my innermost sanctum

b_mc.t's sparklin gem

war is but an excuse for (a) a massive land grab (b) an ego trip.

so why should i "die" for my islet country to boost some twattin cunt's standing?

copyrighted stuff, geddit? © breanagh mctavish 2005

spooky

off this article, the followin snippet caught my blinker, see emphasis:

eh wot, only 4 percent?? that's erm, outrageous.

and i said that not because it's my blog guardian.

trick or treat?

happy halloween folk's.

in the meanwhile, go visit this website to catch a glimpse of a ghost or three. as recommended by a fave paper.

and no, i didn't stay around long enough to watch it.

::shudder::

amateur rugby

an email alert just floated into the inbox about a forthcomin annual mini rugby event which is in its 58th year. to be held this weekend.

for some strange reason or other i missed last year's. it wasn't particularly fabtastic when i first caught it back in 2003 with a good mate - another rugger convert whilst in HK - who is now in serbia & montenegro as her husband was posted there for work.

still, it's a freebie event plus beer - YAY! i meant the freebie bit. i know cheapo, moi bloke's galore *rugby* innit. and it's pretty obvious which team's i'd be cheerin for.

you know, those which have got the union jack flutterin.

today's toons

swearin off

blokes. i'm considering, that is.

why? have had enough of being treated as a stop-gap measure; as and when my attention is needed. not to mention, equally fed up of all those fib's disguised as excuses when i'm no longer required to be around.

nost pertinently, where the fuck are they when i need a listening ear?

hell, i'd better start lookin for a pet. like a moggy or a dog. at least they never take advantage of yer kindness, as well as reciprocatin in kind.

further proof

that young wee islet-trained doctor's are a bunch of ineffectual amoebae.

i have had my fair share of such for many many many ::ad infinitum:: moon's:

1. when my late dad was lain comatose in the intensive care unit, some amoeba leadin a bunch of housemen yakkin and *guffawin* [mind] loudly, pointing at em patient's, jokin - in short, didn't give a fucking damn to grievin relatives in the ward - that it took me a great deal of self-control to not lunge towards said amoeba.

2. past encounter's with company GP's

3. when my mum was pukin all over after her gall-bladder surgery last year, another medical amoeba came over, shook her and hollered loudly in a chink dialect, "auntie [a term of address for bird's who are older than oneself], your in pain, is it?"

to which i snarled through clenched fang's, "could you please speak *english* to her? just because she's grey-haired that doesn't mean she's uneducated, geddit?"

oh i didn't stop there. when he drew the curtain thingy around the bed, i remarked to me bro, "this is what you get from public hospital's. especially from these young doctor's who (a) presume all grey-haired ladies are akin to their china-born grandma's (b) us non-medical types are ignorant unschooled peasant's..."

only for me exasperated bro to interrupt, "he's one of the three surgeon's in the operatin theatre." i almost stuck a foot in my gob when the doctor emerged, speakin in a hushed but polite tone. to me.

makes one wonder if these feckless types become doctor's solely because of the prestige. and high earnings.

unnatural behaviour

i don't know what these boffin's aim is. regardless it is a mighty waste of dosh to observe if a bunch of *captive* chimp's could be as helpful towards one another. as us human's. see emphasis:

maybe em monkey's could teach us human's a thing or three instead.

a show of might

fine examples of the territorial nature of man.

'nuff said.

of thing's to come?

for about half an hour this afternoon, a non-stop thunder 'n' lightnin show was on. against a backdrop of dark grey skies and torrential rain.

and then me mum commented about the depletion of the ozone layer over the north and south poles, the recent calamities, and wilma the hurricane. apart from the topsy-turvy weather pattern's wee islander's have had been gettin lately.

before she could go on, a thunderclap struck so loudly that i blurted, "cor, god is really pissed off."

end of the world is nigh? the mere thought is scary innit?

eh?!

a mate emailed moi about the upcomin st andrew's day ball. to be held at the wee islet's poshest hotel in town. complete with gurkha pipe band, a bunch of heeland dancer's flown in specially for the occasion [oooer.. wot's oonder that kilt, hen?] and such like.

guess wot got me spluttered? the price of the ticket. 215 quid. 215, mind. not that i'm a tightwad, but that's daylight robbery i tell ye.

just to ogle at blokes in kilt's? or payin the price for flyin in a [slaughtered] haggis?

regardless. 215. quid.

help!

it's confirmed. i'm addicted to that jap puzzle that has got the entire - well almost - blue marble agoged.

i find the more complex ones more challengin and interesting. especially one that i had just completed with the centre box of 9 squares completely blank.

it does stretch one's patience and logic, i must say. besides givin the brain a mighty brilliant exercise.

today's toon

empathy

a heartrendin article by a retired japanese who bemoaned about the complete ignorance of his countrymen on the atrocities committed by their forefather's.

and the difficult position he's in for simply being a jap:

war is but an excuse for an ego trip.

tackled sheep

now i know why the all black's are one of the blue marble's top but dirtiest rugby team's. they hone their bone-breakin tackles by, get this, wrestlin sheep.

