Thursday, April 24, 2014


A theoretical scenario – Ha Ha!

In my last I forgot to mention in explicit terms the way utter bastards are fucking with our lives.
I did mention the local mafia staging cheap demonstrations just before the start of long weekends.

So, let’s nail that down for the record.

What the hell are these wankers up to?
What precisely are they up to?

They seem to have the facility to cause what I call ‘street theatre’.

They group together in the mid of night – start causing conniptions – cause people grief – then phone their corrupt pals in the police.

They always do this in the evening before a long weekend – a public holiday event.

Which means that if YOU are the victim of their demonstration – then you are very likely to be arrested.

Why should you be arrested?

Obviously for no reason whatsoever.

Unless you were as stupid as them.

Unless you were stupid enough to go out there into the public domain and give them as much grief as they’ve been causing you.
Unless you were silly enough to believe that justice actually prevailed in boganvillia under the newman regime.

But, of course it doesn’t. now and has not ever since beattie abolished the tiniest semblance of justice all those years ago.

Yep. A free ride for the newman regime – compliments of beattie and bligh.

But of course, none of you silly bastards ever consider that queensland ‘justice’ was ‘enshrined’ by a complete pisstank by the name of Sam Griffith.
Sam Griffith simply plagiarised the Italian penal code way back in the tail end of the nineteenth century.

Don’t get me wrong; Sam stole a few good ideas from the Wogs – but never fuck-all of them seemed to be applied in this arsehole of the universe.

Ah. But I digress again.
I began by mentioning how the filth has enfiladed old queensland society.
How the opportunistic flatheads from the south have invaded our everyday society.
How the muck cruise our precincts acting like pig-dogs and at the opportune moment engage their smart-phones precisely at the moment when straight talking old queenslanders have completely had enough of their overweening bullshit.

Then when that happens they call on their wonky, corrupt pals nepotistically employed by other similar blow-ins in the system of ‘governance’.

So where does that leave us?
A mob of alleged politicians who should never have been selected for the raffle.
Under them, a mob of equally corrupt opportunistic psychos inhabiting middle management.
And under them, an entire population of hateful, overaggressive, jerks cruising our streets in high viz tabards and hard hats pretending that they have the ‘authority’ to push us all around and around.

It has gone too bloody far.
The next sack of shit bellowing bullshit at me with a kiwi or south african accent can just go away and fuck himself.


Well, it happened again last evening.
About five of ‘em lurking in the dark, sitting in the gutter over the road. Acting like prize fuckwits.
On our side of the road directly in front of our house lurked some sort of ute/pick/up. Another part of their sicko ensemble.

So, how did this come to my notice?
It seems I broke some new queensland (sorry, newmania/boganvillia) law by merely looking out my verandah window.
Imagine that. Hoping for a breath of fresh air – instead gagging on chemical refuse.

True; I was sincerely hoping the ‘new management’ of the cesspool over the road had locked up shop and shoved off to do whatever they do when they’re not dealing over the road.
But no – my mistake.
I’d forgotten that anzac day makes for a public holiday and a three day weekend.
So when they started acting like the sort they are – began mumbling insults and more – I should have realized that I was being set-up with another complaint by them to their pals in the local gendarmerie.
Which lot (the fuzz) turned up here at about 3.00pm Thursday afternoon, 24th April 2014.

This is a very serious matter.
Forty plus years ago under the bjelke joh regime the filth used to constrain their hate and confine it toward the professional criminals and their own pals.
In fact that was easy since most professional criminals were all too often also their own pals.

Not so these days.
It seems that the pickings are so thin that they want me, my lady wife and our remaining son to be arbitrarily treated in much the same way as the jewish people were in nazi germany.

And therefore this afternoon, just as the kids were leaving the primary school opposite our home – a vehicle drove through our yard and immediately afterward fists began bashing on our doors and windows.

And those arseholes were dressed up in their kinky tactical overalls complete with flak jackets, glock pistols and tazers.

All of which has me wondering why they weren’t over the road attempting to arrest the actual perpetrators of last night’s street theatre.

Perhaps, for all you jaded bastards out there, my constant theme has become somewhat boring –
After all, it is anzac day tomorrow and we three remaining of our once extended family would like to attend that remembrance ceremony devoted to yet another of Winston churchill’s glorious fuck-ups.
After all my wife’s dad was a wounded survivor of the third charge against Beersheba – her grandfather a triple wound survivor of the Somme – a bloke stupid enough to sign up a second time for the New Guinea campaign.
Likewise my own dad and my uncles had their fun in the second innings – dad in the RAAF the uncles in holiday camps like picturesque Tobruk.

