Well okay, that's not what the law technically says, but since the upshot of the new Arizona legal definition of when life begins is actually two weeks before conception, it stands to reason that all births in Arizona will by definition be Immaculately Conceived. And we all know what happened the last time that was said to have occurred....
Glad the 'War on women' is completely made up by the 'liberal media'.....
(I blame the heat, they can't ALL be religiously insane, women-hating fucktards in that state can they?)
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Nothing important really, but....
It's been a month since I wrote my last post and not a soul has read it...Excellent!
So what's been happening? The republican presidential nomination race is still going on, albeit with Mitt Rmoney looking more and more inevitable after every result comes out. It's so stale that even the presstitutes in the M$M have seemingly grown bored over the whole thing and turned back to following celebrity gossip with refreshed vigor after the passage of Whitney Houston. Turns out she died of a heart attack of some sort and wound up face down in the tub with traces of cocaine all over her hotel room. Most of her music was mainstream pap that I neither cared for or listened to, but her voice was amazing. Her rendition of the American National Anthem at the Super Bowl in 1991 brings goosebumps to this Brit's arms every time I hear it, and stands out as quite possibly the best vocal rendition ever. (No-one beats Jimi Hendrix's version, though).
What else? Oh yes, a lard arsed, right-wing fucktard on the radio caused himself all sorts of trouble when he called a young women that testified in Congress a "slut" because she wanted her employer to pay for her birth control. In the rest of the civilized world what that young woman was saying makes perfect sense and no-one gives a shit, but in this christo-fascist era bitches need to keep their mouths closed, and their legs open, and focus on staying pretty rather than worrying about a career in public speaking apparently. According to the neanderthals on the right the toughest decision a woman needs to concern herself with nowadays should be whether or not to wear her 'Hooker shoes' when she blows her husband as he watches SportsCenter on ESPN after she's cleaned the table of the remnants of the dinner she spent all day cooking...
Also several (republican controlled) states have passed, or are looking to pass, laws that effectively codify the rape of any woman that wants to have an abortion, by forcing them to pay for a trans-vaginal ultra-sound. (A trans-vaginal ultra-sound is one where the woman is penetrated by a wand, not the usual one where they only rub jello on the tummy). These laws would apply even in the cases where the woman might have become pregnant through rape.
And the republicans in congress can't figure out why they are less popular than genital herpes...
In Florida (a well-known haven for nutters and crazies) an Hispanic man murdered a black kid who was armed with a very threatening bag of candy and a hoodie....the fact that he wasn't arrested by The Filth has upset more than a few folks in this great country, not least of which are all the sane people...
Oh, and NOAA just came out yesterday and said that this past March was the hottest in recorded history.
But global warming is a myth....
My head hurts.....
So what's been happening? The republican presidential nomination race is still going on, albeit with Mitt Rmoney looking more and more inevitable after every result comes out. It's so stale that even the presstitutes in the M$M have seemingly grown bored over the whole thing and turned back to following celebrity gossip with refreshed vigor after the passage of Whitney Houston. Turns out she died of a heart attack of some sort and wound up face down in the tub with traces of cocaine all over her hotel room. Most of her music was mainstream pap that I neither cared for or listened to, but her voice was amazing. Her rendition of the American National Anthem at the Super Bowl in 1991 brings goosebumps to this Brit's arms every time I hear it, and stands out as quite possibly the best vocal rendition ever. (No-one beats Jimi Hendrix's version, though).
What else? Oh yes, a lard arsed, right-wing fucktard on the radio caused himself all sorts of trouble when he called a young women that testified in Congress a "slut" because she wanted her employer to pay for her birth control. In the rest of the civilized world what that young woman was saying makes perfect sense and no-one gives a shit, but in this christo-fascist era bitches need to keep their mouths closed, and their legs open, and focus on staying pretty rather than worrying about a career in public speaking apparently. According to the neanderthals on the right the toughest decision a woman needs to concern herself with nowadays should be whether or not to wear her 'Hooker shoes' when she blows her husband as he watches SportsCenter on ESPN after she's cleaned the table of the remnants of the dinner she spent all day cooking...
