Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Have There Always Been Redpill Sex Pests?

February 3, 2016

Redpill pickup artist news site Return of Kings is taking a right old slamming in the news this week. Site owner Roosh V will probably be denied an Australian Visa for saying rape should be legal on private property. His planned meetup in Canada doesn’t look great either.

Pro pickup artist Julian Blanc was ousted from hotels where he planned to teach choking as a seduction technique last year, along with proteges like Jeff Allen.

Redpills are essentially the dating and romance wing of the Men’s Rights Movement. They’re sick of how they believe society treats relationships – the man pays the bill, the man must pursue, the man must leave the burning boat last. Rules that most men and women ignore in the 21st Century.

It began as a subforum of Reddit where the About section reads,

The Red Pill: Discussion of sexual strategy in a culture increasingly lacking a positive identity for men.

The Red Pill references the pill that wakes Neo up from a long dream in the 1999 film The Matrix, shows him “how deep the rabbit hole goes”. I guess they want to know how deep the pit of loneliness can burrow?

So, is this a modern thing? Have we always had people like Roosh V and his lonely friends who try to find the formula for seducing strangers while they complain about them?

In most of Modern history, not so much. Before that, there were a ton of guides. The first pickup guide may have been written by a woman.

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Two smooth Greeks play Spy vs Spy with their genitals.

Philaenis of Samos was a courtesan. She is credited with writing a guide to sex in the 3rd or 4th Century BC. She describes positions, aphrodisiacs, birth control. One of her lovers, the poet Aeschiron of Samos, denied she was the author. Well guess what Aeschiron, her name is right there in the opening sentence.

It inspired the Roman poet Ovid to write Ars Amatoria. Things get more pickup artisty now. He tells men to let the one they admire miss him, but not for long. The theatre is a great place to find gaily dressed women. Wash and groom yourself often.

Then he writes advice for women. Beware false lovers, deliberately make him jealous, reward your lovers with poetry. The men’s section details how to seduce women and vice versa, because says Ovid, he was only into mutually satisfying pleasure. This was why Ovid was “not aroused by the love of young boys”.

It was a different time.

A couple centuries later we have the Kama Sutra. This book is far more about how to score than the handbook of hanging your wife from the ceiling and tying your junk in knots that people think it is.

It’s aimed at the wealthy and goes through the whole process. There’s a list of hobbies and occupations that make a person better in bed, mostly working with the hands. There’s a chapter on breaking into a harem, a chapter on how to let a eunuch seduce you or let him down. It tells a man to dip his bits in honey and pepper to add stimulation, tells the right way to scratch and leave marks.

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The Kama Sutra is a guide to being a bear.

Taoist sex manuals appear in medieval China, aimed at men and calling the woman ‘the enemy’. This is a guide to sex as a spiritual practice where the whole universe is divided into black and white, male and female, opposing forces. The woman would see a man as an opponent if they wrote any manuals for women.

The world becomes richer in manuals around this time:

  • The Elephantis by Constantine the African, 11th Century
  • Ananga Ranga, 12th Century, India
  • Speculum al Foderi, 15th Century
  • The Perfumed Garden by Sheikh Nefzoui, 16th Century

In Modern times, people stopped talking about it. Victorian culture was rife with rogering and billowing with bunga bunga, but it was a huge taboo to discuss it in public. England produced more pornography than anywhere else. The only place to learn one’s way around a body was in medical manuals or all that porn.

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This is the Early Modern lay guide, so dull that the writer is named Gray. Any book with the colour grey as a theme is a horrible place to learn this stuff.

Modern manuals started to reappear in the ’20s, though there were no real descriptions of positions in the mainstream media until Dr. Alexander Comfort’s The Joy of Sex arrived in the ’60s. The Joy of Gay Sex followed, picking up the man on man ball that Ovid dropped.

Pickup artists tend to give two examples that show only women were taught seduction in the ’90s: Beauty magazines and The Rules by Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider. This was a book of old rules like waiting three days to answer messages, making him wait in mother’s parlour, never giving away too much. Play hard to get, play games.

They later wrote a guide to landing a perfect marriage that would last forever. It was released during Fein’s separation from her husband.

Commentators like Dr Meg John Barker and Neil Strauss have suggested that trying to make women easy with seduction guides were a response to this hard-to-get attitude.

All the while we see what’s called antifeminist literature – Dante and other medieval poets warned readers to resist the wickedness of woman. Until modern times it was often accepted in the law that women couldn’t control their desires and it was the man’s responsibility to stop her cheating. They never grumbled while seducing like Redpills, only while avoiding lust.

