Monthly Archives: July 2007

Either it’s the silly season or we are all politically (not) correct Marxists; Telly-princess’s pinched bottom to be subject of global manhunt.

This today from Hot Air.

Personally, I think it was staged, so as to create yet another offence to put on the statute books;

“If a male, and while being recorded or not, pinching or appearing to pinch, or conspiring with or without others to pinch, the bottom of a state-broadcasting-female-executive, whether of the BBC or of any other Channel. The appearance of appearing to pinch a State TV Female’s bottom shall be deemed to mean the actual pinching of the same bottom, and shall constitute an offence.”

Life gets more and more ridiculous every day, doesn’t it. If it was not tragic for Mankind and for the furtherance of God’s Vision for the Cosmos as prosecuted by The English West, which is the Only Heir to the traditon for this imho, then it would merely be funny. But it’s not.

Here’s the video of it.

Here’s the article.

Libertarians, and other hominids, have, I am sure, pinched women’s bottoms since God was in short trousers. I’d do it more, if I could get away with it, cos’ they are nice, so I can only use my wife in nearly all circumstances, and she then wails and complains that I am not sweeping the patio of rotting pears, or some such irrelevant stuff that is nowt to do with women’s bottoms. It is what their bottoms are for, after all, otherwise they would not be accentuated visually, and then they would not be the shape that they are supposed to be. You can’t gainsay Richard Dawkins, after all!

If God had not intended Men to have sex with Women, then he would not have given women bottoms for pinching, by men, as a necessary signal for the process to be started.

A pinchable bottom means that she will breed well as there is enough fat on her to sustain a pregnancy (shun low-fat foods! NOW!)***… has always been so, as our biology is at least 1,185,000 years ahead of socialism’s attempts to redefine it to the purposes of the gramscian sex-gestapo. The phrase to use, really, to check that you – as a woman – should NOT buy something is “does my bum look a bit too small in this?” If the answer is yes, don’t buy!

Twenty-one cheers for the man in the video. If he is not caught, and if his life is not ruined, then may he be as successful as any of us could want in life, and may he go forth and multiply hugely. But not with Telly-State-princesses; just ordinary women.

*** What you must all do now…..

When you are in a supermarket, and you pick up any stuff that says “low fat”……. or any variant of same, just shout…

” LOW FAT??????????? CAN’T EAT THAT THEN, CAN WE !!!!! ”

Make sure that you can be heard by at least eight people who are within ordinary talking distance of your trolley. I will bet you 5p that FOUR of them will laugh, and ONE will agree with you…out loud. Fats are what make stuff tase of anything, chemically. The State(s) may be determined to remove TASTE from food, as “taste”, allowed in something, would then be a suitably sexy reward for compliance, in something. But……..this could be the start of the fightback, if you want.

There are people out there who have not forgotten what Science Fiction was for.

The late Chris Tame was as avid a reader (and also a notable collector) of SF as I have ever known. My father was one too, but his library of it, which I inherited, only stretched to about 6 yards; Chris’s was five or six times that even years before he died.  Chris preferred what he called “hard SF”; I don’t know if Heinlein would fully qualify there, as he tended to stray into “rocket-opera”, which is always a temptation as it’s popular. But I was reminded of the existence of chris’s huge librray of the stuff, and my smaller one, by this newsgroup posting I got earlier today.

Robert A. Heinlein’s Legacy 

Date: 28/07/2007 15:15:39 GMT Daylight Time

Robert A. Heinlein’s Legacy
As they say on the moon, “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch!”

Thursday, July 26, 2007 12:01 a.m. EDT

Science fiction at one time was despised as vulgar and “populist” by
university English departments. Today, it is just another cultural
artefact to be deconstructed, along with cartoons and People magazine
articles. Yet one could argue that science fiction has had a greater
impact on the way we all live than any other literary genre of the
20th century.

When one looks at the great technological revolutions that have
shaped our lives over the past 50 years, more often than not one
finds that the men and women behind them were avid consumers of what
used to be considered no more than adolescent trash. As Arthur C.
Clarke put it: “Almost every good scientist I know has read science
fiction.” And the greatest writer who produced them was Robert Anson
Heinlein, born in Butler, Mo., 100 years ago this month.