Also several (republican controlled) states have passed, or are looking to pass, laws that effectively codify the rape of any woman that wants to have an abortion, by forcing them to pay for a trans-vaginal ultra-sound. (A trans-vaginal ultra-sound is one where the woman is penetrated by a wand, not the usual one where they only rub jello on the tummy). These laws would apply even in the cases where the woman might have become pregnant through rape.
And the republicans in congress can't figure out why they are less popular than genital herpes...
In Florida (a well-known haven for nutters and crazies) an Hispanic man murdered a black kid who was armed with a very threatening bag of candy and a hoodie....the fact that he wasn't arrested by The Filth has upset more than a few folks in this great country, not least of which are all the sane people...
Oh, and NOAA just came out yesterday and said that this past March was the hottest in recorded history.
But global warming is a myth....
My head hurts.....
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Dumb and Dumber (or 'Meet the Romneys')
Today is 'Super Tuesday' here in 'Murrka (Home of the brave and land of the free*) which is when republican voters drag themselves out of their Mom's basement or their trailer homes, and trudge to the polls in seven states to vote for their favourite angry, rich, white guy. The 'front-runner' of this race, if by that phrase you mean "the candidate who has won less than half of the contests to this point but still gets pimped by the M$M as the man to beat", has been portrayed by his opponents as an out of touch, rich, liberal elitist. Whilst it is true that Mittens is the most liberal of the candidates currently on the republican ballot, that is rather like saying Pol Pot was an 'unambitious under-achiever' when compared to the likes of Hitler and Stalin. Don't get the wrong idea though, he's still a right-wing ideologue when it comes to the poor, the unemployed, unions, the environment, health care, gay rights and civil liberties, he just doesn't hate minorities and women as much as the other guys.
Be that as it may, the latest comment uttered by the wife of Mittens Rmoney ups the 'say what?' quotient to 100...Whilst her multi-millionaire husband runs around the country, rolling up his sleeves and pretending to be a regular guy with his 'aw shucks' campaign-shtick, his wife has picked up his unfortunate habit of discounting his wealth as being not that big of a deal. Her latest gaffe came earlier this week when she said that she didn't really consider their family to be that wealthy at all. To which I say 'bitch, please'....anytime you want to switch bank books I'm all in. Shit I don't even want the whole $250 million (that's $250,000,000.00 for those of you playing along at home), I'd take 10 percent of that and be thrilled, hell, I'd take ONE percent of that number and consider myself wealthy....
Couple this with her husband's recent statements that "he's a Ford man, but my wife is into Cadillacs, in fact she drives two", and you start to get the sense that these rich motherfuckers Just.Don't.Get.It.
So I have to say, on this single thing, his opponents are 100% right. And that is the first and only time I will ever admit to agreeing with anything Frothy Santorum or Toad Gingrinch have uttered...
*Actual freedom may vary based upon race, gender, sexual orientation or net worth
Be that as it may, the latest comment uttered by the wife of Mittens Rmoney ups the 'say what?' quotient to 100...Whilst her multi-millionaire husband runs around the country, rolling up his sleeves and pretending to be a regular guy with his 'aw shucks' campaign-shtick, his wife has picked up his unfortunate habit of discounting his wealth as being not that big of a deal. Her latest gaffe came earlier this week when she said that she didn't really consider their family to be that wealthy at all. To which I say 'bitch, please'....anytime you want to switch bank books I'm all in. Shit I don't even want the whole $250 million (that's $250,000,000.00 for those of you playing along at home), I'd take 10 percent of that and be thrilled, hell, I'd take ONE percent of that number and consider myself wealthy....
Couple this with her husband's recent statements that "he's a Ford man, but my wife is into Cadillacs, in fact she drives two", and you start to get the sense that these rich motherfuckers Just.Don't.Get.It.
So I have to say, on this single thing, his opponents are 100% right. And that is the first and only time I will ever admit to agreeing with anything Frothy Santorum or Toad Gingrinch have uttered...