The manuals seem to imply that there was no great anxiety about finding a partner, just a big luxurious desire to have a better time with them. Ovid advised that it’s useful to ignore a partner’s faults rather than bitching about women. He wrote for both genders as if the other had feelings, never treating anyone like an emotionless door that opens to you when you say the right words. The redpill community seems to be something that we in the 21st Century can call our own. Aren’t you proud?

Yet the Redpill philosophy has nothing to do with the Matrix. Oh well. We don’t really need a red pill because like the women they try to hypnotise, we have choice. Ask Morpheus.

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Seven News Teaches Cops About Crowd Behaviour, Allegedly

November 6, 2015

A Seven News cameraman apparently showed cops on the Melbourne Cup shift how crowds behave by having a woman push over an officer.

Acting Superintendent Steven Cooper was preparing to explain how crowds behave at the time. The 25-year-old drunkard shoved Acting Superintendent Cooper into some bushes, which caused his reading glasses to break.

Raw footage from a Seven News camera shows her approaching the officer while the cameraman whines “Oh no!” While being led away, the drunkard looks right at the camera and says the cameraman made her do it.

The face of an alleged badass.

The face of an alleged badass.

Cameramen are known for passing the time with gallows humour and amusing anecdotes, as seen in the entertaining Sydney Siege footage of cameramen who didn’t know they were on air.

Choice Sydney Siege quotes included “He got garlic bread as well! Wish I worked for The Guardian!” and “You see that cop car? Go and turn it over!”

A good time was had by all. Two horses died which makes the occasion more dull than a Dothraki wedding.

Scientists Create Urineless Murderless Human Kidney

October 8, 2015

Melbourne researchers have begun growing a human kidney, ABC News has reported, without the plumbing or attachment to other less appealing body parts.

The Murdoch Childrens Research Institute have succeeded in growing hundreds of vessels which mimic in utero development, on a piece of equipment conveniently called a dish.

Kidney apple salad. Source: Timothy Vollmer

Kidney apple salad. Source: Timothy Vollmer

Professor Melinda Little told the ABC she plans to test the kidney for toxicity.

The US-based National Cancer Institute calls charred meat a carcinogen, while olive oil becomes carcinogenic if it’s cooked at a high temperature according to the Sydney Morning Herald.

The researchers found that the kidney responded to renal toxins with illness. American animal farm Smith Meadows advises precooking kidneys and refrigerating them for a maximum 24 hours.

Murdoch Children’s Research Centre succeeded in growing their kidneys by finding the right recipe of chemicals and spicing the dish, which originally held one stem cell.

Professor Little explained that the kidney’s genes are identical to those of a first trimester foetus. “It is actually mirroring what is happening in human development.”

Steak and kidney pie. Source: Hellahulla

Steak and kidney pie. Source: Hellahulla

The Murdoch Childrens Research Centre kidney has developed without common concerns such as the taste of urine or the slaughter of an animal.

The University of Edinborough’s Professor Jamie Davis commented that “it is not ‘plumbed’ into a waste drain, and it lacks … a urine-concentrating medulla region”.

San Diego based company Organovo funded the lab-grown kidney and 3D prints other organs such as its product, the exVive3D Human Liver Tissue.

Food blog followingmynose.com suggests cooking kidneys with spices, hot sauce and the juice from a quarter lemon.

Hökarpanna, a Swedish kidney dish. Source: Jonathan Koertge

Hökarpanna, a Swedish kidney dish. Source: Jonathan Koertge

Where Is Tony Now? A Guide To Ostracism

September 16, 2015

We dismantle Tony’s empire this week.

We unsmuggle the budgies, pull the motor cord that starts the boats, bury the axe he took to the tax. Mount Doom is bursting apart and two MPs in suits lay on the dead rock of the mountainside, lava cascading all around them. In their direction, eagles come to swoop them away from the wreck they’ve brought to Team Australia. Thee eagles pass a helicopter going the opposite way, fleeing with a woman who wears pearls and claims this ride on the dole. One suited MP on the rocks whispers, “It’s over. It’s finally over. I’m glad to be here with you, Julie Bishop, at the end of all things.”

Smoke rises from the mountain of doom. The hour grows late and a new leader takes his throne of coal.

It’s been eight months since they set out in disguise to topple Tone. The New PM, Turnbull, jabbed some subtle barbs at Tony during the February leadership spill including a “captain’s call” comment. Anyone could see that before the February motion which Tony survived, #it was #on.

Silence and discontent, more and more news polls which showed everyone was unhappy with the government, until last Monday’s challenge. The #ItsOn tag dominated Twitter.

Now Malcolm is victor and the mutiny is complete. What’s next for Tone? Is he hiding in the ceiling of the PM’s house, rolling around in a field of his beloved coal, being boiled alive by South Pacific island chiefs? Is he fishing in a cave, walking on his hands and feet?

No, we have revived an ancient tradition.

