ArgusI can be a sour and sarcastic old cynic often sometimes. True~! But my heart and intentions are as pure as the driven snow, regardless of appearances.


thank God(s) that’s over and we can get on with it.

I promised Scottie a refresher on the Basic Tools of Thought—summarised as bullets here but expanded further down—

  • Everything must either be,

  • or not-be;

  • nothing can both be and not-be

—simple enough if you use ‘be’ to represent ‘exist’ (either physically or as concepts).

Which then leads us to the mind-bender’s worst nightmare:




(actually, strictly speaking, they cannot exist). Read on …

  • if you find an apparent contradiction
  • look to the premises, because
  • one of them (at least) is wrong.

And that’s it. Lesson complete.

Full ahead all engines and damn the torpedoes. No?

No. That YOU can think for yourself and spot contradictions all over the place doesn’t mean anyone else can, or will. You now have to be very careful.

devil-1I was told once by a genuine Crank that—

In the Land of the Blind

the one-eyed man is King.

The two-eyed a monstrosity

—and from memory ‘monstrosities’ often got burned at the stake. Brrrr … which is why thinkers need be careful. CLUE: it’s never a good idea to argue with the man holding a gun.


or even if not in doubt: always look for contradictions. If you find one (okay, when you find …) check your own safety before pointing them out.


too is a favourite peeve of mine. This is how people get what they want at your expense. Mind control (MC) doesn’t necessarily mean implants in the brain. MC simply means someone else getting you to do what they want, often without you realising.


is Mind Control—do you really believe in spooks in the sky watching your every move with a mind to consigning you to eternal hellfire (or endless sex with gorgeous houris)?

If you do … you are being milked—whichever of the unlimited unique pathways to Salvation it is**.


* Mind-bender = someone seeking to control others.

** You missed it, no?  Unlimited means ‘lots of’—unique means ‘one only’.





remember that you can’t trust any bast (oops) bugger.


paranoia talking, or am I in fact an unsung prophet~? (Put me down for prophet, please—the successful ones make great profits).



The Melbourne school boy who consumed Greentime Natural Coconut Drink in December 2013 experienced a fatal anaphylactic reaction after it was revealed the imported product from Taiwan contained undeclared milk content, reported the Sydney Morning Herald.  

To read more (different source): CLICK HERE

coco 1.pngI was minding my own business swearing quietly at the computer when The Spouse came galloping in with an article in one of her magazines; which prompted me to a quick Googleising; after which I felt inspired to spread the Good Word.*

Apparently it is a widespread (means common) practise to dolly up the pure coconut juice with cow juice.

I didn’t know that, although The Spouse refuses to drink any ‘pure’ juice that comes from a can or bottle or packet—she has a few problems of her own and has had reactions from such. Original container or nothing.

coco 2.png


* Namely that you can only trust yourself (and some selected others, of course—their adoption tried, grappled to your soul with hoops of steel etc etc)



and dammit, too.


from this morning’s New Zealand Herald (online)

“Technology is making people more relevant than ever to New Zealand businesses. We’re seeing CEOs put people at the centre of their growth plans, then plan technology needs around that.

“Technology is enabling younger people to bring their views to the table sooner. The younger generation are able to embrace changes in technologies quickly and use them effectively. That is essential for companies and gives younger people an opportunity to get them involved at a higher level sooner.”


does this tell us?



‘cos I’m just a dum ol’ dog out to graze, as irrelevant these days as any other


great mind from the past.


or not … is ask yourself “What do all those words mean … for me?” (Me, here, of course being thee, not moi).

Even more better yet—if you have personal downlines (okay, kids) then you might just be tempted to have a rethink. And if you do go to the referenced article it uses a term I’d not met before: > STEM <

—which when I looked it up I discovered means ‘Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics’. Ouch.


that there’s no mention (or even oblique reference) in that definition — of Safe Rooms, Minority Acceptance, Minority Group customs, religious tolerance, gender/sex, warm fuzzies, the moral right to parasitical usurpation etc etc ad nauseam. Why is that, do you think?


they managed to fit in—right at the end of the article—a Snowflake term. Did you spot it? Only a Snowflake could make a virtue of simple good manners …


… common decency, and uncommon sense.

To read article from source: CLICK HERE






after this—

Scientists point out, however, that 60% of modern-day people still lack the enzyme for breaking down lactose and just don’t know it, meaning that they experience a wide range of digestive and allergy problems which they have never had attributed to their milk-drinking.

Another argument that has been recently been debunked is that drinking cow’s milk increases bone strength and prevent osteoporosis. In fact, the skeletons of our Palaeolithic ancestors, who did not drink milk, reflect great strength and muscularity and a total absence of advanced osteoporosis, possibly due to the fact that research has shown we can get as much calcium as we need from grains and vegetables alone.