i know it's not a right thing to do, but i'm still chortling away whilst typin this out.

the naming game

the blue marble awaits with bated breath

what this ditzy cow gonna name her soon-to-be sprog. what will it be then? Strawberry? Pear? Orange? or simply Glasto? just like how the other one was named after the big *apple*?

if i were to have a sprog [yeah right, the biological clock stopped ticking the moment i turned 31 or 32 or summat] i'd name it Mata Kuching - fruit native to these parts, literally Cat's Eye.

i shudder to think about the psychological impact it will have on the bairn being variously called "kuching", "cat" and "miaow". or worse, being depicted as a moggy.

the mata kuching:

peeled fruit - yum!:

the seed's:

caught the bug

spent a good part of the day doin this puzzle. decided to give it a go after moon's of resistance.

the brain much needed the exercise, that's why.

mining for opal

i don't mind swappin my life for that of an opal miner.

indeed, opal fascinates me far far far ::ad infinitum:: more than diamond's. and same goes to labradorite, moonstone, coloured quartz's and oh, i could go on.

really for the life of me, i don't understand the deal about wearin a piece of polished highly-pressurised coal. it does look mightily vulgar on lowly mingin cow's who have to show off a single massive piece of carbon on their paw's.

:: and screechin for all to hear: ".. this one my engagement Ling [translation: ring] you know! nice or not?" cunt's ::

alternative energy source

what with the gloomy news abound about oilfield's dryin up,

goverment's all over the blue marble could perhaps consider an alternative energy fuel - donkey poo:

we could use kerosene lamps on day's when donkey/horse/camel/dog poo are hard to come by.

just think - no more vehicle's to pollute the environment. just ride a bicycle to work.

kinda expected

an email correspondence with a biz associate yielded many interestin gem's. especially about the jap's as she had lived and worked there for yonk's.

one of said gem's being the followin - reproduced without permission obviously - see emphasis:

another common piece i hear very often also is that jap bird's usually prefer marryin their own kind after gettin tired of em tall blond bloke's. must have somethin to do with the language i reckon.

and this exact same scenario applies just everywhere else on this side of the blue marble.

like, big deal

accompanied me mum to the hospital for the procedure early today

and the behaviour of pregnant cow's present certainly further reinforced my poor opinion of em. especially majority of wee island ethnic chinese.

oh here i go again. but i can say that malays don't exhibit such obnoxity - so ok they lurve children that's why they don't mind havin a dozen bairn without any problem's. nor the numerous indian national's whilst waitin patiently for their turn.

besides the perpetual surly look on em cows' mug's - presumably attributable to fluctuating hormones - they have got this screwed-up mentality that they are a really special bunch of human's. just because they spawn.

no, make that: just because they fulfil their obligation's accordin to society's expectation's of em to be good citizen's. and once their spawn took their first tiny step's, they dump the responsibility of child rearin onto their foreign maids. and school teacher's.

it's like, "hey i've already done my "duty", so it's no longer my problem if society can't deal with my uncontrollable bairn".

indeed. this lot ought to be rounded up and spayed before they further harm an already fragile existence of humankind. anyways, this wee rant by a very annoyed member of the public echoed my sentiments exactly.

now i'm thinkin, whatever happened to the much vaunted confucian ethics? which the wee islet once claimed to be steeped in it?

bairn = wee pipple

a rather commonplace piece of balderdash

propagated by wee island youngling's lately:

so that means talkin back, blatant rudeness and copycating adult behaviour without havin a fuckin clue are acceptable eh?

i thought until they turn 21, bairn are to be seen not heard? there goes the future of humankind, eh?

no need for parent's then, let's populate the entire planet with little people. they should be allowed to run riot and do as they please. oh and we mustn't forget to erase the phrases "common sense" and "personal responsibility" from our vocabulary altogether.

my teenaged maternal cousin's are a fine example of liberal parenting. the words "yellow" and "trash" befit em perfectly. and they never give a fig gallivantin about town semi-clothed just because "...if you adult's can do it, so can we...".

how very charmin. and they whine about lecherous geezer's. ooh i await in anticipation.

i wonder how all these exact same amoebae would react if they were told that in the eyes of law, the term "teenager" doesn't exist as they are categorised as "children"?

heh. that should also be applicable to certain adult's.

incidences

a couple of "major" incidences which involved the wee islet or its natives.

one way or the other.

makes me wonder how come:
1. a convicted paedophile cum online pimp was allowed into the islet without any background check's. curious mind wonders if it's because being a western foreigner, he is definitely "talented" - without a doubt - and way above the natives in the eyes of the legitimate gangsters?

or is it because he's a US citizen, so he qualified for automatic residency? no question's asked? as opposed to some law-abiding malaysian's havin their work permit application's rejected without any reasons given? some of whom have had been workin ere for yonk's. some are worker's who filled up vacancies that wee islander's thought were beneath em.

a really wonderful but typical appreciative wee island gesture, that.

