skills, while sometimes later selling them off to rich men in England. There are such stories going way back to one of the beheaded wives of the King of England a certain Ann Boylan from east Galway whose name was changed to Ann Boleyn to hide her true identity. In the Victorian asylums built by the English in Ireland, girls were sold into Victorian slavery to be intensely trained as sexual slaves in some instances, with a specialty skill for purposes as a uniquely talented concubine. They probably still exist, perhaps more consenting now, trained in erotic and creative arts, often with some religious element involved. There are also many stories in Ireland of young nuns being individually trained by mentors to later satisfy some reverend Mother, parish Priest or Bishops in orgies conducted in the convents scattered around Ireland. 








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Thursday, May 24, 2012

Olympics London 2012 ; British Petroleum Sponsors Torture Pollution Again!




Sailing West is a bastard at this time of the year. My thinking was to get far enough out from the straits of Hormuz so I could get a straight run at the Suez canal but I had to give up and let the wind take me more or less Southwest. After a while it got more easy. The Galway Whooker behaved well and we managed alright on just the mainsail. Hit a few squalls not bad for the monsoons. So we have now reached the Arabian Sea The Arabian Sea's surface area is 1,491,130 sq miles and its width 1,490. The biggest river flowing into it is the Indus River. It has two important parts the Gulf of Aden in the southwest, connecting with the Red Sea and the Gulf of Oman to the northwest, connecting it with the Persian Gulf. 




Countries with coastlines on the this Sea are Somalia, Djibouti, Yemen, Oman, Iran, Pakistan, India and the Maldives. The larges cities on the Arabian Sea coast include Karachi, Gwadar, Pasni, Ormara, Aden, Muscat, Mumbai, Mangalore, Kochi, Keti Bandar, Salalah and Duqm. Aden a seaport city in Yemen is now our immediate destination, located on the eastern approach to the Red Sea. Its population is about a million people. Aden's ancient, natural harbour lies in the crater of a dormant volcano which now forms a peninsula, joined to the mainland by a low isthmus.The modern harbour is on the other side of the peninsula.


Aden's history is quite similar with Ireland's relationship with the British Empire in many respects. It used to be the capital of the People's Democratic Republic of Yemen ,until unification with the Yemen Arab Republic.The city was declared a free trade zone and the city gives its name to the Gulf of Aden. A legend of Yemen states that Aden is as old as human history. Some believe Cain and Abel are buried in the city.The port's convenient position on the sea route between India and Europe made Aden desirable to the British who conducted bloody warfare to possess it at various times. 




Sultan Muhsin bin Fadl of the nearby state of Lahej was forced to cede 75 sq. miles including Aden to the British. On 19 January 1839. The British East India Company landed Marines at Aden to occupy the territory. The port equidistant from the Suez Canal, Bombay and Zanzibar, were all important British occupied territories. Aden had been a way-station for seamen in the old world. Supplies were replenished and in the 19th century a place to to replenish coal and boiler water.Aden remained under British bloody control until 1967. 




Today Aden is dominated by an oil refinery built by British Petroleum a major sponsor of the Olympic Games London 2012. Today BP Aden tugs' jetties are complete with swimming pool and air conditioned bar. A revoution against British rule known as the Aden Emergency began with a grenade attack by the National Liberation Front (NLF), against the British High Commissioner on 10 December 1963, killing one person and a "state of emergency" was declared. In 1964, Britain was forced to announce its intention to grant independence but that the British military would remain there. 




In January 1967, there were mass sectarian riots, inflamed by the British with their usual divide and conquer strategy, which like Occupied Ireland served as an excuse to keep its forces there. During this time there were many attacks on British troops culminating in the destruction of a DC3 plane in the air with no survivors. On 30 November 1967 the British finally pulled out, leaving Aden with royal marines, being the first British troops to occupy Aden in 1839 and the last to leave. The bombing attack on destroyer USS Cole took place in Aden on 12 October 2000. In 2007 with growing resentment and old tribal wounds left by British colonial policies, led to the secessionist South Yemen Movement, a mainly underground leadership of socialists, Islamists, desiring a return to the People's Democratic Republic of Yemen.


Arriving in Aden at night, after being so long at sea has been a shock. There were glimpses of minarets and Islamic architecture. The locals were friendly enough. One of them, who spoke good English pointed us up to a group of exotic rooms to rent. I'm looking forward after the boat to a nice big bed and wouldn't mind being on my own but Olive and Pui are up for it, so I feel like I have to entertain them...they keep me awake and they start groping me. It can be a drag but I love it man. Waking up a few hours later in crazy places, miles and miles of desert as a  backdrop, its hot but nice and dry.