—whatever you will. I tripped over this topic en passant but feel that it should be shared; milk-intolerance is quite widespread (Spouse has it) but few sufferers actually know that they have it.


Dammit! I still love lattes!


In New Zealand it gets better.

Much better—

Instead, people who are lactose intolerant can’t digest the main sugar —lactose— found in milk. In normal humans, the enzyme that does so —lactase— stops being produced when the person is between two and five years old. The undigested sugars end up in the colon, where they begin to ferment, producing gas that can cause cramping, bloating, nausea, flatulence and diarrhea …

To read from source: CLICK HERE

—because we have ‘free’ milk delivered to schools for the kids to guzzle. (I have no idea if such enguzzlements are compulsory these days—they were decades ago and if a kid didn’t have a note from his parents explaining, and he refused, he got the strap. Not good, but all that lovely milk/strapping made for the world’s best rugby players, no?)

Given that nothing is ever actually ‘free’ I wonder whether this is really an act of kindness by the benign government & charitable donation by the milk-factory people … or simply an acceptable way of disposing of excesses without fouling the waterways?

‘‘New Zealand is the largest exporter of dairy products in the world but at home we’re not drinking as much milk as we used to. We want to be the dairy nutrition capital of the world and this starts with our kids.”

to read more of the ‘for’ :  CLICK HERE

to read of the ‘against’   :  CLICK HERE

And be advised that I’ve only ‘blitzed’ these articles—I just haven’t the time to investigate in any depth.




or wotever. On my favourite blogs some interesting philosophical viewpoints are exchanged. This being WordPress, exchanged in a seemly manner …


touched obliquely on the topic of immortality. I was reminded of a short story I bombed out with in 2003, and after much rabbiting about in the deeper regions of my hard drive tonight eventually I found it.


and anyone who can be bothered (not many make it through to the end, I tells ya) it is. Read it and ponder—



He called me a vindictive witch just once too often.

Vindictive? No … possessed of a well-developed sense of justice, maybe, but hardly vindictive.

All I ever want from life is a fair shake of the dice. Cheats always make my stomach hurt. Seeing a rat like him pervert the system to fleece the innocent made me want to spit. Having him use the system against me was even worse.

The biggest mistake of my life was marrying him.

The second biggest mistake was expecting a fair deal in the divorce, he is a lawyer. Sure, I fought tooth and nail for my rights, and fell completely. There was nothing I could do — the final ruling wrapped me so tight I squeaked and left me with nothing. I had to go to him, cap-in-hand, and beg. It’s hard to be vindictive when you’re humble.

Vindictive? No, definitely no.


Oh, yes.

I’m a witch.

Not your traditional ‘black cat and broomstick’ witch, more your 20th century witch—high tech and hold the eye of newt.

I do have a cat, though. She is my beloved familiar and has been with me since I was a little girl; she is my family, my darling, and now my whole world.

As far as witches go I am successful despite the choice of husband (even witches can be blind sometimes.)

He knew, of course — the slimeball knew I was a witch, right from our wedding night. Some things had to be explained, and of course he wanted proof.

Well, one thing led to another, and his wealth multiplied as a result. Not that I minded. What witch wouldn’t want to be married to a highly successful lawyer, top of his field?

But as time went by his demands grew, and grew, taking over until he was utterly obsessed by his own ambitions. The more he prospered by my efforts the more I saw what he really was, and the more I grew to despise him.

But there was one thing I always denied him, one thing he coveted above all else. There was this one thing he craved, for which he pleaded, threatened, bullied and begged. This I would never grant, no matter how much he groveled or blustered. Sure, it was within my power, and his desperate efforts to force it became the final nails in our marital coffin.

So, just as he’d planned, I went to him on my knees, begging.

He was munificence itself. Sure, I could have access to the house. Sure, I could take my things away—my Book of Shadows, my waxes, my herbs, my robes and iron dagger. Sure, I could even have the house itself, if I wanted. I could have the house and pool, the garages and buildings, the trees and gardens, the stables and fields and woods and beach. Sure, I could have the cars and bank accounts and investments, he would relinquish all claims to everything … if only …  if only I would make him immortal.

Of course I said no.

So he called me a vindictive witch.

Vindictive I have never been. But I, too, have a limit, and can be pushed just so far. He pushed me too far with those words on top of everything else.

So I gave him what he wanted.

He was over the moon with my decision. Overcome with emotion, tears streaming down his face, blabbering with gratitude — gave me everything. Lock, stock, barrel and bolt.

The fool!

Sure, it cleaned him out. But he knew, and I knew, that even if it took a lifetime he would recoup his losses. In three lifetimes he could be the richest man in the world. In four lifetimes he might be ruling the world. We both knew that.