*Actual freedom may vary based upon race, gender, sexual orientation or net worth
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Losing my religion
Being born British, and 100% C of E (Church of England - Cake or Death?) religion and spirituality played a very minimal role in my upbringing. I went to regular non-parochial schools, made fun of those that didn't, and palled around with Jewish and Hindu mates without batting an eye. My parents tried in my earlier years to have the family go to church on a somewhat more regular basis than most, i.e. not just Christmas and Easter, but it just sort of petered out over time. I seem to recall that the last time we all went as a family it was to a regular Sunday morning service at a beautiful and picturesque local church in my home county of Kent. The reason I remember it so vividly after all of these years was because it was disrupted by one of the parishioners having a loud and violent seizure midway through the sermon.
Had I been old enough to have seen 'The Exorcist' ( I wasn't - plus it hadn't been filmed yet) I would have sworn to you that this old woman, helplessly flailing around the floor, had been possessed by demons that were intent on ripping themselves out of her body right there and then. I mean seriously, the only thing missing was the rotating head and the pea-soup. I don't mind telling you I damned near crapped myself. It didn't help that the person who had suffered that seizure was the local village Crazy Lady. In retrospect she was probably a very lonely old soul, but she scared the shit out of all of us kids because she had crazy eyes and she had hair growing out of her moles. (I swear to you I am not making this up. Just typing this is giving me the heebie-jeebies remembering what she looked like). She scared us so much that we used to cross the busy main road in the village so as not to get in her path if she was spotted walking back from the local shops.
I was probably somewhere around the ripe old age of ten when that all happened, but I can sit here now, nearly forty years later, and remember it like it was yesterday. I don't think that was the sole reason (soul reason?) we stopped going to church, and I don't recall it being announced officially that the whole 'Let's go and say thanks to God and Jesus every week' experiment was over, but I like to think that my parents thought that my brother and I had been sufficiently scarred by that incident that we wouldn't need to go back. It's a real shame in a way because the church this all happened in really is a very pretty little country church, but my pace always quickened a step or two anytime I ever passed it from that day forward.
My only other truly memorable church memory happened about ten years later. I was on a visit back home from studying in America, probably early 1980's, and I had gone down the pub with an old mate of mine to catch up (as you do). After we had been thrown out of the boozer at closing time by the lovely landlady we staggered back to his mum's house to have a few more. By the time we were done polishing off his mother's booze, it was probably one o'clock in the morning, and I still had a walk of a mile or so to get back to my parents place. There was only one small problem. Between his mum's place, and my folks abode stood a church. Not the same church as before, a different one. There was nothing wrong this church either, it too was a very pretty, standard sort of English country church, a little larger than the other one perhaps, but there were no horror stories or ghostly tales of hauntings about it in the village. But neither one of us big, strong, 20 year-old young men wanted to walk past this church late at night because it was too scary. Now, you have to remember that this is in England, which means that the church itself is typically surrounded by a graveyard. In fact, this one had a grave-yard on the other side of the main road that ran next to the church, as well as the main one by the church building itself, so in effect I was going to have to walk through the middle of the graveyard to get home.
I came up with a cunning plan.
I suggested to my mate (for the purposes of this piece I shall call him Mike, if for no other reason than because that's what his name is), that he accompany me home, past the church, he could then have a quick coffee at my folks place and then he could head back home by himself. Alas, dear reader he too saw through that plan. He was not too sozzled to figure out that my suggested course of action would mean that even though we would have each other for moral support and courage as we passed the church on the way to my folks place, he would have to walk past the church on his way back to his mum's place, by himself. In turning my suggestion down I seem to recall Mike suggested I perform an act upon myself that is both physically, and anatomically impossible. He may very well have also questioned my mental capacity and my parent's marital status as well, I can't be sure, but the over-riding fact was that it was most definitely a no-go.
Resigned to my fate I finally screwed up enough courage to head out the door and begin my trek back chez mes parents. As I got closer to the church, quietly cursing Mike under my breath with every step, I was thankful that it was a brilliantly lit night courtesy of what seemed like a very low-hanging moon, not quite full, but close. The moonlight helped ease my sense of foreboding as I walked around the bend and the church and the graveyard came into view. My pace quickened a little and reflexively I started to whistle. Yes, it's corny I know, but if you want to know why that phrase came into being, I suggest YOU try walking past a graveyard in the dead of night (okay, that one was deliberate) and not whistle, or hum. Trust me, you will do anything to make some sort of sound to break the still, oppressive quiet of nothing more than a late night breeze rustling a few leaves, and what you'd swear was either the sound of bending boughs in the trees or the faint sound of a coffin-lid slowly creaking open on the other side of that headstone over there in the corner....
Anyway, I was about half-way through the graveyard when all of a sudden the clock bell rings out with two ear-shatteringly loud chimes from the church tower. I'm not sure if I screamed out loud or not, but I do recall that I immediately dropped my ciggy and started running at full clip. I didn't stop until I could see the lights of my parents house in the distance getting closer. That was about three quarters of a mile away just so you know, a distance I couldn't run today if you offered me a million dollars and a blow-job from the Hollywood Starlet of my choice as a reward.
Once I arrived safely in the bosom of Casa de Mum & Dad I found, annoyingly, that I had become immediately sober, and so as soon as my heart-rate had settled down, and now that I no longer needed the obligatory post-booze-fest aspirin-and-a-gallon-of-water, I shuffled off to bed and cursed my mate Mike for opting to stay safely at home under the covers, most likely having a wank, rather than offer support to his friend.
I checked my underwear the following morning and was heartily impressed to find them unsoiled by my previous evenings' frightening escapade. As I sat down to tuck into a damned fine English breakfast, both Mum and Dad asked after the events of the previous night. I skipped over the bits where I struck out with all of the ladies, but gave them the full blow-by-blow details about the walk/run home. They found it vastly amusing that my best friend had told me to stop being such a big girl's blouse and walk home by myself, and were even more impressed that I had been able to actually get the key on the door upon my arrival, but they exchanged quizzical looks when I told them about the church bells ringing out. They both looked at me and asked if I was sure that the bells had rung out, and I said "Of course they bloody did! That's why I ran all the way here!" to which they replied, almost in unison, "Well that's a little odd, the church clock hasn't worked for years, dear..."
I suddenly realized I needed to check my underwear again...and then I excused myself from the breakfast table....
Had I been old enough to have seen 'The Exorcist' ( I wasn't - plus it hadn't been filmed yet) I would have sworn to you that this old woman, helplessly flailing around the floor, had been possessed by demons that were intent on ripping themselves out of her body right there and then. I mean seriously, the only thing missing was the rotating head and the pea-soup. I don't mind telling you I damned near crapped myself. It didn't help that the person who had suffered that seizure was the local village Crazy Lady. In retrospect she was probably a very lonely old soul, but she scared the shit out of all of us kids because she had crazy eyes and she had hair growing out of her moles. (I swear to you I am not making this up. Just typing this is giving me the heebie-jeebies remembering what she looked like). She scared us so much that we used to cross the busy main road in the village so as not to get in her path if she was spotted walking back from the local shops.
I was probably somewhere around the ripe old age of ten when that all happened, but I can sit here now, nearly forty years later, and remember it like it was yesterday. I don't think that was the sole reason (soul reason?) we stopped going to church, and I don't recall it being announced officially that the whole 'Let's go and say thanks to God and Jesus every week' experiment was over, but I like to think that my parents thought that my brother and I had been sufficiently scarred by that incident that we wouldn't need to go back. It's a real shame in a way because the church this all happened in really is a very pretty little country church, but my pace always quickened a step or two anytime I ever passed it from that day forward.
My only other truly memorable church memory happened about ten years later. I was on a visit back home from studying in America, probably early 1980's, and I had gone down the pub with an old mate of mine to catch up (as you do). After we had been thrown out of the boozer at closing time by the lovely landlady we staggered back to his mum's house to have a few more. By the time we were done polishing off his mother's booze, it was probably one o'clock in the morning, and I still had a walk of a mile or so to get back to my parents place. There was only one small problem. Between his mum's place, and my folks abode stood a church. Not the same church as before, a different one. There was nothing wrong this church either, it too was a very pretty, standard sort of English country church, a little larger than the other one perhaps, but there were no horror stories or ghostly tales of hauntings about it in the village. But neither one of us big, strong, 20 year-old young men wanted to walk past this church late at night because it was too scary. Now, you have to remember that this is in England, which means that the church itself is typically surrounded by a graveyard. In fact, this one had a grave-yard on the other side of the main road that ran next to the church, as well as the main one by the church building itself, so in effect I was going to have to walk through the middle of the graveyard to get home.