2. fellas didn't go to those bird's rescue when they were physically assaulted by em gatecrasher's? six troublemakin twat's versus about 100 attendees. oh soz, they were carryin weapon's and *drunk*. one of whom is a member of the malaysian royalty.

tsk, tsk. and in the month of ramadan to boot. and said royal is a fine example of a defender of islam.

and my message to the unfortunate wedded couple? tough luck. yer guest's might had been a tad boisterous that could have attracted those twat's attention.

still, six troublemakers versus 100 guest's. go figure.

they must be jokin

sample the followin piece of tosh that almost made me choke, see emphasis:

chinese *sensitivities* or that oft-quoted "losing-face" bollocks? regardless, extremely fragile ego's they have got.

em mainland chink's - ie: lower rung peasant's durin the communist era - have no respect whatsoever towards anyone or any culture they deem as more inferior to theirs. even as guest's to another country, they don't give a fig if local's are within earshot of their tirade of unjustifiable insult's. they'd carry on fobbin their gob's in their usual loud uncouth manner. even if you have made it known to em your not the least pleased, and tellin em exactly where to go.

and they expect us to be sensitive towards em?

pardon me, but - PTUI.

lost in translation

i'm rightly fed up with yahoo! which has gone from excellent to terribly horrendous within a year.

how come? here goes:

i emailed em on the friday evenin WIST [wee island standard time] to whinge about a suspected delivery failure by McKinsey - whose newsletter alerts i received on my hotmail addy on 11th and 14th of this month.

as this particular email account is my work addy, i was rather concerned that i may not receive any from my customer's. a previous recent unsatisfactory problem solvin from the same bunch of bozo's notwithstandin, i sent an email all the same whilst suspectin that it could be a mail server failure.

knowin what some of these customer bozo types are like [who presume *all* email user's are complete amoebae who don't know what Ctrl + Alt + Del are] i anticipated their idiocy by indicating very clearly that i didn't delete my account with McKinsey whatsoever.

and that hopefully they'd look into the problem as i may miss some customers' emails. and that their other yahoo! user's may be affected as well.

instead of respondin within 12 hours as they used to, yahoo! customer bozo's got back to me on sunday evening WIST with the followin bollocks: that they couldn't possibly make a trace if there ain't any "FAILED DELIVERY" message. and they proceeded at length describin what i should do next to help em along - ie: cut and paste said message includin the necessary headers and fields to the intended recipient.

to say that i was pissed is an understatement. blood exceedin boilin point is more like it. the possibility that em yahoo! customer bozo's are in fact Indian call-centre types in disguise is nigh.

i replied to em immediately that they weren't exactly helpful as they didn't seem to quite understand what my problem was. addin that they should take a look at their server's which could be the cause, throwin in a lost mail from a customer for good measure.

if the seriousness of that last bit doesn't get through em, it does say a great deal about em.

today's toons

plain ignorance?

i have always regarded contemporary artists

[painter's, performer's, installation artists et al] as egoistic attention-seekin spastic's who think of emselves as modern-day messiah's. whose primary mission is forcin their brand of "artistic" bollocks down our throat's.

besides livin on a planet where the cosmoverse revolves around em. and em only.

the latest gaffe being an exhibition in morocco - in the middle of ramadan - that involved the work of the infamous minger Tracey wotsit that "...shows the artist stuffing £5 and £10 notes into her private parts...".

reet. the mental image is disturbing.

oh where was i? the excuse given by the curator, the sister of another [in]famous twat, was that they wanted to open the locals' minds or "visual understandin" - whatever that means.

her claim that they aren't deliberate in their offendin said locals' intelligence is a tad daft. not to mention, lame. surely they'd have known that a muslim society has a somewhat different interpretation or perspective of thing's.

or that they ain't aware morocco is not the UK.

what if a bunch of asian peformin "artists" [as from asia that is, not from India nor the UK] put up a totally fictional play on Nelson as a modern-day womanisin drunk hoody? on the eve of his death anniversary? they could claim ignorance, having *absolutely* no idea that hoodie's are a social menace in the UK.

innit?

or worse, their complete unawareness that Nelson is a national hero-saviour-demi god? sacrilege, that innit?

by all means carry on with the exhibition, but surely a wee cultural sensitivity is not too much to ask?

now, it struck me. that said infamous minger "artist" Tracey wotsit, her last name does somehow rhyme with vermin, non?

native british moggies

erm yes there's more..

THE IECHYD-DA CAT

Indigenous to Wales, the Iechyd-da is best known for its fine singing voice. Male Iechyd-das often form choirs and compared to the caterwauling of their feline brethren worldwide, the sound of Iechyd-das competing for the attentions of a female is deeply moving.

Careful selective breeding has fixed this trait into modern Iechyd-das. Each year these cats compete at a three day festival to find the best singer and this cat is highly sought after for stud services (which is why the contest is held annually since most winning cats drop through exhaustion after eight months of intensive breeding).

In appearance, the Iechyd-da is unremarkable. Males tend to be especially well-built and athletic, perhaps due to having to sing while in full flight from a thrown rugby boot in days gone by. Black and white is the preferred colour and the sight of a show hall full of identical black-and-white Iechyd-das in full song has moved many a judge to tears.

Those that aren't black and white are generally a sooty, grey colour due to natural selection favouring those cats which blended in with coal mines and slag heaps. All have exceptional sight and a remarkable sense of navigation underground.

Songs are still sung to the honour of Black Aled, the cat who led a hundred and thirty trapped miners to safety after a cave-in. For three days the miners followed this cat's singing until they finally reached daylight. Admittedly Black Aled went the roundabout route out of sheer curiosity, but he did lead the miners to safety nonetheless. Black Aled never sang another note from that day till the day he died.

The preferred diet of the Iechyd-da is Welsh Rarebit and leek-and-mutton broth. Their long association with mines has led many to develop a strange habit known as coal-eating which is a form of pica found only in the Iechyd-da breed.

This could also account for the tendency of many cats to develop a peculiar cough which sounds like the Welsh "ll" (as in Llanelli) or "ch" (as in bach).

Traditional names for these cats include Dai, Dafydd and Jones although more ambitious cats go by the name of Llanfairpwll...gogogoch.

blood near boilin point

accompanied me mum to the government-subsidised clinic earlier today.

for this test that the government kindly informed her to go for which revealed she has got this condition.

now three thing's that led to this blah:
1. displayin a typically asian/wee island mentality - me mum didn't ask the gynae or gp [which is commonplace in such clinic's] what it was exactly called when told there was a "growth".

her reasoning? oh, the "specialist" at this hospital would be able to enlighten her next wednesday. since she has to go there for further tests.

my blood nearly boiled. as per the usual.

it works both way's of course. and only those gp's who have got caucasian patient's know that they can't withhold any information. or they risk bein ticked off.

asian's?

2. the pre-check up revealed she has got high blood pressure which coincided with a on-off headache that struck right after her cataract surgery. exactly same happened to both my gran and late great-gran. right after their cataract ops.

reet. and it's possibly hereditary also due to advanced age.

aarrrgh.

3. to those young defective cow's who complain about having to pay for healthcare unlike other countries - and thenceforth takin advantage of - they ought to be ashamed of emselves. or probably they haven't got a clue about what's goin on around em.

or that they haven't got a clue about their mothers' state of affairs. even though they live under the same roof. that is sadly typical for the chink-speakin lowest of the lowest common denominator [LCD].

me mum has been receiving notification's by the state's healthcare sector to go for not only the aforementioned tests, but also this as well since a decade ago. although she has the option of not to.

it is clear that me mum would not go for these examination's if she has to bear the full costs at private clinic's. which is ridiculously expensive.

and said LCD's have the gall to whine about being the greatly disadvantaged sex on this islet.

twattin cunt's.

cause and effect

i do not wish a horrible crime like rape upon my worst enemy - whomever they may be. unless of course they were provocatively dressed and behaved.

but before any of you's accuses me of being cold-hearted and suchlike, consider this scenario:
a 17-year-old cow was at the pub with mate's welcomed a pair of adult's to join em. her drink got spiked; she felt unwell and presumably allowed her would-be rapist to accompany her before he did the crime.

now, why she? and it further begs the question: what the hell was she doin at the pub? i'm not implyin that she deserved such a violation as no bird does. but there's always the consequence to everything, innit?

some of you's know who i actually am off-line, so go see what i'd got to blah.

b_mc.t's sparklin gem

I have so many interest's that I do wonder how all the disparate information could be stored up there.

it's a wonderful creation, innit, the brain?

copyrighted stuff, geddit? © breanagh mctavish 2005

sneaky

still, the tactic's employed by em argies are plainly kiddy, devious and not to mention, cowardly.

and only sore loser's would go to such length's:

my elementary spanish maybe kinda rusty but i'm quite certain there is no exact equivalent of the word *sovereign*.

talk of which, if one of their countrymen could resort to the "hand of god" bollocks, it says alot about what sort of folk they really are.

right, i'm tarrin all of em with the same brush there. doh.

goin ape

i didn't like much of her actin. she had this perpetual stare when caught in a sticky situation. or kept flashin that grin throughout the film that could get on one's nerves.

and i was a tad harsh by blurting once that the role of a whore suit her best. that was how the entire blue marble first knew about her. innit?

well, after watchin this documentary, i was gobsmacked. no actress - be they hollywood or b-grade starlet - would want to rough it in the jungles. nor give a fig about animal conservation.

and i'm sure that they'd scream their tonsil's out if a 40-pound dominant male orangutan suddenly pulled their arm. what's more remarkable is she also produced this programme.

she has just won my respect, i tell ye.

that'll learn em

the wronged wifey should have rammed the car smashed right into that shameless cunt. and then to top it off, go after that cheatin defective wanker.

and repeat car-ram-and-smash-right-into-blah routine. 'nuff said.

cruel, moi?

some hope

or a wee glimmer of it. it certainly is rare comin across youngling's these days who would apologise for their misdemeanours. to the public at large.

my, i'm not aware that wee islander's could be a *violent* bunch, see emphasis:

pity, there was no sight of blood and broken bones.

cringeworthy

i know this sounds utterly irrational.

