It's nearly all over, don't worry.

Image by B Tal via FlickrDawn's early light caressed our tired faces. We'd started climbing early in the morning, guided by the light of the moon or something, arriving on the final plateau several minutes ago. In front of us, the fountain. It was like a fountain of some sort, with water coming out of the top. In fact, the water was spraying out of the upturned hosepipe of a stone gnome. Nearby, other statuettes of the little people frolicked happily - one gnome tricked another with a joke flower, dispensing splashes of youth-restoring water in his friend's astonished face. Another gnome, his trousers dropped, engaged in an activity not fit for the eyes of ladies or the young. A third dispensed waters from a tiny watering can, and so on. The overall effect was one of stupidity. Despite the many healing abilities the water could offer, I was gripped by an overwhelming desire to destroy the ridiculous fountain in front of us.
 Around me, the party gathered. Looking sadly at the scene in front of us, they captured their fleeting thoughts and prepared to talk.
 "That. Is ridiculous."
I looked at Pinball Ed. He was right, of course, but I didn't like the way he punctuated his sentence.
 "Wait!" The Red Baron yelled, "Where is ze Rat-like one?"
Ze. I thought to myself. You're just saying "ze" instead of "the" occasionally. You're not German at all. Then my anger dissipated as I probed his exclamation - Sergi was no-where to be seen.
 Adventurer Ed flicked open the holster to his revolver, pulling the antique weapon out and searching behind nearby rocks. I approached the fountain, it seemed a good idea to see if it worked.
 I reached out my cupped hands.
 I scooped up some water.
 Then I drunk it and got young again, and things began to go back to normal.
 Emerging from behind a rock, Sergi approached us, bearing a treacherous-looking tray of smoothies. Quickly, Adventurer Ed turned and began to take aim.
 "I found a smoothie bar" Sergi called out, his happiness suddenly evaporating as a bullet punctured his chest. Stumbling, clutching dramatically, he reached the edge of the cliff. Adventurer Ed took aim and fired again, sending the dirty, foreign-looking chap to his death. We all cheered, then bottled up some water and went home.

In the jungle, the mighty jungle...

Image via WikipediaThere are fucking dinosaurs!
 Musical numbers aside though, our situation looked dire. Fleeing from the dinosaur of dinosauric proportions and attributes, we had made our way through a vast tract of jungle. Eventually, chancing upon a mountain ridge, we had taken shelter in a small cave, the entrance to which was too small for an unlubricated dinosaur to enter. With the rains still battering down, and the the threat of being battered and eaten still raining down in our brains, we decided to spend the night in the cave. It seemed safe, and a good thing for adventurers to do. However, as the sun rose and we awoke uneaten, unmolested and unfit, we find ourselves unable to find our location on the map.
 Shouting in Welsh, further throwing doubts on his apparent Barony of the colour red, the Red Baron made his anger clear on the subject. Sergi, his ratlike, untrustworthy foreign features (I'm still old, I have to be a bit racist and not realise that it's racism) contorted into thought, retreated to a corner like a rat. A foreign rat.
 Myself, wizard Ed and Adventurer Ed exited the cave and climbed to higher ground, hoping to survey the area. The others, after finishing their tantrums, followed us. We surveyed, but did not learn.
 The jungle spread out around us, vanishing into the horizon. Remembering the island had been only a mile-and-a-half wide from the plane, it was certainly impressive view. Adventurer Ed shook his head, his compass held in one hand and the map in the other.
 "Something's wrong with the compass, can't get a direction."
He was right. The compass, while very ornate and shiny, was actually a pocket-watch. Not for the first time, I began to doubt the competence of our expedition leader. Nearby, holding the other copy of the map, Sergi poked at something in his bag. I don't know what it was, but it was probably insidious.
 After a few seconds, he raised his head and pointed off to the right.
 "That way."
We asked him how he knew. He replied he had Sat Nav. This didn't make much sense, but we decided to go with it. Picking up our things, we headed in the direction Sergi pointed, towards the setting moon.

Life continues in the home.

Well young 'uns, I've settled into life at the home now. Me an' Max like to while away the afternoons with quiz shows, and after a thoroughly boiled dinner, we like to exchange anecdotes with the other residents. We've taken up two pastimes reserved for the elderly as well: making slightly racist statements to anyone we meet, and failing to understand how our statements can be interpreted as racist. Max has really gotten into the whole thing, talking loudly and slowly to anyone who looks foreign, even if they speak better English than him. Still, something is bothering me, something I forgot. Something about... long ago.
 Still, must go. Someone's niece is coming to play the piano for us, and there's Bingo in the evening. It's all go, and I certainly don't wish I was dead.
 Must remember...

Hating Predators is like being racist or homophobic.

You get a lot of people saying, "They killed and skinned

PREDATORS living in urban areas are
at their most aggresive, ripping open
gang members and physically attacking
Danny Glover.

