Now this aroused me from my afternoon torpor.
Ah, memories, and none of them mine.
I think i'll raise a toast in honour. Something even the wankers in the street wouldn't drink.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Hildebrandts!
Oh, my: there’s more to this Hildebrandt thing than first meets the eye. Sometime in the northern summer of 1904 (yes, kiddies, happier times - the signing of the Entente Cordiale) Karl Hildebrand set off to walk around the world.
Why?
Well, it could have been because this was the olden days, and most everyone back then was seriously fucking lulu, or;
He was “sent by a committee in London, the members of which were anxious to find out whether a man can possibly accomplish the tour on foot around the world without asking for any help on the way.”
People, I wouldn’t make this shit up. Well, I would, but I’d cough to it if I did.
On reflection, I think reasons 1 and 2 apply.
Seven and a half years later, he had reached Jerusalem. OK so far, except by then he had been across Europe, Africa and America. America? Between London and Jerusalem? How do you get that fucking lost? Karl, mate, you should have asked for help on the way. Your stupid fucking pride cost you three years of your life and an unnecessary side trip to the U.S. Particularly unfortunate as at that time it was mandatory, under the Ninth Amendment, that any person entering the United States allow the president teabagging rights.
That’s not all: Karl Hildebrand had two masters. He was also reporting back to the German Labour party (remember them?) “with descriptions of foreign labour conditions as to housing, pay, and hours.”
Don’t laugh, you bastards; two of his fourteen companions had died by the time they reached the big J. According to the account I read, this was from “their strenuous pedestrianism and the hardships they encountered.” I say it was more likely they reached a level of boredom where self-inflicted death was a gratifying alternative to Hildebrand’s endless recital of how much Nigerian workers were paid, how many hours Canadian abattoir workers put in each week and how small were the houses in Liechtenstein.
Little more than a century later, two of his great-great-great-great grandchildren are marrying each other.
Now, I’m prepared to call it: CONSPIRACY
Why?
Well, it could have been because this was the olden days, and most everyone back then was seriously fucking lulu, or;
He was “sent by a committee in London, the members of which were anxious to find out whether a man can possibly accomplish the tour on foot around the world without asking for any help on the way.”
People, I wouldn’t make this shit up. Well, I would, but I’d cough to it if I did.
On reflection, I think reasons 1 and 2 apply.
Seven and a half years later, he had reached Jerusalem. OK so far, except by then he had been across Europe, Africa and America. America? Between London and Jerusalem? How do you get that fucking lost? Karl, mate, you should have asked for help on the way. Your stupid fucking pride cost you three years of your life and an unnecessary side trip to the U.S. Particularly unfortunate as at that time it was mandatory, under the Ninth Amendment, that any person entering the United States allow the president teabagging rights.
That’s not all: Karl Hildebrand had two masters. He was also reporting back to the German Labour party (remember them?) “with descriptions of foreign labour conditions as to housing, pay, and hours.”
Don’t laugh, you bastards; two of his fourteen companions had died by the time they reached the big J. According to the account I read, this was from “their strenuous pedestrianism and the hardships they encountered.” I say it was more likely they reached a level of boredom where self-inflicted death was a gratifying alternative to Hildebrand’s endless recital of how much Nigerian workers were paid, how many hours Canadian abattoir workers put in each week and how small were the houses in Liechtenstein.
Little more than a century later, two of his great-great-great-great grandchildren are marrying each other.
Now, I’m prepared to call it: CONSPIRACY
Sunday, July 26, 2009
don't ask; don't tell
According to an article in the Australian Journal of Popular Culture, there existed a homosexual sub-culture among Australian servicemen, particularly in Newcastle, during World War Two. And – this is now seared in my mind – one of the markers, one of the little signs they gave one another - to say “psst, Barry, I’m one of the under-the-streetlight-brigade too” - was wearing certain articles of clothing subtly different from what was then the norm. Yes, my friends, the love that dare not speak its name dared to wear argyle socks! Now, I read this in an article published c. late 1990s. The author failed to outline his/her methodology (or I conveniently skipped over that bit) but source information on such matters would be hard to find; there would be no contemporary newspaper articles, memoirs etc. And I suspect that given the timing of publication of said article the original source material may well have been army documents declassified under the 50 year rule. With a nod to Python/Blackadder, and anyone else I may have ripped off, I suspect these documents read something like:
TOP SECRET: FOR COLONEL AND ABOVE EYES ONLY
MEMO: MEETING, 16th JULY 1943
PRESENT: Colonels Barnaby, Carruthers, Smyth-Forbes, Captain Larkins
Larkins: “Sirs, I have finished the report into the men’s off-duty activities that you requested.”
Carruthers: “Jolly good, Larkins. What’s the gist of it, man?”
Larkins: “Well, sir, I’ll come right out with it. One very disturbing fact came to light. There appears to be a spot of un-Army like behaviour going on among some of the men in the 4th Light.”