if yahoo were to display the followin advert for the next couple of day's more - each time i sign out of me mail - i swear i'm gonna scratch that grinnin imbecile's face.

electronically that is.

maybe it's just *me*, there's somethin fakey about her grin. and the way she gave that cringeworthy look, the blinkers were not quite right. know what i mean? one can fib a smile but the way you crinkle is a giveaway.

so ok she could be just modellin for the advert then. still, lookin like a right cunt actin all sweet and in lurve.

pass a sickbag. please. somebody.

many happy return's

to one truly great briton who was fearless enough to take on em argie's without a moment of hesitation.

some of you's may not agree with my choice of heroine, but at least she didn't allow much of the PC and bleedin heart bollocks to ruin the country. nor did she at anytime got caught with her foot in gob just because of some controversial policies.

now, just imagine the current PM's missus were to run for an election. that [super massive] gob of hers is more than enough to knock the livin daylights out of moi anyone.

apart from allowin any mere slip of a trouble-makin kid wearing the jilbab to school.

GB, wake up!

it's really very distressin - not to mention depressing - to see the sad state of affairs the UK have gotten emselves in presently.

now, before you's lurvely english fan's of this fine blog think that i got me knickers into a right twist, see what Alice has got to say. and what another fan, confederatexpat said also.

see? all of us three [heh. the trinity?] are despairing. oh, hope you don't mind my quotin you there, confederatexpat :D

which reminds me of this wee episode right after england's world cup rugby semi-final:
this blonde cow of an acquaintance and i were euphoric over england's qualification that she ended up pissed drunk - which i'd found her to be always. so after the game and a meal, we queued up at this taxi rank to go our separate way's. that we started to warble the national anthem again.

this time round, said cow cautioned me to stop as there were onlooker's who seemed to be not rather chuffed. assumed wee islander of course.

i shrugged and replied: "yeah so fookin wot?" surely em islander's would have noticed my 3-lions shirt?

said cow: "well as you know they can get quite easily offended, and the national anthem doesn't help matters, you know.."

me: "too bad if they've got a problem, as far as i'm concerned england are gonna win the world cup [ooh, how optimistic i was] and i have the right to sing god save the queen. if they don't like it, they can bloody well sod off... i ain't doin this in their ugly mug's nor insultin their grandparent's. or did i?"

she turned beetroot. not sure if it is due to this incident that she stopped all contacts. or that i put her to shame over the patriotism bit. but what the hey, i don't give a flyin fuck.

i love thing's england, and i'm absolutely mad over this certain english lad... even my ex is english [bless him though he did a runner, that effin tosser]. and 99.9% of my good mate's past and present are english - if i include a fair number of irish person's who were born and bred there. and i am even more familiar with UK politician's and their portfolio's. than towards my very own country of birth.

but some of you's would have already known by now the reason's why which i shan't bore you's to death.

eh?

a plea

to scot's and those of scots ancestry to return home. mainly to boost scotland's economy and dwindlin population.

hmm, not sure if i could use me rather convincing glaswegian brogue the mctavish bit to convince em. but if i were to make it my future home, i'd set up a haggi farm somewhere on the highlands. just by the lochside perhaps.

where haggi are trained as household pet's.

yeah right.

nb: referin to the graphics thingy, there ain't anyone of scots blood anywhere in south america? i mean there are those of irish and welsh ancestry mainly in argentina. and cornish in mexico also. and the claim that there's only 5 million in canada.. can't trust statistics, eh?

today's toons

misplaced sympathies

i know this has been goin on for a long while,

but just for the sake of blahing:

the media thinks it is [within their undeniable] right to bombard our senses and around the blue marble about the new orleans catastrophe. not just 24/7 but devoted much space that cover 99% of our computer monitor's with heartwrenchin headlines. and piccy's of bloated bodies.

besides the suffering's and horrific death's were deemed appropriate to prick our collective conscience. so that we could get our collective arses off the couch to rally help for em victim's.

just look at em poor thing's: they had no food, no water, no proper sanitation.. blah yadda blah..

same goes for the recent bali bombin. ah yes, 'cos the native's rely heavily on tourism so just imagine.... that's why we ought to go help em poor thing's.

bollocks.

but the massive earthquake that struck much of pakistan and a wee portion of india just a couple of day's ago - with death toll estimated to rise to about 30,000 - doesn't warrant as much air time and column inches eh?

so one rule for the first world and another for the rest of the blue marble?

or is it because the victim's are mostly muslim thus not worth our efforts to rally the charities around? and that pakistan is - "er, where the hell is that?" - economically third world, so why bother reporting about their plight?

eh?

i promise the next time i won't hesitate to tell those who rush about donating dosh, clothes, blood and wotnot to first world natural disaster victim's - or wherever favoured by holidaying first world twat's - to get their priorities right.

so here it is, my prayer's to everyone in pakistan, india and afghanistan.

vented spleen

pardon this wee rant, but i must vent me spleen:

it's only until i got into the biz that i found out if you's speak to asian's [specifically chink's and other north-east asian's], you'd notice there's no eye contact whatsoever. and even if there is, they'd give you a very brief bunny-in-the-headlights stare before they look elsewhere.

