................................................I was once known as Aquarians Love To Fuck (ALT-F). I am now Vagina Dentata (VD)................................................


Friday

Acid


Drop some acid and then watch this in 20 minutes,

I Want To Break Free

Mission control in Darmstadt, Germany, was able to confirm the impact had occurred at 11:19 GMT (12:19 BST; 13:19 CEST),when radio contact to the ageing spacecraft was lost abruptly.
The assumption is that the probe would have been damaged beyond use.

Of course, Rosetta was listening to Queen, so it weren't too bad.

When Rosetta hit 67P, I cried.

Wednesday

I ♥ America

Once, while stumbling along on the Clapham High Street, London, England at 3 AM, after imbibing a few cans of White Ace - 59p at Tescos - I noticed I was being followed by a questionable-looking miscreant.  I slowed and then stopped quickly, wheeling around to confront him with my best intimidating stance.  Slowly noticing I was now standing not far from him, he brought himself to a swaying stop and managed to bawl and yelp, "Oi Chink(1), come over ‘ere and suck me cock."
I covered myself in sick.
I reckon he was altogether put off with the idea of irrumating me after that and staggered away like he had just shit himself.  And he probably had.

A few months later, in Boston, Massachusetts, US of A, I found myself negotiating the bank of the Charles after one-too-many Pabst Blue Ribbon Tall Boys - $1 at Sidebar on Bromfield Street - I espied a slimy Masshole following me, apparently.  I stopped and turned to face the Yankee fucker.  He stopped as well and mangling the Queen’s with that vile, atrocious accent of theirs, grunted, "Hey pretty girl, come ovah heah and suck my cock."
Now that's nice, 'pretty girl'?  What girl doesn't like being called pretty?  I, of course, smiled and proceeded to oblige.
He covered himself in sick.
What’s not to love about America?  The cunts can’t hold their liquor, but at least they sure know how to treat a lady!


(1) I am not Chinese.  I am Burmese.

Unrealised Expectations



Me:  "Before we met I would think of you as a Roman-nosed, elegantly coiffed, Caucasoid god, pawing through your naugahyde bound library of classics whilst disdainfully inhaling a plash of Douro Valley port imprisoned in an immense Orreffors crystal snifter. I supposed you could also, if the occasion required, lift your leg over your shoulder and lick your own testicles - easily."

The Tutor:  "Before we met, I envisioned you delicately sniffing the portofino cuff of your 2,000 dollar silk bishop-sleeved  poet blouse for the scent of the 3,000 dollar perfume you apply to mask the horrid pong of having to actually write to the likes of me."


"We must not let in daylight upon magic" 
~Walter Bagehot

Hampshire Sun or Yorkshire Gloom?




Jane Austen: fortitude, witty repartee, white muslin gowns, walks in the country, comic situations, amiable suitors, handsome gentlemen and ladies.


Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë: dark halls, childhood torments, unholy clergymen, madmen, passion, storms.

The Brontë sisters construct action, based on the profound and primitive energies of passion, love and hate.  At once highly imaginative with elements of brutality in the characters and resplendent of the stormy Yorkshire moors.

As Emily relates, "One may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun."

Charlotte writes to William Smith Williams on the 12th of April, 1850:

"She (Jane Austen) does her business of delineating people seriously well; there is a Chinese fidelity , a miniature delicacy in the painting: she ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound: the Passions are perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy Sisterhood; even to the Feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasionally graceful but distant recognition; too frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her progress.  Her business is not half so much with the human heart as with the human eyes, mouth, hands and feet; what sees keenly, speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study, but what throbs fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is the unseen seat of Life and the sentient target of Death - this Miss Austen ignores; she no more, with her mind’s eye, beholds the heart of her race than each man, with bodily vision sees the heart in his heaving breast.  Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete, and rather insensible (not senseless) woman; if this is heresy- I cannot help it.  If I said it to some people (Lewes for instance) they would directly accuse me of advocating exaggerated heroics, but I am not afraid of your falling into any such vulgar error."

Oh dear, a tad harsh Charlotte.  So you don't like her then?  I would very much enjoy a trip in a Time Machine wherein I bring the fairly maligned Jane to meet angsty Charlotte armed with the coruscating invective of a wonderful paraphrasing of Catullus, Carmina 16:


Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo(1),
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,...
..........male me marem putatis?
pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.


Though knowing Jane and Charlotte as I think I do; coupled with the fact that both are daughters of Clergymen, I reckon Matthew 5:44 would be the preferred riposte:

ἐγὼ δὲ λέγω ὑμῖν, ἀγαπᾶτε τοὺς ἐχθροὺς ὑμῶν καὶ προσεύχεσθε ὑπὲρ τῶν διωκόντων ὑμᾶς,

I suspect it isn't difficult to imagine which of the four; Jane, Charlotte, Emily and Anne, The Tutor would wish to 'entertain' in spite of all this.(2)

I recommend an Austen/Brontë Fight Club, “Texas Death Match” Tag-Team edition between our heroes Darcy and Rochester – united in brotherhood for this one occasion – versus Waugh’s “Brideshead Revisited”, Lord Sebastian Flyte and Wilde’s “An Ideal Husband”, Lord Arthur Goring (Or perhaps Trollope’s “The Way We Live Now”, Sir Felix Carbury)?  With Dicken’s “Great Expectations”, Philip Pirrip as the ring announcer and Miss Havisham as the bikini-clad damsel who regularly sashays through the ring displaying a card upon which is written the round number?



(1)  There is extant on the Internet a Yankee scholar's translation of 'irrumabo' as "Clintonize".
I thought that quite funny.


