‘cos the house of worship wouldn’t let him in. Bummer (for him) so he wanders out and pops off the nearest innocents in his fit of childish ire. (Honestly, some people~!)
“Justice Minister Christine Lambrecht said right-wing extremism “is one of the biggest threats facing us”. She vowed to get tougher on online platforms if they carry threats or material that incites hatred.”
to read from source: CLICK HERE
Admittedly if there were no bloody religions at all there’d be a few less of these silly things—but people have been slaughtering each other over the name of the True God(s) for thousands of years. It ain’t gonna stop now, and with the improvements in modern killing tools can only get more newsworthy*.
HOW WOULD I,
given God-like powers, stop it?
Not a toughie, not at all … quite simply I’d teach the kids (too late for most ‘adults’, I’m afraid) how to think. And I’d give them the freedoms to think with … then let ’em loose.
And that, Sir, Madame, or Undecided … would be that.
They won’t buy it, you know …
* Every cloud, hey?
EVEN AFTER MANY
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?
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.
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.
and thank God that
I never attract enough readers to trigger conflict. In the meantime, here’s a snippet I’ve just snup—
“I like having evidence. I hate having to take stands for Biblical morality without evidence. If I can use the evidence for the Big Bang, the fine-tuning, the origin of biological information, the Cambrian explosion, the habitability fine-tuning and irreducible complexity to argue for theism, and then argue for the resurrection based on early sources and minimal facts, then I should have the exact same quality of data when defending moral values. If the Bible says something, I should be able to look at the best research and find that the Bible is correct.”
—and I offer it as grounds for discussion. I’m a busy dog myself … but if anyone is interested I snup that snippet from—
—and if you go there … be gentle.
(Now I’m for it …) “Yes, Mr God, Sir?”
“I knew before I created Creation that you’d be writing that—thank you, Dog.”
“You’re welcome, Sir.” (Phew—thank God He’s not grumpy this time …)
NOR DO I CARE MUCH
about the circumstances of this wee snap which I just snup—
—from a U-toobe. Doesn’t this audience look absolutely fired up and ready to sally forth to fight the dragons of their generation? (As we were/did, once?)
OR SHOULD WE
look a bit closer, do you think?
I came in late to this party and as a simplistic simpleton I do see one probable answer—
- brief but truly ferocious nuclear war
- followed by a lengthy nuclear winter
—which reminds me of a haiku attributed to Hirohito immediately after the Japanese surrender in WW2:
“After the violent tempest
The sun rose radiantly …”
Or, we could all end up On The Beach (and reset the clocks?
Perhaps our religious friends have an answer —>
— God will step in and save us in our hour of need*
Sadly for that reviewer … I can imagine it.
“Last to leave the table, blows out the candles!”
* Yeah, Right …
NONE TO DO IT
Prof Tab recently posted (headed ‘five hundred yards‘)—
read Prof: CLICK HERE
—and it’s sobering stuff. Thank heavens such can never happen again, today we have experts in charge.
In charge to lead the charge … what was that song from a while back~? Oh, yes …
“… and who was it that led the charge, that took us safe to the rear …”
Yep. That’s what leaders do. Real leaders, that is: our leaders (all salute!).
I just re-blitzed the Prof’s D-Day post, again. Equally as
depresse inspired. (Don’t go there—it’s far better for the average punter to watch John Wayne’s version or similar.)
You still not sure what the ol’ Dog is on about?
See below for a clue … (you can’t miss it, it’s labelled “CLUE” in big letters—and if by now you’re feeling a bit miffed, I confidently predict that you are a voter. No?)
Cannon-fodder is cheap (and expendable).
Actually getting up off your arse and thinking ain’t cheap. It takes effort (but cheer up, if you run low on personnel there’s always the draft …)
* Sit out it in the rear, secure in the knowledge that once the bombardment has reduced the obstacles/defences to bits of old scrap all the troops have to do after (paddling ashore) is dry out their socks and stroll through to Berlin … you know: numbers game
Q: what is it about filth that so excites the godly?
A: to each their own (Now go look up ‘fetish’ … I’ll wait …)
To many millions of good citizens these guys (herewith, below) are the very epitome of godly achievement and divinious example:
… and now, more wow
These holy men are demonstrating the old adage about filling a need with a product, in this case
God (oops) —
—although a water blaster might be more appropriate.
To each his own. I may never get to Heaven myself but at least whilst I’m down here I shan’t have folks begging my exit forthwith (“Get the hell outa here ya stinkin’ mutt!”).
SO HOW DID THE ANCIENT
Romans cope? They had less earthy gods—
—who sometimes were shape-shifters with earthy appetites—
—as in this Pompeian representation (recently dug out of volcanic ash)(barfed by Vesuvius centuries ago) being one Miss Leda and her god.
For myself I say get rid of those human cesspits above … I’ll worship Miss Leda any day—as a path to ecstasy I think she has the market cornered.
THE CATHOLIC CHURCH
also has a history of unwashed hair shirts (apparently the more verminous the closer the wearer to God). To each his own … but again, given options between hair shirt, cattle dung shampoo, or Miss Leda:
(what do YOU reckon, Padre?)*.
* Apologies, Padre, no choirboys on that list …
(oops, apologies, typo)
a few weeks back, on a walk out in the countryside (you know how it is—winter, soggy sheep, disconsolate cows and strict grass rationing when they need it most) (raw turnips—yeuch!).
the bugger turns up again as the summer growth dies off to reveal it … not that I wanted my sole back. I no longer believe in soles (aaaah, soles!)
But then I got all metaphorical and philosophicule and stuff:
Is this The Lord revealing to me, in metaphorical or otherwise allegorical form? My prodigal sole returneth, and stuff? And then I thought “Stuff this stuff, Dog—there’s a whole universe out there, so give it away to those who need it and carpe the diem!”
A RELIGIOUS ENLIGHTENMENT
even a satori, no less. But—
—sadly there was no-one around to bite. Dammit, never a witness when ya needs one—so if I wrote a Book of Revelation, who would believe me? All I’d need would be just a first devoted few and ever expanding MLM downlines. Tax breaks too, for Dog’s sake.
Hell, Dog—play ’em right and you too could live in a palace and have a fleet of subscriber-funded jets …
So I went home where The Spouse made me a coffee using the miracle of electricity and piped waters … so join with me in praising Our Lord, from whom all blessings flow!
“Is this sarcasm, Dog? It doesn’t become you …”
Wag wag wag wag …
(Image at top courtesy of me—it was the glue shed along with my sole …)