how come? they'd tell you that they feel awkward and think it's effin rude to "stare" back. but careful though if your a fella. em cow's would think yer fascinated with em. snigger.

weird? how about this: they won't give a damn if there's a non-chink in their midst. they'd yak amongst emselves - loudly of course - in their tongue. it doesn't get through their thick bonce that they are makin the non-chink unwelcome.

woe betide if the non-chink is with his mate's and then start blabberin in their own tongue with a chink in their company. yep, as you's guess it, said chink would perceive it as a slight, and would never fail to whine to her [usually a wee island chavette] mate's about her paramour's "racist" mate's.

alternatively, if her lookin bored and really loud put-on sigh's didn't get through to the party, she'd pass a sarcy comment lamely disguised as a witty remark - to her wee mind that is; wee island engRish et al: "er, HELLO?! can you all speak english or not? how can you all make me left out?"

:: thoroughly deserves a tight slap, doesn't she? ::

translation: erm, i'd be really grateful if you's could kindly speak english, as you know i'm a tad lost ere tryin to keep up with ye's

i witnessed this latest episode whilst at the local last evenin for the monthly canuck pub night - whereby this english chap who looked quite rather miserable havin to put up with the noise emitted by his wee island and taiwanese bird mates.

of course, some unwelcomed albeit wee-minded amoebae [via google] may counter that the chap could always pick up mandarin. yeah, please re-read carefully [letter by letter] the wee island chavette scenario above.

if this is not blatant hypocrisy, not to mention double standards, then what is?

oh and on a different note altogether, i was impressed with meself that my spoken mandarin was understood by said taiwanese bird. despite the severe lack of practice. and tryin to use as minimal as possible english word's when me grey cell's went momentarily blank. trying to recall the chinese equivalent.

i could speak to her in english instead if i want to, knowin that she's an english language teacher. still, she had to speak to me in mandarin just because i look remotely chink.

go figure.

quizzed

yeah, i'm bored, that's why.

You're Loosely Based!

by Storey Clayton

While most people haven't heard of you, you're a really good and
interesting person. Rather clever and witty, you crack a lot of jokes about the world
around you. You do have a serious side, however, where your interest covers the homeless
and the inequalities of society. You're good at bringing people together, but they keep
asking you what your name means.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

quizzed

You're a Dragon!

Noble, regal, and highly misunderstood, you're a bit of a loner at
heart. You like caves, the sky, and other vast expanses of air where you can blow
off steam. You and people like you got a lot more respect in the old days, but now
your type only shows up in songs about young children. They're the only people who
really believe in your potential. As long as you believe in yourself, and don't
breathe directly at anyone, you'll be okay. You have a strange liking for string and
sealing-wax.


Take the Animal Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

tart's ahoy

are young cow's these days so fuckin desperate for male attention/approval that it's ok to dress, behave and look like whore's?

or is it just one massive cunning ploy of playin up [gullible] bloke's fantasies?

it's pretty convenient to point the finger at MTV and em twat's thinly disguised as feckless popstar's [who are by and large unjustifiably wealthy - is there a god?]. but that doesn't mean em harlot's had to copy innit?

it irks me that member's of my species conveniently misuse the term "empowerment" to justify their action's. whilst in oppressive part's of the blue marble, women are still fightin for their basic right's - for instance, the right to go to school, the right to vote. and even the right to be heard not just seen.

thing's that folk like you's and i take for granted. innit? have we forgotten the struggles that our forefather's went through for the sake of female emancipation?

honestly, IMnotsoHO em cow's are better off becomin full-time whore's/stripper's/p0rnwotsit's. they could at least earn an income off their perpetual obsession to elicit bloke's attention.

innit?

indigenous british cat's

here's another instalment on native british moggy's. enjoy:

THE IRISH BOG CAT

Many years ago in the lush green fields of Ireland were beautiful felines who were under the protection of St Brendan. These cats, it is said, arrived on the Emerald Isle with the sidhe, which is why their descendants can see the little people. Their lush coats, magnificent size and extraordinary good health placed them in great demand throughout the world. St Brendan took the finest of these cats on his voyages to present as gifts to the Lords of the lands he visited. The praises of these handsome cats were related far and wide by bards.

Then the "bad times" arrived and foreigners arrived, destroying everything in their path. Because of their size the Irish Bog Cats were valued for their fur and tender meat. Driven to the verge of extinction, these beautiful native cats retreated into the Bogs. There they remained until their rediscovery in recent years when kind-hearted and serious breeders undertook the task of breeding these once honoured and lovely animals. Their popularity as friendly intelligent felines has again spread throughout their native land, but it must be remembered that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that what St Brendan considered beautiful, might today be considered coarse and lumpish (centuries of inbreeding has also had a somewhat detrimental effect).

