Censorship reflects a society's lack of confidence in itself.

Blue sky. Blue-green water. Healthy seaweed. It can only be Seven Mile Beach in Spring.

Of course, this isn't today. Today it's grey and raining. This is a weekday a couple of weeks' back.

Time for the Sunday Top Five!

In the wake of top international ~~statesman~~ imbicile Hugo 'Boca Grande' Chavez's recent attempt to rehabilitate misunderstood altruists Robert Mugabe, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, and the dearly departed Idi Amin, I nominate five others that the Latin American ~~strongman~~ moron might turn to next:

5) Yoko Ono: "The fascist, imperialist and capitalistic dogs of the West could not stand an invader from the East..."

4) Pol Pot: "Pol suffered for being little more than a cheeky chappy with a big dream from a developing country..."

3) Gary Glitter: "The Fascist, imperialist, immoral Western pigs hate Gary because of his close links with the Third World..."

2) Adolf Hitler: a challenge, I know. How about "a great patriot who only wanted the best for his people but was stifled by the imperialist U.S. pigs..."? This will take something special.

1) George W. Bush: Nah. This is a bridge too far for even dear Hugo...

Comments

Roddy said…

Garry Glitter? Do you think the little kiddies could forgive?
Adolf Hitler? As I have always said, Adolf was a little misunderstood. He also tended to take things just that little too far. His ideas, however had merit.
George H. perhaps?

22 November 2009 at 22:04

Kris McCracken said…

Poor Gary...

24 November 2009 at 14:16

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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