Though having volunteered I never directly served.
It was my lot to offer my engineering manufacturing skills to the defence of Australia – only to be told to fuck off repeatedly by the corrupt arseholes looking after the likes of GDs and BritAerospace for the best part of two decades.

And while in the midst of that I was stupid enough to accept a contract from the queensland pigs to provide them with a means of preventing themselves from shooting themselves with their plastic fantastic glock pistols.

And I’m ashamed to say that we did it.

Who did that?
Myself and my dead son.

Just imagine if I’d thought that one through.
There’d be a few less of that slime lurking around here giving us innocents grief and protecting the local mafia.
I’d be able to go to the anzac day ceremonies tomorrow without having to look constantly over my shoulder.

But like our politicians, the rozzers don’t give a fuck (undoubtedly never have) about honest citizens or justice.

Even those who claim ‘honesty in profession’ are there for their ‘career path’.

Sort of like all those serial poo punchers and psychos in the various churches, denominations, NGOs, and all those ‘official service agencies’ dedicated toward ‘assisting’ the disadvantaged, the disabled, and the just plain crook.

If you’d bothered to read this far it may be the case that I’m preaching to those knowledgeable of this outrage – for by God the ‘experts’, the ‘professionals’ don’t want to acknowledge the truth that the ‘banality of evil’ is as evident in our society as in any other.

Except that ours is not a societal mechanism driven from ‘top down’ – but rather an exceedingly dysfunctional miasma amateurishly maladministered by the sorry impulse of greed bubbling up from the depths of stupidity into the realms of utter incompetence.
In short - the once penal colony keeps pretending that it has somehow devolved into a democracy.

And that is precisely why the porkers were unlawfully thrashing about in my back yard this afternoon!

Wednesday, April 23, 2014



A big airframe can be upgraded with all sorts of equipment.
Better control systems, avionics and weapons.

There are very few aircraft able to approach what the Russian industry has created.

And nothing to match the above.

Without any doubt whatsoever the ‘goat’ needs an excellent jockey – an athlete with comprehensive training and spools of airtime.

But saturate any airspace with sufficient well trained, dedicated, pilots and there is no way they will lose an air-superiority battle to role compromised, overexpensive export editions of American attack aircraft.

This is exactly what that ex-RAAF fellow has been saying for years.
Wossisname – Coon?

Of course it always has been the case that pretty aerobatics never won the bloody dogfight and dogfights never won the airwar over Britain nor over Midway.

No. What won those battles were aircraft that could be kept reliably in the bloody air with enough spare pilots who could keep flying the bastards.

And here is the thing –
This is the magnificent F22 ‘Raptor’ performing like a lame duck in Australia in 2013.

Something of a non-show in comparison to that ‘old technology’ Russkie.

Interesting, isn’t it, how our raffle winners, our alleged ‘masters’ keep doing this sort of thing to us?
They keep expecting us to agree (without question) to those cosy little deals that keep we peasants eternally broke.
Their hip pockets are full of so much ‘black cash’ that they have a hard time making it up the steps of their various ‘houses of parliament’.

Let’s put the case bluntly.
Those shiteheels will finally purchase an ‘air defence capability’ that will have our 21st century ‘bryllcreem boys’ stuck on the deck watching the invader curve our airspace into rolls of steam while they sit on their sorry butts in useless ‘US, export model’ crocks of shit.

But isn’t that what Abbort’s crowd all about?

They’d rather pay a goddamned fortune to the bloody seppos as an excuse to deny senior Australians their right and heritage after a lifetime of hard labour and misery.
They’d rather pay ten times the price for shit, fall out of the sky, aircraft than buy something decent that actually gives our emerging aces something decent – something of a challenge, to kill ‘emselves in.

I’m too bloody old now – but if I was given the chance again I’d choose a Sukhoi or a Mig anytime.

They can shove their Raptors, Craptors or JSFs each and every day of the week.

Bottom line goes this way –
Last time we were involved with a grade A bunfight we were offered a load of ‘inappropriate aircraft’.

Our people had to fly an ad- hoc bunch of crap against the Imperial Japanese forces and our people suffered for it.

The ‘Brewster Buffalo’ was a lovely plane to fly – as was the Curtiss P40.

But they were crap in opposition to the offerings of the enemy.

My old man (his squadron) was expected to combat the Imperial Japanese Navy, their Mitsubishi ‘Zero’ fighters with/in Lockheed Hudsons.

Imagine engaging Mitsubishi A6M air superiority fighters with commercial aircraft – converted to bombers – then expected to perform the fighter role.

And now our raffle winners – our ‘politicians’ – in another century, expect our service personnel to play that same stupid fucking game now.