Unlike many traditional breeds where the modern show cat barely resembles its working class ancestors, the Irish Bog Cat is a sturdy, working class of cat found in almost every Irish household. All are pot-bellied from their diet of corned beef, boiled cabbage and "champ" (a traditional dish of potatoes and onions which accounts for their astonishing turn of speed due to a unique form of jet propulsion). Besides the boiled dinners, they also enjoy a bowl of Guinness Stout, Murphy's or uisge beatha (Whiskey) daily and soda bread.

The show-quality Irish Bog Cat has a round thick head with cauliflower ears. One ear is folded and the other curled. Chin is very weak, no chin is preferred. Nose is a Tip O'Neil with a definite break, several breaks are preferred, it is black, turning red after a few Jamiesons. Eyes are green, bloodshot and swollen in proportion with the nose. Muzzle is somewhat long in proportion to breadth, with freckles on the whisker pads. (The long muzzle is necessary for sticking noses in Irish coffee glasses.)

The legs are longer in front than in back for climbing out of the peat bogs. There is no tufting on their paws but claws are strong and curved for digging potatoes. All tails are kinked and two kinks are desirable but not required. The kink is necessary for pulling out peat from the bogs. The cat has a very thin main coat with a thick woolly, waterproof undercoat. Hair grows from back to front and the only acceptable colour is red tabby with markings shaped like shamrocks. This coat turns white with age.

All Irish Bog Cats are born on St. Patrick's Day; those that are born on other days are considered "variants" and may not be bred. A note from St Brendan is necessary for authenticity of pedigree. A tonsure is also required and they all have great step-dancing ability (best known Irish Bog Cat step-dancer being Michael Catley whose "Ridfurdance" performed to great acclaim at the Purrovision Song Contest - he has since gone on to have his own show named "Clawed of the Dance"). Bog Cats born in odd years have names starting with an "O", those born in even years start with "Mac".

fact's

pertainin to the blah below, ere are some fact's about haggis:
1. the plural of haggis is haggi
2. male haggi travel around mountain's in a clockwise direction, hence their left leg's are longer
3. female haggi travel counter-clockwise, hence they have longer right leg's

they are *fierce* wild creatures whose closest relative is the fox. that is why piccy's of haggi are hard to come by.

indigenous british cat's

obviously me brain is not workin properly today - not that it's a friday. soz, folks. all the same, enjoy the following snipped without permission:

THE SCOTTISH MCCAT

These unique felines have existed in Scotland since the time of myth. So fearsome are they in battle that Hadrian's Wall was, in fact, built to keep out not the barbarous Scots, but the fiercely territorial McCats who fought in battle alongside their clans. The bagpipe is believed to have been based upon the skirling war cried of McCats.

They have a complex history, being derived from centuries of hybridization between the ginger cats of the Viking settlers, the now extinct Woad Blue Cats of ancient tribes and the Scottish Wild Cat (although some authorities claim that the Scottish Wild Cat is a partially domesticated form of the Scottish McCat and this is borne out to some extent by a comparison of their temperaments).

These cats have split into a number of sub-breeds to suit local conditions although all have the distinctive "och-aye the noo" call. Highland McCats have longer, woollier fur and have evolved to hunt in highly efficient packs capable of bringing down a Highland Cow. They have harsh voices and impenetrable accents. Lowland McCats can be differentiated by their gentler lilting accents. Shetland cats are small, due to the harsh living condition, but powerful and a pack of Shetland McCats can easily bring down a Shetland pony. Orkney McCats are rugged with gale-proof fur.

All McCats have long hair, and frequently beards and sideburns as well. Facial hair is bright ginger in the Celtic and Viking sub-breeds, black in the Gaelic varieties. The rest of the coat is any of a variety of hunting tartans depending on clan allegiance. Those cats born outside of clan lines are usually Black Watch. The breeding of designer-tartan cats to suit overseas buyers is frowned upon.

Eyes are watery blue, bloodshot, bulbous and usually point in different directions, while ears exhibit uniform thickening and extreme hairiness. The muzzle is short and broad with a fine set of ginger whiskers either side of a squashed and flattened nose which is mauve-red in colour. Many McCats have particularly long canines, which enable them to tackle larger prey and which, according to myth, are inherited from the ancient sabre-tooth cats which once roamed the area.

The legs of Highland McCats are longer on one side than on the other to enable them to chase their prey along hillsides. Some authorities claim that the reason Highland McCats have legs of different lengths is for hunting wild Haggis (most modern Haggis are intensively farmed). Like Haggis, McCats come in right handed and left handed varieties and amorous mismatched pairs, as with Haggis, have problems. Hunting their favourite prey is simpler though as, if they miss the Haggis the first time around, they can have another go on the other side of the hill.

In all varieties, the tail is bushy and the same colour as the facial hair and there is a pronounced sporran, especially in male McCats. Although they have long, scythe-like claws for bringing down unwary Sassenachs, many McCats also have a skein dhu or traditional small dirk strapped to one leg, those lacking a dirk are pretty handy with broken McEwans lager bottles.

The staple diet of these cats is Highland beef, Salmon (generally poached), grouse, bashed neeps and boiled thistle-tips. Sightings of Nessie are generally put down to sightings of particularly large McCats swimming after salmon in Loch Ness.

