Death chatteringthis blog (‘Cassandric’) is on its way out.

On a good day I score at best a couple of comments, and on a really brilliant day anything up to seven visitors. I guess that even paint drying must be more interesting; so—

—so I’ll just carry on with my other blog “Ragnarok or Bust” and allow this beast to slither into oblivion. (However, I shall carry on haunting the unfortunate …)


Wow~! Progress, Argus …




etc etc etc yada yada yada and so forth ad infinitem. Now impedimate your mind with this snippet—

 “… Of course,  considering its accuracy, age, and the fact that its artistic style was not consistent with what was known from the era it supposedly belongs to, it was thought that what has come to be known as the Nebra Sky Disk was nothing more than a hoax or forgery, and prehistory professor at the University of Bristol, Richard Harrison, would say of it:

When I first heard about the Nebra Disc I thought it was a joke, indeed I thought it was a forgery. Because it’s such an extraordinary piece that it wouldn’t surprise any of us that a clever forger had cooked this up in a backroom and sold it for a lot of money …”

—referring to this beast   down finger


—which I just snup from CLICK HERE (being a link supplied by one of my very most favourite cranks, a guy called Graham Hancock (who does tend to get around a bit, look, see for himself and burble about what he’s seen as if his conclusions actually make any sense).

Which they do …





Conform, you damned disruptive bastard, and you’ll get your stipend (it means Meal Ticket) for life. (Plus due Hons, of course …)


have actually found (and believe to be The Truth), and …

BOOM BOOM—and you promptly cop both barrels. No holds barred, no ifs, no buts … you are history, Bub! (Just ask one Virginia Steen McIntyre*).

Try this—

down finger

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—and conclude that here’s yet another idiot too thick to gauge which way the winds are blowing and reset his sails accordingly. (They pays the price, hey?)

Snippet above was snup from my very favourite crank—

—whom I personally believe to be a helluva lot more correct than the mainstream. Eventually progress will prove us right, in the meantime you may cast asparagus upon our utterings and mutterings, verily, until the tenth generation etc etc yada yada yada … and never forget that the prophets of (current**) science state only the Gospel Truth.

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* And anyone else suicidally stupid enough to bleat the truth about what they have found, believing it to be The Truth.

** Fashionable.



images explaining the construction of the Giza pyramids—namely, how they got those cute little blocks up there:

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(wait for it) …

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… one of the best renditions of the Christian fishy symbol. Ever~!

Both available on U-toobe.

Just click ’em.

Or, don’t click ’em …

dodo  dodo                                                                  dodo



years. In the Navy (the RN*) there was an expression for mess tins, and even in our kiwi navy the expression lingered long after mess tins were dodofied by progress. But as far as I know the expression “Sweet FA” lingers.

Many youngsters believed it to mean ‘sweet f**k all‘ (which it does, actually) but really it is abbreviation for ‘sweet Fanny Adams’ — the terms are synonymous anyway.

I’d long known the broad derivation of the expression without knowing that Miss Fanny was in fact an eight-year-old girl; I’d read (and believed) that she was a damsel of professional affections who’d been murdered/butchered near a naval Dockyard. Quite wrong, it seems she was an innocent wee lassie who fell afoul of a respectable monster, who in the full sight of the Omniscient Omnipresent reduced her to her component parts. Not nice … but God set it all running fourteen thousand million years ago** and who are we mortals to judge? His will be done, etc … no?

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What is especially poignant here is the phenomenon of Teddy Bearage, whereby even after a hundred plus years people are moved enough to … but then again, I’ve been observed  quietly lurking in graveyards (tidying up a bit) myself.

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Ya gotta keep Gods yer happy. (They just loooove children …)




* RN … used to mean the  Real Navy … once … even navies are subject to Darwin’s laws.


Ram leftor didn’t, but it seems I be one.

It’s amazing what you stumble over whilst following trains of thought—a miracle!

“What’s a miracle, Mr Argus? Are you being sarcastic again?”

(Oh no … Little Virginia, loaded for bear … I’ll ignore her, she might go disappear herself.)

I was following some stuff that sets in context my own schooling and stumbled over a word meaning ‘self-taught’. (It was in a Wiki article on an author I’d read back in the heady days of people running about with flowers in their gun barrels.)

But I shan’t tell her that. Let her fret, it’ll twang her curiosity. Little girls are nothing if not curious critturs—

“Oh! You’re blogging again … definitely sarcastic, then.”

And just like that she’s gone, possibly off to ruin someone else’s morning and leave ’em thinking that perhaps a second coffee wouldn’t go amiss … bitch …selfie


LINE  dodo

rings my bell

“Watts had another mystical experience while on a walk …”

—without disturbing my composure. As a proselytising atheist I’m disturbed by anything that rocks my equanimity; the single line above triggered memories from long ago.


had ‘mystical’ experiences.

Nothing that challenged my sanity enough to believe in Gods*.  I’m happy to accept that what I experienced might have been triggered by a release of slobber in the brain—to which I believe most ‘mystical’ experiences can be traced.

Here, have thee a nice religious experience—

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And ponder the thoughts of the wee infant being sizzled by God (even more so if that graven imagery be bronze) (ouch …).


Where the hell would we be without them?

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“Argus! Will you PLEASE stop making folks think?” **



*   Take your pick—there’s oodles to choose from.

** Don’t fret, Mr God, Sir … that ain’t ever gonna happen!