Apollo Creed" but this isn't really a big thing in the grand
scheme of things.
    Predators could have been on this world for 20 million
years. That's a lot longer than cities.
    And, if you think about it, the amount of predators on
this planet is nothing if you think about the amount of
people they've killed over the years.
    They are here and they have been here for a long time,
and it would be a tragedy if they disappeared from the
skies.
    I don't really understand the distinction between jungle
and urban Predators.
    The urban environment arrived a long time after
Predators. They would not choose to live there, if it were
not for the vast amounts of potential prey.
    What right have we to judge how they find sport?
    Just because they are not as pretty as some other
aliens, and commit a lot of murders, this does not give us
the right to hide in mud and kill them.
    More often than not, it is the human "behaviour" that
drives Predators to their aggressive behaviour. Often, the
 choice of humans to sport weapons or not be pregnant
drives the Predators to aggressive action.
    Slowly there appears to be a move towards attacking
Predators, such as shooting them with shotguns or
attacking them with muscular men.
    However, the Predators do not chose to act in ways
that disagree with humans. Like being gay or Mexican,
Predators do not choose to be Predators. Instead, they
are born Predators. Indeed, if it were not for the fact that
humans choose to have heads and attached spinal
columns that make such good trophies, it seems unlikely
that we  would even be bothered by Predators.
    So, the next time you encourage the actions of men
like  Arnold Schwarzenegger, Danny Glover, Adrien
Brody, and  whoever was in the AvP movies,
remember; Predators don't choose their nature. So if
you're going to defend yourself from one of these
creature's fearsome plasma caster, ask yourself, "would
 I eat a Mexican gay woman?". If the answer is "No!",
as it should be, maybe you should just accept your fate.
   After all, better that than being some sort of
alien-hating speciest.

Also available on Bukisa

Hating seagulls is like being racist or homophobic

I stole this from Iced Tea and Sarcasm. I don't even know where it's from originally. Oh well.

Ok, so I seem to have been getting a lot of traffic from people interested in the whole hating seagulls being like racism or homophobia, so I feel I should offer an opinion. Since this is a blog, I've decided that rather than reading the article and writing a balanced, considered response, I've decided to make uniformed commentary. On one level, hating seagulls simply for being seagulls is, of course, speciesism, (or something). And I suppose it is comparable - hating all seagulls because one defecated on your grandmother is like hating all black people because one... defecated on your grandmother. Or whatever. But there are differences - in my unnecessarily scatological analogy, an entire race was judged on the actions of one person. However, seagulls do shit one things, indiscriminately. So it's not a prejudice; it's based on fact gained from experience, not assumptions made without study. However, the main issue is, I suppose, the hate of seagulls for being something they couldn't help but be. At the end of the day, we have to remember that no-gull chooses to be a seagull.  Maybe we should say no to hate, and the next time we're pooped on from up high, remember that it wasn't our flying friends' fault.

Now, where to I sign up to get those Mallards? Bloody queers.

Mr. Potato

This is Mr. Potato. As you may have guessed, he is a Scot, and something of a nationalist (with a small 'n'). However, if you were to spend too much time with Mr. Potato, you might detect a very small undercurrent of racism, just if the subject of Peruvians was to be raised. Of course, this isn't a common topic of conversation, so the casual observer would probably take a liking to Mr. Potato: after all, he's a kind and caring father, good at taking the bins out, and spends his Sundays caring for the elderly.
 So Mr. Potato seems to be an all-round nice guy, unless you ask him about Peruvians, whereupon he will shout, "Kill them all!". Mr. Potato believes none should be spared: Man, woman, child or Llama, they should all be chopped up and fried.
 So, beneath the cover, this gentle friendly man - who you would trust to babysit your kids or walk your Grandmother - is actually a dangerous lunatic. You have been warned!
 If only Mr. Potato had heard that old saying, "You shouldn't judge a potato by its skin", then applied that saying to Peruvians, the world would be a better place...


I have no idea what any of this was about. All I can say is that it came to me in the shower. Whether that makes it better or worse, I cannot say...

Some kind of Extremists are targeting me...

I was awoken last night by some sort of commotion in my front yard. Rushing outside, I found a giant, burning cross and an effigy hanging from a tree. With trepidation, I approached the effigy, expecting some sort of crude representation of a black man or a Jew, or whatever group bigots like to pick on these days. However, closer inspection revealed what appeared to be a middle aged white man-doll. Closer inspection still (Not that close, I was about a foot away. I was just studying it more intently. You shouldn't take everything so literally.) revealed the figure had a very high waistline. It dawned on me - I was obviously being targeted by a group of Simon Cowell haters. Since I was examining things closer, I took a better look at what I'd assumed was a crucifix. In fact, the cross was more of a Saint Andrew's affair than the traditional Jesus-nailing cross, and the X-shaped cross was painted red. Obviously, someone really didn't like the X-factor.
 I get that... What I don't get is why they were so extreme about it or why they targeted me. I don't even like Simon Cowell, so why target me?
 How can so much shit happen to the same person?