I came up with a cunning plan.
I suggested to my mate (for the purposes of this piece I shall call him Mike, if for no other reason than because that's what his name is), that he accompany me home, past the church, he could then have a quick coffee at my folks place and then he could head back home by himself. Alas, dear reader he too saw through that plan. He was not too sozzled to figure out that my suggested course of action would mean that even though we would have each other for moral support and courage as we passed the church on the way to my folks place, he would have to walk past the church on his way back to his mum's place, by himself. In turning my suggestion down I seem to recall Mike suggested I perform an act upon myself that is both physically, and anatomically impossible. He may very well have also questioned my mental capacity and my parent's marital status as well, I can't be sure, but the over-riding fact was that it was most definitely a no-go.
Resigned to my fate I finally screwed up enough courage to head out the door and begin my trek back chez mes parents. As I got closer to the church, quietly cursing Mike under my breath with every step, I was thankful that it was a brilliantly lit night courtesy of what seemed like a very low-hanging moon, not quite full, but close. The moonlight helped ease my sense of foreboding as I walked around the bend and the church and the graveyard came into view. My pace quickened a little and reflexively I started to whistle. Yes, it's corny I know, but if you want to know why that phrase came into being, I suggest YOU try walking past a graveyard in the dead of night (okay, that one was deliberate) and not whistle, or hum. Trust me, you will do anything to make some sort of sound to break the still, oppressive quiet of nothing more than a late night breeze rustling a few leaves, and what you'd swear was either the sound of bending boughs in the trees or the faint sound of a coffin-lid slowly creaking open on the other side of that headstone over there in the corner....
Anyway, I was about half-way through the graveyard when all of a sudden the clock bell rings out with two ear-shatteringly loud chimes from the church tower. I'm not sure if I screamed out loud or not, but I do recall that I immediately dropped my ciggy and started running at full clip. I didn't stop until I could see the lights of my parents house in the distance getting closer. That was about three quarters of a mile away just so you know, a distance I couldn't run today if you offered me a million dollars and a blow-job from the Hollywood Starlet of my choice as a reward.
Once I arrived safely in the bosom of Casa de Mum & Dad I found, annoyingly, that I had become immediately sober, and so as soon as my heart-rate had settled down, and now that I no longer needed the obligatory post-booze-fest aspirin-and-a-gallon-of-water, I shuffled off to bed and cursed my mate Mike for opting to stay safely at home under the covers, most likely having a wank, rather than offer support to his friend.
I checked my underwear the following morning and was heartily impressed to find them unsoiled by my previous evenings' frightening escapade. As I sat down to tuck into a damned fine English breakfast, both Mum and Dad asked after the events of the previous night. I skipped over the bits where I struck out with all of the ladies, but gave them the full blow-by-blow details about the walk/run home. They found it vastly amusing that my best friend had told me to stop being such a big girl's blouse and walk home by myself, and were even more impressed that I had been able to actually get the key on the door upon my arrival, but they exchanged quizzical looks when I told them about the church bells ringing out. They both looked at me and asked if I was sure that the bells had rung out, and I said "Of course they bloody did! That's why I ran all the way here!" to which they replied, almost in unison, "Well that's a little odd, the church clock hasn't worked for years, dear..."
I suddenly realized I needed to check my underwear again...and then I excused myself from the breakfast table....
Friday, February 17, 2012
Which century is this again?
As the political season slouches forward, and the gop candidate-picking contest continues to devolve into something more closely resembling 'Swamp People' rather than an attempt to find a bona fide contender to go up against the President, the relentless republican War on Women continues.