(2)  The Tutor ripostes:  "Jane is butt-ugly, so are the rest.  I prefer Maria, the eldest of the Brontë sisters."  To which I interject with horror:  "Maria died of consumption at age 12!  Are you channeling that vile Nabokovian scum, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson and his beloved Alice Liddel, again?"
The Tutor whimpers,  "Maybe."


Thursday

I Fucking Love Drone-Strikes!


The Peshawar High Court in Pakistan has ruled that US drone-strikes are illegal, inhumane, violate the UN charter on human rights and surely constitute a war crime.  Successive American administrations disagree, stating that these 'arbitrary' and 'extrajudicial' executions of enemy non-combatants do not violate international law, and that the method of attack is precise and effective.
The Obama administration proffered this explanation on drone-strike policy in April 2012, concluding that it was "legal, ethical, and wise".
Those who are being targeted by drones in a foreign country are not protected under the general human right to life - it's war!  Targeted killing under the law of self-defence is not an action constitutive of "law enforcement" either so law enforcement standards of jurisprudence are not applicable.  The United States has every 'Right-by-Might' to fly its drones into any foreign country, especially one with which it is not already at war, and kill any person, or persons, it deems an 'enemy'.

So committed to the efficacy and legality of this sort of anti-terrorism engagement, I would think the great U S of A would have had absolutely no problem at all with the Royal Air Force and/or MI6 (MI5?) commissioning, in the 1980s and 1990s, the then extant versions of the Reaper or Predator drones to strike those Yankee Catholic fuckers in Boston and environs who supplied the fucking IRA cunts with treasure and succor during 'The Troubles'.
Legal, ethical and wise indeed.
And as far as some Librul feckers in the Revolted Colonies hueing, crying and whingeing on about the inevitable civilian casualties, I doubt that would manifest at all in earnest.  Not even in Boston itself.  Everybody, and I mean everybody - the Yanks especially - knows that if one finds one's self drone-striking IRA Terrorists in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, that any, hopefully massive, "collateral damage" could possibly only involve fucking Massholes.  Accordingly, if I might paraphrase Major General James Wolfe's assertion during the Battle of the Plains of Abraham regarding his Scottish soldiers, "they(Massholes) are hardy, intrepid, accustomed to a rough country, and no great mischief if they fall".



I'm not sure if that is Boston in the photograph since I've never been to Boston.  I can't be arsed to get my shots, which are free by the way up here in the Canadas, so I would not hazard to venture there.  Besides, it's in America - I might catch obesity and there's no pharmacological prophylaxis for that.

Tuesday

An Unfamiliar Mode of Consumption

The Tutor has graciously volunteered to hold the bag and tube for me as I partake of my sacred Baalche in the traditional fashion.

Sunday

Oppa Pudendam Style

It appears Lilibeth was either the diversion he as the psychopath he is, needed; or the diversion he as the psychopath he is, deserved.
Either way, the man is sated for the time being.

Following, as he normally would, the legal concept of 'res nullius' - since this fallen seraph was not at the moment the object of rights of any other specific subject - he availed himself of her charms.  He even went so far as to invoke 'terra nullius' on specific parts of her ample anatomy.  Though there may have been many 'indigenous' gentleman callers 'residing' in this newly discovered 'land', it is the well respected legal right of the more civilized interloping gentleman caller to 'take' this 'land' and put it to good use.

He ate, drank and performed well.  And the fair, fey and fay Griselda will, without doubt, never be loved like that again.  Here's hoping?  Nevertheless and notwithstanding, better her than me.

He regaled the rich, curvaceously fleshy cherub, as he is often wont to do, with his readily evident and sublimely resplendent, ‘Dress Classy, Fook Klassy and Despoil Lassie' aesthetic.

His “Pudendam Style” is known far afield and its essence is not only well reflected in the laudatory folkloric narratives found among those who were unluckily anointed with it, but it also forms the basis of the expansive and grisly detail one finds in the intricately conjectured cautionary tales of those who were luckily eschewed.


The Tutor:  "See this Man Purse and matching Carry-On?  They're Hermes 'Caleche-express' valises. A '12h Document Holder' - CA $7,095.00 and a matching 'Petite Cabine Suitcase' - CA $7,425.00.  I believe that travelling, like all things, is just another opportunity to strike a pose.  After all what better way to commemorate time spent out-of-town, be it for vacation or because of an intractable psychopathic compulsion, than with fabulous Pudendam Style?  My on-the-go accessories are constitutive of my essence and must always be on-point(1).  All that remains is to pack these luxurious travel companions with equally dapper ensembles.
Do you know where I got the money for them?"

Me:  "Where?"

The Tutor:  "Man-whoring!  Did you see my new Tesla Roadster?  Do you know where I got the money for it?"

Me:  "Man-whoring?"

The Tutor:  "Stock Market, but I got the money for the Stock Market from man-whoring."

Me:  "You're gay."

The Tutor:  "So jealz!  You know what I'm sayin', Oppa is Pudendam style!  Eh! Sexy Lady, Oppa is Pudendam style!"



(1)  Some would have this phrase spelt, "en pointe".  I, personally, have always found the use of Ballet metaphor to be pointeless




UPDATE
The included photographs are, of course, an artist's impression of Lilibeth Griselda in Dupont.  Although quite an accurate representation, after two and a half decades of wielding such weaponry, the armaments have suffered a slight inconvenience of gravity to be sure.


Friday

Phuc you Facebook!




Let's see you stride naked with dignity and your head held high after you experience a Napalm issue.

No?
Thought not.


It's 'cause your wife's Asian, yes?  Well I'm a delicate Asian flower too and it don't much offend me.  And to think, I heretofore believed your lucky Zhongguo nu hai to have married well.  I think not now.

Cunt.

P.S.
I'm a Miandian nu hai.  The Missus will know.