The Isle of Man deals with these selfish evil bastards like so:
Which is the reason why …
With about one in every thirteen cases resulting in death, good reason to treat it more seriously than most.
On the British mainland, they have one selfish skeet taking a four hour there and four hours back again packed train journey from Glasgow to London – after testing POSITIVE FOR COVID 19 – and to add insult to injury travelling on the London Underground at rush hour, and the greatest punishment they face is …
If the British want to know why they’re not getting on top of Coronavirus 19, compare what your police is doing compared to our police, the House of Commons to the House of Keys.
Talking big up but doing nothing when bluffs are called means more unnecessary deaths.
Who Do You Do?
‘The Radio Times’ (a British weekly TV listings magazine people still buy instead of just looking it up on the net like everyone else for free) had a poll on who is their favourite Doctor Who (probably just to check and see who still cares after doing everything the last few years to kill it) with whatever readers it has left (it’s still the third biggest selling weekly magazine in the UK).
The results were:
1. David Tennant 10,518 / 21%
2. Jodie Whittaker 10,423 / 21%
3. Peter Capaldi 8,897 / 18%
4. Matt Smith 7,637 / 16%
5. Tom Baker 3,977 / 8%
6. William Hartnell 1,983 / 4%
7. Paul McGann 1,427 / 3%
8. Christopher Eccleston 1,144 / 2%
9. Jon Pertwee 1,038 / 2%
10. Patrick Troughton 915 / 2%
11. Sylvester McCoy 462 / 1%
12. Colin Baker 359 / 1%
13. Peter Davison 351 / 1%
Peter Davidson bottom of the poll is fair enough – you could always tell how bad any of them were by how much they were reliant on their assistants to shore up the show, and by the end of Davidson’s stint it was so reliant on Mark Strickson’s Turlough it was beyond embarrassing – the writers making him the only non-Time Lord/Time Lady capable of operating all the functions of a Tardis as they were forced to divert more of plank-of-wood Davidson’s intended set-pieces to the junior actor.
Hartnell about Pertwee and Christopher Eccleston? Would question whether those who voted for Hartnell had ever saw any other Doctor. Pertwee below McGann is laughable – the only ones who could have voted for the Monacled Mutineer are the same ones who vote for Timothy Dalton as the best James Bond, ie. voting for whoever they’d most like to have sex with.
But the biggest laugh of all is three of the worst Doctors ever – the token Wimmin who happened to be the producer’s pal, the ‘Och Ach The Noo See Yoo Jimmy!’ Brigadoon stereotype and Son Of The Elephant Man in places 2nd to 4th.
Better than Tom Baker? Better than Jon Pertwee?
Okay, pop quiz Whoovians: who is the only former companion to have made regular returns to the show long after leaving? The late Elisabeth Sladen aka Sarah Jane Smith. Original era before returning (a mere three decades later)? Jon Pertwee and Tom Baker.
You now have ten seconds to name a single one of Matt Smith, Peter Capaldi or Jodie Whittaker’s companions who weren’t already famous before joining the show. …
… 10, 9 , 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … neeeerk! Sorry, time’s up!
Nope, sorry, Jenna Coleman doesn’t count – she was already famous/infamous for her four years as the randy vicar’s step-daughter in Emmerdale – that show really likes its stereotypes – the psycho in Waterloo Road and the princess in Xenoblade Chronicles for the Nintendo Wii. And if any of you say Bradley ‘The Chase’ Walsh, I will personally come round and cheese grate your nose and ears.
There’s a reason you were stuck, and that was the stories were shit, the acting shittier, hence that part of your brain which ought to remember doesn’t care. Elisabeth Sladen was a brilliant companion, and one of many, but had the major edge in being with great Doctors in great stories.
The only reason the post-Tennant Monster Of The Week Muppet Show got so many votes above the rest is what psychologists refer to as the primacy-recency effect: just as music polls on any artist’s best album will favour the more recent (not least of all because those who bought the earlier ones are unlikely to still be paying any attention to their output anymore and thus unlikely to vote).