Snow White and the 7 racist dwarves

Ding-dong went the doorbell ominously. (Yea, doorbell stories are back, and that was a shit sentence, sorry)
I looked up from my soup, but did nothing. Maybe whoever it was would go away if I ignored them. Of course, that never works, and it was foolish to entertain the though. So, reluctantly, I got out of the soup and wiped myself down with a towel.
 "Yes?" I demanded upon opening the door. I first imagined I would be a strange sight - wearing only a towel, and with tomato and coriander dripping from my hair - but what I saw before me was shocking more even so! (I'm fucking with you now, not even I write that badly) In front of me were 7 dwarves, who at first appeared to be your typical long-bearded Tolkienesque types. However, on closer inspection, I noticed they were wearing replica Nazi uniforms.
 "Ah, good morning!" One announced. I assumed he was their leader -  A small toothbrush moustache was sat under his nose. To achieve this, he had shaved away the rest of his beard-moustache-thing, so he resembled a Hitler-coconut. As he spoke, there was some discussion behind him as to whether the group liked red people or not.
 "Can I help you?" I asked. Frankly, I didn't want to help, but there were a lot of them, and they had axes.
 "We'd like to take this opportunity tell you about some of our fantastic clothing items, my good man. Here, take a catalogue."
I took the catalogue. Flicking through it, I saw some rather nice items for dwarves - mainly chain-mail, with some plate armour thrown in for good measure.
 "Now, you may have noticed that these items are not all, ahem... In your size. But the helmets should fit, you know?"
I nodded knowingly. I continued to nod knowingly for several minutes, but the dwarves didn't leave. Eventually, I felt the need to ask:
 "What's with the Nazism?"
 "Ah, yes. Well, I'm sorry about this, it's company policy. It's not something I personally agree with, but many of the older members of the Dwarven community still hold on to the old racial purity views - You know, nasty, anti-goblin stuff: "Dwarf Fortresses for Dwarves", "Decapitate Orcs on Thursdays", that sort of thing. Anyway, we'll leave the pamphlet with you - If you make an order, make sure to mention me. Clive's the name!".
With that, they turned and left. I'm glad I got a catalogue, I can burn it and use the fire to re-heat my soup. How contrived my life seems nowadays...

"Hey! What're you playing at?"
I approached the man standing at the bus stop, striding angrily across the road. He was average sized, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and seemed to be blacked up.
"That's totally offensive and inappropriate in this day and age!" I yelled.
"Oh," He said, turning. "Don't worry mate, you've got the wrong end of the stick - I'm not blacked up, it's just cheaper and less embarrassing to paint my face like this than it is to buy a gimp mask."
People are shit, don't forget.

I don't like black people.

Nah, only kidding.

Nope, that didn't work either.

I did my best, honestly. Unfortunately, in the end the BNP members shouted "go home", and the Poles - who'd had enough by now - went home. The BNP guests then left to hassle a passer-by of Pakistani origin.
Next week; Sandpeople and Jawas - can they co-exist peacefully?

Canvasing for votes.

The doorbell rang again. What a bloody nuisance that was turning into. Of course, i could take the door away all together, but tramps might start living in the washing machine again. So, with a sigh and a heavy heart, i went to receive my visitors.

"Good day Sir, and what a lovely one it is!"
I looked at the two men standing on my doorstep. The first - the speaker - was a heavyset, suited skin-headed man who looked about at home in a suit as a tomato in fruit salad. He seemed slightly ill-at-ease with his speech, and as he continued, he tried to subtly check some prompt cards hidden in his left hand.
"British Summer aye, you can't beat them! But you know what would make them better? If there were less brown people about, of course!"
"Nein!" Interrupted the second man, moustache a-bristling, "Warn him about ze Jews"
I looked at the second man. he stood at 5'9", was attempting a comb-over, and looked about 119 years old. There was something familiar about him, but i couldn't place it.
"In a minute," the talked whispered. "We'll ease him in.
" Harry 'Smasher' Sedcolm, your local BNP candidate" he introduced himself, giving an almost toothless smile. He handed me some badly written paraphernalia about how my daughter was 150% more likely to be raped by a Muslim. It didn't explain what this was compaired to however.
I invited them in for tea, but they didn't stay long. The older one stole all of the biscuits, and attempted to annex the living room. He was funny, I hope they call again.

Of course, that was fiction. Suggesting the BNP are in any way a racist party who would support Hitler's anti-semitism is as ridiculous as denying the Holocaust...

The reason I love the KKK...

Is not because I'm a white supremacist, but because the Klan website is (unintentionally) rather funny.

I enjoy the article on there front page, for example, where they explain they do not endorse Barack Obama. While this may seem obvious to us, they point out rumours have started due to an article in the Magazine, "The Daily Squib". While this magazine is satirical, the Glorious Klan don't realize this straight away, and worry that everyone else may take it for fact. And how easily we could. Looking at the website, i see that the Queen is working in McDonalds, that the Senate has told Barack Obama that he must put on weight, and that Human-Animal Hybrids are roaming Britain's streets. Of course, how easily I could have mistaken these articles for fact...

In reality, the reason behind not noticing obvious satire could be the same reason you judge black people to be a lesser people - because you're an idiot.

Anyway, back to why the site is funny, in an ironic, I wish they didn't exist way: http://www.kkk.bz/niceblacks.htm

The daily Squib article: http://www.dailysquib.co.uk/?c=117&a=1355