Though born at any time of year, McCats born after a Scotland victory over England in a Rugby or Soccer final are most highly regarded. All McCat names are prefixed by Mc.

unlucky sod

nicked off this week's the northerner, petty crime doesn't pay either:

another sob story

would you's feel sorry for a failed asylum seeker who chose to end his life by drownin in a canal?

it's bleedin obvious these types are takin advantage of the UK's generosity; and knowing they'd get by without havin to make an effort to integrate into the society.

on another note, what i find rather disturbin is wee islander's who generally makin a nuisance work and/or reside in the UK goin ape over the *free* healthcare available. but i'm sure they'd grumble and whinge if asked to contribute a sizeable portion of their monthly salary.

the words "shameless freeloaders" come to mind.

??

reet. so this is what undergraduates study these days, eh?

frivolity is the order of the day at universities lately. a decade down the road, we'll witness the dearth of qualified engineer's, boffin's and mathematician's.

what's next then? a behaviourial study on alien abductees?

glesga tales

yet some more glaswegian wit:

A Glesga woman from Glasgow's west-end was staying in a hotel in Edinburgh, she phoned room service for some pepper.

"Black pepper, or white pepper?" asked the concierge. "Toilet pepper!" yelled the woman!

despaired

each time i'm asked if i'm wee islander, i will stare at the enquirer about 5 seconds before i reply, "erm.. uhm.. yes. i. am."

like it takes a mighty great herculean effort to answer. it's become very frequent of late, my being asked. both from expat's and wee islander's to a lesser extent.

blimey. this doesn't bode well, innit? to the wee islet that is?

no logic there

yet another fine example of PC gone horribly mad.

some loony bird, who's the chief gaols inspector, thinks that the mere sight of the st george is "distressing" to minority prisoner's:

so it's alright for paki's to distribute to passer's-by leaflets exhortin non-believer's to quit their "decadent and immoral" lifestyle outside mosques then? or to enjoy 72 virgin's in heaven, they should go blow emselves up into pieces?

so that is *not* a racist act?

and if these minorities get upset over the most trivial of an occurence - or perceive the merest of slight as racism/bigotry - surely they would be better off if they return to whence they or their grandparent's came? either they put up or bunk off.

or is said loony bird trying to earn some brownie point's with the minorities?

in fact she has just proven to chauvinist pig's the blue marble over that women are not capable enough for top job's.

world animal day

every 4th october. so go give your pet a hug, folks.

or better still, give em a treat :)

in the meanwhile, i'll go reminisce about this fine dog and his feline companion which is equally loveable.

:: too busy playin with her the other day to snap some piccy's. hopefully i'll get round to it soon ::

homo mong's

my blood boiled whilst reading this - an unprovoked attack on a stray cat. certainly proved my point that sterilisation is mandatory for a particular [animal] species. of the wee islet [peasant] kind that is.

including those who chose not to confront that bastard. it is a strange peculiar wee island trait to "mind one's business" - even if someone gets chopped up into pieces, bystander's would just stand around, gape, point and speculate. instead of hecklin at the psychotic killer to stop or phonin the copper's right away.

and then concluded that the victim deserve it after all. that's one [of several] fucked-up wee island mentality for ye.

well, knowin such lowly scum well, my suspicion is that em shriekin but utterly cunning wenches did so to draw attention. not because of an inborn fear of moggies.

today's toons

nothin new, this

a former all blacks player takin a potshot at his ex-gaffer for perpetuating a booze culture durin his tenure.

that may explain why they failed to reach the world cup finals in 2003 then. confounding just everyone including yers truly. i even wagered on the possibility of em playin england way before the campaign started.

but was told i was being too optimistic. about england's chances that is.

ancestral ties

a fine, if somewhat deep article about identity, obligations and destiny.

ok, so i blahed about this as the jewish diaspora is one of my several pet subject's.

breakin news

3 bomb blast's within a space of 10 minutes has just hit bali - on two beach resort's which are popular with western tourist's.

btw, what's so fuckin fascinatin with that islet anyway? its white sandy beaches? or beguiling native slut's who'd run off with any drug-fuelled tourist to escape poverty?

which definitely give em mad terrorist's excuses to further their cause.

caught nappin

an appalling state of complacency displayed by so-called tube security staff:

heh, and i thought the entire islet was whipped into a right frenzy when july 7th happened? this lapse in security is an utter disgrace.

btw, MRT stands for mouse and rat tunnel. that was what everyone - well almost - came up with back when news broke about what was deemed back then as an engineerin feat - an underground running through the islet.

1984 if me memory serves me correctly. or 1983. whichever's earlier that is.

and those engineers who helped with the work were scottish. otherwise it wouldn't even be completed in time for 1987.

good old tunes

my curiosity got the better of me whilst hummin away these tunes. so off to google to find out which year they were first released.

cor, it was a world cup year - you's know, that "hand of god" bollocks. and i wasn't particularly keen on blokes, still. strange i know. anyhoo, i must say said tune's are my favouritests amongst their hits. after all that was the first time i heard of em.

now, should i make a trip to the UK next june to see em in concert...