Another joint is produced and everybody is giggly. This hash we just got at the port is the very best Red Leb. This is a spacious bedroom on the second floor. Soft lighting, Indian bed-sheets, Moroccan cushions, joss sticks, standard hippy décor, but there were some classier, expensive-looking touches too, deep sofas. Swirling, writhing like gypsies on a beach, twisting, gyrating on the bed and floor, the sensual waves keep rolling in, we surrender and immerse ourselves in the mysteries of the human flesh. 






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Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Olympics London 2012: Stick it Elsewhere Cockney Sucker


Olympics London 2012: Stick it Elsewhere Cockney Sucker

London : United Kingdom | May 23, 2012 at 3:52 PM PDT
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The Indian Ocean is the third largest ocean of the world, covering approximately a fifth of the water on the Earth. Now we had planned to take the Galway Whooker straight over to Mogadishu but things are getting hairy there with bombs going off in Yemen killing their army in the hundreds, so we have to veer right towards the straits of Hormuz as a diversion for that reason and more importantly I have developed a fever where dialogue of any sort, with what he or she said is like a virus in my system, so you'll have to work it out for yourself, who said that and who said what, bearing in mind there are only four of us on the boat the Filipino Olive, Indonesian Pui English Richard and myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest in this condition so I’m trusting you. I’m running on empty, feeling totally drained most of the time, unable to connect, emotionless
Sounds like something out of Beckett, unable to connect. I don’t have the patience for long descriptive passages now or character details, so I won’t be sharing much light on our human conditions, on a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean. People are hungry for diversion. Some people think I’m an arrogant prick but they keep coming back, isn't that right Olive ?. It’s all nonsense of course, I know that, but it’s fun. I'm rambling with the fever alright but even at the best of times, it’s hard to tell who’s saying what isn't it ! Anyway the way people are these days you could leave out, he said, she said bits, because it all tends to blend into an endless verbal exchange. Just a long drone, might as well be talking to myself half the time. ‘Total self indulgence, etc., etc., Language is a sort of virus anyway these days, its so heartless and shallow.
Then there is too much space wasted transporting people here and there, which, with the aid of their bank card they can do anyway. Of course dialogue has its purpose. Dialogos. A conversation between two or more persons; a frank exchange of ideas or views on a specific subject, in an effort to attain mutual understanding the result is the women in front of me more westernized since I met them, wearing jeans, carrying cell-phones a lot of the time, Pui sporting red hair with piercing tattoo and well manicured. Amazing to think I hitched to India which is to my right now, when I did. Can’t imagine doing it now. Not possible anymore on that particular journey to the east. An important formative experience or a total waste of time?. Brave? Naïve more like it. Searching for something, still searching, a few more years and I might figure out what I’m looking for. Sometimes I can see the past more clearly but the present baffles me in an age of unbelief.
Are we totally lost or is this London 2012 Olympic protest trip preparation for the next evolutionary step. Still I consider myself lucky to watch it all or am out of touch with the real world or is just the fever. What was her name, oh yeah, Meme. I brought her a bunch of flowers in a brothel. Still, you’re either on the bus or you’re off the bus. Some are never totally on or off the bus with a foot on the bottom step, mostly undecided. But then sex I suppose is some kind of escapist dream too. It’s so relaxed in the east ,compared to those loud pushy western women.
But that journey is not possible anymore. No hitch-hiking across Afghanistan. Those days are gone with the only people going to Afghanistan now being NGOs and contract mercenaries. The memories are like flashbacks; buses loading and unloading in narrow streets, moustached men wearing cloth caps, piling in and out of old American cars, glimpses of minarets and Islamic architecture. Ragged, bearded and in that time from as far away as India like MU, squatting cross-legged, scraping pieces of large blocks dark hash scored in Kandahar. The memory of it all with this fever, makes me want to smoke again, something I haven't done for years but it was cool to smoke there walking barefoot on old cobbled roads.
Man an woman too !, I'm inhaling deeply from a joint and passing it to Richard , look man that’s Asia over there and Africa across there with Europe up there. That’s where we were, Asia is big man and the Iran they plan to nuke is big too.Hope you cats know what you’re gettin into. The East will change Western thinking soon, not before time.? Dig their crazy cannons man. They used them for hash pipes in Afghanistan, no I kid you not. Massive clay pipes they loaded them up with hash and passed them round with everybody having a pull. Afghan cats were cool in those days. So you think you can smoke hash? Wait till you get an Afghan jellum, blow your heads off, gently of course. Man look at that sky again. Dig those clouds man! great cosmic circus and we’re all part of it with something big about to happen. Big changes man, can you feel it? We are the agents of change man, we are going to change the world!
Now we are walking on the wild side a little, random perhaps but spontaneous. You's all know there is something’s seriously wrong with the former cosy, material, world emanating from the City of London but you's can’t let it go, can you ?. Well you will have no choice soon! Krishna, Kali...Yin, Yang.... . England doesn’t really work anymore, man . Shit man, we have tapped into the spirit man... just go with the flow...tap the energy source. Its a while since Henry Miller told London to Phuck off! Too fucking much, man. That cat was a mini god man! Turned on the life force....in the air man.... it’s free, man. But first we have to open it. Just talking is not enough, that's what this trip on the protesting Galway Whooker on British Occupied Ireland with internment, up the bloody Thames is all about. Phuckin Cockney intellectuals full of hipsters, beatniks or whatever the phuck they called themselves sitting around smoking weed and analyzing their self-centred lives, don't cut it man. Get to phuck out..before its too late....its too cerebral man!
Shit I’m horny, I want to ride the two women on deck. India to the right is wild man. Cows in the street with gurus, sadhus and wild holy men, ramblin around naked covered in ashes man. Weird shit and the people are great…especially the poor ones…they've got nuthin but they feed you man and if you get stuck you can always go to the Sikh temples…you can sleep there and they give you food... it’s free man. some crazy cats there man…I met a German who spent 10 years on an ashram... who could drink through his cock. There’s a revolution happenin man...a revolution of the soul...can you feel it ...this is just the beginning...I’ll tell you what man...in a year or two there’ll be men and women wandering around, looking for...enlightenment.. for themselves.;;;lookin for the Spirituality of Abundance...check it out woman...and maybe some just lookin for dope..... oblivion...who knows...
Oh man, I'm not just horny, those women on deck are something else man, sensual women is always feminine, rounded and abundant. They savours sexual enjoyment even when unaroused state they sexually moist. With such an abundance of juices, these sensual women give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when aroused. They like each other and me playing with their sexual bodies. I think I’m in love not madly but in a nice easy way. Which one you may ask? Both of them of course, Life! please don’t make me choose. Oh shit, those crazy women last night ..sometimes they're phucking sexual animals. They just went nuts. Tore off all my clothes, licking, sucking each other and me on deck in the cabin, at one point they were half upside down hanging off the railings and the boat. There was spinning lights, it felt like an alien abduction, damn they are insatiable, fever, heat..I better stop, I'm strung out man......
Wisława Szymborska 1923-2012 is famous for her subtle simplicity shapes and themes. The magic in this poem comes from her unconventional approach. She brings my attention to the easiness I feel in the absence of raw emotion of conventional love where heart and mind go to the opposite sweet uneasiness of love quaking my whole existence.
Thank-You Note
I owe so much to those I don't love.
The relief as I agree that someone else needs them more.
The happiness that I'm not the wolf to their sheep.
The peace I feel with them, the freedom – love can neither give nor take that.
I don't wait for them, as in window-to-door-and-back.
Almost as patient as a sundial, I understand what love can't, and forgive as love never would.
From a rendezvous to a letter is just a few days or weeks, not an eternity.
Trips with them always go smoothly, concerts are heard, cathedrals visited, scenery is seen.
And when seven hills and rivers come between us, the hills and rivers can be found on any map.
They deserve the credit if I live in three dimensions, in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space with a genuine, shifting horizon.
They themselves don't realize how much they hold in their empty hands.
"I don't owe them a thing," would be love's answer to this open question.











