Wimminz – celebrating skank ho's everywhere

Further to a comment by Hans on the last post.

Back when I were a lad and 1% clubs were 1%, eg largely outlaw, I never had the slightest inclination to join, though I was asked several times if I wanted to prospect.

For me at least I did not see a patch, I saw a target that made me even easier to identify, and I didn’t see a band of brothers, I saw extra rules.

Back then the term for bikers like me as “lone wolf” which always sounded a bit pretentious, if asked I’d always say I was a loner.

Typically I was always on good friends terms with the local patch club(s) wherever I was, usually the older more senior guys, I guess from their perspective I wasn’t one of them, but I wasn’t one of the straights either.

This doesn’t mean it was all roses and mutual respect either, with *some* clubs for some places, there was an ethos that if you weren’t in the club you weren’t shit, and I could sit here and relate factual stories about people who are now respected old club greybeards, who I still remember from my youth as nothing more than dirty motorcycle thieves.

Like everything else, not all clubs were equal, and not all chapters were equal, and back then there was a bit of a recruiting drive so there was a bit of competition.

A lot of my attitudes hold over from back then, I  don’t mention clubs or chapters (regional areas of clubs) by name, I don’t talk about club business or members even if I know it, and a lot of this came from mutual respect from the best of them, even though that is a thing that has largely passed, 1% clubs in the 201x’s have little in common with 1% clubs in the 70’s, it stands to reason, the technology of the po-po has moved on.

It should also be stated for clarity that speaking entirely personally, I did not consider club members to be bikers, a biker rides where he wants when he wants and answers to no one, a club member riding into another club’s territory needed to observe the protocols, which wasn’t for me.

But, all that aside, part of the prospecting period went on getting you a decent set of wheels and getting you so you could ride it well and maintain it yourself, this was often done by building a bike from a scrap / crashed donor, in some clubs some times from a stolen donor, but the build process and the money you earned and put into it were part of the process, which was finished off with a hand engraved plaque stating property of etc.

Earning the money was something the club helped with, if you didn’t have a trade they’d find work for you, if necessary work that was illegal like drugs, but either way you worked enough to run a decent set of wheels and to pay your club dues.

Riding skills were taught too, you had to be able to keep with the pack and not wipe out and take out six other riders at the same time, and you also had to avoid breakdowns or accidents with cagers or attracting extra unwanted attention from the pigs.

Behaviour skills were taught too, if the club goes out for a ride and ends up talking to the po-po or the pub landlord etc, well, one guy had that job and that was pre-selected position, may or may not have been called a road captain, nobody else spoke and nobody else dealt, it has upsides, you pumped your own gas but never paid for it, so the man paid for it all, ensuring nobody rode off without paying, ensuring the citizen in the gas station had no issues with the club…

… of course there were other roles within the club to enforce adherence to all these behaviours, and if you’ve watched naff bikers films or worse still Sons of Arthritis (never seen it) you’ll be familiar with titles like enforcer, sergeant at arms, president, and so on.

So, while they were not in my terms “bikers like me” they were motorcycle clubs, and it was very very very true to say that a club coming to town and parking up was a lot like a mini custom motorcycle show all by itself, very very very few people were like me, in that I could park my bikes next to theirs and they would blend in, and if there had been an actual all comers custom motorcycle event, the club bikes would have been voted 1st, 2nd, 3rd, all the way down the line, not because “I’ll kill ya if ya vote for anything else” but because they were the best.

But they were NOT Sons of Arthritis shit, they were all pretty much hand made and built, and they all handled reasonably well, and everyone in the club could ride reasonably well, and these were matters of club pride. eg taken very very very fucking seriously indeed.

Fuck off great apes that you hung off might have been fine if you were a member of an informal motorcycle club like the national chopper club, if you were patch they got ripped out for some short flat bars and the rest of the bike suspension and steering got a work over too.

Invariably the patch club only ran the best and most expensive and most sticky and wore out fastest tyres.

I need to make this point very clearly, even the most ardent detractors of the 1% patch club scene, those that dismissed them as being not bikers, or being a criminal organisation or being a bunch of guys who sought safety in numbers, all agreed on one thing, the motorcycles defined the club, and everyone by the time they finished prospecting and got the full patch had a bike that was the envy of most, and could ride and maintain it better than most.

This was non negotiable.

Back in the 70’s when you were 200 miles from home and the oil bag split and started leaking on your old BSA chop you headed towards town and the nearest pub with all the patch bikers outside, someone there could hook you up with someone who had some brazing kit, it would cost you a few beers and you could buy some weed and you’d get the job done for about the same as a traditional motorcycle mechanic if they had been open, or you could get a wheel re-laced or any other running repairs you needed.

However I do know what Hans is talking about, and while the turkistan bike club with zero bikes but any drugs or whore you want is an extreme example, it’s not a million fucking miles from the truth either.

I remember an except from last summer, I’m at this indy bike mechanic and there is a guy there from a patch club, as we’d say back in the early 80’s if you looked at him he was “straight outta easyriders magazine” and we’re talking and he keeps looking at me, you see, I’m not paying him, or more importantly the patch, the respect he feels it deserves, I’m just talking like he is some guy, and he is looking at me wondering who this guy is.

I’m not intimidated, *I* don’t have a fucking target on my back, and respect is fucking earned, and the days of the patch club are numbered, you’re already “less” than you used to be, and that is not your fault, you can only recruit from the general population, and the raw material just ain’t there.

When I was a young man you couldn’t ride 100 miles without tripping over your dick and seeing some patch guys out for a ride (often the ride would have some purpose that involved money) but the last time I saw a group or gang out was about three years ago at a service station in wales, and I look and watch, sure enough some nice bikes, but nobody standing around watching everyone is behaving, everyone paid for their own fuel, and I really really hate to use the terms or invoke this, but there was no quasi military feel to the whole thing, and that is what has changed in 40 years.

In the 80’s the prospects would have stepped up to the pumps (only one row, leaving the rest of the station free) and been gas monkey for everyone else, someone else would have taken munchie and drinks orders and done that, someone else would stand over the filled and parked bikes while people made toilet breaks, and maybe two out of the 40 or 50 would actually have gone into the gas station.

Then someone would be going over everyone and their bike after fuelling, you good to go? tyre pressures ok? oil ok? gassed up? everyone here? (something the original mad max got almost right, where’s johnny the boy… prospect if ever there was one) does everyone know where the next stop is, and the A and B alternates if shit hits the fan?

These guys in wales, if I had *wanted* to talk to them, I had no idea who to walk up to, because *nobody* was running perimeter security, and I’m sorry, but if you ain’t even got that shit right, then you’re just a bunch of guys, and you just threw away the one thing that made patch life attractive, blood is thicker than water.

I see this too, the new breed, they’re walking around hyper, looking for offence to take, the old school, sweet fuck all to prove to anyone, the patch was the definitive evidence that they had already done all the proving they ever needed to do, much like an old school british para, he didn’t care if you’d had 11 pints and your mates had convinced you that you could be as hard as him, yeah, you’re probably right son, why you fucking with an old guy like me instead of feeling up that beautiful girl you walked in with?

Today people look at me, kick ass harley and I’m not out every opportunity riding it, and when I do like yesterday it’s a 30/40 mile solo ride just to blow the cobwebs out and keep the motor used, and can’t understand why I’m not doing more of this or that or the other.

I already done it all son, and back when the doing was good, not like today where it all sucks, and everything is not what it used to be or says on the tin, where the primary descriptor of a motorcycle club is everyone rides decent bikes well.

Back then it really was a way of life (AWOL) and literally everything else in your life hung off or was subservient to the fact that you rode a motorcycle, a good motorcycle, that you rode well and ate miles on.

I don’t bemoan the clubs of 2017 for not being like the clubs in the 70’s, it simply isn’t possible, technological changes makes that true, if everyone had been walking around with smartphone cameras and gps triangulation google location history and CCTV and ANPR and the po-po having data at their instant fingertips 24/7 and on and on and on and on, hell, 99.9% at least of what I did back then was undetected, today I’d be real lucky to achieve 50%, so the shit i’d get caught for would go from 0.1% to 50% which is 500 times as much.

And it wasn’t all trivial motoring shit either.

You see a bunch of local white guys riding around in their sons of arthritis patches, well, even if they have a corrupt inside line on the po-po and do the po-po’s dirty work on the side, they aren’t much, they can’t be, in the information age it ain’t possible (all those welsh guys used their own plastic to pay for their own fuel, that and google maps and phone records and triangulation etc.. bang to rights bro…) which does leave the exception that Hans speaks about, those who aren’t in the system or those who the system studiously ignored because to do otherwise would be rayciss or against state political ethos…. not many controls on them…

And because they aren’t old school, no in club enforcers to make them toe the line and not bring shit down on the club and no wildcatting and no individual entrepreneurship and none of that jazz.

Whatever nuanced or biased shit you wanted to say about and against old school 1% patch clubs, they were at the least MOTORCYCLE clubs at heart, nobody would deny that, and that brought with it a certain level of discipline and character and limitations, not that Joe Public would agree that any of these were good characteristics, but they were there.