In Athens, the voters would have regular elections. They wrote their vote on ostraka, pieces of broken pottery which were so common that people used them as scrap paper. If the winner of this election had more than 6,000 votes, they’d be exiled from Athens for ten years. Ostracised.

I can name 6,000 people in my neighbourhood who have been voting this way in their sentiments, prayers and those hideous renewable energy sources we’ve started buying since we don’t really have an ozone layer anymore.

So where did Tony go first, after we launched him into the Pacific Ocean with nothing but his wits and speedos?

First he found the body of Peter Dutton floating by, water lapping at his shoes. Tony used it as a raft, but NOT A BOAT. It’s a raft, okay?

He paddled to his nearest friend, New Zealand. The Kiwi People treated him to hospitality and bid him watch their athletic games. Then he learned that 79% of their energy is renewable. Tony vomited up his edible plate and would not eat their food, or drink their water tainted by renewable hydroelectric damming. He survived on the body of Peter Dutton and rectally ingested his iron heart.

He spent a long time lost among the islands of the South Pacific, floating often on infinite fields of water. Soon the local sirens sung him down to the sunken islands of Kiribati, where they kept him and cared for him well. Tony soon remembered he had to get back to his wife.

He used his triathlon skills to find the nearest island. It was enormous. Tony climbed a palm tree to look out over the land. Never had he seen land so fertile and ever-reaching. When his elite English tutors taught him that Australia was the largest island, they must’ve been lying.

It was the bloated political body of Joe Hockey. That wasn’t a palm tree, it was a cigar.

He swam until he found a real island. On the way, he encountered three boats. Each one asked the same: What news in Australia? There is word of mutiny. Tony told them, The country is lost to the greenies! Turn around! Turn around your boats, lest you be treated like people seeking asylum and not concentration camp inmates! Turn around!

All ignored him. They were doomed.

At the island, a thick throng of native men greeted him holding worker’s tools. They showed him hospitality much like New Zealanders. He asked who they were, if they recognised him. The natives pointed to him. “Man.” Then themselves. “Us.”

He was one of them. Tony wore the local clothes, a polo shirt and shorts with thongs, the attire of the peasants whose dole money he once spent. He drank their kava and they chanted, “Man! Us! Man! Us!”

He asked again where he was and an old man parted the crowd, a beard reaching to his knees. Tony asked again, Where am I?

The man looked him up and down. “You are Uncle Tone. You have been here before.”

He looked around. The crowd was still chanting. The old man pointed.

“This is the man who kept the camps open! This is the one who visited us last week! He was the man who laughed.

Man. Us. Manus. Manus Island. Papua New Guinea.

They ate Tone and rectally ingested his heart, a piece of coal whose size Santa would admire.

Tone’s house filled with greenies, who competed to be the man of it. Tone’s pet Credlin grew old and died on an unmaintained pile of kale. The day they ate Tone, wind turbines sprouted all over the country. The ozone hole he adored and cared for closed its burning eye forever.

The Eye of Climate Change Denial.

The Eye of Climate Change Denial.

It’s ok! They’re Christians

September 11, 2015

Clause I

We, the government and white creators of the Continent of Australia, people so white that we decided our island should be the shape of the Bat Signal, in the presence of the one and only God of the Anglicans who may or may not be King Henry VIII with his shirt off, do hereby declare that we will take more Syrians.

We will help Christians, who worship of the sky that did create the Earth and chopped off His wives’ heads. We will help those who go to church and rest on Sunday, but not Friday or Saturday for that is when we drink and when no one in God’s entirely green non-warming flat Earth has their holy day. We will take the mild mannered, the heavy drinkers, who are white and racist but not against us. We will help people who most resemble Australians, living in occupied land and not really at the same risk of dying as the Muslims in ISIS territory. Wait a minute why are ISIS killing the Muslims? I thought they were the bad people. Oh okay, that’s just what we tell them. No don’t type that.

Clause II

We do declare the sea level may be rising. The dwelling of Rl’yeh may soon swallow the South Pacific and this is quite funny. Oh shit a boom mic. Climate change is still complete crap. Please respect my private conversation, by the way can we have your Internet metadata? You have nothing to hide if you’ve done nothing illegal. Oh yes, you have been a naughty boy or girl. Oh yes, The Pirate Bay. Oh, South Park reruns, yes! ASIO will be watching you close, you miscreant.

Source: ABC News

Clause III

We declare that jokes about Pacific islands and people’s homes sinking into the ocean will have no effect on a political career. If the joker was someone whose office heard twice about the decision to stop and search people for citizenship papers in the street, then denied knowing about it, you may consider that to be the lubricant that prepares people for this self-fucking moment caught on film. The moment will fit smoothly and be forgotten after a while, so loose will be the morals of politicians. This microphone-clad event will glide in and out of the public psyche and the people will do nothing, even while the joking minister feels the salt spray of his joke fill him with embarrassment like a seawater enema. Other politicians will remember and ask, hey Minister, remember the time you fucked yourself? Then all present will forget it.

It looks something like this.

It looks something like this. Source.

The exception to Clause III will be if the people make this business viral. Keep reminding each other and the politicians involved. Bring it to the Minister’s attention and let that self-fucking sensation pummel through the colon of politics, until good sense lashes into it and dampens the fires of arrogance.

Ipso facto, a Minister cannot fuck himself and feel it (what do you mean or herself? Can you get female members of cabinet?) unless people help a little.

How Other Countries Treat Refugees

September 4, 2015

Now that the tragedy of death at sea has circled the world in an unsettling photo, the Aussie government is determined not to let this happen in our backyard.

Let it happen in someone else’s.

If traffickers want to beat Arabs and lock them in the hull while their boat sinks, then they’re doing the government’s job for them. Italian politicians planning to sink boats that have smugglers on them? Great. Are a few still getting in? Do what your two year old kid would do for a drowning bug, put ’em in a box far away with just enough food to make it look like you’re feeding them and guard them with carnivorous termites. IF YOU CAN’T SEE THEM THEY DON’T EXIST.

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The Italian government tends to pile up its boat people and drop them in Libya, which is a family friendly place with many cheerful communities who’ve been in close contact since ousting Gaddafi. Well, ousting gives an image of Libya kicking his backside over the Tunisian border with a “Aaand stay out!” A more accurate word would be face-shooting. There’s also ISIS, who’ve been absent from the recent peace talks and have had minor success in grabbing Libyan land since the former dictatorship’s face-shooting.

But at least they’ve signed a peace treaty, so it should be fine to drop them there. Looks like Libya is safe for those wartorn families. Right, The Guardian?

The factions have yet to agree on details.

Diplomats say both governments face pressure from hardliners who favour a military solution.

Anyway …

Italy is doing God’s (Australia’s) work. Libya even helps return boatloads of war refugees to the war. This is called Operation Mare Nostrum, or Our Sea translated from Latin. It’s much like Australia’s habit of either sending them away or putting them on volcanic rocks on the equator to become proud citizens of Mordor. So when the Aussie PM told Europe to solve the “terrible problem” of refugees in boats his way, Italy must’ve agreed. Right?

Italian navy chief sceptical of Australian asylum seeker solution to Mediterranean migrant crisis

Even the people who dump their refugees in war zones are against Aussie-style turnbacks? The nerve.

In 2014 we launched a campaign to inform refugees that people would never be settled in Australia. If it was safe, we’d toss them back home. People like the Afghani Hazaras. That year, close combat increased in Afghanistan and both sides bombed civilian areas with no regard for what got destroyed. 22% more civilians died in 2014.

Kermit-The-Frog-Memes-Thats-None-Of-My-Business-Tho-What-The-Vogue-679x380

But Italy has it all. While they turn back boats, more than 800 refugees died when their Italy-bound ship capsized off the Libyan coast in April. This was when Abbott urged Europe to turn back their refugees, which is like asking someone whose computer is on fire “Have you tried smacking it? That works with my Xbox sometimes. Hit it bro.”

Italy’s PM had to comment on the 800 deaths and the world news reports tied up Italy in the issue, while Italian coastguards rescued the survivors. If a boat aims for Australia, sinks near its own country and no one is around to hear it, then we’ve stopped the boats.

But wait! Hungary can dehumanise too.

Refugee protesters threw themselves on train tracks and went on hunger strike yesterday because Hungary wanted to send them to camps with notoriously bad conditions. The refugees begged to be reunited with their families in Germany, while chanting “Media, media, don’t leave!” knowing that the police would bundle them onto trains bound for camps when the press went home.

Refugees begging to be sent to Germany so that authorities don’t shove them in trains and send them to deadly camps. The real news story is that we’re living in an alternate universe.

That brings us to today, the queasy image of the Turkish guard looking down at a toddler on the tide. They were bound for Greece, which has been flooded by 205,000 refugees this year. 18% of those are Afghani. Greece is preparing for disease to spread through its squalid camps.

It’s a good time to reread the government’s You Will Never Call Australia Home comic aimed at war refugees.

If places like Australia were willing and able to do more for foreigners, those numbers might lighten. She could live up to those bits of paper she signed for the UN or try something outrageous like both rescuing refugees and treating them humanely. More Afghanis might be encouraged to leave, knowing that they won’t be assaulted in every way by security guards and hostile Papua New Guineans. Those hostile locals have a strange prison on their land where all the inmates are punished for escaping war, something that wiped out a third of Papua New Guineans not long ago. The nations of Europe might not be, as bogans like to call our country, full – and still taking more. Life might be liveable for millions. Others might still have their lives.

When the Italian coastguard salvaged a dozen bodies from April’s shipwreck that killed 800, they sailed into Malta. For a while they considered where the dead should go, who they might belong to. In the end, they buried the bodies right there.

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Tyler, Destroyer of Worlds

July 29, 2015

If protests haven’t killed Tyler, the Creator’s Visa, why is he banned? Well, because we’ll all die otherwise.

Australian feminist organisation Collective Shout have called out American rapper Tyler, the Creator’s rapey and murdery lyrics, demanding he be kept out of the country.

In response, Tyler (full name Tyler Gregory Creator Okonma The ,) could’ve assured his Aussie fans that he was on his way. He could’ve reminded everyone of his stance on Collective Shout, mostly “Fucking bitch.”

Instead the rapper demonstrated his ability to raises miniature apocalypses in a public forum. Not with a long letter like Martin Luther, not with a speech like Churchill. He went to the Internet’s number plate factory, where we are all prisoners stamping tiny messages on each other’s eyeballs. Twitter.

Fans responded by sending murder and rape threats to Collective Shout director Coralie Alison, who says the Internet’s anger hasn’t bothered her. It’s the Internet. That’s how they say hi.

Still, Mr. Creator has demonstrated his ability to raise an army in 140 characters. Imagine what he could do by crossing the Pacific.

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Pictured: Tyler’s Creation. 

Creator’s rap posse, Odd Future, were dropped from a New Zealand music festival last year after lobbyists pushed for their expulsion. This may be a long term benefit for Odd Future, who will find it easier to pick off smaller enemies before turning the newly friendless Australia into a post-apocalyptic horror of sand, where oil is scarce and punks in leather fight for resources. It’s assumed that in these end times, Mel Gibson will return. He’ll have a dog.

There’s much reason to believe Creator isn’t a woman hating gaybeater who wants everyone rapemurdered. He’s half Canadian, he taught himself piano as a child.  He openly supported Frank Ocean, his openly gay Odd Future buddy, after Ocean came out to the press. Still, he swears by the word faggot in his music and seems to shrug at people who take offense, because he doesn’t mean anything by it.

Apart from a possible future as the Antichrist, Creator’s only real flaw seems to be insulting everyone.

Everyone.

At the 2014 Coachella festival he insulted celebrity audience members. When fellow maplebloods Tegan and Sarah tutted at his lyrical content, he announced:

A couple years later, Mountain Dew decided he’d make a great ad writer. This happened.

https://youtu.be/4s8gLSldKM0

WordPress is so offended that it won’t embed the video properly.

Tyler, the Creator is part of a Hip Hop movement called Horrorcore. Rappers try to capture the psychological, uneasy tone of horror films. Metal pioneers Black Sabbath had the same intention when they played in pubs with hobbit rockers Led Zeppelin. It takes the listener somewhere different, like Grand Theft Auto games when one runs over a hooker and collects her money by walking on top of it. It’s fiction. People like Collective Shout claim that we can’t tell the difference. So make sure you know the difference and enjoy your weird horror rap.

Phnglui mgwlnath Tyler, the Creator Melbourne wagn’agl fhtagn.

Five Ways To Protect Marriage From … Them

July 2, 2015

Marriage is dominating the media. Times are changing, men with bald patches and women with musty perfume are uncomfortable. Minority groups are marching on the sacred ground of matrimony and soon every group of humans created by nature will be able to claim it. It’s unnatural. Something must be done.

Well, I have the answer. We must twist and change marriage until love resembles something as over-simple as one man and one woman.

Here are my ideas for how we can redefine marriage, so that they can’t use it for their … whatever they do. I don’t even know what they are. That’s how traditional I am.

Lifelong Tax Friendship

Marriage is a way of saying I will inevitably stand by this person. That’s why we must seal it with something inevitable. Two sexually submissive people dress up in traditional marriage wear and walk into a tax office. They then tear off a fifth of their clothes, give it to the desk clerk and spend the rest of their lives complaining to each other about what’s being done with their taxes. This is traditionally done in an armchair while holding a newspaper.

They must be submissive because the tax office always does the fucking.

Pictured: Tax.

Pictured: Tax.

Death

The other inevitability. Marriage is when two people who’ve given up on dating come together and act out their favourite scene where two people kill each other, preferably to their actual deaths. A celebrant suggests to them a list of mutual deaths, such as Romeo and Juliet, King Arthur and Mordred, or (great photo op) Gandalf and the Balrog. Couples who complain about spoilers are told that it doesn’t matter because like their lives, spoilers are one barely seen wave in the eternal sea of phenomena and really don’t matter.

Pictured: The Muse of Love.

Pictured: The Muse of Love.

Carnival of the Tightarse

Marriage evolves to reflect the time period, but you didn’t read that here and neither did they. One theory of marriage’s origin is that it began with settlement and other forms of ownership. Early settlements wanted to make it obvious who inherited what based on parentage.

In these financially uncertain times, the civilised and noble can band together in the spirit of love and meanness. There’s a lavish feast, everyone the bondsmiths (one possible new word for people being married) have ever met are invited. People who’d be offended if they weren’t invited are seated on a stage for all to see and admire. Then the ceremony begins.

A celebrant measures the diameter of each bondsmith’s anus. They then fight in every way possible to make each other pay the bill. The fight is an omen of how they will manipulate each other for the rest of the marriage. It may become a battle of wits, an emotional duel of insults, brinkmanship with divorce threats or even a bloodsport. The latter is a great way to establish tribal alphas and betas.

It’s About Love

Marriage is meant to be about love. All the priests say so. Two people come together to declare their mutual love. People marry when they love each other. This will be enforced with an iron fist.

A priest class will be established to preside over marriages and help maintain them. They will be called the Inquisition and will wear red, the colour of love. An Inquisitor will lead the couple through the ceremony and every time he mentions that marriage involves love, the Inquisitor will look over the crowd with a cold gaze to make sure everyone understands. The Inquisitor will then speak this line as many times as there are people entering into the marriage:

“You, _______, will now take _______ as your lawfully wedded spouse(s) to love for all eternity, under the watch of all things and all beings, and the Inquisition. You will enter into this token by confessing your love for them. CONFESS!”

The Inquisition will spread over the land and root out all dull marriages. Those suspected of not being lovey enough will be imprisoned in a room full of Inquisitive instruments such as oysters, lists of weekend activities and Michael Bolton CDs. While some consider this to be torture, the Inquisition will be doing God’s work.

Francesco Hayez-378565

It’s About Breeding

Matrimony and technology will be blended into a perfect … marriage.

As we know, marriage is an institution between a man and woman designed to create new life as approved by God. The wife to be will be prepared in an electronic bridal dress, using a spherical assembler as seen in The Empire Strikes Back. She is trundled to the altar on a conveyor belt installed between two rows of church pews. The bride and groom are stamped with a number and their citizen IDs are updated. Then both are taken by truck to an immense white building of wires, harnesses and rooms kept at 23℃. The happy couple are connected at the hip by a rubber tube called the Eternal Ring of Married Bliss, or the HoneymoonLink. Bride and groom live face-down in separate rooms where their only view is a monitor showing an image of Jesus giving a thumbs-up. Feeding tubes and machines take care of their every need while HoneymonLink constantly transfers semen to the wife.

Over the years and technology’s swift ride forward, their obsolete human parts will be replaced by robotic instruments. They will become more machine than human, until only their souls and hundreds of progeny remain. They will be factories of human life with the Lord smiling down on them.

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This is how we protect the sanctity of marriage. There are many ways to preserve our traditions and keep them serving the Bible, as marriage has been doing all through its 7,000 year history. You didn’t read that here, since the Earth is about half that age.
Have a blessed day.

House of Border Guards

June 15, 2015

Happy birthday!

It’s 800 years since the Magna Carta was born. A few grumbling barons pulled the equally grumbling king to a grassy patch of Runnymede, which is the closest a town name has ever come to being a drinking song. The Magna Carta (Great Charter, or literally Big Paper) declared that everyone in society was a servant of the law. Even the king. It was 1215 and the world was a little colder.

To understand King John's mood, imagine this conversation.

To understand King John’s mood, imagine this conversation.
“Sign here. Great. Here’s your phone. You’re now an Apple user.”
“What have I done?”

It’s 2015 now. It’s becoming fast apparent that Australia’s ruling party paid people smugglers to send away at least one boatload of asylum seekers. This crime carries up to 20 years in prison, since people smuggling is the oil that keeps slavery running.

Here’s my prediction:

More evidence will appear. There will be no arrests.

Why no arrests? Because to arrest a Member of Parliament, the Attorney General must approve. That man is George Brandis, whose most famous fights in office have involved stopping asylum seekers from entering UN Refugee Charter Nation Australia, plus loosening Racial Discrimination laws. His reasoning? Not that people need protection from State censorship, or the ability to debate and strengthen ideas (the reasons why freedom of speech exists), but that we “have a right to be bigots.”

The Attorney General’s office is designed to take a lawyer and pull them out of their political career for a while, so they can take care of the High Court and defend the government if need be. They’re meant to be impartial and keep the court independent, aloof, unbiased.