There are a few ways of looking at the situation.
• Firstly, the raffle winning arseholes may not care about the massive cost of useless defence equipment. That, after all, has been the trend ever since 1901.
• Then, maybe the DO care – and intend this Commonwealth to be absorbed by the Asian nations without any of us white eyes having any say against that.
• There is a big, big chance that the bludgers care not a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut either way – so long as the collect their super and pensions and get to bugger off to other shores before the collapse happens (the most likely scenario).
• Or maybe they’ve been beavering away PLANNING for this dump to go down the tubes as payback for the sort of arsehole like me who wants to see his days out after having been born here – expecting a meager PENSION – that sort of thing.

Now hold it there – the dot point #4 is the interesting one from a defence point of view.
Why the fuck would Abbort spend all that moolah on essentially crap, defective aircraft to defend old fart Australians if the silly shithead intends to deny us our pensions?

There really IS something like the ‘elephant in the room’ about that aspect of his ‘dumfoolery’.
So why the fuck would he want to defend the place if every sorry old shit has perished/died from governmental acts of bastardry?

Oh well – just goes to prove how he never thinks his things through.

No problem floppy ears.
The last regime sent us broke.
And now you’ll prove (how they did it) by making as big a dickhead yourself.

Sunday, April 20, 2014



Thursday – the day before Good Friday – this Easter weekend.
I was shopping with my Lady Wife in the local market.

We were minding our own business when the slut from the meth lab over the road ‘suddenly appeared’ at the end of the shopping aisle.

I say ‘suddenly’ because though we spotted her a few minutes before and desperately hoped she would have had enough sense not to play her same fucking silly games in commercial premises as she does out in the street in front of our home.

Unfortunately, a forlorn hope.

Now, I don’t know how you people deal with pig-ignorance out there in the public domain – but I had a fair idea as to what to expect when I spotted that smelly bitch the first time.

Here I was minding my own bloody business and next thing this slut is shoving her shopping trolley into my crutch from about ten feet away – bellowing “excuse me”.

Normally, I’m reasonably good with this sort of encounter.

I could have said something like – “What’s your problem stinky cunt. Shit your pants again, have you ?”
Or something/anything like that.

This time the nasty little article had me completely flummoxed.

What sort of stupid twat would launch her shopping trolley into a bloke’s crutch out there in full public view unless she wanted some sort of argumentative outcome?

Believe me – It isn’t because I’d been bonking the smelly dag.
Wouldn’t go near that poxed slut with the main pole off a square rigger.

So what exactly is the stupid fat arsed bitch up to?

Well, for one thing she and her pals have started brewing methamphetamines again – over the road - just in time for the easter holiday.

The ignorant slut believes that we will give up and move away.
The cow wants us to ‘take the line of least resistance’.

Her problem is that she’s a complete fuckwit – her alleged husband is a braindead dag – and IF they don’t watch their fucking step they might both just end up in shitter’s ditch.

Too hard a concept?

Then too bloody bad for you!

Post Script -
Yes. I've come back to edit the above a little.
You may note that the language as remains is still somewhat offputting.

Maybe that is because the effluent from a meth lab is remarkably toxic.
Not only does it make a person bloody sick - but it tends to leave you in a really short tempered bad mood.

But that's okay.
These wackos are exempt from the law.
I wonder how much protection money they are paying the 'local member'?


It does seem that the Big Apple was once a slave pen.

It continues to be a slave pen.

How the fuck can it continue to be a slave pen when the present president is a friggin’ nigger?


Was reading this historical novel.

Apparently Wall Street, NY, once had a slave market.

Nothing much has changed – HAS IT?

Monday, March 31, 2014


If we can ever believe the ineffectual propaganda machine surrounding that missing airliner – it appears that wherever anyone searches – even the most remote corners of our oceans are so full of garbage that the searchers after aircraft wreckage are being stymied by an overpreponderence of that crap everywhere they search.

Stretching that old joke about ships being moored in port for so long that they’ve grounded on their garbage – so what stopped flight 370 from landing on one of these ‘islands of garbage’?

Or Diego Garcia – or somewhere else on land within its flight radius??

Has the bloody thing been landed on some quiet little superannuated airfield somewhere?

Could it, in fact, be lurking in the Uluru parking lot with a fresh coat of paint??

Who the hell would know!

And it would appear – who the hell would care – except for those who do care about the relatives and friends of the human cargo of that flight.

So, exactly, how many superannuated airfields are there out there within the radius of flight of a boeing 777 out of Kuala Lumpur?

Are they being checked out?

If so then why don’t we know?

If not – then why don’t the relatives and friends of those who were aboard flight 370 know?

In short – the situation has gone beyond pear-shaped – with the ‘relevant authorities’ yet again behaving in the overweeningly predictable way.