The list of technologies, concepts and events that he anticipated in
his fiction is long and varied. In his 1951 juvenile novel, “Between
Planets,” he described cell phones. In 1940, even before the Manhattan
Project had begun, he chronicled, in the short story “Blowups
Happen,” the destruction of a graphite-regulated nuclear reactor
similar to the one at Chernobyl. And in his 1961
masterpiece, “Stranger in a
Strange Land,” Heinlein–decades before
Ronald and Nancy Reagan moved to the White House–introduced the idea
that a president’s wife might try to guide his actions based on the
advice of her astrologer. One of Heinlein’s best known “inventions”
is the water bed, though he never took out a patent.

Heinlein brought to his work a unique combination of technical savvy–
based largely on the engineering training he’d received at the U.S.
Naval Academy and a career in the Navy cut short by tuberculosis in
1934–and a broad knowledge of history and foreign languages.
Bemoaning the state of U.S. education in the 1970s, he wrote
that “the three-legged stool of understanding is held up by history,
languages and mathematics . . . if you lack any one of them you are
just another ignorant peasant with dung on your boots.” Heinlein was
certainly no ignorant peasant.
Though he later became well known for his anticommunism, Heinlein in
the late 1930s indulged in both leftist and isolationist politics. He
sold his first science-fiction story in 1939 for $70, “and there was
never a chance that I would ever again look for honest work.” After
Pearl Harbor, to his great disappointment, he was not called back
into uniformed service. He ended the war at the Philadelphia Naval
Aircraft Factory, working with fellow writers L. Sprague de Camp and
Isaac Asimov.

From the late ’40s to the late ’50s, Heinlein mostly wrote adventure
stories aimed at boys. Some, such as “Citizen of the Galaxy” (1957)
and “Starman Jones” (1953), examine social and economic status with
as jaundiced an eye as Tom Wolfe’s. Others are comedies like the
delightful “The Rolling Stones” (1952), which helped inspire the
famous Star Trek episode “The Trouble With Tribbles.”

In 1958, in response to what he saw as a liberal effort to weaken
America‘s military, he set aside the “Sex and God” book on which he
had been working and wrote “Starship Troopers.” This was probably his
most controversial book. In it he imagines a future society in which
the right to vote must be earned by volunteering for service,
including service in the military. In response to claims that the
book glorifies the military, he wrote: “It does indeed. Specifically,
the P.B.I., the Poor Bloody Infantry, the mudfoot who puts his frail
body between his loved home and the war’s desolation–but is rarely

Afterward, he finished the work he had set aside, and it became his
second and possibly greatest masterpiece, “Stranger in a Strange
Land.” The book tells the story of a human child raised by Martians
who is brought to Earth and discovers religion, lust and love, as
well as politics, interplanetary diplomacy, legal shenanigans and
life in a traveling carnival. The novel introduced the word “grok”
into the vocabulary of the 1960s counterculture and seduced many of
its members into reading some of Heinlein’s other works–writings
that, in some cases, helped them to rethink the assumptions of

His next book was “Glory Road,” another novel on the subject of duty,
heroism and love. The first chapter not only sets up the story but
includes one of the most eloquent and witty denunciations of military
conscription ever written. In “
Glory Road,” his protagonist is
magically transported from Earth, where he had been
fighting “pragmatic Marxists in the jungle,” to a fantasy universe
where, armed only with sword and bow, he would rescue a priceless
treasure. His guide and mentor is a woman of “ageless perfect beauty”
who later turns out to be the Empress of the Twenty Universes. She
explains to the hero that “so far as I know, your culture is the only
semi-civilized one in which love is not recognized as the highest art
and given the serious study it deserves.”

Heinlein’s political beliefs were moving more and more toward the
libertarian side of the spectrum. He supported Barry Goldwater in
1964, and in 1966 he published what many considered his greatest
book, “The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress,” the tale of how penal colonists
and their descendants on the Moon successfully revolt against their
Earthly masters. The core of this book, which keeps it near the top
of the libertarians’ reading lists, is the speech by an old
professor, Bernardo de la Paz, to the rebels’ constitutional
convention: “. . . like fire and fusion, government is a dangerous
servant and a terrible master. You now have your freedom–if you can
keep it. But do remember that you can lose this freedom more quickly
to yourselves than to any other tyrant.”
The professor explains: “The power to tax, once conceded, has no
limits; it contains until it destroys. I was not joking when I told
them to dig into their own pouches. It may not be possible to do away
with government–sometimes I think that it is an inescapable disease
of human beings. But it may be possible to keep it small and starved
and inoffensive–and can you think of a better way than by requiring
the governors themselves to pay the costs of their antisocial hobby.”
As they say on the Moon, “TANSTAAFL!”: “There Ain’t No Such Thing as
a Free Lunch!”

