Invisible Man

Inclusion is an illusion.

I became invisible a few years ago. People stopped seeing me. They stopped hearing my voice. I became a non-person. Now I’m just a well-kept secret known only to my nearest and dearest.

Anyone stumbling across my little blog here might briefly wonder if I’m a scientist who has developed a new magical disappearing potion. Sadly, no; my disappearance wasn’t of my own making. Someone else imposed it upon me. It was a remarkable trick – I was rendered disabled by a drunk driver and this in turn made me disappear.

Fortunately for me, I’m happy to live in the shadows. I take comfort in my self-imposed exile and find solace in my disengagement from society. My home is now my sanctuary, and entry is by invitation only.

There’s nothing for me in the outside world anymore. I already spend my days racked with physical and emotional pain. Why seek to increase my misery?

When we’re born, we’re given a tank of energy for dealing with the trials of life. Some are bigger than others. Mine must have been huge, but now it’s empty, and it cannot be refilled. Therefore, I have no fight left in me. I no longer have the fuel to travel along life’s bumpy roads.

Some might say I can’t possibly be happy in my current situation. To them I say happiness is merely a point on the scale of human misery. When your life has been spent in a state of magnitude 10 on the scale, a move to magnitude 8 can be considered a marked improvement. So, in effect, I’m comparatively happy since my position on the scale has improved.

Nobody out there misses me. Why would they? I’m nothing to anyone and I’m in nobody’s debt. There’s absolutely no demand for my limited skills, and no one seeks an audience to engage me in some sparkling repartee.

Numerous prescription medicines help me to control my pain, and maintain at least some semblance of sanity. I have prescriptions which try to regulate a bodily system sent spiralling out of control by a disease few doctors have ever heard of and fewer still understand. Unfortunately for me, it is a tragic failing of our educated classes that their ignorance grows in line with their knowledge, and when they speak from the former it’s people like me who pay the price.

There is an irony about my medication that is not lost on me. I have always sworn to and maintained a policy of absolute abstinence regarding recreational drugs – even Cannabis – yet I now follow a daily medicinal regime wherein I take enough prescription drugs to drop a horse.

I’m going to stay here in the shadows where nobody can see me. I won’t invite you to join me because I have nothing to offer but misery, bile and hatred. But that’s my problem, and I won’t burden you with it.

Well, thank you very much for reading this nonsensical raving. I sincerely apologise if it has increased your misery score – that was not my intent.

Good luck to you, and come back soon if you’ve nothing better to do. I’ve always got more nonsense to impart.

It could be worse...

I consider myself to be generally one of life’s unlucky people. It seems no matter what’s happening to me; whatever can go wrong does go wrong.

But it could be worse. I could be one of the people below who have suffered bad luck on a mental scale.

The Desarmes family: These poor buggers lived in Haiti. In January 2010 a magnitude 7 earthquake hit the country, causing catastrophic damage and killing somewhere between 100,000 and 366,000 people.

The Desarmes were among the lucky ones. They survived this disaster. They must have thought God was watching over them that day.

But their home was in ruins. The earthquake had reduced many buildings to rubble.

So, they decided to get away from this nightmare. They went to stay with their son in Chile.

In March, there was a huge earthquake in Chile. It destroyed their son’s house and they all found themselves sleeping in his garden.

I can’t help thinking that when the ground started shaking that second time they must have looked at each other and said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

Tsutomo Yamaguchi: 1945, Mr Yamaguchi visited Hiroshima. As he stepped off the tram, BOOM – an atomic bomb hit less than two miles away. Carnage ensued; death and destruction on a horrific scale. Yamaguchi-san suffered burst ear-drums and temporary blindness.

He spent the night in an air-raid shelter, and in the morning he went home. His home was in Nagasaki.

After taking a couple of days to recuperate from his ordeal, he went back to work. Sitting in his supervisor’s office, he regaled him with the terrible tale of his doomed business trip. His supervisor sat there, enthralled, as he told him all about the unholy super-weapon that had wrought such unimaginable devastation on Hiroshima.

Then he heard a horribly familiar noise as, just a couple of miles away, a second atomic bomb fell on Nagasaki. I’d like to think at that moment, he looked out the window and said, ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…’

I once thought a bird had it in for me because I was shat on in the same place, two days in a row. Yamaguchi’s tale kind of puts it into perspective.

He survived, by the way. But I bet everywhere he went after that, people would grab their stuff and bugger off out of town, just in case.

Perez Hilton - Twat

Who the fuck is Perez Hilton? More importantly – who the fuck does he think he is?