But if the BBC (which still part owns the Radio Times via a holding company) needs to indulge in some self-validation of its own flawed choices over a decade, who am I to argue? It’s not like we’re all having to pay a licence fee or anything for the current crapfest … oh, hang on!
Lonely Island was created and owned by Rflong7/13, but was taken over by some undead Simmies – nowadays referred to by the legal term ‘Simliches’ – for a bit of peace and quiet after ‘involuntary resurrection’ from Ivy Hill Graveyard.
It includes some others escaping from their own ‘life issues’, and is a sanctuary for the much maligned Butterfly of Doom and many other misunderstood species of Sims nature. A Constutitional Chaocracy, it’s legislature is the Wotchyamacaulit, presided over by the First Speaker.
WordPress Remembered, Three Hours Later!
It Was Ten Years Ago Today, At This Very Minute …
Then as now, the message remains:
The Game Will Never Be Over,
Because We’re Keeping The Dream ALIVE!
Whitewashing The Past: Or How The Race Grievance Industry ‘Gammonises’ History For Its Own Ends
First of all, take a good look at this picture:
This was taken at the Pillars Of Hercules pub in Greek Street, Soho in the days before it became popular with hipster scum.
The date was 1933 – fifteen years before black emigration to the UK supposedly ‘started’.
You may also notice the sign for the Shanghai Emporium just through the window: run by Yu-Chang Chu and Frances Cheng. Long before going for a Chinese after boozing became part of the British culture, getting your stomach lined at the Shanghai before a session at the Hercules was part of life for Soho residents of a literary bent in pre-war London.
But probably what you’ve noticed most of all is a group of black and white gentlemen laughing and conversing together – how they must spin in their graves at how future generations obsessed with race have squandered their community camaderie of old for suspicion and hate!
Just off Manette Street, the part of London which was once a hotbed of organised anarchism (there’s an oxymoron for you), Greek Street became part of the growth areas for Oriental cuisine in London in the days Soho was still considered to be the bohemian part of London more resembling Alice’s Wonderland than the sleezy taint it suffered for a while later.
The Shanghai Emporium became popular and famous enough for it to release its own cookbook in 1936 – The Shanghai Restaurant Chinese Cookery Book – filled with adaptations of its recipes so people could try them for themselves at home, long before the plague of celebrity chefs we know today.
Copies today will skin you for £200 – if you’re lucky, but some older reference libraries have copies tucked away still, so if interested have a look when they all reopen, and have a smile at references to ‘primary soup’ – what today we would know simply as diluted chicken stock, and a base for some of the recipes contained within.
The story of the Shanghai’s experience with white western customers was an interesting one that predated the way many of us have meals today. Initially they tried offering their fare in the standard western full course manner: appetiser (usually something of fruit to cleanse the pallet) starter, main course, afters, and so forth; but customers found it too much to take, or it simply didn’t feel right (and, ironically considering the later stereotype, too heavy to eat!), so adapted a more free for all style which meant people could order meals as they pleased.
Sadly, the Shanghai was sold by the family before the war for a different type of business – accountancy – yet it was one of a number of ‘ethnic’ businesses in London (mainly in the Limehouse district, before it was wiped out in the Bliz) at that time which thrived, but which have been systematically forgotten about as if they’d never happened, that somehow Britain was the land of eggs, chips, bacon and lard before Windrush.
Forget the fact that China and India have turned Britain into the world’s biggest nation of ‘tea wops’ (as our American cousins call us).
It really should not be surprising that in truth we were always far more amiable to other cuisines and cultures than today’s historical revisionists would have you believe. Even the worst empires in history find some of that under their control rubs off on them (eg. the Romans with the Greeks) – and with the British Empire being largely a trading empire than that of military and cultural subjugation (despite the best efforts of missionaries), the influence was perhaps greater on the British than with other empiric nations.
Moreover, with many people in even the lowest sections of society spending some time abroad due to work or being part of the armed services (much of which was in the supply and support of troops, not merely soldiering), it was inevitable there would be a constant drip feed of positive experience returning to permeate our own.
Even when admitting Britain has had people from all races, creeds and colours since it began, still the Race Grievance Industry cannot help itself looking for racism in much the manner witchfinder generals accused anyone and everyone to keep themselves in work, and for any non-white journalist, playing the race card has become the easy, cheesy, sleezy way to put a bit of emotivism into their work for extra views, and not caring one jot about the poison it injects into the zeitgeist.
For example:
In an article for the Londonlist, journalist
But the first tabloid newspaper was London’s Westminster Gazette, which only started in 1901.
Ergo, how could ‘The tabloids had a field day mocking the food …’ when it would be another sixteen years before the first tabloid newspaper?
The nearest to a ‘tabloid’ at that time was the Pall Mall Gazette run by the iconoclaust W. T. Stead, which later merged with the Evening Standard. The Pall Mall Gazette was the first ‘investigative journalism’ newspaper, but as its writers included George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde, Robert Louis Stevenson and even Friedrich Engels, it would be stretching a definition beyond credulity to call it ‘tabloid’.
(Incidentally, a tabloid newspaper back in 1901 simply meant a newspaper which reprinted articles from other newspapers in a concise format: it would be another sixty years before the ‘shock! horror! scandal!’ red tops and black top tabloids we know today would appear).
This sort of truth twisting is of course part of a constant narrative from liberal humanist snobs that the Great British lumpen proletariat are happy go lucky sorts of people who don’t mind unrestricted mass immigration one bit – no no no, it’s only when evil newspapers owned by evil capitalists poison their minds with lies they turn nasty.
Who did Ms Don’t Let Facts Get In The Way Of A Good Emotive Bleat Of Racism used to write for?
But you’d already guessed that much.
You know that feeling … you hate modern music because it all sounds the same and people tell you that you’re getting old … and you object to this because:
1. You still buy new releases.
2. You’re twelve years old.
3. Both.
Well guess what, it’s been proven, it really isn’t just you, modern music is a pile of steaming samey manure – and it is getting worse.
In 2012 the Spanish National Research Council (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas) decided to carry out a study into modern music between 1955 – 2010, that is, before the rot really set in.
The CSIC is Europe’s third largest public institution dedicated to research into scientific and technological progress, and their results were pretty damning. But if it wasn’t for the mass digitization of music, it could never have been proven so quickly.
The researchers took 500,000 recordings of all genres of music over the allotted timespan inclusive, running every single song through a complex set of algorithms measured three distinct metrics:
1. Harmonic complexity
Since the 1960s, the melodies, rhythms and vocals of songs have increasingly sounded similar to one another, with many modern pop songs using the exact same sequence of notes in a given key: from the 5th note to the 3rd and back to the 5th.
That is, music has become less harmonically complex. sticking to similar musical sequences that music listeners are comfortable with.
2. Loudness.
No, it’s not just the metal bands or the three chord wonders doing it.
Over the last two decades, music producers have intentionally made songs louder by using compression effects in the studio – boosting the quietest parts of a song to match the loudest parts, thus reducing the dynamic range or “distance” between the loudest and quietest parts, all in order to make a song stand out among a pack of similar sounding songs – i.e., for competitive purposes.
Which brings us to the real damning part:
3. Timbral diversity
‘Timbre’ is the texture, colour, and quality of the sounds within the music being listened to. Timbre variety peaked in the 1960s and has since been steadily declining. Songs have less variety in their instrumentation and recording techniques, and this has grown increasingly worse.
Instead of experimenting with different instrumentation and recording techniques, the vast majority of pop music today use the same instrumentation: a keyboard, a drum machine, a sampler and computer software. Many of the samplers steal parts off earlier hits, many times over.
Consequently, almost all modern pop music does indeed sounds the same. Part of this is because the rules changed on allowing legal action against people copying other people’s music.
Techno, House, etc. was led by people with zero concern about the drugs laws, never mind the music copyright laws; and courts quickly became overrun with litigation about matters it really wasn’t equipped to deal with – just another part of the technology being ahead of the law.
This was the cue for ‘legislate in haste, repent at leisure.’
The problem it hoped to cure became exacerbated by cynical ambulance chasers indulging in vexacious litigation for financial shakedowns, as the Men At Work ‘Down Under’/’Kookaburra’ case showed, or the Rolling Stones making fools of themselves by litigating against everyone doing a song sounding the least bit like one of their old hits whilst the surviving Beatles kept a dignified silence.
‘Reasonable usage’ and a co-credit became the legislators’ get around. The trouble was it didn’t stop people using modern technology to copy bits of other people’s songs and use a computer to convert them to other instruments to make it harder and harder to detect.
The truly bastardly part was spreading parts of a ‘hook’ through different instruments to create the same effect to the human ear, but bloody hard to prove in court when set down in cold notation.
It’s the musical equivalent of cola drinks, where they’re mixed in such a way so you can’t tell it’s just orange and lemon juice mixed with phosphoric acid and cinnamon. You know all those songs where you’re convinced it sound like one you already know but you just can’t think which one or ones? Now you know why.
Hence why in 1994, Siouxsie and the Banshees could sue the arse off Capella for ‘U Got 2 Know’ ripping off the main guitar hook of ‘Happy House’ (1980) and speeding it up (end of crappy techno band, whole world cheered), but fast forward to 2009, and Lady Gaga – backed by some heavy duty lawyers – got clean away with ‘Poker Face’ stealing the hooks from Boney M’s ‘Ma Baker’ (1977), Depeche Mode’s ‘See You’ (1981)., Cameo’s ‘Word Up’ (1983) and Aqua’s ‘Barbie Girl’ (1997).
Of the five people who ‘recorded’ the song,Lady Gaga, RedOne, Gene Grimaldi, Robert Orton and Dave Russell, not one recorded a single note of original music on a musical instrument during the entire production – it was done digitally on computer.
And that, best beloved, opened the floodgates. Why be original when you can Minecraft your ‘art’?
Welcome to a world where Ed Sheeran has thirteen songs in your nation’s Top Twenty chart, and no one cares, because even if he does get sued for $100 million for plagerising Marvin Gaye, the industry will still forgive and forget someone whose last tour made $775 million.
YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!
The miracle I needed to end a perfectly shitty day – I have Coco, and the world is alright again.
Oh, sweet little undead bunny of my heart, how I’ve missed your creepy eyeless cuteness in my game.
Will have to get my finger out to write up and post all those half written game entries I’ve left undone.
Doyoing!
How many others will be able to boast at appearing in this many newspaper and TV tributes without having a single hit single or album in their lives?
Have spent most of today breaking my heart about this.
Cardiacs, a one-off musically, a band of such uniqueness, craziness and inventiveness the like of which is unlikely to be repeated.
Even William D Drake’s solo work and the core trio’s side project the Sea Nymphs never dared go as far as Cardiacs did – the only side project which did was Tim Smith’s OceanLandWorld, the ‘solo’ album recorded on and off between 1989-1990 which was ‘forgotten’ about until he ‘decided’ to release it in 1995. Tim was the spark of genius and insanity which made them what they were.
Yes, one of those bands you either were going to like or loathe (the music press were especially horrible to them), and some of their music simply did not work – but when they got it right, there wasn’t a band to touch them.
You were an inspiration I was fortunate to discover via friends in the online games community long after your day had passed and had been forgotten by a fickle music world.
You will be one until the day I die.
Thank you.
‘And now the night of weeping shall be
The morn of song
Ah! We are those whose thunder shakes the skies
The thin spun life’
Vote Christian Cooper For Next United States President 2020 (And Put A Rational Adult In The White House For Once!)
Politics giving you the bird?
Jazz-Hands knows the candidate to unite the less than United States of America. Let’s face it, it’s had better years!
For those unaware of his story, back on 25th May 2020, Christian Cooper, a Harvard graduate, comic editor for Marvel and science magazine editor) was in the Ramble area of New York’s Central Park (much loved by film and TV crews over the years) as a long time amateur ornithologist, known in fact to many regulars.
(And thus a target for the ‘hey mister what’s that bird there?’ or ‘what bird’s making that song?’ brigade – ‘it’s a f**king pterodactyl, assturnip!‘ is what they get from me)
A young woman called Amy Cooper came along and unleashed her dog – against specific regulations designed to protect local wildlife.
Christian Cooper asked her to get the door back on a lead, and she refused. This is how the conversation according to Mr Cooper went:
Christian Cooper: Ma’am, dogs in the Ramble have to be on the leash at all times. The sign is right there.
Amy Cooper: The dog runs are closed. He needs his exercise.
Christian Cooper: All you have to do is take him to the other side of the drive, outside the Ramble, and you can let him run off leash all you want.
Amy Cooper: It’s too dangerous.
Christian Cooper: Look, if you’re going to do what you want, I’m going to do what I want, but you’re not going to like it.
Amy Cooper: What’s that?
Christian Cooper: (to the dog) Come here, puppy!
Amy Cooper: He won’t come to you.
Christian Cooper: We’ll see about that.
Christian Cooper then pulled out the dog treats he carried for occasions such as this.
It may seem strange, but if you are a regular park stroller, having a bag of doggy treats can be the difference between being able to go on your way or having some skeet’s slobbering moron or psycho mutt barring your path, or worse – especially in a world too many have some land shark to circumvent offensive weapon legislation.
Or getting some hapless’s owner’s dog back under control when they can’t catch it (dogs which spend too long housebound during the week are particularly uncontrollable once let loose in the open air – and you can’t blame them. See also under ‘Land Shark’).
He didn’t even get a chance to toss any treats to Amy Cooper’s misbehaving mutt, as she screamed at him not to touch her dog and scrambled to grab it, fearing the treats were poisoned.
As she threatened to call the cops, Christian Cooper invited her to do just that, turning on his smartphone video recorder with sound, in full view of her so she was perfectly aware what he’d done, only ceasing once she’d leashed the dog as she’d been asked to do.
This is what happened next:
Christian Cooper uploaded this without condition to the internet in its entirity so people could make a rational judgement themselves as to events.
It is harder to see an instance of one person digging themselves deeper and deeper in a hole than Amy Cooper did here.
‘I’m going to tell them you’re an African-American man threatening my life.’
‘Please tell them whatever you like!’
She lies about being threatened.
She behaves in a hysterical manner over the phone in the hope it will get the police to come quicker.
She plays the race card openly in the hope it will trigger an overreaction by the New York Police (which actually has more blacks on their force than any other part of the States, the legacy of initiatives in the 1990’s as part of Rudy Giuliani’s Zero Tolerance policy on crime).
Oh, and it’s is clear she can’t control her dog properly – never mind herself!
The police arrived, and in double quick time, it was Amy Cooper who found herself being arrested, on a charge of wasting police time.
Coming on the day the George Floyd mass overreaction began, it at least added a degree of much needed comic relief, as Christian Cooper’s video hung this skeet out to dry. She was forced by the shelter from which she adopted her dog two years before – Abandoned Angels Cocker Spaniel Rescue – to surrender the dog to make sure it wasn’t being ill treated (returned to her after a vet’s evaluation all was well on 3rd June).
With weary inevitability, the story grew legs and tails, as it turned out Amy Cooper had ‘previous’ for playing the hysteria card with the apartment block she rented from. Even more ironic, it turned out she’d been part of her local Democrats’s unsuccessful campaign to put Hilary Clinton in the White House against Trump – which had made great play about the latter’s racist attitudes. Cooper was even reported by a former friend, Martin Priest, to both New Jersey and New York police for stalking – but no charges were ever filed against her. Priest claimed his friendship with Cooper had been a ceaseless ‘cycle of drama.’
It was at this juncture, matters began to go The Bonfire Of The Vanities territory.
Her employer, Franklin Templeton, fired her within forty eight hours, even though she was head of the firm’s insurance investment.
The pretext was ‘We do not condone racism of any kind’ – although as the incident had occured in her own free time, not on a work day, and the company had never been mentioned in the context, it really was none of their business: unless of course it brought potential previous dramas at work concerning her into a new light – but under employer/employee confidentiality laws, that will never be known and must remain purely conjecture.
The real reason was more likely to be a fear of clients pulling their business if she remained under the George Floyd hysteria gripping the U.S. at the time. When you’ve a business worth $800 billion, you don’t gamble it on one employee being 2020’s Top Assturnip on Facebook and Twitter.
Amy Cooper began receiving death threats, even though Christian Cooper, now growing alarmed at how much events were spinning out of control, said to the media: ‘I find it strange that people who were upset … that she tried to bring death by cop down on my head … would then turn around and try to put death threats on her head. Where is the logic in that?’
Logic, as Christian Cooper was soon to find out, had already taken a back seat, and the Rage Monkey of Insanity was at the wheel, driving at pedestrians on the pavement.
Terina Allen, a ‘careers advisor’ at the usual sober Forbes magazine, claimed:
‘Watching this uncomfortable and angry white woman go to unthinkable extremes to make a point is so doggone frightening that it scares me to think of what would have happened had Christian not had the video recording.’
Leaving aside her unintentional dog pun, she went further by disgracefully comparing it to the 1955 lynching and murder of 14 year old Emmett Till in Missisippi because a young store clerk Carolyn Bryant lied to others he’d wolf whistled her.
To give you context, this was the year 15 year old Claudette Colvin was dragged kicking and screaming by police off a Montgomery, Alabama bus for refusing to give up her seat to a white adult – nine months later the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People staged a carbon copy event with their local secretary Rosa Park, the NAACP having left Colvin to face the music because they saw her as ‘dirty’. To say the United States has moved far on since those reprehensible days hardly needs stressing.
But Allen’s was one of the more understated pieces, and it was perhaps no coincidence that YouTube saw clips of Father Ted’s famous parody of racism hysteria spike. Meanwhile, a completely different Amy Cooper, a physiotherapist from Manhatten who also used Central Park for jogging, found herself being barraged with hate mail after her private details were doxxed by online vigilantes.
Finally, Christian Cooper had enough when the Manhattan District Attorney filed charges against Amy Cooper on Monday 6th July 2020 for wasting police time, making it clear he would not be filing any addition testimony or complying with any requests for further information from law or justice departments for what had become an overblown episode of ‘Judge Judy’.
Christian Cooper’s response was to tell the New York Times:
‘She’s already paid a steep price … That’s not enough of a deterrent to others? Bringing her more misery just seems like piling on. If the DA feels the need to pursue charges, he should pursue charges. But he can do that without me.’
That hasn’t stopped constitutional law professor Gloria J. Browne-Marshall, from claiming ‘If the police believed she was really being attacked, they could have come in with guns drawn and she would have been the only witness in this — outside of that video that may or may not have surfaced.’
Since when was ‘conjecture’ admissible in a court of law – in the U.S. or anywhere else past the era of the Salem witch trials? She may as well have argued the big pterodactyl mentioned earlier could have appeared from a wormhole blown in the space-time continuum by Amy Cooper’s racist call and eaten Christian Cooper – it’s no less absurd a proposition; especially in New York where it’s easier hailing one cab than hailing one cop.
But what is even more flabberghasting, indeed, The Bonfire Of The Vanities made flesh, is Browne-Marshall’s statement:
‘This isn’t just about Christian Cooper. The community has been harmed by the actions of Amy Cooper and, in order to rectify this, then the people of New York need to have their day in court, even if Christian Cooper is a reluctant witness.’
Again, as a constitutional professor, the millionairess Gloria J. Browne-Marshall knows damned well that the law and justice is not all about ‘the people’ or ‘the community’ having ‘their day in court’. The only ones who ‘need’ this are Machiavellian legal eagles with an eye for the main chance and the high-profile, high-fees such a judicial feeding frenzy backed by a media circus would attain.
Law and justice is not about satisfying a primal desire for revenge – at least, in civilised societies.
The alarming implications of all this – under the madness of American law – is that Christian Cooper could find himself being charged, fined and even jailed if he calls enough is enough to being used as a pawn by social media galvanised lynchmobs
Mr Cooper’s a stubborn old bird – and the sheer absurdity of the situation may provoke a man who could never have written a story this outlandish even in his X-Men scripting days to call their bluff.
If he does, he may find plenty on the planet will be ready to back him financially and physically to protect his right to say ‘Not in my name!’
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