The imbecile!

He’d thought that by withholding immortality I was being vindictive. But vindictive didn’t come into it — not until he pushed me a little bit too far. Vindictive only began once I’d given him what he wanted.

He wanted immortality, “the same as you witches”. 

Immortal? I’m not immortal. No witch is immortal. Sure, we could be, we can choose to live for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years, but no witch would ever be immortal. Given the choice of immortality or instant death, every witch in the world would opt for death at once, without hesitation.

Immortality, that ancient dream of mankind—and this oaf thought I’d withheld it from spite! Hell, I wouldn’t wish that dream on my worst enemy. Not even on him. Not until he threatened to let my cat starve slowly to death, locked in his house … and then I saw red.

So I granted his wish.

Certainly, he will prosper.

He is too clever to fall in love.

He will enjoy thousands of years of affairs and adventures, but will never be fool enough to love. In a hundred years, lonely or otherwise, he will be one of the wealthiest men on earth. His personal accounts will rival those of sovereign nations; and centuries of endless success and adulation will never tire him.

He will be enjoying the fruits of my labours aeons after I am gratefully dust myself. Millennia after I have shuffled off this mortal coil he will be drinking the finest wines and sleeping with the cream of the world’s women. Long after my atoms have dispersed on the winds of time and change he will be fearlessly conquering anything anyone can throw at him. And why not?

He is immortal.

As part of the package I made him invulnerable as well. Nothing in the universe can harm him. He stands at the very peak of development, too, physical and mental. His brain is razor sharp, perceptive, brilliant; and he is the perfect specimen of manhood. He has it all.

The idiot. 

He won’t begin to see the cracks until several million years have passed. By then he won’t even remember my name, but my atoms will be laughing, laughing, laughing.

Laughing as the sun slows down, expanding as it cools. Laughing as our friendly little star becomes a swollen red giant, drying up the waters of this planet, killing off all life.

All life-forms, that is, except one.

The surviving perfect specimen of Homo Sapiens will be able to reach out his lonely arm from the seared surface of our planet and touch the face of the sun itself, so obscenely large will it have grown as it dies.

His agonies will last for billions of years more, then billions of aeons, until in about three trillion trillion years the universe collapses inwards upon itself in a reversal of the Big Bang from whence it sprang.

Eventually it will collapse into a singularity, a dimensionless point of infinite mass. Somewhere in that nowhere will be a demented yet perfectly formed human being, alone and endlessly screaming in the midst of an eternal non-existence.

Vindictive witch, he’d called me.


But vindictive … … ?

— END —

—or not. Your call …



just now, in my ‘Drafts’

pcbut never posted. I’ve since lost the source and can’t be bothered looking it up, but it’s just as valid today.

Actually more so, Snowflake—but you wouldn’t understand that. For the rest of us: the future is what we allow it to be. Ideas …

Prime Minister Rutte recently issued a warning to migrants who refuse to assimilate into Dutch society. Of course, Rutte was not referring to the thousands of migrants from former Dutch colonies in the Dutch East and West Indies who had no problem adopting Dutch culture, religion, and social manners. Rutte, who faces a 9-point lead by Wilders’s PVV, had some pointed words for the Muslim migrants in the Netherlands. In an interview with «Algemeen Dagblad», Rutte, in what could have been a speech by Wilders, said:

«I tell everyone. If you don’t like it here in this country, get out, get out! That’s the choice you have. If you live in a country where the ways of dealing with others annoy you, you have a choice, go away. You do not need to be here.» Rutte had a particular disdain for those who «don’t want to adapt… who attack gay people, shout at women in short skirts, or call ordinary Dutch people racist». Rutte left very little doubt about to whom he was referring, the recently-arrived Muslim migrants, «There have always been people who exhibited deviant behavior. But something has come to pass in the last year where we, as a society, should have an answer. With the arrival of large groups of refugees, the question arises: will the Netherlands still be the Netherlands?»


Perhaps the above cartoon might be more apt if the word ‘Islam’ were to be deleted, and ‘Snowflake’ put in its place?





Whose gains? Don’t ask.pc

Whose health? Twofold answer: yours, and their bank balance.


knowingly had the one flu jab in my life. That was at a time when despite all reservations I simply could not afford to take even one day off. Reluctantly I got The Shot …

shot shooter.png

… and of course went down with the worst blasted flu I’d ever had. (I do very little by halves, when I get a bug I get a bug. I got bugged. It was days before I surfaced again and ages before I was fit to face the world.)


Let’s talk about you.

Why not you visit these two links—




—then ponder the ancient question so very old (and rarely asked by anybody who should be asking) (that’s you, Bub) there’s even Latin for it: