The Blog of The Damned.
Another summer, another tooled up time for ‘the agents of fear’ to feast on. At least until the snow starts to fall and be it, a new bird flu that could easily mutate into another Ebola stylee virus. 1001 Jehadi Knights, or just another face of Jesus on a cream cracker, I always find myself rhetorically enquiring as to wether, any of it really matters?
Maybe it’s supposed to be comforting, or something like that however,if it simply serves as a small stain on my skin, that in its consequence, is barely of any lasting interest, then I will simply wait until it fades and is forgotten during the relentless passage of a few other “real time” events.
I worry more about all the lies, that our so called leaders systematically bleat, while hoping to confuse and deceive us. Do you clearly remember the new Northern Powerhouse, that we were all promised and then latterly conned over, well that seems to have suddenly morphed into just another dream of a mythical Jerusalem. The city in the clouds, which promises an earthly paradise but delivers only a fraction of that fallacious utopian agreement.
“How so”? Asks the believer.
Well, that’s gone the way of Copernicus and is now, simply a pile of ashes, that will be blown away only to be forgotten, just as the ‘agent of fear’ hoped. Memory is therefore metaphorically dissolved, amid all the blatant acts of diversionary clutter, which are brought to our attention by the relentless news broadcasts, liberally punctuated by ‘Weather reports’ and ‘Travel updates.’ Any intelligent soul, can easily see through subterfuge and calmly awaits the next horror, that will inexorably be along at any moment, only to be blown up into “a crisis,” if required.
Sadly, that will continue until the end of days.
Women’s World Cup Update
The Japanese Women’s Football team are about to gain revenge for the dropping of the second one at Nagasaki and they just keep on smiling, as they totally destroy the finest examples of womanhood, that country A,B, or C for that matter has to offer up to the sacrificial altar of recognizable success, in the male dominated world of soccer.
I use the term “soccer” because it gives the women’s game, a distinct separation from the blokes version of the same thing. Blokes football seems to have taken on the uglier characteristics of professional wrestling.
“Don’t look David, it may affect your sperm count but a passing feather seems to have knocked down, that rough tough striker chappie.”
The U.S.A, are going down I suspect. Megan Rapino is suspended and there goes the fire. However, then there’s the German team to contend with and they are something else.
Didn’t watch much footy on the box, just the odd game until the 2012 Olympic Games, when having quickly become passe about winning another Gold, Silver or Bronze and in desperation, I began to watch the Women playing football.
“What a revelation, supoib.”
They don’t listen to me but somebody should weaponize it and put a game on every week, then see what happens.
The English women are more successful than the blokes at present and probably will be for quite a while into the future, if the Under 21’s team, that got knocked out of The European Championships, yesterday is anything to go by…….
Bring on the dancing horses…… semi finals here I come!
Women’s World Cup Footie!
The Women’s World Cup, is fascinating and I’m really enjoying the whole thing. I don’t watch much Football these days. Played it. Been there. Seen that, even bought the fucking T. Shirt but I’d hate to miss a single game of this competition.
It’s class on legs and it seems that they take more real punishment than men and don’t fake injuries so easily.
“Tough women are where it’s at.”
Wayne Rooney may be ugly but he’s not as classy as Megan Rapinoe. She’s an American midfielder / winger, by the way.
“Babble, babble, babble” and really nothing more to say. There it is, “all the news that fits,” in a few lines, and I’m going now.
Excerpt from “Powderfinger”: Epilogue
The release of the laughter, prompted and then allowed for a more somber air to pervade the room. They talked long into the night, mostly about old times until Alan fell asleep in his chair. Then, as the dawn broke over Barton and the first shaft of sunlight played on Alan’s smoked glass window pane, Nick quietly got up out of his chair and made his way down to the front door and opened it. The new day flooded in and as the cool air hit his senses he stretched his arms upwards and cast his eyes, over the waterway towards the dark husk, that was the remains of No.1 Shed.
Then suddenly, just as Nick reached down and was going to start the engine, a great cry rent the still air and made him look up. “Kaw,” insisted the single note and then again, “Kaw,” it called. Nick shuddered slightly as he felt the past, encroaching on his present.
Excerpt from “Powderfinger” Winter : Chapter 36
Alan, was up in his room, listening intently and staring blindly at the canal, tears flowing unheeded down his face. It was all over but at what price?
To his surprise, “Powderfinger” did not strike, instead the creature, gently slid a fingertip over his cheek and with the precision of a surgeons scalpel, carved a three inch split in his face. Arch screamed a scream that was all but drowned out by a crash of thunder overhead and instinctively raised his hand to protect himself from any more damage. This was a futile gesture, as on the next sweep, the bone like blade, went right through his hand and cut two fingers away, as he tried to deflect the strike of this unearthly weapon. His wide eyes looked at his injured hand, now missing two fingers with a certain incredulity, there was no blood. He could see the bones, inside of what was left of his fingers on the injured hand, but before he could react, he felt the searing pain of his thigh being rent apart. In shock, he promptly fell to the ground letting go of his radio, which dropped onto the floor of the bridge, where “Powderfinger,” now fully corporeal, simply stepped on it.
Floating slightly above the ground, the creature had to be eight feet tall and those talons, that it was now pointing at him, looked lethal. Suddenly, the entity, was right there in his face. In the time it took mere mortal’s, to blink an eye, it covered at least fifteen feet and was now inches away and staring straight into his soul. The murderous malice, was plain to see and Alex thrust his fork forward but too slow. “Powderfinger,” swirled out of phase and the fork smacked hard into the bridge wall. In surprise at the jarring, Alex lost his grip and it fell onto the parapet, then clattered over the edge. There was an ominous splosh, as it was swallowed up by the canal.
11.26 a.m and the full horror of last night “chicken out” by the British public, hasn’t quite sunk in yet.
“Better the monster you know,” appears to have won the day and now all hell will break loose. “Look out Joe, £12 billion of cuts are coming around the bend and heading for those, who can barely afford to keep the wolf from the door.”
Of course, that doesn’t matter because “I’m all right, Jack” seems to be ‘trending’ and it’s always easy to blame somebody else, the bods in this country do it all the time, it’s become second nature to the English and it’s spreading. At least Scotland bucked the trend and kicked a few of the bastards, up the arse.
Niggle Forage, The Millipeed and Nick de Clog, will now skulk off having casually dropped us in it and wash their respective hands of the whole debacle. Simpering alien weasels a go-go, with the side serving of a Bacon Butty, thrown in for good measure.
* “I fell in love with an alien being, who’s skin was jelly and who’s teeth were green.
She had the big buggereess and the death ray glare, feet like waterwings, purple hair.
I was over the moon, I asked her back to my place and then I voted for the monster’s from outer space.”
“Isn’t Science-Fiction wonderful,” you all cry?
No not really but sometimes I wonder, “What planet are you from?”
*Thanks to Johnny Clarke.
Excerpt from “Powderfinger” : Winter, Chapter 35
“According to Connie, ‘Powderfinger’ has the ability, to move from point to point, at phenomenal speed. The diary clearly states, that he can get from A, to B in the blink of an eye.”
So it was settled, ‘P Day’ was next Wednesday. At 7.30 in the evening, the four of them would attempt to rid the canal bank, once and for all time, of ‘Powderfinger.’ Their lofty aim was to restore peace to the area, after all these long centuries of murder and malevolence. Nick raised his glass and uttered the sentiments they were all aware of. “Here’s a toast to you Constance, wish us well.” The die was cast, there was no going back, they all raised their glasses, touched them together and downed the respective contents in one. Then, they turned and silently peered out of the smoked glass window, at the saturnine vision, that was Alan’s disconsolate view of The Ravens Gate Bridge and it’s attendant works. It was a grim sight that met the eye, in the deepening dark. The rotted outbuildings of the factory, when viewed in silhouette, appeared like an almost surreal image of a lost city, against the darkening sky. It made them all shudder as the inherent bitterness of their drinks washed over their tongues, before they swallowed them down.
Outside, in the darkening twilight’s long shadows, a spectral creature was prowling along the towpath, as if it were seeking something in the mirk. Then, it suddenly paused, raised it’s head and sniffed the air, as it passed close by the room containing the small group of conspirators. It let out a small, almost silent hiss and then, gyrating furiously, it disappeared into the gloom of the advancing night.
Excerpt from “Powderfinger” Winter : Chapter 34
Alex was lost in his own thoughts regarding ”Powderfinger” and more to the point, how he could win back his self respect, by catching this monster.
Again, she peered into the eyes of the others, searching for the perfect moment, to continue her recantation. “Furthermore, I can confirm that all these bodies have been murdered in a similar fashion, stabbing and slicing with a particular weapon.” With that, she reached for the box, that she had almost forgotten to bring with her and slapped it on the table, in front of her. She slowly opened it and retrieved Melissa Gilbert’s model of the weapon, that she and her team, believed had been used in these killings, both ancient and contemporary.
With a dramatic flourish she brandished it around in front of them, demonstrating a stabbing and slicing action. “Whoa there Jinx!” cried Alex “You’ll have someones eye out with that if you’re not careful!” That comment broke the tension and Jinx, with a chuckle, placed it down on the table for Nick and Alan to investigate. “There it is and you can make of it what you will but I think that you will have to agree, gentlemen, that it’s an awesome, though well balanced implement of death.”
Katie Hopkins excels in “Der Mittfords,” an hilarious look at the everyday day lives of folks in, Middnatzy.
“A small mistake” at the centre of the maelstrom, causes a Twitterati sensation and Madma Goebblz, played by Miss Hopkins, gets it in the neck. Fitting really, after her claiming to have willfully killed her six children after meeting Mr. Adolf, played by Eugene Farage, at a bunde meeting in The Home Counties.
Just as an aside. You may be entitled to suspect, that there are a few slates missing off this particular roof and that it would be kinder to simply starve her to death, by cutting off her publicity machine and turning the damn thing off.
Next thing, she’ll be going on about Crazy Lord Janner and something, which he claims to have forgotten about. The Law can be an unfortunate victim of public opinion but we can’t allow the morocracy to win on this one, or any other such cases, because down that road Chaos and Anarchy await.
“Mummy, was O.J. Simpson guilty?”
“Well, I thought he was but the jury said otherwise.”
“So he’s innocent?”
“Yes dear, that’s the law.”
*REMEMBER TO VOTE FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN AND LET THE BASTARDS KNOW HOW YOU THINK.
Excerpt from “Powderfinger” : Winter, Chapter 33
He stood on the bank, next to The Ravens Gate Bridge and looked at the brooding black outline of the ornate structure, as it crossed over the still waterway. The rotting metal archway merged into the giant wrought iron gates with their Cast Iron Ravens perched upon its peak, reaching skywards. In this light, the factories silhouette looked like that of an ancient city, long deserted and forgotten by men. It was as if the memories of those who had once lived there, had somehow become dulled and oblivious to it’s existence. As he stood by the water, looking again at this bridge in the gloom of the new dawn’s light, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of ominous foreboding. Frank, shuddered involuntarily and then speedily made his way, along the steadily warming gravel, towards the huge barge that was going to deliver the death blows, to this old Industrial Installation.
Mercifully, Frank, was only aware of the initial cut, he was gone from this world before the Raven’s stripped the skin and flesh from his bones, leaving him on the ground, in a soup of bloody gore and bird shit.