Heinlein’s later novels were overshadowed by his failing health, and
he often wrote on medical themes such as brain transplants and
cloning. He was a strong supporter of blood drives and a big
supporter of NASA’s medical research projects. In the ’70s, in a
speech to the midshipmen at the Naval Academy, he said he thought
that “patriotism has lost its grip on a large percentage of our
population. . . . But there is no way to force patriotism on anyone.
Passing a law will not create it, nor can we buy it by appropriating
so many billions of dollars.”

Robert A. Heinlein, who died in 1988, lived a life inspired by two
great loves. One was America and its promise of freedom. As one of
his characters put it: “Your country has a system free enough to let
heroes work at their trade. It should last a long time–unless its
looseness is destroyed from the inside.” And he loved and admired
women–not just his wife, Virginia, who provided the model for the
many strong-minded and highly competent females who populate his
stories, but all of womankind. “Some people disparage the female form
divine, sex is too good for them; they should have been oysters.”

In another hundred years, it will be interesting to see if the
nuclear-powered spaceships and other technological marvels he
predicted are with us. But nothing in his legacy will be more
important than the spirit of liberty he championed and his belief
that “this hairless embryo with the aching oversized brain case and
the opposable thumb, this animal barely up from the apes will endure.
Will endure and spread out to the stars and beyond, carrying with him
his honesty and his insatiable curiosity, his unlimited courage and
his noble essential decency.” 

I wonder sometimes about France. What the hell are we to do about her?

I wondered about France today. Not for the first time either. This bout was triggered by scanning John Gibson’s book “Hating America, the new world sport“. You want to ask, how many Frances are there actually? (Well, there’s West Germany, where they speak French and which faces us across the Channel, then of course you have Germany itself east of the Rhine, and…….but that’s a joke.)

France is a problem that libertarians ought to devote time to addressing, since its foreign policy activities – and its domestic ones in large and increasing degree through its catspaw the EU, impede the efforts of people all over the world to promote liberalism and individual freedom. You could almost be forgiven – the disarmingly frank admissions of French and other EU officials aside – for thinking that the French ruling class is against the whole idea of individual liberty. And the place is a Nuclear Power with it. (I don’t mind the electricity thank you very much, but ought France really to be allowed nuclear weapons, if we are pretending for a moment not to be libertarian?) 

The France that impinges mostly on your average modern Mondeo Man is of leisurely vacational wanders by car, past patisseries, boulangeries, charcouteries, and roadside eateries, with the obligatory family stock-up trip to Carrefour etc, for cheap wine and (relatively rather) expensive food – but they don’t notice that in the passion of the moment. There is also this residual, sort of ghostly even, feeling that this France is somehow strange and exotic. I even know youngish people who think that Frenchmen are rural characters who cycle about cheerfully in berets, with massive strings of onions attached (to the bikes, not the berets.) I don’t know about you, but I have not seen one of these in years.

Then there’s the one you want to do your “No Turning Back” TV moment of fame in. I’ve just heard of another mum of a child at my wife’s nursery this evening, who wants to “go and live abroad”, probably in 2/3 years, and it would be so great to “live off the land!” This is not the same France, I feel, as the one Mondeo Man thinks he knows.

There is the urban France you get fed occasionally on the TV News, the one where disaffected North African Male Youth does its stuff, and whom the President famously called “Cannaile” in a previous life. I don’t think the French ruling class wants this exposed much, and in my experience it’s very hard to find your way to those places without a good map.

The ordinary French people are in there somewhere, but I don’t know any personally right now, so I have no idea whether they know how to act for themselves. I suspect they can’t owing to the sheer weight of bureauracy imposed on businesses and ordinary transaction. Make mental note to find out.