I’d only ever heard the name until this year’s Celebrity Big Brother. Now, as a result of me having been forced to watch that pap by my daughter, I learn that Perez Hilton is, in fact, a twat.

Like many celebrities these days, he is entirely without talent, purpose or relevance. He is simply famous for being a twat.

Perez Hilton’s not even his real name. It’s a “persona”; his real name is Mario Armando Lavandeira Jr. So, although he has no talent, and no right to be on any stage, he has given himself a stage-name. Twat.

He was a big fat cunt when he became famous. He was obviously bullied and unpopular, so he decided to use the internet to take it out on celebrities. He became a “celebrity blogger” – one of those sad little fucks so desperate for attention from famous people that he realises he can only get it by being a twat about them.

He’s lost weight now, and he looks even more freakish. He’s got a midget’s head on a normal body. I guess when you’re that ugly it can make you bitter. Also, like many fatties who became thin, he has gone from putting the chips into his big fat gob to having them on his shoulder instead. So watch out all you famous people: You have so many things that this freak wants but can never have so he’s going to piss on you instead. He’s like that kid at school who puts someone’s girlfriend down and calls her ugly just because she turned him down when he asked her out. Twat.

Now on Celebrity Big Brother he has attained new levels of twattery with his desperate attention-seeking and reprehensible behaviour. He’s been so bad; so annoying and so fucking vile that he’s got me cheering for Katie Hopkins.

Did you read that? This toss-bucket drama-fuck wank-crust is so bad that he’s got me liking, and cheering for, Katie Hopkins. KATIE HOPKINS!!!! The shit-spewing harridan who lives – and has gained celebrity – for being nasty and saying horrible things about everybody - this twat is actually worse than her!!!

I beg of you all; for the sake of my sanity and my television, vote this shit-nugget off that show so I can go back to never coming across his ugly fucking face except in my worst dreams.

He’s a twat.

Does Google work for the CIA?

When I first started using the internet, I used Yahoo when I wanted to search for anything. It fulfilled all my search-related needs; I typed in what I wanted and it came back with a list of pages pertaining to my search.

I didn’t really notice Google being launched in 1998. Why would I? It was just a search-engine, wasn’t it? And – as I’ve already pointed out – my search needs were already being fulfilled by Yahoo.

Then Google took over the world. It made it easier for us to find any information we wanted. It gave us satellite images of places; street-level views of roads and buildings. It provided instant, rough translations of web pages from any language into another. It was so successful that it actually became a verb.

So, how did it become so huge so quickly? Well, according to Pravda[1], Google has been a key participant in US Military and CIA operations. These have involved torture, as well as subversion of foreign governments. There’s also been US Military aggression in countries like Afghanistan, Iraq and Pakistan.

The Washington Post[2] reported that Google provided customised core search technology for Intellipedia, a highly-secure online system enabling 37,000 US spies and other related personnel to share information. Launched in 2006, it grew rapidly so that within just three years, it had more than 100,000 user accounts editing 900,000 pages at a rate of 15,000 edits per day.

The company had also been linked, through Google Earth, to US spy and military systems. The technology for the software was originally developed by Keyhole Inc, which was funded by a venture-capital firm called Q-Tel, which itself is openly funded and operated on the CIA’s behalf. Google acquired Keyhole Inc in 2004.

If these reports are accurate, then there is a real connection between Google and the US Military and CIA. This poses questions about just how private our online activities are. There have long been concerns and accusations about Google monitoring us and sharing our information. These take on added significance in light of the company’s connections with one of the world’s biggest military and spying organisations.

Big Brother is, indeed, watching. Privacy has become a fond memory we try to kid ourselves that we still have. Our lives have become files on a network server. How long before these files control our lives? How long before they can be manipulated to profoundly affect our lives?

Scared…? I guess I would be if I gave a shit.

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[1] http://english.pravda.ru/opinion/columnists/17-06-2013/124841-google_cia_nsa-0/

[2] http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/08/26/AR2009082603606.html

Posh Twat

Admit it – just from the title, you knew this was about David Cameron, didn’t you? Even without knowledge of my deep-seated, absolute hatred of the man, you will have read the title and his would have been the first name to pop into your mind.

How do I know this? Am I psychic?

Well; no, is the honest answer. It’s a simple matter of universal truths really. David Cameron is posh, and he’s a twat; so if somebody puts those two words together, his face is going to pop into your head quicker than a fat aunty running at a wedding buffet.

Even his name – David William Donald Cameron – cries out, “I’m a silver-spooned posh bastard. I’m better than you; and that’s all you plebs need to know. Now lick the shit off my shoes and be off with you before I get the Naughty Paddle.”

