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


Thursday

NGRAM Viewer

I blame the birth of The Tutor for the ever-increasing use of the word that best describes me. Either that or the birth of Rock and Roll.(1)
I am at pains to explain the sudden decrease in the use of the word around 1979 or so.  Surely it is not connected to the immaculate inception and ambrosial parturition of the one and only, me?  With the likes of me now in the world, I reckon the use of the word would be considered superfluous.  Innit?
Coincidentally, of course, the rate of usage resumed its inexorable climb in 1985 with the horrid inception and decidedly inelegant parturition of that dreadful Wham! featuring George Michael.
And rightly so.

Please to notice the concomitant juxtaposition of the terminus of the plot line, the searched word and my lovely chiropteran avatar.



(1) The latter over the former, I reckon.

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.

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.

The Isle of Cunt


Okay, now listen!
It's bad enough this blog attracts visitors from Kenya, Cyprus and the USA, but I've just been informed by The Tutor there's been a Manxman skulking about.
A fucking Manxman!

Twice!

Take that testicular agenetic Triskelion and that inane motto of yours, Quocunque Jeceris Stabit, and fuck off!  And take those caudal agenetic cats and those freakish corniculate polygenetic Loaghtan sheep with you too!
They're as fuct as those tree-climbing goats they have in Morocco!



UPDATE
And there have been fuckers from Gibraltar and the United Arab Emirates here of late too!  I beseech you in the bowels of the divinity of your choice to leave me be. 

My Computer Is Sad

There is no theoretical reason why a ‘machine’ system couldn't develop consciousness. Whether it would be practical or not is another matter. You can only seriously believe ‘machine consciousness’ is theoretically impossible if you think there is something magical about neural systems that repudiates the laws of physics - or if you're a Cartesian dualist.  All the scientific evidence suggests that this is not the case.  There is nothing, however, preventing one from placing ill-considered confidence in Cartesian dualism excepting possibly one's possession of robust qualia and the skeleton key to Mary’s Room. 

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.  Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.  I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.
Time to die."

Jutes Can Fuck Off!

Vagina Dentata said...
Those filthy Swedes of IKEA offer meatballs(1) in their UK outlets?  All we get in The Canadas are:
RIKTIG ÖGLA - an adult intimacy aid.
And.....
FYRKANTIG - something on which to gnaw while engaging a RIKTIG ÖGLA, vigorously.

(1) Swedish Meatballs?  That reminds me of a conversation I had with a geography-challenged Canuck-fuck who, not surprisingly, traced her ancestry back to Engerland.

Her: "Is Greece in Sweden?"

Me: "Yes.  Souvlaki is just Swedish meatballs on a stick."

The poor dolt was also unaware that Ireland was an island. I didn't have the heart to tell her that there are actually two Irelands; Northern Ireland and Real Ireland.


Some Cunt said...
VD, may I suggest that the Canoook of supposed Engerlander ancestry may actually have been of Jutish ancestry. It seems that Jutish sperm is in demand in those Sceptic Isles. Apparently the Jutes are good looking and dependable. Now I've been knocking out blond, blue eyed brats for four decades and I only learn now that I could have been paid for my 'spasms'. Unfortunately for the women involved, and unlike the Jutes, I'm not very dependable. Check out the following link and weep.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2667262/Why-British-women-giving-birth-Viking-babies-conceived-Danish-donors.html.


Vagina Dentata said...
".....'spasms'....." ????
You mean pushy, pushy, grunt, snore?
Or perhaps as a potential blonde, blue-eyed brat progenitor: pully, pully, grunt, snore?
British women have no taste.  Now leave me be or I'll go all Rorke's Drift with an Ulfberht on your sorry Jutish arse.
Wanker!


Some Cunt said...
Leave you be?  Perhaps in the next life.


Vagina Dentata said...
It is through your egotism and earthly desire that you have created the causes for your incessant future becomings, or Samsara.  You'll be plagued by cycles of rebirth and redeath.
By virtue of my dutiful and life-long ascetic practices, I have finally attained sanctity and liberation, or Moksha.  I will be free of this cycle upon my next death.  There is no next life for me.  So, I think it best you go for it now.
Innit?


Some Cunt said...
Pray tell where is the empirical evidence for your esoteric and mystical philosophy?  ‘Show me the data, show me the data’.
Belief in an after life is nothing new, of course.  Man has always yearned for rewards in another life because the corporeal one is so hard.  But belief, in anything, doesn't necessary make it so.  How can consciousness survive the death of the brain?  Now there is a conundrum.  Socrates himself postulated oblivion when we die.  How can a dreamless sleep be bad?  However, it is clear that the Platonic Socrates did actually believe in an afterlife where he could dispute for an eternity.  His reasoning for the existence of an after life is not very convincing, at least to the modern mind.
On an unrelated topic.  I have been known to produce ‘seed’ at work.  This was at the behest of the boss and strictly directed at developing new protocols.
Therefore, if I'm not mistaken, this makes me a professional wanker.  A word to those who would like to follow me in my sticky footsteps.  Do not forgo the use of a wide necked vessel.  It saves on the floor cleaning, innit.


Vagina Dentata said...
The Platonic Socrates?
Meh! He was a tosser.
Now the Socratic Plato, well, there's a manly man.  He knew Greece was not in Sweden and didn't care if Ireland was an island or not.  I mean, it's bloody Ireland for christ's sake - the autochthones there were still swinging in the trees, evolutionarily speaking, at that time!

And as far as dreamless sleep goes, it can be really bad.  If after a two-day bender consuming buckets of TESCO cider one has neglected to re-balance one's electrolytes prior to the inevitable crash-communing with Morpheus, one's precipitous depletion of potassium ions gonna gets youse some wicked crus and thigh cramps.

As for your precious data, vis a vis cycles of rebirth and redeath, how's this:

http://keeppy.com/attachment.php?id=15656

Innit?