maandag, juni 20, 2005

Nudists for Public Broadcasting

Too...hot...to...blog. Must reach...cheesy Portuguese bar...across road...before...die of...thirst...

If where you're reading this from isn't as stickily humid as BXL and you still want to faff about on the computer, you might want to have a gander over at Lenin's Tomb, where Lenny's taken note of the return of fragging to the U.S. armed forces. Len's also done a tidy little bit of investigative blogging (well, if the newspapers aren't going to do it, someone has to, even if it's a long dead revolutionary socialist) on a fraudulent piece of black propaganda that appeared in Scotland on Sunday. It appears the Scottish National Blood Transfusion Service was asking for 20,000 extra pints of blood on account of the expected mass slaughter at the upcoming anti-G8 protests when the Jubilee 2000 nuns and Nudists for Public Broadcasting get out their Samurai swords and get all combative-like (no, wait, it was Samurai swords we were supposed to be bringing to May Day 2001, wasn't it? I get confused so easily in this sort of weather) - or rather, as Vlad's found out, they weren't asking anything of the sort.

Meanwhile, back in Metropolis, the Bionic Octopus has posted a stout defence of rudeness:

Recently I tried to short-circuit this hideous cycle by responding first to one of these idiots, and suggesting that instead of wasting everyone's time spouting unexamined shite based on no information at all, she do some reading and inform herself as to the barest characteristics of the systems in question. I wasn't terribly polite. I didn't call her a fatheaded ignorant fuckpig as I would have liked, but my tone was both stern and dismissive; she in fact merited dismissal.

You can imagine the result. Offended, reprimanding posts from all corners, earnestly invoking the Need To Hear All Sides, Need To Respect Each Other, Need To Maintain Civil Debate, &c. And on they plunged heedless, headlong into a completely fucking useless rondo with this necrotic tart, which has been raging full-on for four days and shows no sign of abating.

The bellowing termagant mollusc is quite right. Sometimes there's no thrill of the chase, no cut and thrust that one sometimes, sometimes enjoys when sparring with conservatives. Sometimes they just have to be jabbed in their fat-cat pudding belly and told to shut their dribbling cock holster.

And with that, comrades and friends, I'll shut mine.