The Indian Ocean is the third largest ocean of the world, covering approximately a fifth of the water on the Earth. Now we had planned to take the Galway Whooker straight over to Mogadishu but things are getting hairy there with bombs going off in Yemen killing their army in the hundreds, so we have to veer right towards the straits of Hormuz as a diversion for that reason and more importantly I have developed a fever where dialogue of any sort, with what  he or she said is like a virus in my system, so you'll have to work it out for yourself, who said that and who said what,  bearing in mind there are only four of us on the boat the Filipino Olive, Indonesian Pui  English Richard and myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest in this condition so I’m trusting you. I’m running on empty, feeling totally drained most of the time, unable to connect, emotionless


Sounds like something out of Beckett, unable to connect. I don’t have the patience for long descriptive passages now or character details, so I won’t be sharing much light on our human conditions, on a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean. People are hungry for diversion. Some people think I’m an arrogant prick but they keep coming back, isn't that right Olive ?. It’s all nonsense of course, I know that, but it’s fun. I'm rambling with the fever alright but even at the best of times, it’s hard to tell who’s saying what isn't it ! Anyway the way people are these days you could leave out, he said, she said bits, because it all tends to blend into an endless verbal exchange. Just a long drone, might as well be talking to myself half the time. ‘Total self indulgence, etc., etc., Language is a sort of virus anyway these days, its so heartless and shallow.