In Virginia they are on the verge of mandating 'State Rape' in the form of forced ultrasounds for any women wanting an abortion, regardless of the reason.
In Oklahoma they are ready to officially call a fertilized human egg a 'person', and bestow upon it all manner of constitutional rights. This would immediately make the destruction of a fertilized human egg a crime. So you know, if you were a pregnant woman that mis-carried, you would technically be a criminal and could face investigation and prosecution.
In the Senate there are various bills being put forth to try and allow employers to 'opt out' of paying for birth control, because you know, a woman's sole purpose is to pro-create here in the twenty-first century.
This all comes on the heels of the American Catholic Bishops getting all ginned up about being forced to pay for contraception by President Obama's health care bill, something they say that goes against their fundamental principles, although covering up the rape of thousands of children by pedophile priests in their midst apparently doesn't...
I have said it before, and I'll say it again, if you have a vagina and you vote Republican you need to have your head examined. What will it take for you to understand they HATE you? They don't want you to have access to affordable health care (see the outrage when Susan G. Komen walked back their ill-fated decision to fuck with Planned Parenthood), they don't want you to have control over your own reproductive cycle, and if you get pregnant and don't want to take it to full-term, well you are well and truly fucked aren't you?
Folks, politicians in the USA like to attach the word 'war' alot to things they want to get funding and support for, the 'war' on drugs, the 'war' on cancer, the 'war' on terror (how do you fight a noun exactly?), so make no mistake about it, the republican party has declared 'war' on women....oh they may try and wrap it up as some sort of benevolent "we're only trying to protect generations of future women from being harmed", but when their anti-abortion legislation is so strict it would prevent pregnant victims of incest and rape from aborting the fetus, I think you truly get what they are after, total control over women's bodies.
This issue has nothing to do with protecting cute, cuddly babies, and EVERYTHING to do with MEN telling WOMEN what they can do with their bodies, and bugger-all else.
So ladies, this fall, in State and Federal elections wherever you are, get out there and vote for candidates that will support women's rights, and fight to keep angry old white men out of your vaginas...
In Virginia they are on the verge of mandating 'State Rape' in the form of forced ultrasounds for any women wanting an abortion, regardless of the reason.
In Oklahoma they are ready to officially call a fertilized human egg a 'person', and bestow upon it all manner of constitutional rights. This would immediately make the destruction of a fertilized human egg a crime. So you know, if you were a pregnant woman that mis-carried, you would technically be a criminal and could face investigation and prosecution.
In the Senate there are various bills being put forth to try and allow employers to 'opt out' of paying for birth control, because you know, a woman's sole purpose is to pro-create here in the twenty-first century.
This all comes on the heels of the American Catholic Bishops getting all ginned up about being forced to pay for contraception by President Obama's health care bill, something they say that goes against their fundamental principles, although covering up the rape of thousands of children by pedophile priests in their midst apparently doesn't...
I have said it before, and I'll say it again, if you have a vagina and you vote Republican you need to have your head examined. What will it take for you to understand they HATE you? They don't want you to have access to affordable health care (see the outrage when Susan G. Komen walked back their ill-fated decision to fuck with Planned Parenthood), they don't want you to have control over your own reproductive cycle, and if you get pregnant and don't want to take it to full-term, well you are well and truly fucked aren't you?
Folks, politicians in the USA like to attach the word 'war' alot to things they want to get funding and support for, the 'war' on drugs, the 'war' on cancer, the 'war' on terror (how do you fight a noun exactly?), so make no mistake about it, the republican party has declared 'war' on women....oh they may try and wrap it up as some sort of benevolent "we're only trying to protect generations of future women from being harmed", but when their anti-abortion legislation is so strict it would prevent pregnant victims of incest and rape from aborting the fetus, I think you truly get what they are after, total control over women's bodies.
This issue has nothing to do with protecting cute, cuddly babies, and EVERYTHING to do with MEN telling WOMEN what they can do with their bodies, and bugger-all else.
So ladies, this fall, in State and Federal elections wherever you are, get out there and vote for candidates that will support women's rights, and fight to keep angry old white men out of your vaginas...
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