Take away the pre-requisite for a first class hand built bike that you could ride and maintain yourself, well, and you dilute it, by the time you get down to the point that a stolen twist and go scooter and some guy on the back with a hatchet is all it takes, you’ve taken away all the internal discipline and all the inherent limitations.

What you have left is animals who may or may not use two wheels as an ocassional form of transport… when those animals are off the radar and off the computer system rapefugees and sand niggers and orks… well…

This does not mean the old 1% clubs are gone, there are still some out there that try to stay true to the old ways, that try to stay true to the old standards, but like all of us they have also learned the survival value of being much lower profile, but the flip side of that is the old lifestyle that was part and parcel of the whole thing, whether that was being hardcore 1% patch club member or an independent lone biker, is long gone, and it ain’t coming back, ever.

For me the worrying thing about comments like Hans’ is this, the label on the tin no longer matches what is in the tin, what used to be in the tin pretty much stayed in the tin, if you don’t want you hand chewed off don’t stick it in the tin, nowadays what’s in the tin is toxic and it wants to get out, and none of the old or new checks and balances are in place.

In the old days in case of a zombie apocalypse I wouldn’t have headed to town or the army base or anywhere else, I’d have headed for the nearest genuine old school 1% patch club, 95% of them would have been ex military and the club was basically the military without any generals to send them over the top, so inside their compound is as safe as it gets, and in the old days I’d have been allowed in too…lol

Nowadays I’m out of the loop, so I literally have no idea if it would still be a good strategy, I suspect not, in any event, I’m outta the loop so I wouldn’t be welcome… perhaps more tellingly they just don’t have the numbers any more, and in the days of google earth and digital comms there are no more “off the radar” remote farms that nobody knows about except club members and very close associates, so I’d probably be eaten by the zombies while fruitlessly searching for them, which makes any question of them being sanctuary moot.

Back in the 70’s, the 1% outlaw patch clubs weren’t so much outlaws, as people who had had enough of the shit and hypocrisy of society, usually after having served abroad in the armed forces, and then returning home to be thrown on the scrap heap and ostracised by everyone for what they did abroad in the name of everyone back home, so they were not outlaws so much as people trying to live outside the laws, if they could do that without breaking laws so be it, they never cares about YOU adhering to YOUR laws, or even YOu adhering to THEIR rules, the two were different, and live and let live would have suited them fine.

The fact is that even back then society was so controlled that living by their laws meant breaking some of “ours”, so they did attract po-po attention, and of course some individuals went further than that, which tarred everyone with the same brush, anyone with a set of old hand made leathers on a hard tail chop was a “Hell’s Angel” to Joe Public the minute the po-po or press started talking about them…

Today those levels of control are a fond and distant memory.

Today simply being a “prepper” or “french first in france” is enough to be targeted by the state, try and be an old school outlaw biker and shortly you’ll be behind bars for a very long time, meanwhile those who the system will not track, the rapefugees and orks, are given free rein.

They don’t have the same attitude to the straights and Joe Public as the old school 1%ers did, they don’t even have the same attitude as the worst of the outlaw club scene did that preyed on certain members of Joe Public and society, the very worst of the old school outlaw bikers would be ridiculed by the new non motorcycling crew who ride around on twist and go mopeds with hatchets and battery power disk grinders under all the CCTV and everything else helping themselves to whatever they want from whoever they want, and if you dare to say anything about it, not only will they target you next, so will your own state, for being a rayciss asshole.

I’m mid to late fifties, which means I’ve been riding motorcycles on and off for 40 years, and certainly the first 20 years a motorcycle was basically my only vehicle.

If you haven’t ridden bikes, a lot of this may not ring any bells, because you haven’t walked in those shoes, so bear with me.

The current ride is an 02 harley softail, if you know anything at all about harleys you’ll know that the price you pay for the hardtail looks and lack of traditional rear swingarm and shox is worse handling, think about that, the softails are some of the worst handling harleys made since world war two.

Combine that with around 660 lbs kerb weight and you’ll soon understand that unless you buy a rear tyre that is made of superglue that wears out every 50 miles the back end is going to skid around a lot, today I had a rear end lock for about 20 feet as I slowed down going downhill behind a car that was stopping for some road works red lights, and I was only doing 40/50 before, and kept plenty of distance, and had plenty of warning, and favoured the rear brake a bit, but even so at around 15 mph and 3 car lengths behind the rear end skidded slightly, because the tyre just doesn’t have the traction for the sheer mass.

it wasn’t a big deal, in the scheme of things, but if all you have ever driven is a car, any car, in those conditions and in that scenario, you’d never get a wheel to lock up.

“Things are different on a motorcycle”.

The other “interesting” thing is the engine, 1,700 cc and 100 ft/lbs at 2,000 rpm, so basically just crack it open at any revs in any gear and get *significant* acceleration, combine this with the decidedly agricultural (as in 1950 massey ferguson T20 tractor) handling and what it basically means is it has an awful lot on common with a 600 bhp 2017 mustang, you can get into trouble an awful lot faster and easier than you can get out of it.

So if you want to live, or at least not crash and get injured and smash the bike up, you have to ride very conservatively, in addition to assuming everyone else on the road is hopped up on meth and hoping to feature in the next youtube crash video…

The flip side of this is the surprise on the faces of many when I fly past them, putting that 100 ft/lbs at 2,000 rpm to work, wow, never knew harleys could move like that, because they don’t usually see it, most HD riders don’t push them at all, even assuming the factory tune could walk the walk.

So overtaking maneuvers, well if you fuck up you have the rest of your life in the wheelchair to regret the decision, contrast that huge period of time with the 0.5 seconds you used to make the decision to pass…..  bit one sided there really, so again today couple that one sided cause and effect equation with the fact that it don’t handle worth shit and passing becomes something you do if you have a couple of seconds to think about it and look at everything twice and you can see the entire road that the passing manoeuver will occupy and you can see there are no hazards or junctions within that space.

You then get it boiled down to a few differences between you and the average cars you share the road with;

1. you’re around 1/2 to 1/3rd as wide as the cars, so gaps that look tight for cars are ample for you… but you ain’t as visible either.
2. you can go from 40 to 75 without changing gear so fast the cars around you are still pushing through 45, 46, 47…  but they *will* catch up to you 600 yards later.
3. every car on the road can outbrake and outcorner you (ESS and ABS being standard on most cars now, I have neither)
4. you can’t “fall off” a car, and you don’t have energy absorbing crumple zones on a bike.
5. give yourself plenty of room, pretty much obey the speed limit, and be as smooth as you possibly can, BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM acceleration periods aside, you still have to scrub that speed off and you need twice the clear road as a car to do it safely in all circumstances.

Despite all this, I had a very enjoyable ride today, and took several good passing opportunities to pass cars, and spent a lot of my time contenting myself with being 6 car lengths back plodding along at 50 with the rest of the cars… and of course back in town just cruise past all the stationary traffic

Even the old harley softail in relaxed cruising mode is much much faster than 99% of the cars on the road in real life.

Is is as fast as I *could* drive a car? Nope, no way.

Is is as fast as a Hayabusa? You’re having a fucking laugh.

Is there anything that riding a harley like this can teach a car driver, or a hayabusa rider, you bet your fucking ass there is.

Is there anything the average car driver or hayabusa rider can’t do on a harley like mine, yes, not crash… it’s a racing certainly 99.9% will crash within 3 miles, that bit in red text above, it’s incredibly easy to get into big trouble on a harley.

(BTW this is all total heresy for the HD crew, I should be banned from ever riding anything except a C90 for writing such blasphemous things about god’s own motorsickle…)

You could get in equal shit with a 70’s brit or jap bike, esp if you tuned the living shit out of it and but a “so much boost it blows the motor every 500 miles” turbo on it too.

Any harley will bite you, a tuned one like mine will bite you harder and earlier, because 100% of the rest of the rolling chassis is total shit from a handling and performance perspective…. there are actual roads around here where I took the corner (posted limit 40) on the full raceco / termignoni carbed guzzi 1100 sport, thought I might be going a touch fast, look down and see 95 on the speedo, and realise both I and the bike wanted to go a lot faster, same corner same conditions on the hoggly dogglyson at 55 and you’re a fucking man my son, hey dude, saw you hustling that harley along earlier, you were moving some…. yeah, as fast as I fucking dare and I can feel the whole thing squirming and wobbling as it does it…lol

More heresy…

So, biker bravado and bullshit aside, what does all this shit have to do with anything, especially those who have no interest in riding a motorcycle and being an organ donor?

The (my) harley is the deep sea fisherman and the hard rock miner of motorcycling, it will kill or injure you in a heartbeat, there is probably nothing less forgiving on two wheels on the road, so you will tend to spend an awful lot of your time riding very, very, very conservatively, because you know that getting into a world of shit is *trivially* easy, and you know that for you personally there is no kudos to be had by straying closer to those areas, just for bragging rights.

It is completely and utterly unlike any other vehicle on the road (except perhaps a steam traction engine or an arctic with 30,000 litres of gasoline in back on the trailer) in this respect, and this is the point I must emphasise, ON THE ROAD… there are a zillion guys with drag tuned harleys on drag strips who can utterly blow me away, and there are no shortage of guys who can and will push a harley far far far closer to the limits as they try to emulate the performance envelope of a hayabusa out for a casual cruise on those same roads.