Then there is too much space wasted transporting people here and there, which, with the aid of their bank card they can do anyway. Of course dialogue has its purpose. Dialogos. A conversation between two or more persons; a frank exchange of ideas or views on a specific subject, in an effort to attain mutual understanding the result is the women in front of me more westernized since I met them, wearing jeans, carrying cell-phones a lot of the time, Pui sporting red hair with piercing tattoo and well manicured. Amazing to think I hitched to India which is to my right now, when I did. Can’t imagine doing it now. Not possible anymore on that particular journey to the east. An important formative experience or a total waste of time?. Brave? Naïve more like it. Searching for something, still searching, a few more years and I might figure out what  I’m looking for. Sometimes I can see the past more clearly but the present baffles me in an age of unbelief.

Are we totally lost or is this London 2012 Olympic protest trip preparation for the next evolutionary step. Still I consider myself lucky to watch it all or am out of touch with the real world or is just the fever. What was her name, oh yeah, Meme. I brought her a bunch of flowers in a brothel. Still, you’re either on the bus or you’re off the bus. Some are never totally on or off the bus with a foot on the bottom step, mostly undecided. But then sex I suppose is some kind of escapist dream too. It’s so relaxed in the east ,compared to those loud pushy western women.

But that journey is not possible anymore. No hitch-hiking across Afghanistan. Those days are gone with the only people going to Afghanistan now being NGOs and contract mercenaries. The memories  are like flashbacks; buses loading and unloading in narrow streets, moustached men wearing cloth caps, piling in and out of old American cars,  glimpses of minarets and Islamic architecture. Ragged, bearded and in that time from as far away as India like MU, squatting cross-legged, scraping pieces of large blocks dark hash scored in Kandahar. The memory of it all with this fever, makes me want to smoke again, something I haven't done for years but it was cool to smoke there walking barefoot on old cobbled roads.


Man an woman too !, I'm inhaling deeply from a joint and passing it to Richard , look man that’s Asia over there and Africa across there with Europe up there. That’s where we were, Asia is big man and the Iran they plan to nuke is big too.Hope you cats know what you’re gettin into. The East will change Western thinking soon, not before time.? Dig their crazy cannons man. They used them for hash pipes in Afghanistan, no I kid you not. Massive clay pipes they loaded them up with hash and passed them round with everybody having a pull. Afghan cats were cool in those days. So you think you can smoke hash? Wait till you get an Afghan jellum, blow your heads off, gently of course. Man look at that sky again. Dig those clouds man! great cosmic circus and we’re all part of it with something big about to happen. Big changes man, can you feel it? We are the agents of change man, we are going to change the world!


Now we are walking on the wild side a little, random perhaps but spontaneous. You's all know there is something’s seriously wrong with the former cosy, material, world emanating from the City of London but you's can’t let it go, can you ?. Well you will have no choice soon!  Krishna, Kali...Yin, Yang....  .  England doesn’t really work anymore, man . Shit man, we have tapped into the spirit man... just go with the flow...tap the energy source. Its a while since Henry Miller told London to fuck off! Too fucking much, man. That cat was a mini god man! Turned on the life force....in the air man.... it’s free, man. But first we have to open  it. Just talking is not enough, that's what this trip on the protesting Galway Whooker on British Occupied Ireland with internment, up the bloody Thames is all about. Phuckin Cockney intellectuals full of hipsters, beatniks or whatever the fuck they called themselves sitting around smoking weed and analyzing their self-centred lives, don't cut it man.
Get to phuck out..before its too late....its too cerebral man!

Shit I’m horny, I want to ride the two women on deck. India to the right is wild man. Cows in the street with gurus, sadhus and wild holy men, ramblin around naked covered in ashes man. Weird shit and the people are great…especially the poor ones…they've got nuthin but they feed you man and if you get stuck you can always go to the Sikh temples…you can sleep there and they give you food... it’s free man. some crazy cats there man…I met a German who spent 10 years on an ashram... who could drink through his cock. There’s a revolution happenin man...a revolution of the soul...can you feel it ...this is just the beginning...I’ll tell you what man...in a year or two there’ll be men and women wandering around, looking for...enlightenment.. for themselves.;;;lookin for the Spirituality of Abundance...check it out woman...and maybe some just lookin for dope..... oblivion...who knows...


Oh man, I'm not just horny, those women on deck are something else man, sensual women is always feminine, rounded and abundant. They savours sexual enjoyment even when  unaroused state they sexually moist. With such an abundance of juices, these sensual women give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when aroused. They like each other and me playing with their sexual bodies. I think I’m in love not madly but in a nice easy way. Which one you may ask? Both of them of course, Life! please don’t make me choose. Oh shit, those crazy women last night ..sometimes they're phucking sexual animals. They just went nuts. Tore off all my clothes, licking, sucking each other and me on deck in the cabin, at one point they were half upside down hanging off the railings and the boat. There was spinning lights, it felt like an alien abduction, damn they are insatiable, fever, heat..I better stop, I'm strung out man......