Smyth-Forbes: “Un-Army like behaviour? Whatever do you mean, man?”
Larkins: “Uh, yes, sir, some of the men are doing things….”
Barnaby: “Yes, yes, doing things?”
Larkins: “Yes, sir, that is, they’re indulging in, shall we say, certain, uh, French activities.”
Smyth-Forbes: “Ah, well, that’s not so bad. Good soldier the Froggy. Just the officers give them a bad name. Gunga Din’d on cheap plonk by lunch time, most of ‘em.”
Larkins: “Quite, sir. But what I mean is, some of our men are, um, doing things in the French way.”
Barnaby: “Well, yes, can’t have that, I suppose. Very disorganised, is old Pierre. So tell the men to sharpen up.”
Larkins: “Yes, but sir, that is to say, that this is an after dark sort of French thing.”
Carruthers: “Damn it man, stop with the French. Fought alongside some of ‘em at Breton Woods. Not bad in a stoush, Jean-Paul. Like to stick it right up the old Bosch.”
Larkins: “Yes, sir, that’s exactly it.”
Smyth-Forbes: “I still don’t see what your concern is Larkins.”
Larkins: “Sirs, it’s just that, well, some of the diggers are doing things that are a little less than manly. Not wholesome, if you see what I mean.”
Carruthers: “Well, damn it Larkins, what are you implying? Less that manly? Not wholesome? You know I lost my leg at Villeneuve. Stepped on one of Jerry’s exploding tin cans. I suppose I’m less than less than manly, am I?”
Larkins: “No sir, that’s not it. Let me explain…”
&c.
TOP SECRET: FOR COLONEL AND ABOVE EYES ONLY
MEMO: MEETING, 16th JULY 1943
PRESENT: Colonels Barnaby, Carruthers, Smyth-Forbes, Captain Larkins
Larkins: “Sirs, I have finished the report into the men’s off-duty activities that you requested.”
Carruthers: “Jolly good, Larkins. What’s the gist of it, man?”
Larkins: “Well, sir, I’ll come right out with it. One very disturbing fact came to light. There appears to be a spot of un-Army like behaviour going on among some of the men in the 4th Light.”
Smyth-Forbes: “Un-Army like behaviour? Whatever do you mean, man?”
Larkins: “Uh, yes, sir, some of the men are doing things….”
Barnaby: “Yes, yes, doing things?”
Larkins: “Yes, sir, that is, they’re indulging in, shall we say, certain, uh, French activities.”
Smyth-Forbes: “Ah, well, that’s not so bad. Good soldier the Froggy. Just the officers give them a bad name. Gunga Din’d on cheap plonk by lunch time, most of ‘em.”
Larkins: “Quite, sir. But what I mean is, some of our men are, um, doing things in the French way.”
Barnaby: “Well, yes, can’t have that, I suppose. Very disorganised, is old Pierre. So tell the men to sharpen up.”
Larkins: “Yes, but sir, that is to say, that this is an after dark sort of French thing.”
Carruthers: “Damn it man, stop with the French. Fought alongside some of ‘em at Breton Woods. Not bad in a stoush, Jean-Paul. Like to stick it right up the old Bosch.”
Larkins: “Yes, sir, that’s exactly it.”
Smyth-Forbes: “I still don’t see what your concern is Larkins.”
Larkins: “Sirs, it’s just that, well, some of the diggers are doing things that are a little less than manly. Not wholesome, if you see what I mean.”
Carruthers: “Well, damn it Larkins, what are you implying? Less that manly? Not wholesome? You know I lost my leg at Villeneuve. Stepped on one of Jerry’s exploding tin cans. I suppose I’m less than less than manly, am I?”
Larkins: “No sir, that’s not it. Let me explain…”
&c.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
*******
Gentle readers, I did not want to turn this into one of them conspiracy sites, but I’d like to draw your attention to a news item I espied today:
Kelly Katrina Hildebrandt of Florida is marrying Kelly Carl Hildebrandt of Texas.
Here’s the happy couple:
They met after she googled her own name, found Kelly Carl and began corresponding. Cupid took it from there.
“I totally think that it's all God’s timing,” says Kelly Katrina Hildebrandt said. “He planned it out just perfect.”
FUCK!!!
I totally don’t know about this. Can it be right? God’s plans for his flock include us marrying people with the same name? Where does it say this in the Bible? Did Thomas Aquinas know this shit? And how can I be expected to find – let alone marry – someone called a very competent historian?
Is Kelly Katrina some kinda holy mystic 33rd level Kabala priestess? Maybe she knows the secret names of Ya HoWa? Maybe she knows a whole lotta stuff and she aint tellin.’
Kellys [is that the plural?], give it up for the people.
Totally.
Kelly Katrina Hildebrandt of Florida is marrying Kelly Carl Hildebrandt of Texas.
Here’s the happy couple:
They met after she googled her own name, found Kelly Carl and began corresponding. Cupid took it from there.
“I totally think that it's all God’s timing,” says Kelly Katrina Hildebrandt said. “He planned it out just perfect.”
FUCK!!!
I totally don’t know about this. Can it be right? God’s plans for his flock include us marrying people with the same name? Where does it say this in the Bible? Did Thomas Aquinas know this shit? And how can I be expected to find – let alone marry – someone called a very competent historian?
Is Kelly Katrina some kinda holy mystic 33rd level Kabala priestess? Maybe she knows the secret names of Ya HoWa? Maybe she knows a whole lotta stuff and she aint tellin.’
Kellys [is that the plural?], give it up for the people.
Totally.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Cheers, Doctor King
"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood."
Inspirational words from the great civil rights leader the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King.
Dr King was a giant of the twentieth century - a selfless, brilliant figure whose legacy brightens the world even today.
It is just as well, however, that he didn't run a catering firm. Look, though i've been through parts of Georgia i don't recall the red hills, but i would think that being hills, they're kind of, well, slopey. Setting tables in such a place for anyone, let alone distrustful sons of former slaves and suchlike, just would not have worked. Obviously, the hillside thing would unbalance the tables and we'd have a serious race relations set-back. The hors d'oeuvre would be dropping onto the ground, the apples rolling off the end and the soup tureen - well, it doesn't bear thinking about. And if Dr King overlooked this simple fact, what chance is there that he would remember to put those clever little weights on the edges of the table cloths so that they didn't whip up in those ever-present hillside zephyrs and flick into the ice cream?
All in all, a logistics disaster.
Inspirational words from the great civil rights leader the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King.
Dr King was a giant of the twentieth century - a selfless, brilliant figure whose legacy brightens the world even today.
It is just as well, however, that he didn't run a catering firm. Look, though i've been through parts of Georgia i don't recall the red hills, but i would think that being hills, they're kind of, well, slopey. Setting tables in such a place for anyone, let alone distrustful sons of former slaves and suchlike, just would not have worked. Obviously, the hillside thing would unbalance the tables and we'd have a serious race relations set-back. The hors d'oeuvre would be dropping onto the ground, the apples rolling off the end and the soup tureen - well, it doesn't bear thinking about. And if Dr King overlooked this simple fact, what chance is there that he would remember to put those clever little weights on the edges of the table cloths so that they didn't whip up in those ever-present hillside zephyrs and flick into the ice cream?
All in all, a logistics disaster.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Idiots
Warning: This post contains cheap shots
I came across this article from September 1904. It really needs no explanation, but that won’t stop me:
Austria/Australia; who can tell the difference? But I would like to know whether idiocy was a particular problem within the Austrian Home Office. I know it is in the Australian equivalent.
Now, one hundred and five years later, it may be time to assess the results of Prof. Von Wagner’s work. Let’s see: Far from being rid of idiots they have multiplied exponentially. And back in the prof’s day they didn’t give idiots drivers’ licences and orange Monaros(1). They do now.
Oh yea! Bigger idiots!
Oh crap! Stronger idiots!
Now this suggests the rigorous scientific testing of the good prof has failed him, if he is suggesting that children don’t chatter and sing if they’re still in the idiot stage. In fact, a lot of idiots sing; just ask Liam Gallagher. Also – moving out of the idiot stage isn’t a prerequisite for attending school.
(1) For yer foreign brains, this is an Australian muscle car, the equivalent say of a U.S., um, muscle car.
I came across this article from September 1904. It really needs no explanation, but that won’t stop me:
Professor Von Wagner, of Vienna, who has been experimenting in the treatment of idiots with thyroid gland, has reported to the Austrian Home Office…
Austria/Australia; who can tell the difference? But I would like to know whether idiocy was a particular problem within the Austrian Home Office. I know it is in the Australian equivalent.
…that in time idiocy will belong to the category of curable diseases…
Now, one hundred and five years later, it may be time to assess the results of Prof. Von Wagner’s work. Let’s see: Far from being rid of idiots they have multiplied exponentially. And back in the prof’s day they didn’t give idiots drivers’ licences and orange Monaros(1). They do now.
He has treated 52 idiots ranging in age from two to twenty-three years during periods varying between 12 and 35 months with tablets of thyroid gland, and writes that already, after three month’ treatment, a growth in height was observable…
Oh yea! Bigger idiots!
…accompanied by an improvement in the quality of the blood and in increase of strength…
Oh crap! Stronger idiots!
Children very soon became lively, showed much more interest in the outside world, began to chatter and even to sing, and some were fit to attend school
Now this suggests the rigorous scientific testing of the good prof has failed him, if he is suggesting that children don’t chatter and sing if they’re still in the idiot stage. In fact, a lot of idiots sing; just ask Liam Gallagher. Also – moving out of the idiot stage isn’t a prerequisite for attending school.
(1) For yer foreign brains, this is an Australian muscle car, the equivalent say of a U.S., um, muscle car.
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