That’s four already. But now on top of this we have the French Political Class, which I suspect is the root of the problem. This is the France that kept the UN and the Allies (us) off the back of the wicked butcher Saddam Hussein for so long, when it was clear his number was to be up. This is the France that wanted us to pretend that it was nothing to do with NATO for so long. this is the one that merrily allows EU “directives” to be passed in its name and ours, while tacitly ignoring those that don’t suit its domestic and foreign interests. 

It’s inconceivable that French people can be that different from other nations who inhabit this general neck of the woods; so then, why does such a construct as the énarquerie, relying openly on State authority, coupled to arbitrary application of logic and philospher-king-Platonism, not get turned over and thrown out? In liberal capitalist terms it is the cardinal anachronism! The French people are marvellously ingenious and creative – just like us. They have contributed much more than an average human share to science, engineering, music and literature; so why do they feel the need to tolerate a superimposed class of Platonists which appears to order their lives, and wants to order the world’s?

Perhaps the énarques ought to get out more. After all, France lost the First World War in 1759, or thereabouts. They lost the Second in 1815. Public rapprochement with “les Rosbifs” has saved them from total humiliation in World War Three (1899-1989 with three armistice periods starting in 1902, 1918 and 1945. I don’t know what the solution to the France problem is, for the future of world libertarianism, but I suggest it’s a psychological issue which chiefly affects their top graduates or the educational bureaucrats’ tradition which trains them.

Can anybody suggest soutions here?

Newspeak comes to Burnley!

This just recently from Freedom and Whisky.

(Telly Dailygraph 23.07.07)

 Binman’s St George bandana ‘is racist’
 By Nigel BunyanLast Updated: 1:45am BST 23/07/2007 

A black dustman has been banned from wearing a St George’s Cross bandana because council officials say it could be regarded as racist.

Matthew Carter, 35, who was born in Barbados, used the headgear to keep his dreadlocks out of the way while he was on his rounds in Burnley, Lancs. He had done so for seven months before his photograph appeared in a local newspaper. A number of local people complained, and his superiors called him.“I received a verbal warning,” Mr Carter said yesterday. “They told me the St George’s Cross was not allowed to be seen on any clothing we wear because it could be considered offensive and racist.”Ian McInery, the operational services manager for Pendle council, defended the decision to discipline Mr Carter. He said: “We have made it clear to staff that they are not allowed to put stickers or flags on bin wagons or wear clothing which shows support for a particular team, group or country.We can’t make one rule for one person and one for another. It’s just a common-sense approach that we are sticking to.”Mr Carter still wears a bandana but one that bears the image of a skull and crossbones.

Clearly, when a socialist says something, it now means the opposite. Furthermore, Libertarians ought to agree that law-abiding Christian sea-traders might consider a skull-and-crossbones definitely offensive, and quite possibly racist, since the bones depicted will always have been from a race (even a religion) other than that of the pirates, who would have not had the best interests of the said traders at heart. But I don’t expect Mr McInery will discipline Mr Carter for that.

One rule for one person and one for another.

The great wheelie-bin curse is upon us as a nation; time to make good come out of evil.

These excrescences have arrived en masse, typically in foul 70s-retro-Biba-type socialist-chic colours. One Soviet’s bins in the Liverpool “Gau” are a particularly repellent shade of bright magenta, which I previously only thought suitable for the more appropriate types of ladies’ visible underwear. They will now disfigure the country (the bins, not the underwear sadly.) Metal dustbins were much more iconic of liberalism, since they were statistically all different within a small area. They would quickly go a sort of brownish grey shade, merging into the background, like conservative people. You could burn stuff directly in them also, hence returning millions of tons of much needed CO2 to the atmosphere where it rightly belongs for the good of the Earth, while simultaneously reducing the volume of “waste” you produced.

We are to pay through the nose for these, an unfortunate turn of my phrase but there you are. However, I offer on this bolg a prize, which is (to be, sometime, when I get around to it) a hypertext link to a FIAT-paper voucher (the relevant experts are to convene a meeting to explore the feasibility of the scheme) to be exchanged for a bottle of State Champagne-Substitute, which will be awarded for each further useful suggestion for their uses, which gets successfully added to my preliminary list of ten below;

 10 useful things to do with wheelie-bins………. 

1                   Use as H&SE-approved substitute for sacks in “sack races” if not allowed to race “solo”  (oh, er, sorry, I forgot that you can’t say the word “race” any more.)