Wisława Szymborska 1923-2012  is famous for her subtle simplicity shapes and themes. The magic in this poem comes from her unconventional approach. She brings my attention to the easiness I feel in the absence of raw emotion of conventional love where heart and mind go to the opposite sweet uneasiness of love quaking my whole existence.

Thank-You Note

I owe so much
to those I don't love.

The relief as I agree
that someone else needs them more.

The happiness that I'm not
the wolf to their sheep.

The peace I feel with them,
the freedom –
love can neither give
nor take that.

I don't wait for them,
as in window-to-door-and-back.
Almost as patient
as a sundial,
I understand
what love can't,
and forgive
as love never would.

From a rendezvous to a letter
is just a few days or weeks,
not an eternity.

Trips with them always go smoothly,
concerts are heard,
cathedrals visited,
scenery is seen.

And when seven hills and rivers
come between us,
the hills and rivers
can be found on any map.

They deserve the credit
if I live in three dimensions,
in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space
with a genuine, shifting horizon.

They themselves don't realize
how much they hold in their empty hands.

"I don't owe them a thing,"
would be love's answer
to this open question.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Olympics London 2012 : NO BLACKS NO DOGS NO IRISH








We'd all like to think that the days of these signs warning away certain "undesirables" were something of the past but certainly not London 2012 which is still unfortunately infested with rcism leading up to the Olympics in its obsessive immigration ignorance.

Estate agents are breaking international race relation standards by discriminating against Irish, Blacks or tenants with dogs and pretending their property is taken when this Irish undercover reporter requested info on it but jackpot when and enflish chappie strolls in it's available.


Landlord comment;"And exactly what business is it of yours or anyone else what people choose to do with their OWN property?"

Reply: "If your "property" is an island somewhere far from other people, then you might have a point. But once people start living together in groups, especially at the level of density one gets in a city, then there have to be rules about behavior anyplace where such behavior affects other people around you. The point of those rules should be to keep friction between people to a minimum, not to give certain groups an advantage and to shove other groups down. Prosperity for all comes from peace and harmony.
Few benefit from conflict, but many benefit from community."

Landlord comment;  All in all, I rent MY property to whoever I feel comfortable renting it to – not because I am ordered by some political rule as to what I can do with my own property

Reply: Everyone is entitled to an opinion but that doesn't mean all opinions are of equal value.

Barring people from renting because of the colour of their skin or where they are from, or what they believe, is otherwise known as racist, bigoted and illegal, thankfuly.

As I said, feel free to be a racist and break the law but don't expect any respect for doing that.

Bye bye now!"

DaddyPobbin:

'No Irish', 'Irish out' is all too common to me, growing up in Ulster, with a lot of no go area's for Nationalists and other Irish from the south.

I'm sure we can sympathize with other nationalities, our shared history under imperialism and in today's world, this emergence of heightened, public xenophobia and discrimination in jobs/housing which was rife in pre-70s Northern Ireland.

It's a crying shame this is continuing. Though Nationalists/Catholics were fighting for civil rights in their own country of birth, the same rights should be afforded to all people."


This bigotry and racism goes right up to the current Mayor of London, Boris Johnson who has in the past, referred to black people as "piccaninnies" with "watermelon smiles" and declared, in a discussion on 7/7, that "Islam is the problem". Jonson was extremely offensive earlier this year to London's Irish community, when he said: "I'll tell you what makes me angry - lefty crap," he thunders in response. Like? "Well, like spending £20,000 on a dinner at the Dorchester for Sinn Fein!" The Mayor of Londonreferring to the annual St Patrick's Day Gala Dinner, the £150-per-ticket black tie event that ran between 2002 and 2008 and was, ahem, self-financing?

The dinner that Boris cancelled in 2009 to save money despite the fact that it was, um, er, self-financing? The dinner that wasn't held "for Sinn Fein" but at the request, and for the sake, of the Irish community of Kilburn, Cricklewood and other parts of the capital?

He lied, the annual dinner for London's Irish community was totally self-supporting and to dismiss it as "lefty crap" and "for Sinn Fein" isn't just wrong but offensive. Irish footballers, television stars, singers and politicians  attended the St Patrick's Day dinner, including the mayor of Dublin and the Irish ambassador to the UK.

