U.S. of Eu~?


Folks in the not-so-United States of Europe are beginning to wake up.

But will it end in tears? Or may yet some divine presence come forth to line up lions, lambs, and menus at one big happy table?

Fresh in this morning.

The pressure is once again on the German government now to approve eurobonds, which have been rebranded as corona bonds. Again, Berlin is refusing. And again, Europe is presenting a rather miserable image in a difficult crisis.

The EU wasn’t doing all that well even before the crisis. There were divisions between North and South, and between East and West. And there was the burgeoning renaissance of the nation-state and the return of internal borders due to the refugee crisis …

Without wishing to suggest any Nazi leanings—it’s high time the natives everywhere reasserted themselves and took back control within their own borders. No, not concentration camps etc; quite simply a choice for mendicant ‘refugees’—

  • If you want to stay with us
  • then become one of us;
  • or bugger off.* 


* Meaning: go back to the sewers you fled. Otherwise adapt to us and stop trying to make us into you: YOU are the beggar here—change, or get out.



It’s good any day … boom boom!


versus accuracy. Or, horrors, is it really scarcity of resources? You know, the enforcers running around ensuring that local labour gets first crack of the whip? Try this—

Screen Shot 2018-03-30 at 08.28.26.png

—photograph of Jesus of Nazareth. Taken by one of the very few actual time-travelling cameras. (If you’re pondering that guy’s smile of all sweet accord it’s because as God the Omniscient He alone of the locals knows what a camera is.)

But I think it’s a fake.

‘They’ did some exploration (of God’s earthly likeness) and came up with this

finger down


Screen Shot 2018-02-10 at 19.12.32


—as the most probable image of J of N and it’s not much like the blue-eyed Aryan type above. No? Unless, of course, science has it wrong and/or Big G was being a bit playful with the witnesses. (But anyone who can feed thousands of good folks with just a couple of buns and kippers won’t get it wrong.)

Bet that silly hat hurts.

It won’t catch on, you know … J of N as a fashion guru? He should stick to making toys out of wood for little kiddies … oh no, is He yet another Rolf Harris in lamb’s clothing?

big J

“So I said to Argus: ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense’ —regardless of appearances.”


to go gobble my own lovely Hot Cross Buns …




I’m not the only dog barking at the skunks up the tree. And yes, so long as it’s a free country (sort of) I’m allowed to hold my opinions, and even better … state them.

So: in my opinion the Islamic floods inundating modern Europe with their savagery and cave-age ‘thinking’ are no accident.

This tsunami of ‘refugees’ is finally being recognised as warfare, and now by folks other than me—

Screen Shot 2016-11-05 at 13.06.38.png

—and although I haven’t visited that link yet, I can guess what it might say. (2008? I guess things haven’t changed too much: plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.)

Screen Shot 2016-11-05 at 13.07.16.pngMORE AND MORE OFTEN

this one name (Soros) keeps popping up. Originally in the ‘crank’ literature but now more and more often in the mainstream. Not good.

The nice altruistic Mr Soros is quoted as saying to the effect that he wants Europe to be all just one big happy family, living in a cosy house with no doors.

He doesn’t want France to be a nation, he wants the French to be provincials in a large country called ‘Europe’. Likewise Germany, Britain, Spain, Poland, Hungary and every other bugger. Why?

Don’t ask me—I’m just a dum’ old dog. A dumb dog who also happens to be a Conspiracy Theorist of the First Order, who sees patterns in events and mysterious hands pulling the strings of so-called ‘independent’ national leaders.

Perhaps in the nice Mr Soros we have identified one of the string pullers?


to not change the subject, have a nice cheery poem—


The Dying Gladiator

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

I see before me the Gladiator lie:

He leans upon his hand–his manly brow

Consents to death, but conquers agony,

And his drooped head sinks gradually low–

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow

From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,

Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now

The arena swims around him–he is gone,

Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.

He heard it, but he heeded not–his eyes

Were with his heart and that was far away;

He recked not of the life he lost nor prize,

But where his rude but by the Danube lay,

There were his young-barbarians all at play,

There was their Dacian mother–he, their sire,

Butchered to make a Roman holiday–

All this rushed with his blood–Shall he expire

And unavenged?

–Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!



I think that at the Teutoburg Forest they did just that … and stayed pretty well glutted and gladiator free for a long time. (Precedent set?)


and throw the invaders back out?


Will we throw the invaders back out, into the arms of George Soros and his ilk?


— Roll over, ye Goths, stick all four paws up in the air and say after me—


“Take me — I’m yours!”


Cerberus & Hydra