2                   Drill small drainage holes all the way up each side and grow potatoes in them (got to dig for victory after the floods…)

3                   Ditto carrots – height deters carrot-fly.

4                   Leave outside charity shops after filling with smelly old clothes.

5                   Ballast with half an inch of lead plate in bottom, and paddle around Tewkesbury.

6                   Upturn and stand on inverted base, to call for help after capsizing (see (5) above.) 

7                   “Install” 1,762,468 bins at the Tate-Modern.

8                   Place on side and use as long kennel for very short dog.

9                   Fill with concrete and use as barricades (if you are a socialist student.)

10      Fill black ones with concrete and place horizontally, three deep, across middle-class residential roads at night, to deter young male feral men with no hair driving W-reg Vauxhall Novas at 134 mph. An unplanned cheap flight of some 20-30 yards will result.

The untypical floods in Central England highlight yet more sharply the cretinously stupid impotence of gumment “planning”.

Axioms to start with;

(1) The Earth has no settled “climate”. Never has had, never will.

(2) Man is too insignificant to change its non-settled climate at all. Ever…or at least for the next few centuries, until (if the West’s traitors-in-its-midst allow it to survive, and individual scientific creativity is still allowed) we can deploy the kinds of amounts of energy that could hope to begin to compare, even locally, with the Sun’s radiated output and flux at the planetary surface.

(3) We CAN predict local (very local) weather which we can’t change, quite accurately.

(4) If you abolish local drainage patterns, then when lots of water comes at you with erratic periodicity, you will get floods.

The above things ought to be obvious. However, I have observed some disturbing notions now circulating in the meeja;

(A) The “gumment” ought to have “done more”. (A sentiment worryingly expressed by an uncomfortably large number of affected individuals.)

(B) The “environment” “Agency” didn’t do whatever it thought, and others thought, it was supposed to do.

(C) the “gumment” is still apparently going ahead with plans for 3 gazzillion “affordable houses”, mostly in the very parts of the country where there are still-unconcreted flood plains.

Almost worse than all that, I am assailed by walls of silence from the West’s “pop singers” and “celebrities”, who have so far signally failed to call for, let alone start, an appeal fund for those individuals affected – most of whom will have contributed thousands of percent more to the same pop stars’ fortunes than any number of hapless victims of the Tsunami (anyone remember that, or what happened to what Bob Geldof famously called, years before, “the f*****g money”?)

So. “Where’s the f*****g pop-singers, then? (when we need them….)

Well, so. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of British people are finding that they now live in unreliable geographic conditions, in a State whose generalised incompetence they ought to begin to realise. There are three things they can do right away; 

The first thing they’ll have to do is learn to be more self-reliant, since nobody else clearly is going to help them, ever.

The second thing is to forget about the efficacy of buildings and contents insurance, since the providers of same will have been in cahoots with the “gumment” for some time; they must now simply modify their own properties (which are probably now unsaleable for the reason given in this paragraph) unilaterally, to defend against the “gumment’s” promise of more and better floods.

The third thing I can think of here is to demostrate, politically at first – all the time and always and every day, and then aggressively if need be (learn from the French, who have never had the good fortune to live under a liberal pluralist democracy, and so they act accordingly) against any further plans to concrete over their counties, to provide “affordable housing”; that is to say, socialised housing projects for State Salariat Staff to be built mainly in Tory areas. Or for any other reason; moreover, there are plenty of brownfield sites in my part of the country, where yet more labour voters will feel quite at home among their own kind, instead of being dumped unceremoniously in smelly rural towns and villages and fields full of pig-shit and crappy plants, and not a night-club or tobacconist or Post Office for the giro-cheque, for miles.

As for the pop-singers and their silence on this, f*** them. To hell with “their” money; we are better people than they think. I bet you 5p they’ll all be on the next band-wagon – literally –  for “climate change” (see the start of this) or some far-away disaster of which we know nothing. Charity ought to begin at home.

More on the Tory party continuing to remain dead. The backbenchers have now caught on.

Yesterday I had a go at the Tories (see below.) Now we find their own slaves revolting. And in the Snidey Torygraph to boot! (Don’t worry; it’s the only Sunday paper that’s remotely readable in these darkening days. It’s just that it’s what we called it when we were students, nearly 40 years ago. You had to seem to be “left-wing”, or you would not be able to pick up girls; it’s the way it was.)