As a spokeperson for Ken Livingstone pointed out :To call the annual, self-financing, St Patrick's Day dinner "lefty crap" is both profoundly ill-informed and also an attack on Irish Londoners and their contribution to this city. Irish Londoners came together to celebrate the part they play in the life of London  and Boris Johnson has slapped them in the face. He is out of touch and ignorant of the facts. Another commented, "Poor Boris. It’s hard for a toff to be well mannered towards anyone but his own." No Blacks No Dogs No Irish was regularly seen all over England, particularly at boarding houses, where labourers would stay. Fortuantely it is not as common it used to be in your face but its still very much there in Olympic London 2012.

Donall MacAmhlaigh who came from County Galway, described the era well, in an Irish book called Dialann Deorai (Diary of an exile), from what at that time was a largely Irish speaking West of Ireland. He joined the First Battalion of the Irish Army, the Irish-speaking unit stationed in County Galway. After three years in the army, he emigrated to England. An Irish Navvy is also his account of six years labouring there. He died in Northampton in 1989 after a lifetime writing and working on building sites.

The Irish labour which helped rebuild Britain after the war expanded an existing culture, mainly in the areas where the A5, the main road from Holyhead, hits North London. The workers brought their regional loyalties with them. MacAmhlaigh took up navvying(builders labourer) with Mike Ned, a Curran from Cornomona. They mounted a wagon and set to breaking the ground with picks but when the ganger(supervisor) puts them on the mixer carrying bags of cement, MacAmhlaigh cannot straighten his back the next morning, but luckily finds himself digging a hole next day for three shillings an hour plus bonus.

The book a collection of stories of work in hotels, in fields, on building sites, for railways and at the US Air Force base at Brize Norton. The work, hard as it was, was still better than Ireland, where an Irish labourer digging a Tube line in the fifties could make as much in a night as he would make in a week in Ireland. MacAmhlaigh and many of his comrades stay in huts on remote sites as theywere unwelcome in the boarding houses.

Brendan Behan described Irish labour under, gangers with the names of Bruiser Joyce or Horse Face Toole. The Irish world in London was a rural one, dependent, like many emigrant communities, on the remittances of migrants. London life was as far as people could manage it still a small-town life. They attended Mass on Sunday and fasted on Good Friday with a few pints or more in the evening.

MacAmhlaigh found the English well-dressed compared to the people back home. They were tall "and you’d never think from them that they hadn’t had enough to eat for years." The world MacAmhlaigh described is mostly gone for the Irish where emigrant Irish can now fly home for a weekend. The world of the start and the ganger is now the world of  agricultural labourers, the Chinese cocklepicker and the Filipino nurse. The Irish are coming back to join them with mass emigration again and while the signs,`No blacks, no dogs, no Irish’ are less frequent, they might as well be in many places of London 2012

2012Olympics OlympicLondon, Armageddon, British Occupied Ireland, Galway Whooker, Ghengis Fokner II, london 2012, London Olympics, Nuked, Olympic, Olympic Games, Olympics, Olympics London



London 2012 : OSAMA BIN LADEN JNR II SAVAGE JERK OF HIS SPERM JAVELIN












British officials have hailed British Petroleum for their sponsorship of London 2012 and their recent wonderful giant oil slick in the Gulf. It's a magnificent time for the British Empire, particulary in the capital where patriotic Londoners have been merrily clinking their glasses and singing songs in heaving pubs, until well past traditional closing time celebrating their Olympic Games and their recent revenge on America in the Gulf of Mexico for their defeat in the Battle of New Orleans. As midnight strikes nightly, landlords across the capital wink at their staff and clear their throats, to deliver the two words they'd been fairly bursting to say out loud ever since hearing them whispered over the counter by a BP executives before the start of the Gulf oil spill.




"Free beer!" the clarion call rang out in every packed bar from Chancery Lane to Hendon, from Cheapside to Hampton Wick. "That's right," the beaming publicans were obliged to explain to a sceptical audience. "It's not a wind-up, it's a British Petroleum tank-up. Barrels of amber nectar on the house, all you can drink between now and the end of the Olympic Games, courtesy of BP!"It was the official stamp of approval that pricked the punters' ears. Their quizzical looks turned to broad smiles, thence to uproarious cheers. The bars were besieged by hordes of revitalised patrons determined to ramp up the pace of their liquid intake and make the most of this unprecedented British munificence while it lasted.




Twenty-four hour licensing has been a huge step forward some months ago, and now it seems that the liberation of the drinking public is complete. It is hard to believe that the jovial publican pulling at the pump with merry abandon, eager to serve up the first complimentary pint, is the very same minging killjoy who in earlier times had regularly imposed a miserable end to the night on his downtrodden clientèle, forcing his customers to mournfully sip the dregs of a precious last order grudgingly served until he plunged them suddenly into darkness, a chilling prelude to being yanked up by the scruff of the neck and hurled out of the door onto the pavement by one of his hired heavies.




But this oil spill in the Gulf is a truly special occasion. The fully subsidised quaffing is no mere celebration but a meticulously planned and co-ordinated booze-up serving a high patriotic purpose. This red letter day had been etched indelibly on the minds of all British patriots ever since the Battle of New Orleans when the Americans boasted


In 1814 we took a little trip
Along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans
And we caught the bloody British in the town of New Orleans



Ah! but to British, revenge is sweet, as they nightly perform with professional quality and stirring emotional force the joint Poo-Bowel presentation to the Gulf, which hasn't going down very well at all, with the brooding American President,whose eyes blaze with smouldering hatred as his military clutch their automatics, patently itching to fire off a couple of nuclear rounds. Ms Vaseline, spokesperson for  BP's special presentation is a delightful contrast. She treats the Americans to a glorious example of British mooning, baring her apparetly womanly buttocks with obvious relish, an emphatic gesture familiar to dedicated Bowel-watchers but a deeply shocking affront to devout Evangelicals, from the southern coastline states, especially Texas.


We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin'
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago
We fired once more and they began to runnin'
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico


Determined to strike while the iron is hot, she compounds the insult by delivering the British government's uncompromising yet slightly ludicrous opinion that the blowout itself was the work of the gorgeous six foot two specimen of lean, sinewy Arabic manhood, Mr Osama Bin Laden II, "an evil, nasty, horrible little man, almost as bad as his father" and that they will do everything in their power to help the Americans(while she winks, knowingly] track him down and exterminate him but having failed in that hopeless quest, they have turned the legendary might of the British armed forces and their explosive experts on softer targets, turning themselves from the second most hated country throughout the Arab world into little angels.




"Not bad, not bad," Mr Laden Jnr has admitted, mulling over the British handiwork. "You really are next best after New York...." Suddenly those fiery eyes caught sight of Viceroy Paterson crouching in the corner. "And what have you got to say for yourself?" demanded the fearsome Arabian, reputed to be a bit of a hothead and a chip off the old bloc, as he lifted his rifle and pointed it straight at the quaking  British Viceroy of Occupied Ireland. He cocked the trigger. "Out with it, Ghengis Paterson! Convince me to allow you to be second in command for the Olympics in London, we have a few vacancies!"




The great British Viceroy, made his own customary gesture in the back of his pants, living up to his wimpy name, shitting himself comprehensively, and yet rose manfully to the challenge, reeling off a list of possibilities, he left his trump card for last though, a glowing tribute to "Britannia Rules the Waves", when stating, "We're the best in the world at watersports, you know," Ghengis rounded off with a twinkle in his eye look at our contribution to Alaska and our beautiful browm rusty pipeline and of course those fireworks we had in Texas!.


We looked down the river and we seed the British come
And there must have been a hundred of 'em beatin' on the drum
They stepped so high and they made their bugles ring
We stood behind our cotton bales and didn't say a thing



This tantalising promise clinched the deal. The British party returned home to an ecstatic reception and several more knighthoods the had clinched the deal with the wealthy Arab. But then the long wait began. The annual festival of carnage did the rounds, starting with New York in 2001 where the local security forces led by the British WASPs showed tremendous resolve, in turning a blind eye to a series of suspicious goings-on, working hand in glove with the British to remove any red tape that might have got in the way of a truly awesome spectacle, and one that raised the bar to seemingly impossible heights for London 2012.



We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' 
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago 
We fired once more and they began to runnin' 
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico


Yet the supreme leader Benny Jnr was becoming ever angrier with each passing year.
"We did our bit," he ranted and raved on the videolink from his cavernous mountain headquarters "but where are the waterworks? It seemed more like a trickle than a flood from where I'm sitting."


The irascible Arabian was now so obsessed with this one particular physiological aspect of the response to terror, the barometer as he saw it of a truly successful atrocity, that he put through a final call to Viceroy Ghengis, threatening terrible vengeance on the popular peer and his family, unless there was a massive late surge in the all-important "wee factor"."This time I want Southern Belle and Yellow Rose panty-pissing," he demanded, "and lots of it!"

Old Hickory said we could take 'em by surprise 
If we didn't fire our muskets till we looked 'em in the eyes 
We held our fire till we seed their faces well 
Then we opened up our squirrel guns and gave 'em ..Well....we..


Viceroy Ghengis was unfazed, assuring Benny Jnr that years of meticulous preparation was coming to a head in a perfectly orchestrated climax. He could guarantee a pee spectacular on an awesome scale, far in excess of the golden waterfall that cascaded in downtown Manhattan on September 11th 2001, just before the final collapse of their twisted steel frames into the all-enveloping dust of Ground Zero.