He really has got one of those faces just made for punching. It’s perfect; and it’s even the right shape to allow maximum contact between fist and face. That jogger missed a trick when he ran into him and just pushed him out of the way. He should have nutted the smarmy bastard.

The utter nob, even now, still tries to make out he’s just “a normal guy”, and a man of the people. His dad, Ian Donald Cameron, was a stockbroker; mine was an electrician. His mom was the daughter of a baronet; mine spent her days lying on her bed in her nightie, scratching her arse while she watched television and ate Jacobs’ Cream Crackers. So, how dare he compare himself to me?

David went to an independent school whose alumni included Princes Andrew and Edward. I went to a school where the cloakroom always stank of piss, and if you could actually identify that day’s dinner they gave you a certificate and suggested you take up forensic science in later life since even the grumpy old buggers who served it didn’t know what it was.

In many desperate attempts to look normal, he has had himself photographed on public transport; or in a departure lounge with his wife, Samantha. Strangely, both – usually crushed with people – were conspicuously empty. You just knew he had an entire entourage behind the camera who had arranged a thorough clean of the seats and who burned his clothes afterwards. Public transport for us normal folk involves taking your life into your own hands. There are gangs on our buses, who will attack you if they even think you might have glanced in their direction. There are old women who stink of piss on our buses, and they always sit next to you. The same with the shit-smelling drunks who spill their cheap beer on you as they drop onto their seat, then spend the rest of the journey talking loudly and incoherently at you and spraying you with a mixture of saliva and cheap booze.

Anyway; I almost forgot why I started writing this. It’s because I read today that Cameron is saying there will be “chaos” if the country changes economic direction. As if it wasn’t chaos already, with public services stretched beyond reasonable limits and a welfare system in crisis thanks to the bumbling, vengeful, spiteful little bastard that is Iain Duncan Smith and his nasty little war against all those masses who wouldn’t take him seriously as the leader of the Conservative Party and who wouldn’t vote for him.

Cameron has his eyes fixed solidly on the General Election in May. He wants a second term in office, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he resorted to anything to get it. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to change the law, citing that he needs to stay in power until the economic system is fixed, and thus puts back the election while all the time telling us that it’s us who are in control and who have the power.

Just as I did in 2010, I implore the people of Britain to go out and vote. And when you do, then vote for anybody; even the Monster Raving Loonys; but for the love of God, please don’t vote for the Tories or Lib-Dems.

What Really Happened to David Kelly?

The first words out of my mouth when I heard David Kelly was dead were, “He was assassinated.” His death was too convenient.

David Kelly was a weapons inspector in Iraq who famously cast doubt on the British Government’s reason for invading the sovereign nation that had never harmed or even threatened harm to us. He knew about the infamous “sexed up” document claiming Saddam Hussein had Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMDs) and told a reporter it simply wasn’t true.

Now, that was a bit inconvenient for Tony Blair. You see, little Tony had his nose halfway up George “Dubya” Bush’s arse. And, one night, while Dubya was sticking it hard to our criminal cunt of a Prime Minister, he told him that he must do whatever it takes to justify invading a sovereign nation or he was going to get a spanking.

So, like any good little bitch, Tony did as he was told. He lied and cheated and forced Britain into an illegal war.

But, hey – what did he care? He had one eye on the tens of millions he was going to make very soon. I don’t know how; or where the money comes from. All I know is that Tony Blair’s bank balance has benefitted hugely from his time as the leader of our nation. And they say altruism is dead…

Anyway; David Kelly was potentially a black eye in waiting for little Tony and his ambitions of hegemony. So, it was a good job he died, wasn’t it? It was nice of him to kill himself right then, eh…? Very convenient…

He was found slumped against a tree at the edge of a wood near his home in Oxfordshire. There was a bloody pruning knife on the ground beside him; and blister packs that had held 30 Co-Proxamol tablets, with only one left. There was also a bloody Evian bottle.

So, he committed suicide then. All the evidence is there. He had cuts on his arms; there were the empty blister packs; and the water.

The problem is, there were no fingerprints on the knife – David’s or anybody else’s. There were none on the blister packs or the bottle either. He wasn’t wearing gloves and there were none found nearby.

So, David cut himself just a bit. Then he took all those pills except one…I guess he was full. Finally, before falling softly into death’s cold arms, he wiped all his dabs off the knife, blister packs and bottle. Of course – he wouldn’t want people to think he’d killed himself, did he? He might get in trouble for that. Hmm…

So, what really happened to David Kelly? Who really killed him – because I don’t believe he killed himself? Answers on a postcard, please.