Motorcycles in general are seen as all sorts of things, extreme performance machines, extreme freedom machines, extreme purist travel machines, and on and on and on and on.

I think this is all utterly missing the point.

Motorcycles are no safety net machines, you fuck up you get fucked up, *real* immediate like, you tube crash videos of cars they are having extended cursing sessions, before during and after the “accident”.

Motorcycle crash videos are “OHSHIT” very fast and then “ooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, pant pant, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrggggggggg”

Motorcycles are what capitalism is claimed to be.

Cars are a nanny state socialist feminist snowflake utopia.

Irrespective of whatever I did and whatever reasons I had to ride when I was younger, nowadays I find it ground me, puts my feet firmly in the soil, makes me look around and see what is actually there, and wipe away all the pretence and bullshit.

So I see shit clearer.

So I’m some 15 miles away from home and I stop for a walk around and a smoke and to make a phone call, and I decide to walk across the road to buy some smokes.

I go into the shop and there are three schoolboys in front of me, all around 12/13 so first year at senior school, one is paying for the drinks and crisps with a plastic debit card…

One of the other’s asks the guy behind the counter about someone else who works there, guy behind the counter says there is someone younger than me, I don’t know how old he is,  but I’m 27.

School kid says yeah, apparently this guy winks at all the girls and chats them up, and if they show bits of their body (too timid to say tits and ass) they don’t have to pay.

27 year old guy shakes his head, no, doesn’t happen, can’t happen.

Kids walk out, I’m tempted to say to them if you believed that why didn’t you get your cock out instead of your plastic to pay… I didn’t, just look at them with contempt.

I order my smokes and say to the guy, “and that is how lives get ruined and reputations get destroyed”… he looks at me and nods.. hopefully the in store CCTV works and they keep all of the old stuff archived to HDD… apparently it’s all over the school that this is going on… because, you know, teen girls regularly strip off in the middle of a fucking shop in the fucking high street so they can get a free packet of crisps and tin of soda…

He (the 27 year old guy behind the counter) wasn’t a biker, he’s cruising along in climate controlled comfort listening to his choonz through the 14 speaker ICE system with ESS and ABS and everything else watching over him like the angel gabriel…

… or so he thinks.

So you go on to a company website, look at a product, find a 2 or 3 page pdf brochure which tweaks your interest but doesn’t have any actual details or specifications as such, just the very brief highlights, but then again it is only meant to be enough to tweak your interest, and it does, so you email the vendor asking for more details.

So what do they do?

They respond by sending you a copy of the pdf that is on their website.

The only way they could have done less is to simply ignore your email enquiry altogether.

Nobody in the office that you sent the e-mail to gets paid any different whether you buy the product or not, that is simple deduction, so it calls into question the whole purpose of everyone in that office, what do they do?

It certainly isn’t “sales” or “customer support” or anything else even remotely related to it.

Which brings us to the French election of Macron, 39 and his wife, who was also 39 when she met him back when he was 15 and she was his teacher.

Now that ain’t paedophilia and it ain’t illegal and to my mind it ain’t even immoral, what is *is* to my mind is fucking pathetic, he is 39 and she is 63, I don’t know what words you are going to use to describe someone like Macaroni but “man” ain’t one of them… the sort of guy who’d be dying to be invited to a wife swapping party, because no matter what he ends up with it’s going to be younger and more fuckable, which is of course why he would never get invited, he is however another fucking goldman / rothschild / zionist clone and the offspring of another “man” who is most well known for scientific papers about cats sneezing, I shit you not.

However undignified and unelectable Le Penis was, Macaroni always was a shoo in for the job, there was never any doubt, because nobody more electable was allowed to run, no De Gaulle’s here thank you very much, arguably a bastard himself but also arguably the last French patriot to hold office.

Like the witless sales drone in offices who respond to your enquiry with a pdf already freely available on the website and fuck all else, Macaroni is another fucking chocolate teapot in euro politics, he is no good to man nor beast nor anything else believing in fraternite, egalite, and of course liberte… stick your fucking Marseillaise up your fucking ass.

Not that any of these things are unexpected, while the whole “Mrs Robinson” thing of a young lad feeling his oats porking some older chick like a mate’s mum one weekend back when he was still young and clueless about everything except permanently exploding testicles is acceptable when it is a one off experience when you are young and preferably on holiday away from where you live, it gets very dubious very quickly as soon as you go back for more.

Of course the feminazis will be chiming in about now about how oh yeah, it’s ok for patriarchal white privilege guys to fuck younger chicks, so check your fucking hypocrisy at the door white boi…

I can marry some chick 25 years younger than me and get her pregnant, hell, I’m mid/late fifties, so I probably have another ten years in which I can say that and it will be true, but Macaroni’s seed is all ending up in some old cunt past its sell by date, and in another 7 years when he is 46 and could still be hale and hearty and not too old to both father and raise children as an active father, she will be 70 and a pensioner and eligible for a free fucking bus pass…

It doesn’t matter one iota whether or not he has any intention or desire to be a dad and continue the family line, as an individual, having zero desire or being born sterile or being born a fag doesn’t make any odds as an individual.

As a leader it should make a *huge* fucking difference, because human nature is human nature, and no man anywhere on the planet is going to look at this guy fucking and married to some old crone 24 years his senior and see anything but some pathetic limp wristed also ran.

Not that the ability to have a hot wife or two who most men would happily fuck porno style means much in statesmanship terms, just look at the Donald, it just means it is one less obvious character defect like being an openly fag politician… we have one locally and I know through channels that he has been content with his lot as MP for the past couple of decades since someone told him privately that the reality was the country would elect a fag as PM some time after the country had elected a black wimminz as a PM, and if you doubt this just look at the fisaco that was Jeremy Thorpe MP…

So the local guy took a look at all this and saw it was true, and buried his ambitions for higher office, contenting himself with fucking up the local economy and council for the past 20 odd years with his fag ideals and policies.

Rock Hudson wasn’t such a fool after all, bury your sexuality and have a trophy wife and the world will forgive much, but the fact is men marrying much older women is still rare and still seen as aberrant, and I have little doubt that that was a part of the motivation of many to perform the 9 gigabyte hack that was then totally suppressed in the media, stands to reason the cunt is slimy and defective, even without the bankster connections.

France being France, his electability would have been dramatically boosted if it had been discovered that on the side he was fucking some hawt 20 year old twins from Chartres, the fact that nothing like that came out just goes to prove the sad fuck probably is faithful to granny.

Plus, of course, he is a male, and no muzzie french resident with voting rights is going to vote for any female, so standing the most limp wristed pathetic non threatening guy they could find pretty much guarantees the muzzie vote.. better still if granny can ensure that her little boy doesn’t say anything threatening about the muzzies and rapefugees eh.

It wasn’t an election, it was a farce.

Le Penis could have won by a landslide if everyone who did not bother to vote had gone out and voted for her, and as it was there were more spoiled ballots that Le Penis vote, and the word I hear is that the vast majority were spoiled in the “none of the above” sense rather than the “hanging chad” sense.

Which just goes to prove that the French electorate as a whole had no illusions about the so called election process, and the choice of candidates they were given.

“What do you want, both testicles pulled off, or your right arm sawn off?” is several billion miles away from “What do you want?”

And again, dear reader, it is the high density population centres, those things we call cities, that are largely responsible for this travesty, not that it matters, as the Donald proves, the graffiti that I saw on the back wall of tesco in 1979 was utterly correct, “whoever you vote for, government wins.”

I have no artistic skill, zero, zip, nada, none, if I did, I’d draw a cartoon, with the titanic renamed as FRANCE and the captain renamed as Macaroni and the iceberg named as Banksters / Zionists / Muzzies etc…  full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes…

Imagine, if you will, the biggest towering asshole and cunt you have ever known, he is standing six feet away, and overhears you say something like “I fucking hate Michael Jackson”… and this towering asshole walks over and says hey, I hate MJ too… then the person you said it to looks at you, looks at the towering asshole, looks back at you and says to you, jeez, you agree with that asshole!!?!?!

It’s an issue, especially if you are younger.

Years ago I knew and detested a guy who was the epitome of a parasite on the state, and he was a nasty shit with it, if ever there was a guy who deserved regular doses of police brutality it was him and his brood, yet, they knew how to play the system and the victim card, so they could do things that would get anyone else banged up and they would walk away from it every fucking time.

He was one of the first I heard echo the sentiment that the only good pig was a dead pig, and for years whenever I felt that the only good pig was a dead pig I thought of this guy, and it was an uncomfortable feeling…

In other lives expressing a sentiment of solidarity with someone else is called grooming, in still others it is called solidarity, or kinship, or shared religious or political beliefs.

In the world of 2017 there are selected topics, and you choose your companions based upon your choice of those topics, if MJ was one of the topics then I’d be expected to side with the towering asshole, because it doesn’t really matter which side I chose, it would be inhabited by towering assholes.