…fired our guns and the British kept a'comin'
There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago
We fired once more and they began to runnin'
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico



"We've been pulling out all the stops from day one," Viceroy Ghengis reiterated for the umpteenth time. "We've never lost sight of the golden rule. You know the golden rule, Benny?" (The world-class John Bullscutter turned slick diplomat, had by this time got the measure of his opposite number and knew how to coax him down from his high horse.) "Let's say it together then," he exhorted Benny in his most charming telephone manner: "Proper planning promotes piss perfect performance."


Yeah they ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles
And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go
They ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico

Benny was appeased. And so it came to pass that after years of potty training in mass floodlit demonstrations led by Viceroy Ghengis Paterson's right-hand man, the herculean ambassador of British watersports Sir BP, possessor of the biggest bladder in Britain, London pub-goers had become highly proficient in the invaluable art of holding their beer. They could hold it for hours, for pint after pint, right through the serious bout of drinking in which they were still engaged long after sunrise as the clock moved slowly round and the frenetic pace of liquid consumption increased, until the bar finally closed and it was time to toddle off to work.


We fired our cannon till the barrel melted down
So we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round
We filled his head with cannonballs 'n' powdered his behind
And when we touched the powder off, the gator lost his mind





Apart from the unusually large number of bleary-eyed, pasty-faced individuals staggering drowsily through heavily-trafficked streets everything appeared normal in the metropolis at 8.45 am, yet the last piece of a perfectly engineered plan had clicked into place, with thousands of bladders primed and a top-ranking General shipped and secreted at each of the four pressure points of Gulf reserves, waiting for the off and charged with the task of orchestrating an imminent panic-stricken display.
We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago We fired once more and they began to runnin' On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.




Suddenly an explosion ripped through the air in the Gulf of Mexico. The British were out of the trap like frightened rabbits and turning on the waterworks. Dropping their knickers to reveal stylishly bald pubises and John Bull tatooes, they watered the open-mouthed crowd in the Gulf with a generous golden spray. "Oh, it's such a relief to be back on form!" they gushed.




Yeah they ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles
And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go
They ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em
On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico




Viceroy Ghengis himself had been pacing up and down his yacht in open-fly readiness in Belfast Lough not far from the remains of the Titanic, heard the loud bang and spurted the vast contents of his outsize bladder high into the air, describing a golden arc from somewhere near Belfast across to London as screaming cockneys victims tumbled from the their buses and floated upstream on the rising tide of piss pouring from the waterlogged pants of thousands of startled spectators in London, while the British urinary tracts blissfully relaxed by the blast and discharging pint after pint of pent-up wee down their sodden legs and into the swirling open urinal that was the pure waters of the Thames now filled with the scum of Olympic earth.




Watching with hand on weapon via satellite link in his secret guest-chamber somewhere in the Saudi royal palace, Osama Bin Laden Jnr II gave a final few savage jerks on his spam javelin and shot a tumultuous spurt, pissing himself in a delirious moment of double-barrelled pleasure reserved for the most godly of men, spattering the ceiling with a high-octane solution of purest Arabic piss that marked the shuddering climax of a truly phenomenal jihad.






Viceroy Ghengis kidnapper of Irish women, sturdy knight of the realm was slightly out on a limb seeking to revive those long-suppressed bitter folk memories of the Battle of New Orleans, unaware that in the mix of watersports and oil and tolling of the bell and chanting of "Ring-a-ring o' rosies" till he was blue in the face, he couldn't help going off-message by a predictable six inches when the first blast of shrapnel form Olympic London flew past his ear. He shat himself once again. It certainly cleared the Titanic area in Belfast in a matter seconds, long before the emergency oil services arrived, and creased the face of his Viceroy once again into a blissful smile.






It only remained for the British Lord Mayor of London Boris Jonson, professional Brit to the core the other Tory bullscutterer to give the final verdict on a red letter day for Britain. "It's been a bad day for London he said but good for Britain and good to be British," he blubbered with tears in his eyes. "Britain is right back on the map at the centre of the world, slap bang on the Greenwich meridian where it always belonged, we can intern the whole British population without trial, like Marian Price is now, forget about due process, they are all terrorists if we say so!. 

And if you need any more proof of how fuc*king brilliant Britain really, Revenge for the Battle of New Orleans, you've only got to look at the mess America is in, Revenge for New Orleans, Revenge for Suez, we're number one in the World again, were Number 1 in the Middle-east and the price of Oil is going to treble, just ask my best mates in the conservative Tea Party. Which Prompted the Obama response, " Phuk your goddamn Olympics and up your radioactive cockney hole !" Boris !


London 2012, Olympics 2012, 2012Olympics OlympicLondon, Armageddon, British Occupied Ireland, Ghengis Fokner II, London Olympics, Nuked, Olympic, Olympic Games, Olympics, Olympics London