When the office came to Australia a century ago, much like the convicts and settlers, it changed. Now the Attorney General is a senior member of Cabinet, who slugs it out in the political arena and is expected to keep the court biased. All for the Party. If someone wants to give the government legal trouble, they come through Big Bad Brandis first.

Oh – since 1903, the Attorney General has been allowed to intervene in court cases. If you put a human trafficker in a court, then lower Brandis down from the ceiling, he will legally be a deus ex machina. He becomes judge and god.

On the third day of legal proceedings, Attorney General Brandis abrogated the case against the Prime Minister. He then removed all brown looking people from the courtroom and he saw that it was good.

On the third day of legal proceedings, Attorney General Brandis abrogated the litigation. Records show he then removed all brown looking people from the courtroom and he saw that it was good.

So why will there be more evidence?

Because the leaks come in organised bursts, each one just in time for a fresh news day. There is motive. The Prime Minister is one of the most unpopular ever, several people around him want his seat. People who worked for the refugee camps are lining up to report every kind of abuse which humans can use to attack each other. There’s a focus on child victims.

So if someone is betraying Tony Abbott, who is it?

The most likely candidate to succeed the PM would be Malcolm Turnbull, who likes to dig in his barbs when things look especially bad for PM Abbott. Around the same time, he does a capital job of selling himself to the public. To get around the many far right elements of his party who disagree with his liberalism, Turnbull has to be shrewd. Still, his leadership is a matter of time. In 2009, when Abbott was far more popular, he took the leadership from Turnbull by one vote.

Then there’s Foreign Affairs Minister Julie Bishop. She’s been loyal, totally loyal, but only pragmatically. In the February leadership spill, she backed down only when it became apparent that the PM had a good chance of leaving at least one greasy paw on his chair. She gambled and thrived.

Fun fact: Before politics, Julie Bishop was a WA solicitor for asbestos user CSR. She drew out the court case so that the victims would die and the companies would owe their grieving families less money. Lawyer Peter Gordon reported that she asked why victims “should be legally entitled to jump court queues just because they were dying.”

It could be someone lower in the Party who wants more power in the reshuffle that follows. Perhaps it’s a well connected someone or ones from a rival party. It’s possible that Tony Abbott is an idiot savant who was made for pandering to people’s ignorance, but is clumsy with hiding evidence. Perhaps he’s not psychopathic enough to make sure the traffickers and refugees who witnessed the payment were silenced, or he’s sociopathic enough not to think of it.

Pictured: Not Tony Abbott.

Pictured: Not Tony Abbott.

There’s a phenomenon called the Cobra Effect. In the British Raj, there was a plague of cobras. The British gave a cash reward to anyone who killed the snakes. They weren’t used to the clever Asian traders. People hacked the system and began to breed cobras and make a snake-killing. When the British discovered this, they scrapped the reward. Those snake peddlers had no use for their stock anymore. They released the cobras into the wild and the population increased.

Paying people smugglers to skip the dangerous action of offloading their human cargo is a Cobra Effect.

Meanwhile, watch this story. There’s more to come.

The Impressive Story of Nauru

May 12, 2015

Nauru is a rock sticking out of the ocean, just below the equator. The sun bakes it like a stone grill. Average temperature: 31 degrees Celsius.

Drought comes to Nauru every few years and has since at least the 1950s. In any five years, rainfall rollercoasters from around 500 to 4500mm. Clouds dodge and swarm the island, even though clouds have no idea when they’re not wanted. Nauru’s sea level is rising at twice the world average.

The rock Nauru is made of phosphorous (P15), an element whose name can be translated as ‘Lucifer.’ Phosphorous is in DNA and is the active ingredient in phosphorous grenades, which don’t blow you up so much as set you on fire. The phosphorous in ash is why new plants grow so well over land that’s been raided by fire.

The Polynesians and Micronesians made the rock a cosy home/oven and formed themselves into tribes 3,000 years ago. Though they’ve changed shape and name over time, this makes the tribes of Nauru older than Ancient Rome. The tribes were matrilineal, their heritage came from the mother’s side. This is common in societies that don’t practice monogamy and aren’t sure about their father’s identity.

Rush forward to the 1700s. British sailors bump around the Pacific, especially Tahiti which they find is even more of an orgy than the other islands. In 1798 a whaling ship named the Hunter stumbles upon Nauru. Captain John Fearn finds the island pleasant and names it Pleasant Island. His legacy as the least creative person in the universe is forgotten.

Around 1830 an escaped Irish convict named John Jones ends up on Nauru. Jones declares himself dictator and for some reason, the tribes believe him. He purges the island by banishing everyone he doesn’t like. After 11 years, the tribes throw him off the island. The years in which this happened, along with how many people he killed and/or ate, are up for debate.

When you talk about the British Pacific, assume everyone’s a cannibal. If a convict or Islander king didn’t eat anyone, it’s worth mentioning. The most famous example might be Ned Kelly, although he ate his horse.

This is what an Australian looked like 200 years ago.

This is what an Australian looked like 200 years ago.

Sailors bring the Nauruan tribes booze and guns. A chief gets accidentally shot at a wedding and his tribe slightly overdo the revenge. In 1878 the revenge becomes total war between the island’s twelve tribes. The population shrinks by a third to 900 until the tribes agree to a ban on alcohol and some of the guns.

The Nauruan Tribal War reaches its true end when the English let the locals know that Germany owns their rock. They made a trade deal or something. 36 Germans land on the island. A unit of Marines arrests all the chiefs and makes the tribes give up their remaining guns. There are 765 left when the tribes hand them over. Germany decides that a man named Aweida is king of the island and that he won the war. The tribes go along with it. The German flag flies over Nauru. Things get weird now.

Australia gets Nauru next, when they declare war on Germany in 1914. The Germans go along with it in a bloodless takeover. Somewhere in South Africa, Gandhi has an unexplained boner. Britain informs the Australian troops who captured Nauru that they own the island. They go along with it.

The Japanese take over in 1943. They throw all the island’s lepers into the sea, send 1,200 Nauruans to labour camps and are worse guests than that one convict. Two years later they surrender to Australian troops. Britain tells Australia that the island is still UK property but they can do the admin work. Australia goes along with it again.

Two decades later, Nauru becomes the world’s smallest independent republic. They place the alchemical symbol for phosphorous on their Coat of Arms, giving them the edgiest heraldry in the Pacific. Their first president Hammer DeRoburt is voted into office four times, he’s educated in Geelong, Australia and dies in Melbourne. He spends some time in Nauru, introducing Australian Rules football as the national sport. His interests include Australia.

Nauru becomes a major tax haven and money laundering centre.

Nauru mines its own phosphate with companies it owns and earns the second highest GDP in the world. Before the ‘80s, Nauru was forested and luscious. Now it’s stripped bare. When phosphate mining began under the British, there was no attempt to repair or replant. Everyone blames the administrators. Nauru sues Australia, who go along with it and settle out of court. New Zealand and the UK give a one-time payment of $12 million each, while Australia hands over $2.5 million a year for the next 20 years. The mineable phosphate runs out in 2006.

Four U.S. banks ban dealings with Nauru in 1999 because of the whole money laundering tax haven thing. The country is going bankrupt. Like a lottery winner, all its sudden wealth has been mismanaged and disappeared.

The name 'Nauru' can be translated to 'MC Hammer.'

The name ‘Nauru’ can be translated to ‘MC Hammer.’

Australia sends Nauru a freighter full of mostly Arab refugees. In typical Australia form, they ship scores of diseased people to live on a new island. Camps pop up which the refugees refuse to go in, since WWII is fresh in everyone’s minds. They assure the refugees that it’s just until they’re processed as asylum seekers. More and more refugees come, dumped by Australia’s government in what Norway, the first freighter’s owner, calls a political stunt that breaches international law for votes. Since the refugees aren’t uneasy enough about being concentrated in camps, Australia calls this the Pacific Solution. Nauru goes along with it.

After a left wing government closed it for half of the 2000s, the Nauru refugee detention facility now holds 2,000 people who seeked asylum from wartorn countries via Australian waters. The government assures them they’ll never be allowed into Australia, which is still paying Nauru $2.5 million a year for making their island ugly.

Soon after the freighter of refugees arrives, Operation Weasel may or may not have happened. It’s such a hushed operation that even in 2015, no one knows if it’s real. Nauru is in the centre.

There are two possible things it could be.

  1. The U.S. and New Zealand want to help North Korean scientists defect. They have the Nauruan embassy in China sneak their defectors out of the country. The entire embassy is a front for this, which should be obvious since it’s staffed with Americans and New Zealanders. Nauru will be paid for their help, if they stop the tax haven thing. Nauru did reform its banking around this time.
  2. A couple Nauruan embassies have become corrupt and are selling passports to terrorists. Operation Weasel may be America and NZ’s attempt to stop this. The Beijing and Washington embassies did close in 2003.

In 2015, Nauru is adjusting to life without mining money. Citizens pay no tax. The island is covered in huge spikes of coral, formed by the mining. It’s impossible to build or grow anything on those peaks.

There’s a concept called peak phosphorous, where the world’s phosphorous mines empty. Estimates of when this will happen are scattered all about, ranging from 1991 to 2069. When peak phosphorous happens, commercial fertiliser will become useless (Source: Wikipedia), along with grenades that set you on fire. The element of phosphorous will become nothing but a fiery building block of DNA, teeth, ash and rocks like Nauru.