Bruce Perens did a bit of a web experiment years back, I was one of the initial invited participants, and the sole basis was that it was a technocracy, but not one populated by Musk and Zuck and so on, but one populated by engineers and scientists and so on, it died a death after a while, I think BP had other stuff going on in his life at the time, and I think it was harder work than he initially expected, I don’t know because when he pulled the plug was the last time we communicated.

Poor bastard probably thought he was spending all his time herding cats, “thread drift” wasn’t so much a factor, it was more like the major theme, but it was always hugely entertaining and intellectually stimulating to me, for which I shall be forever grateful to Bruce.

Hell, I don’t even know what handle I was using back then, unlike so many in the virtual world I never either used my real name and stuck to it, nor did I stick to a single handle, nor did I constantly morph through a dozen ready use one (that last one is a warning sign BTW boys and girls) but I was more like a snake growing out of it’s skin until the new one is ready some time later, and of course being old school my handle always had to be some variation on the alliterative / amusing / asshole / anarchist / techno meme.

Back in the old world that I grew up in, you could disagree with someone about whether or not MJ was great, and you couldn’t tell from that data point whether you considered that person one of your homies or not, nowadays the inverse is pretty much true.

I can walk into an antifa rally and ask them a question none of them have considered before, once one comes up with an answer it spreads like wildfire, groupthink / consensus at work.

Until an outsider asks the question, it never even enters anyone’s consciousness, there is no “thought”

Here is an example, Madeline McCann.

You’re pretty much either going to think “poor parents” or “murdering bastards”, there isn’t much in between.. nobody sees or comments on the fact that *something* traumatic happened ten years ago, the kid is still AWOL after all, and yet here are Kate and Jerry ten years later, loved up and joined at the hip and in full lock step on everything.

Does that not strike anyone as unusual or unexpected, nowhere have there been recriminations or rifts or anything else, almost like it is an extension of the prisoner’s dilemma where they both know they either both hang or stay free, and the only way to confirm the latter option is never let the other one out of your sight.

By their actions on that night (and neither can claim to be low IQ trailer trash) neither parent can claim to have given a flying fuck about the kid, yet ten years later they still claim she is the only thing they care about, and thanks to their friends in the media and other high places, it’s the only thing we are supposed to care about.

No matter whether you think “poor parents” or “murdering bastards”, you *are* guaranteed to think “poor little baby girl”

Not me mate, they didn’t give a fuck about their kid and I certainly don’t, never have, never will, got my own fish to fry on that score and aren’t allowed to by the state, why should I give a flying fuck about anyone else’s kid.

So there you have another example of a common sentiment, am I your homie or your enemy for saying that, or are you one of the endangered species that you cannot determine one from the other?

I appear to have triggered some ire, by repeating an anecdote as part of a story… of course being an anecdote it is by definition what someone else told me, not what I saw with my own eyes.

There is a difference between saying;

“years ago I rode the length of italy on the back (non autostrada) routes, and it seemed every junction and corner had two whores standing there”

and

“Fred was in italy, and he says at least half the wimminz there are whores”

In time gone by the difference between the two was crucial in a court of law, one was hearsay and inadmissible, one was evidence and admissible, nowadays not so much, and I can say those four words in red from bitter personal experience, that’s not hearsay to me.

Quite often you can then go on to tell another story, and use Fred’s anecdote as a backdrop, and for the purposes of the story, it doesn’t really matter if the backdrop is anecdotal or evidential.

Certainly, I do not want to either a/ get into a pissing match with someone else who was not there, or b/ get into a pissing match with someone whose sensibilities I have offended, neither of these are the purpose of the storyteller.

We no longer have camp fires and we no longer have the traditional pubs, both places where people took turns to say stuff and get stuff off their chests, now we have the internet and blogs, but all of it was all storytelling.

I try to tell true stories, but scientifically it isn’t possible to do this once you go outside extremely personal anecdotes, how many cups of coffee I have drunk today, how many times I took a piss.

So I am going to use two other true people as an example, I’ll call then Jack and Diane, those are not their real names, but I know them well, very well, I’ve fucked Diane, and Jack knows it, and so do their kids, Diane and me were a thing for a while, and to some eyes I was the reason Diane finally left Jack.

I’m still friends with both of them, and they are still friends with each other, and theirs is one of those now rare stories where two young people who were basically good people got together and got married, but neither of them was really suited to the other, but both being basically good people nobody got nasty at any time before during or since their relationship breakdown.

Jack and Diane will both tell you that they get on today as separate individuals and joint parents better than they ever did when married, they will also tell you they respect and care for the other today more than they ever did when married, I wasn’t the cause of their split, that was happening anyway, my contribution was to keep all sides civilised and amicable, while fucking Diane up the ass, as screwed up as that may sound.

So when you boil all that down you’re only left with a couple of things, jack and Diane have always been good people, and it’s because they are good people that a doomed marriage lasted as long as it did, and that it and the separation were as peaceful and amicable as they were… because they were good people, nothing else came close as a contributing factor.

However, we can also observe that just because they were good people it did not make the marriage work or true love ever grow… so we also know that these things are not all it takes to have a good marriage or a healthy loving relationship.

Good people can disagree with each other, vehemently, they just won’t resort to doing bad things because the other person was clearly an asshole who wasted the yadda yadda yadda.

The Philippine president calling Obama an asshole isn’t necessarily a sign of a bad person, the bad person is someone who starts bombing Obama’s citizens because they should have removed Obama from power, and since they didn’t, well, the assholes deserve everything they get.

For much of history, the difference between an epithet causing offence and not causing offence was simple, if the two people know each other, offence is unlikely to be taken, and even if it is, so what, I can call my brother an asshole and he can either take offence or not, it’s my opinion and that’s that, but it doesn’t mean I hate him.

Unlike the vast majority of the human population who I have never met, I’ve known my brother all my life, so he has had plenty of chances to fuck me over, and he hasn’t… so he may be an asshole, but he isn’t a nasty asshole.. most of the asshole comments I make are because he is too soft, not because he is too nasty or too stupid etc.

He’s an asshole because he puts up with that shit.

So I’m driving home tonight and I come to a yellow box junction controlled by traffic lights, and under the traffic light for our direction is a sign prohibiting right turns, so when the light goes green (i’m 2nd in the queue) the stupid bitch in the white car ahead of me pulls forwards six feet, stops, and puts her indicator on to turn right.

I toot my horn

She puts her hand up and sits there.

My window is open so I toot my horn again and shout out the window NO RIGHT TURN.

She puts her hand up again.

Fuck it, horn goes on continuous and I get up her ass, she freaks, hits hazards, hits left (legal) turns left, mounts pavement doing so, her and passenger look at me like I’m a cunt, I get through and one more car gets through before light turns red again.

Now *anyone* can fuck up on a road, so I’m not ragging on the bitch for trying to make an illegal right turn, she might not be local, she might not have seen the sign.

No, from the point where someone shouts at you, NO RIGHT TURN, and you acknowledge it with a wave and STILL FUCKING SIT THERE holding up all the traffic just so you can perform an illegal manoeuver and save yourself the 60 seconds it would take to go either straight and first right and back around, or left and turn around, then FUCK YOU.

Because FUCK YOU is *exactly* what you are saying to me and everyone else on the road who is trying to drive with some consideration for other road users.

I don’t need to know about your life or divorce or anything else, you’re not a good person like Jack and Diane, you’re a cunt.

Trump was an unknown, now Trump is a known cunt.

Trump isn’t a good person, so his statements about other people being good or bad and worthless, he is in no position to comment.

An american comedian recently made a comment about his “Trump bashing” which had been criticised, he had I have my comedy, trump has the nuclear football, which is itself a sort of comedic statement and true in so far as it goes, which isn’t very far, they are both symbols of the office, the comedian has his jokes, the prezzident has his power.

A better question is this, is the comedian better at being a comedian than the president is at being a president?

Speaking entirely personally I see nothing very comedic about the comedian, and nothing presidential about the president, but at least CNN gets a vote in how both of them get airtime, so they do have something in common after all.

Yanks, Spics, Wogs, Wops, Fags, I have known them all, and counted some as friends, but I’m a storyteller at heart, as are we all, and it kills the story to preface it with 6 pages of disclaimers about the use of the word Fag before I get to the anecdote about “Stephen” and his dyed pink poodle and penchant for silk chiffon scarves and huge hats.. if I wanted advice about commercial property investment or lettings I’d go talk to him, he’d bought up about one and a half business streets in a town that I lived in, one property at a time.

When you’ve got that kind of money you can dress like a raging poof and mince down the road with your pink poodle and get away with it.

William Shatner could be a crap one character actor who couldn’t do anything else, or he could be a great actor emulating a crap one character actor and coining it, who is to know?

Draghi could be a terminally corrupt and incompetent financial loon, or he could be a total fucking genius playing one for immense personal gain.

My friend’s personal Korea anecdote about the yanks could have been entirely true, or entirely false, who knows, we were none of us there, but at no point did either he originally or I in my retelling claim that this was the sum total of all experiences for everyone, or even that it was so common as to be basically true for all.

He had other personal anecdotes, many of which relate to how any individual soldier will feel in the field, when he was sent to Korea along with his mates they had all already been based in the asian peninsula for many years, Peter Stuyvesant (a cigarette brand), you could smell it more than a mile away he said, he said a bunch of other things too, all of them could be taken together and headed “things not to do when sending your troops into combat if you want them to live”

To be fair to him my retelling of his comments here may well have misrepresented what he was saying, he wasn’t specifically saying the yanks were trigger happy cowards with full auto weapons that the sooner they emptied the sooner they could advance towards the rear, nothing wrong with a full auto weapon if the logistics are there to feed it and replenish it constantly.

Lots wrong with it if you go into war half assed, old adolf got LUCKY with the tank blitzkrieg, he managed to over run fuel supplies fast enough to keep up the pace, because logistic fuel supplies were non existent, try that in the jungle and there are no fuel supplies to raid, and no roads to sustain 25 mph on.

When a soldier on the front blames “the yanks” on his flank for emptying their magazines and retreating and exposing his flank, time after time after time, he isn’t complaining about his fellow footsoldier under another flag, he is complaining about the brass sending in poorly supplied troops that even *they* could smell, while admiring the enemy who knew advantage when they saw it, there was a touch of Kipling in every foot soldier, and he did not tell stories of the fucking yanks attacking them or blue on blue, that was usually reserved for the arty, or quartermasters who could send 3 tons of blanco for white webbing that nobody wore in the field, but no quinine for the malaria that everyone caught in the field, along with the trots and trench foot and larvae nesting in your ass crack.

In shades of this, we can talk about whether Assad did or did not sarin his own people, if it was sarin, or not, if they were his people or rebels, if the video was real or white hat propaganda, and on and on and on.

Some all or none of it may be true.

None of that matters, it’s just the backdrop to a story, the story is firing tens of million plus dollar cruise missiles at targets in a sovereign foreign country without an official declaration of war, and then turning around and instructing others on how they should behave.

I am above all reminded of another man, and this is a true personal anecdote, from way back at the beginning of my own personal FRA hell, this was a good man who did all he could to inform me of things, in a field of human interest that I wasn’t even intellectually aware of before my own personal FRA, he was of enormous personal support and help to me, and for that I am forever grateful, but he blanked me on the day, during casual conversation, that I said I could not stand Bloody John Wayne or his bloody cowboy films or bloody war films or bloody any films with John Bloody Wayne in them.

But at the end of the day, I’m just a storyteller, none of my german readers have ever complained (in comment or in email) when I talk about Merkel or the turks or reunification and nor do they take the opportunity to pile in when I talk about the austrians or the swiss or the italians or greeks.

So in the odd instances in my life when I offend someone by saying that John Wayne was not god incarnate, or the yanks may have helped us win the war but it doesn’t explain Pearl or excuse Nagasaki, or Trump turned out as neocon as Hitlary, well, shrugs…

For my sins, I have been in a few places where all had the feeling that things were not right, and they weren’t, but what happened next was 99 different strategies to deal and cope with and address this (any less was too many eggs in too few baskets) and all it did in the end was make the collapse and failure all the more complete.

It’s the feeling I get reading the MSM “news”, yesterday kim jong was a fat twat, today the donald would be honoured to meet him, yesterday the chinese were honoured to meet the donald, today they are placing military ducks in a row.

From the spectaculars like Chernobyl on down to local issues it’s always the same, and it’s always “human error” or “gross human error” if it’s a big fuckup, and it’s all code for the same thing, 99 headless chickens running around, none of whom have accurate and factual information about the issues at hand, not that that matters, because they also have limited personal talent and limited personal scope of operations.

Whether it is the little big horn or the deck of the titanic or the Chernobyl reactor room, the more time passes the more the stories will talk about personal bravery and integrity and honour…what wonderful amazing brave self sacrificing honourable bastards they all were.

The voices closest to it in time and space that say that everyone even remotely involved was a towering fucking asshole whose incompetence was only exceeded by their own hubris are silenced soonest.

I myself speaking entirely from personal experience commented on two “projects” or “incidents”, one grabbed international attention, the other only national attention.

I knew people who were suppliers for one incident, and I loosely / subbed worked for the company itself in the second, so in both cases I was reasonably close to the coal face.

In the first case I said the people were shit and up their own ass with their computer models, and I did not buy any of it, I got a *shit* load of stick for this one because I clearly stated weeks and months before the incident what I thought the problem was, and it came to pass that that was exactly what happened, so it was real hard to paint me as an after the fact expert, but it came close to being told that if anyone had died it would have been on my conscience for not altering the team that I was not a part of and the project that had nothing to do with me that there was an issue.

In the second case I said the people were shit and the company was shit and everyone’s attitude was shit, and one day I walked off after telling everyone to their face, “you assholes are going to kill someone” and six months later they did, another person had a crushed pelvis, another one had busted legs and the last had busted ribs and a wrist.

Both of these incidents involved the sea, something that I learned from an early age was the most powerful force known to man, and even if you have seen it real bad, you’ve only seen 5% of what it can do, if it wanted to…. it’s like looking at a hot 16 year old chick and not seeing the poisoned psycho bunny boiling false rape accuser lurking just around the corner, temporally speaking.

Of course respecting something means being reluctant to fuck with it too much, the potential to be smashed into pulp by tons of very cold water before being swept off deck to drown alone is a big dampener on the whole “hold my beer and watch this” shit, and those who don’t respect shit are always prepared to rape it in the name of profit, monetary or otherwise.

Speaking as a life long biker, those you tube vids of crews of guys slaloming and wheelying down the highway, well, when it ends up in a smash I’m all “serves the cunt right, even if his bones ain’t broken at least the asshole is off the road for the duration” of sympathy for my fellow bikers there is none, because they aren’t my fellow bikers, they are the same as those that try to fire a rifle one handed and get smacked in the face, or any one of a million other hours of you toob senseless waste of protoplasm and oxygen.

I know, I’ll let a lobster grab hold of my cock and then I’ll taser the lobster, I’ll get at least 75,000 views and 5,000 new subscribers.

Me I’d leave the cunt there screaming in agony and bleeding out with half of his cock missing, why should I waste my time taking the cunt to ER so other people can waste their time putting humpty back together again.

that’s the other side of the “for my sins” bit, an MGTOWer expressed the sentiment best, I didn’t start the fire, don’t expect me to suddenly play the fireman when all your shit starts to burn down.

Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on, yes I know my own life is in danger and possibly lost, and yes I know you have the only key to the lifeboat, but the danger you pose is greater than the relief the lifeboat poses, so fuck you, I’ll take my chances on the air mattress on the other end of the boat from you, you’re the fucking problem, proximity to you is my fucking problem…

… which is why I can say I can comment on those two incidents, I was at some distance from one that I considered sufficient so sat back and ate popcorn, and at a distance I considered insufficient from the other, so I walked away, fuck you, and then sat back and ate popcorn.

If I was any closer some teflon coated cunt would have tried to make me the fall guy, while they moved on to pastures new…

I sit here and type this and have no expectations one way or another what next week will or will not bring…

>>war in korea

>>no war in korea

I have no idea, no expectations, and no fireman’s outfit at the ready.

I have no clue what the fuck is going on, and a firm conviction that anyone who claims they do is part of the fucking problem, and to be avoided.

I *will* lay money that the thing(s) that do go wrong will be a complete surprise to everyone, and won’t be any of the things we are constantly being warned about.

I’m far from being an excel guru, but over the years I have turned to it on several occasions and crafted from scratch spreadsheets that do some quite complex calculations and workings and analyses.

An excel guru would probably look at the stuff I done and combined three cells iterative calculations into one much simpler one with a tweak to a function or macro that I am blissfully unaware of.

Nevertheless, the point stands, any old computer running any old spreadsheet gives anyone and everyone access to computative tools that were simply unimaginable 50 years ago.

Now consider a motorcycle final drive chain, one endless roller chain and two sprockets, one driven and one driving.

For the sake of this post we will say the chain is 158 links long, the driving motor sprocket is 17 teeth, and the driven rear wheel sprocket is 48 teeth.

The gear ratio is simplicity itself, 17:48

The GCD function in excel is great for generating and simplifying ratios, as there is (AFAIK) no specific ratio function in excel, but in this case it doesn’t require anything more than simple math to cut it down, 48/17 = a 2.823529411764706 to 1 reduction, so 17:48 is actually shorter to write.

Now we come to an interesting problem, to promote long chain life each tooth on each sprocket should interact with as many links on the chain as possible, as equally as possible.

A 100 link chain and a 25 tooth sprocket means that tooth #1 on the sprocket is only ever going to meet links #1, #26, #51 and #76 and that isn’t good for even wear.

The short rule of thumb has always been divide the number of links in the chain by the number of teeth on the sprocket and look for a long non recurring randomish string of numbers after the decimal point, 3.55445268784664 good, 3.5 bad, 3.6 bad.

Actually doing that calculation for every single tooth on the sprockets and every single link on the chain for say 1 million sprocket revolutions to come up with a complex 3d surface, not so simple, yet this complex 3d surface is exactly the “result” you are seeking, and of course it should be as close to flat and regular as possible, with few if any steep slopes or high peaks.

Disclaimer, I have never sat down and created such a spreadsheet, nor am I aware that anyone ever has, doesn’t stop me from describing its function and utility.

At it’s simplest with our 158 link chain and 48 tooth final drive sprocket then tooth #1 on the sprocket will meet link #1 on the chain, then link #49, then link # 97, then link #145, then the chain is on it’s second pass and the next link is link #35 and so on, just repeat for a million revolutions of the sprocket, then do the same for a sprocket of 47 teeth, and 46 teeth (and 49 teeth and so on) and before you know it you have the data to generate your 3d surface.

It is just the sort of calculation that computers and spreadsheets should be ideal at, boring repetitive number crunching, and it is all solid integer math too, so no problems there.

Actually, it’s a lot harder to do than it seems.

In my own personal case it means sitting down and struggling with excel, though I am sure an excel guru could knock something up in 30 minutes, but that isn’t necessarily the hardship I refer to.

The hardship I refer to is the fact that the motorcycle in question will have an ideal final drive ratio, and the chain pitch in question (determined by the motorcycle power etc) will have an ideal sprocket radius and chain speed and momentum and so on, and as the loads and rpm changes you don’t want something that sets up harmonic or vibration in the chain, and you don’t want too much unsprung weight either, and the beat goes on.

So, on the one hand you have one of those n-hard type of problems that computers and spreadsheets are absolutely ideal for solving, and on the other hand you suddenly have a whole load more factors than just the simple chain link and sprocket teeth numbers that we started with, and these factors are much harder to integrate into that 3d surface that we generated in the basic version.

You are probably kind of back at the place where you’ll simply go 158/48=3.291666666666667 fuck it that is good to go, and 158/17=9.294117647058824 that is even better, fuck it, job done.

The important factor here is though it is theoretically possible to do the math and actually solve every single possibility for the problem for the next million cycles, the differences between theory and practice are greater in practice than in theory, it’s actually *hard* to do, because doing it means no fudge factors or approximations as they defeat the entire purpose of actually calculating the entire possible series of answers… so you not only have to codify everything exactly and accurately in mathematical terms, you then have to integrate it so it works as a whole, and does not give you any pentium floating point errors or excel floating point errors (doesn’t matter than the sum itself is all integers, the computer and spreadsheet will still floating point that bitch, because binary…)  so you need another layer for verification and checksums.

Which is why you don’t actually know how fast the brand new Ferrari is until you put the actual car on a test track and time the bitch.

Which brings me on nicely to dyno curves, all anyone looks at are the peak bhp and torque numbers, which is intriguing, because the fastest car on the track is the one with the greatest area under the curves, not the one with the highest peaks.

The current 2002 vintage twinkie harley only puts out a measly 75 BHP peak at the rear wheel, utterly pathetic for a 1700 cc engine, though it compares very very closely on those numbers alone with the brand new M8 engines, nobody looks at the left hand side of the graph, 25 BHP @ 1,500 RPM, and simple math tells you that means a shade over 87 foot pounds of torque @ 1,500 RPM, and suddenly pennies start to drop, despite the tractor weight and tractor engineering, it’s a lot harder accelerating than anyone expects, while sounding like it isn’t really trying because the revs just aren’t there.

Nowadays there is all manner of fancy simulation shit for engine tuning, and I mean at a level that almost anyone can afford to buy and run on their PC, doesn’t have to be real time after all, like the chain and sprocket spreadsheet it doesn’t matter if it takes 30 seconds to compute each run… nevertheless nobody ever got a prize for a simulated engine output, you have to actually beat the other guy at the strip.

Dragstrips are another funny one, all anyone sees and all it says at the end of the strip are your terminal time and terminal speed, drag guys themselves only give a fuck about two things, reaction time and time for the first 60 feet… the other 1,260 feet depend entirely on those two numbers.

Everything I have discussed here is a simple problem, you know this is true because you can sit down and explain the problem to anyone, and they understand the questions being asked.

Everything I have discussed here *should* be solvable perfectly with computers, but explain why that ain’t so to people so they get it is much, much, much harder than explaining the problem itself.

But HOW and WHY did intel release a CPU that made math errors? HOW and WHY are spreadsheets prone to floating point errors in ways that are impossible on an abacus (but which can be explained on an abacus…lol)

It’s a no brainer that forecasts for western economies are done on computerised mathematical models that have much in common with a simple spreadsheet on your PC.

At 02:50 AM I find myself wondering if the powers that be also use some sort of computerised mathematical modelling to predict global scale political and social events, we *know* they do for weather H^H^H^ climate etc….

Perhaps, like the chain and sprocket example “the norks have 5.9 million paramilitary personnel, making them the largest army on planet earth… = don’t fuck with them, for any reason” is a fuck it, job done calculation, that cannot be improved upon by any more nuanced and detailed calculation that actually produced every answer for every iteration in the series?

“The neocons / MIC / banksters / mickey mouse fan club is pushing for a war, and they won’t stop until they have one…” we are told.

We are told this by people who do not move in the aforementioned circles, and nor do I, so it is all speculation really.

What I can tell you for a fact is that my life experience tells me that 99%+ of all the violence I have ever seen has had the same root cause.

Party A *perceived* some “wriggle room” into which they could push their influence further into Party B’s territory, while still safely avoiding conflict, but to Party B no such room existed and the Rubicon was crossed.

I personally may, and I say may, have witnessed an exception twice in my life.

Party A always had an innate belief that they themselves, like Party B, had no interest in actually escalating things to the level of violence, and even if that happened it would be gradual and easy enough to pull back from.

Party A also always had some innate belief that unless they were actually squeezing the pips out of Party B, they weren’t pushing hard enough, and of course Party B would complain, that was just Party B doing the same thing in return innit.

As a society we have changed in the past 40 years, a period about which I can speak with some authority, because we have an entirely new lexicon and approach to things, just in time delivery is efficient, therefore everything else is inefficient, maximising profit margins is profitable, therefore maximising quality within the spec is unprofitable….

My small business is at the only level left where there is old school haggling and negotiation face to face, Tim says to me that job you did last week and charged me 40 quid for, I’ll lose money with my customer, can I cut it down, well Tim is a good and regular customer so how does 25 quid grab you, OK good to go says Tim, I still didn’t lose money on the job and Tim is still a good and regular customer.

At every other level it has been replaced with the shit, Fred asks me if I can do this for a small production run of 50 items, I spend some time discussing the details and working it out and tell Fred yes I need more details for a firm quote, but we are looking at around 15 quid a pop, Fred tells me there is no way there is more than 3 quid a pop in the budget, I tell Fred good luck with that and add him to the “asshole” file, if he or any business he is ever associated with ever comes back to me in the future there will be an automatic 25% surcharge, if that falls through he goes into the “super asshole” file and the surcharge is 50%.

I never actually refuse to do his work, I just refuse to do it at his price.

This negotiation or haggling is a lost art, in the western world in 2017 having work tendered and quoting for it is more akin to a hostile corporate takeover, much depends on the definition of “is” in the contract, and no area of the contract is too trivial to be subject to separate skirmishes over such minutiae as who will pay for lading, who will pay for packaging, who will pay for documentation, and of course the precise specifications for all of the above.

I’m tempted to say it all started with HR, because that was my own personal first experiences of it, no longer did the employer hire suitable staff after an advert and interview process, suddenly it is all farmed out to a separate internal department that knows everything about the art of war, and nothing whatsoever about the actual job in question or the skills required to do it.

And of course all these new internal divisions are like metastised brain tumours, once you get them they cannot be surgically removed without killing the patient, and all they ever do is grow…

In the 70’s it was part of british army training and indoctrination that the less you looked like robocop or a mafia thug, and the more you looked like a regular guy who happened to be wearing a uniform, the better and easier and less tension your relations with the civilian population or indeed other local militias would be, much was made of face to face eye contact (no mirrored shades) and talking in ordinary voices and smiling where appropriate, nowadays everyone who isn’t in your own robocop regiment is seen as a potential enemy combatant, even the humble british policeman on the beat looks more robocop than a world war two infantryman, and a world war two infantryman had walked the fucking walk.

In the previous post I stated that nobody who had a mortgage today has ever known anything except a world where the notional value of a house could only ever go up, and a “bad buy” was a house whose notional value did not go up as much as a similar house 5 streets over.

It’s the same in the world of politics and banking and MIC, nobody who is alive today has ever known anything except a world where “military action” was a pretty much one sided affair on foreign soils that could easily be classified as being no more than some more intensive than usual on the job training.

McStain, one of the biggest warhawks in the US was a failed pilot in the vietnam conflict and a failed POW to boot, I remember well an ex britsih army foot soldier who was sent to korea, which was before vietnam, and he said it turned into a shit show the moment the yanks got involved, not that it wasn’t a shit show before then, because from his perspective on the ground in a foreign country he did not want to be in, unlike the brits at the time, the yanks turned up with battle rifles that were capable of fully automatic firing, and in his words the moment they knew the yanks were “supporting” them on their flank, they regrouped to repel an attack from that flank, because what happened every time was the yanks went full auto, then there were calls for more ammo, then there were calls to fall back, because everyone was out of ammo, then the koreans moved in to the exposed flank.

This was all known back up the food chain, but it doesn’t matter, because they are “partners” and “allies” and that is more important than your own men dying.

It was more important because it was the beginning of the management era, where exploiting that wriggle room left between you and your opponent (or partner) was a necessity, and failing to do so was a sign of incompetence or inadequacy, suddenly there are, quite literally, lawyers and managers having direct control over military actions on the ground in vietnam.

We have now moved on to a place where lawyers and managers are all that is left, what was a simple grunt in WW2 who got all the dirty shitty deadly jobs is now a special forces type, a tiny minority, the barracks themselves are full of barrack room lawyers and wimminz and transgender queens posing as an officer corps.

It’s very easy to sit around in peace time and tell everyone you’re a death machine devil dog that drinks the blood of babies (I knew three burma railway survivors, one was 6 foot six and had an especially awful time because of his height, one was a 5 foot 4 wiry little scotsman who was a royal engineer, in 1970 I saw him wearing a tee shirt, which was fairly new fashion then, and it had writing on it, which was totally new fashion then, the text said “yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, because I’m the meanest bastard in the whole fucking valley“) but it is quite another thing to walk the walk.

My own uncle was in signals (navy), and was ordered to stay behind in singapore after it fell to the japanese, and report on their movements “as long as possible” which as military orders go was basically a death sentence. So he did it, until he could do no more, a lone white man bereft of all comms and support abroad in asia in enemy territory, the water was out, japanese boats, so all that was left was to try to walk out of there, while living off the jungle, and walk out of there he did, not the exact route on the map, but 4,000 kilometres all the same, an six months later he made it to the british base in Calcutta, where, since he was already recorded as MIA presumed dead, they would not issue him a ration book or rations, so he had to steal food and clothes from the navy to survive for six weeks until the word came back and his claimed identity was confirmed.

Let me tell you, in 2017 in peacetime, starting in singapore with the clothes you are standing in and nothing else, no money, no comms, and simply avoiding peacetime authorities, and walking 4,000 km to calcutta, and MAKING IT THERE ALIVE, is no mean fucking feat, one that only a vanishingly small percentage of modern devil dogs would even attempt, much less endure and complete.

50% of the norks would do it, even if their true politics is they hate kim jong more than anything and love mickey mouse, because, survival bitch.

Which brings me back to the beginning, that uncle, now dead, was someone who when presented with that “wriggle room between party A and party B” scenario where he was one of the parties, he’d take a step back and sit down.

He knew that what looked like 5 miles of wriggle room from one perspective looked like shit being 1 millimetre from your nose from the other perspective.

He knew that there was a difference between being willing to start something, and being willing to end it at any cost for the bastard that started it.

He knew that what looked like a perfectly reasonable attempt to get another 0.25 cents off the dollar from one perspective looked like being asked to say thanks for pimping your seven year old daughters out from the other.

He knew that when you crossed the Rubicon and looked back, there was no going back, and everything looked very different.

The true danger we face is not that the world is run be people intent on war, it is that the world is run by people who think they know exactly how far they can push the other guy and still get away with it and walk away with a profit, and if they don’t do so, someone else will usurp their place at the trough.

It is intellectually bogus, lazy, deceptive, pointless and distracting to talk about a thing, for example fathers with custody / access, when the thing in question is just a vehicle for some other idea you are trying to promote.

I said back in 1994 that the UK house price bubble was insane and unsustainable, and properties that were “worth” £45,000 then are “worth” £175,000 now with no end in sight.

I *still* think it is insane, and at no point in the intervening 23 years has my mind changed, interesting when you consider that had I gotten a 25 year mortgage back then, it would only have two more years to run, a 20 year mortgage would have been over three years ago.

So who is the asshole now?

I still think it’s an insane bubble, I just *vastly* under-estimated how long it could stay insane, and how much more insane it could get, shades of the old quote about markets being able to stay irrational longer than you are able to stay solvent.

I can relate a story of an individual who purchased a machine tool for 10k in cash three years ago, he went back to the vendor to buy a new tool costing 25k, again it would be a cash sale, three weeks have passed since his first email, 5 days since his second, not a fucking peep from the vendor… they obviously have better things to do than talk to someone who was a cash customer three short years ago.

At this point world & dog start making excuses for why this could be so, perhaps the story itself is suspect, certainly no rational explanation can be made for something that defies rational explanation.

Yes there is more to the story, the customer started talking to the vendor about this prospective purchase in November last year, and got replies, so it’s not like they were unaware of suddenly emails are being sent to the wrong address or anything else.

He is going to ring them next week, he suspects the answer will be the same as last time, his emails were marked as spam and nobody ever saw them.

Again, it raises questions, how can the gmail account of a known cash customer not be whitelisted and flagged as a cash customer for immediate personal attention by sales?

This could be ACME corp or Twatter / Amazone / NetFucks, it makes no odds, or Uber, or Pets.com, or anyone else, never really made a trading profit, yet everyone involved is a billionaire and the market caps are larger than many countries.

Like housing the stocks are worth investing in because they have always been worth investing in because they have always risen in price.

They have always risen in price, BECAUSE they have always risen in price.

For values of always that a 20 year mortgage is a human generation, so nobody with a mortgage today has ever known anything different, no exceptions, anywhere, word…

Calling a “peak” is like falling down a mountainside in the pitch dark, you can’t see a fucking thing but you’ve been bumping and sliding so fucking long it stands to reason you must be close to the bottom now… right?

I mean, we have been sliding down this particular mountainside in the pitch dark for twenty five fucking years now, so the only rational thought can be that the mountainside itself is infinite in expanse, there is no bottom to it.

I’ve mentioned the Hargesian Goat Bubble here before, it’s worth googling and reading, in 2007 it was funny, now it’s scary, by 2025 Mr Wibur Smythe-Mahmoud of 27 Orchard Road will be in a position where his 3 bedroom semi detached house has a greater capital monetary value than the GDP of Bolivia…

Merely owning a hovel will make everyone an automatic millionaire, anyone with anything with two or more bedrooms will be a multi-millionaire, and the best goes on, yet, when I was a boy at a prestigious English boarding school in the 1970’s with all the career advantages that that bestowed, it was arguable/doubtful whether I would see a million pounds pass through my hands in my entire fucking lifetime, no matter how successful I became, 40 years working 50 weeks a year is 2,000 and 1,000,000 / 2,000 = 500 a week, at a time when the national average gross wage packet was £65… a new mini on the road was around 650 quid, beer was 36 p a pint and 20 cigarettes was 22 p, and we’d just gone through the OPEC crisis and inflation / stagflation so it wasn’t like nobody thought prices would not rise over a working lifetime.

2,500 to 4,000 would buy you a proper house, freehold, 10 grand something nice and pre war with a sea view and a 60 foot front garden and a 100 feet back garden, so talk of tens and hundreds of thousands of pounds, even a million pounds, was ridiculous stupendous meaningless except as numbers sorts of money, because this flipside was at an average national wage of 65 quid a week (paid in cash ever week mind you) a 650 quid mini was ten weeks wages, and a 2.5 grand house was 38 weeks wages, the 10 grand very respectable good area house 152 weeks wages.

Today average weekly wages are £528, nobody down here earns that, full time bus driver with overtime can earn 18k which is £346 a week, but we will take the £500 number.

Ten weeks is £5,000 which won’t buy any new car on the road, though it will very very nearly buy a Dacia Sandero.

152 weeks is £76k, go on rightmove and the lowest price house within 10 miles is £68,960 and it is a “park home” which is estate agent speak for a 12 x 40 static caravan, the cheapest actual bricks and mortar *house* is £150k and it’s on the local sink council estate, the closest thing to the aforementioned 10k 1970’s house is £575k, and at 500 a week that is 1,150 weeks wages, a far cry from 152 weeks.

So back to the plot.

Back in 1994 I said it was insane and unsustainable, I did say surely it must end / pop soon, for values of soon that surely could not be more than a few years away, but I did not actually call the peak being imminent.

Today in 2017 I would say much the same, I can’t call the peak being imminent, I still say it is surely unsustainable but I’ve been wrong about the ability of the insanity to continue to escalate for 23 years, and as stated it is intellectually dishonest and bankrupt to use those sentiments as a vehicle for some other message.

That message being that it is a set-up for monetary reform (new bucks instead of old bucks) and indentured servitude, because quite honestly I do not know.

I do know I only have two possible hopes of having enough money to buy some land (not even a property of 1970’s 5k house) and that is either a lottery win or get successful in business and earn it, and frankly speaking if I earned it, no way I’d throw my earned money at anything so insanely overinflated, it would be like buying twitter stock…  eg devaluing every single hour of work I did to earn the money to the point of uselessness.

THIS then becomes the real test of whether there is a bubble and if we are nearing the peak, what happens to the accumulated (however meagre they may be) efforts of your work to date?

A house whose value rises tenfold or drops tenfold serves the exact same utility to those living within, so if I was worth £575k last month but only £57k this month it still keeps you warm and dry and the bath and cooker still work and so on.

When it vanishes like my late father’s pension plan it is a different kettle of fish, that lump sum and income that was going to keep you in relative comfort for 20 years, gone… now you need some other method of putting food on your table and clothes on your back.

In Weimar germany and hyperinflation the loaf of bread had the same utility every day, cops still grew, mills still functioned, bakers still knew how to bake, what happened was the accumulated efforts of your work this week disappeared by the time pay day came around, come friday your whole week’s work was only worth what one hour was worth on monday morning, if you could have cashed in every hours work and spent it immediately you would have been ok

In effect, they worked for twitter stock, but when they wanted to buy something, only apple stock had any value, and rinse and repeat as often as possible.

So intellectual honesty and integrity means it doesn’t matter about calling the peak or the bursting of the bubble, all that matters is preserving as much as possible the fruits of your accumulated labour to date.

*that* is when it becomes interesting, nobody can take away from me my ability to turn flowing water into mechanical motion into electricity, nobody can take away from me the sex I have had, nobody can take away from me the places I have been and the things I have done, the fuck I had today is worth a million times more than the promise of a threesome with a pair of Romanian teeny twins with monster tits tomorrow.

My psycho skank ho ex took *a* possible future away from my sons, and it was only ever a possible future, played out one day at a time, so they could grow up with a dad like I did, some dads destroy themselves over that, just like some folks jump off a bridge when their company folds and their pension goes up in smoke.

the essential difference between the fruits of your accumulated labour to date, and the expected fruits of your accumulated labour in the future.

one can be preserved somewhere on a scale from 0% on up, the other one is the promise of the threesome, everything that isn’t likely to preserve at least some of what you have done to date is a distraction.

peaks and bubbles are a distraction.

as you slide down that endless mountainside in the dark, make sure you are listening to all of the people further down the slope in the night, because you can’t avoid the same journey, but you can approach it differently…

One of the quandaries that you will face as a father, absentee or not, is the answer to a simple question, if you could sit down in front of a camera for 90 minutes to leave a message for your son(s), what would it say?

Don’t do this, do do that, watch out for the other, ain’t gonna work, it doesn’t take account of technological change or societal change in the interim, and it doesn’t address the 900 lb gorilla in the room, the boy ain’t gonna listen to the old fossil.

With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight I can tell that my old man largely saved his breath, despite having a shit load he could have said, he was more of a hope you don’t, but you’re free to make your own mistakes boy, hope they aren’t too expensive…

Let me put it this way, if I was living in the USA or any place where bearing firearms was legal the gun I would go out and buy today would be a lever action 45.70, it’s a damn near 150 year old cartridge but everything it ever did still holds true today, sure it ain’t the same kind of animal as a spitzer high velocity round but generally speaking I’d be more concerned about everything within 250 yards than everything more than 250 yards away, and within 250 yards you’re guaranteed target death in a rifle that is very very very tough and reliable.

(If you can do on the fly bullet drop in your head or have a fancy sight and a decent length barrel they’ll reach out to 1000 yards… 45/70 in the sharps decimated the american buffalo)

As a younger man I’d have been all over some tricked up 223 or 308 preferably with full auto and a 30 round clip…

Hopefully you see the analogy here, as a younger man being attacked by a bear I’d probably have emptied a clip of 223 into a bear to stop it, then been racked on empty and realised too late there were two bears, 45/70 one shot one kill and you still have 4 left in the tube

If my dad had handed me a henry 45/70 I’d have traded it for a ruger 223 and got credit for the scope and so on, so the “advice” of the older man is wasted on the younger man, and as in the case of my own dad he was smart enough to know that, so didn’t give me much.

just real basic shit, “you did it, you own it, you live with it, not my problem” and such like, I can’t even say I got one chance at everything with him, I didn’t… when I was 17 he went out and bought me a car (old vw beetle) to own and (learn to) drive in, he made sure it was mechanically reliable and safe, of course I didn’t like it, so he sold it.

that wasn’t *just* the end of car help, that was the end of a whole shit load of help, fuck you, smartass little bastard.. lol.. you know so much you can go sort all that shit fo’ yo’sel’

But, me and my dad had one thing in common, the natural hard wired youthful urges to go out and get into compromised situations did not necessarily mean going out and breaking the law… there *was* an element of that, and my earliest criminal convictions were for doing things that he did at my age, except they weren’t illegal back then, nowadays, it’s *all* fucking illegal bro.

*THAT* is the thing I am now old enough to realise, that hard wired shit that drives a young man, he really can’t help it, it really is hard wired, he gotta get it out, so best he do in a way that nobody but himself gets hurt or killed if it goes wrong.

I’m also old enough to realise that the same goes for girls, furiously flirting and exploring their sexuality with the one man on the planet that they were safe with, their father, and of course that shit has gone now, father is an absentee deadbeat dad getting bad press from skank ho mommy… but the drives to flirt and explore their sexuality remain…

Nor is there just one age of man, some things follow a decaying curve, others an increasing curve, and lots of things such as environment and success at any one venture alters the slope of those curves.

Nor is there just one kind of man… my mate was a dog in heat at the slightest whiff of female panties, I’d get random hardons 10 times a day and cream my sheets in my sleep, but most girls were just too much fucking work and hassle man, so he’d be off around town chasing ass and I’d be off on a road trip on the BSA A10 with a few fivers and a waterproof plastic 35mm film can quarter full of speed in my pocket, with a WW2 gas mask bag at my side with various things like toilet roll, smokes, grass, small flask of brandy all individually sealed away waterproof in plastic bags, thing was, it was an either or proposition, even if both appealed equally, you couldn’t do both.

We both got in trouble, we just got in different sorts of trouble….

Only once in my life ever did some guy walk up to me in a pub and start having a go about his daughter, and that was a case of mistaken identity, and only once in my mate’s life did someone walk up to him and accuse him of being the guy draped across the jukebox in a pub 100 miles away, playing  whole lotta love over and over, and that was mistaken identity too.

From an evolutionary perspective it makes perfect sense of course, by all means make the young males restless and risk taking, but don’t have all of them going off in the same direction to try and climb the same cliff and fall broken like lemmings at the base.

So the years pass and the changes take place and I’m still here and still pretty much in one piece, and people start saying shit like I am grounded and balanced and a little fucking kooky but mainly capable of speaking sensibly, well, guess what, any truth in that is down to me having been able to blow that steam off and not fuck up *too* badly along the way… grounded is a good word, earthed, in an electrical sense, able to discharge those potentials and not have them build up and change what I am and how I am.

The shrugged shoulders and the quick laugh and the comment “you ain’t changed have ya, cept for looks of course ya old bastid” is only something you can say or that gets said to “grounded” people, everyone else burnt out or short circuited something else or got fried along the way… betrayed by the beast within because they couldn’t find a way to let it out.

I never met the twat the US Senator John McCain is a great example of that, and the same could be said of someone that several people have invoked with me, Hunter S Thompson, politicians everywhere are the same, same as psychiatrists and social workers and bankers and lawyers and every other fucker trying to change the world instead of letting themselves change and let the bones lie where they may.

I have a close relative, he is somewhat older than me, and from school onwards he was one of those that always did the right thing, had a career that progressed ever upwards with a salary to boot, he is now semi retired and his pension is more (see previous article here about money a week or so ago) than most people earn, and his dear semi-retired wife has a pension that is twice as big as his.

So what does he do today, he bunks off work early to buy some antique hi-fi, and stashes it at an aunties house, he’ll sneak it back into his house some time in the next month or six when his darling wife is out, and stash it with the rest of the antique hi-fi he collects, so she won’t notice.

His own fucking money and he is afraid to spend it on shit he wants, and yeah, I know that drill, had it with the psycho skank ho ex myself, ah well, she didn’t want to give me enough hassle free cunt, but her daughter did (for a while) so what’s a bad boy to do but let that pressure out and pork them both.

That’s the thing see, you can’t escape or beat the beast within, it was a standard opening / pick up line of mine in a place that I lived that had a lot of UK/euro girls visiting, “What are you running away from babe?”

They’d deny it, and I’d just smile and say everyone who comes here is running away from something, and they’d start talking and later that night I’d be emptying my balls into them.

My earlier mentioned mate had already done his pussy chasing by then, I was just getting started, and boy that shit comes a million times easier and more successfully in your early twenties than it does in mid to late teens, plus you don’t have that previous small town pussy history to hold you back or make you fuck up.

That eerie feeling you get of destiny sitting on your shoulder, it’s just the beast within, you can all live life a little differently, and still be true to the beast within, or you can live it any way you like and try and deny it, and be constantly betrayed by it.

I can’t fuck an 18 year old now, no matter how legal it is, no matter how much fun it is, because I know that no matter what she says today, she will change with time, and unless she is true to the beast within, some time in the future it’s going to betray her, and then she will get pissed, and then everyone else better watch out, ask me how I know, this is where FRA’s and DV allegations and prohibited child contact and all the rest of that shit comes from.

And what are the chances of a modern wimminz not betraying the beast within, because that is the one thing they have in common with the modern young man, it’s pretty much illegal to be true to the beast.

YouTube is disappearing up it’s own ass while everyone is missing the point and whining about monetisation and lack of ad revenue for their wonderful channels, meanwhile there are some guys out there that walked the walk and talk straight shit, because they were true to the beast within, and just ate up and owned all the shit that caused them.