Monday, August 31, 2009


Their bodies litter our environment, their cadavers are scattered every which way. The agony of their collective demise festers in our dreams and makes us wake up sweating. In the dark of night you can hear their screams as the oven's heat engulfs them.

I am an altruist, I sacrifice for my fellow man.

How did all those dead Keeblers end up on the counter? Who casually tossed them and their dark-complected friends the Oreos there, for each and every one of us to discover with dismay on Friday morning as we stumbled into the kitchen for a cup of coffee?

It is evil, pure evil, I tell you.

But I am an altruist, I sacrifice for my fellow man. I have been disposing of their corpses in the proper manner. Despite their being dry, and sickly sweet. So that you don't have to.


They pretended that they were elves, but really, who was fooled? They resembled little fat faced trolls more than any other creature. Even orcs, or goblins, perhaps. They were evil, sheer evil. Mealy sandy evilness with little chocochips. Now inanimate, the fates have rendered them flat and crumbly, as if crushed by a heavy burden.
How precisely like little cow-pies, or dried-out road kill.

On Friday I manfully plowed my way through a pile of their bodies. So also on Saturday and Sunday, when I just happened to wander in - I never come to the office on the weekend, what strange compulsion pulled me here? What sleephaunting power forced me to wend my way hither?
But no matter. I set about disposing of the Keebler carrion with a steeled heart. Crunch crunch.
More milk, please.

I am an altruist, I sacrifice for my fellow man.

It is Monday now, and still there is no end in sight. Alas, all the milk is gone, and I am caffeinated to the gills. Yea, I am veritably zipped to the very tits.
And STILL there are those Keebler corpses, requiring attention, lest my co-workers have to suffer and run screaming from the nightmare that is our office kitchen! I shall continue, I am strong. I am an altruist, I sacrifice for my fellow man. The horror, the horror.
Did one of them just twitch?

Several hundred down, several hundred more to go.

Too much sugar. I need to rest a while.

Friday, August 28, 2009


Imagine beefy frat-boys from the Mid-West. And there you have our sales department. They are big and very white.

Now imagine these wholesome chaps engaged in a spirited soft-ball game. In three digits of heat. And there you have our company picnic.


The city was very nice, probably around eighty degrees. The picnic was at a park in Marin county, however, where it is twice as hot. Maybe three times. Quite miserable.

As I do not play sports of any kind (too old, too pudgy, too lazy, too grumpy, and far too sensible), I was one of the very few males not to be reeking of beer by three in the afternoon.
I do not wish to suggest that these men are all alcoholics -- despite my having to fiercely drink them under the table the last time they were in town -- but it is remarkable that none of them reached for the bottled water, fruit juices, or soft drinks.
Coors, Michelob, Corona, Becks, Fat Tire, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, Boddingtons, Stella Artois, Amstel, Heineken, Anchor Steam, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Budweiser, St. Pauli Girl, Fat Tire, Old Peculiar, Dos Equis, Undsoweisser, ...........

I stayed in the shade of the trees, far from the game, and very close to the garlic hummus. Most of the time the people nearby were women.
I cannot for the life of me understand why anyone would chose to play sports, instead of staying close to the hummus and the women.

At one point I lost a debate with a four year old boy, the son of the CFO. You do not need to know what the subject was, but that kid will go far. He has the vocabulary of someone twice his age, and is remarkably mature.

[He too was NOT enthralled by big pink men running around in the heat.]

I have an entire year to prepare for my next debate with the little fellow.
This time I'm gonna win.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Years ago one of my favourite tobaccos had the contrived exotic name "BENGAL SLICES".
It was based on the Balkan Sobranie mixture, pressed into dense cakes, and sliced. Rubbing it out for smoking gave one a cool and marvelously pongy smoke. The handsome tins fit easily into a breast pocket, and were much in demand by friends as stash-containers. The product disappeared in the nineties, I believe. All I have is one empty tin to remind me of it.

There was no relation whatsoever with Bengal.
Nor with the Bengal Lancers, whose colours graced the lid.

In the early eighties I would smoke Bengal Slices late at night in two GBD squat bulldogs. It was very pleasant to look out over the schoolgrounds in darkness, hear the sound of a train from the tracks several blocks away, sip from a glass of sherry.
When I left Berkeley I stopped smoking the slices, I don't know why. Perhaps the specific combination of black black night, freight transport sounds, and oloroso, was necessary to enjoy the very fine reek.

From the mid-eighties to the early nineties were an interesting time. I lived in San Francisco under somewhat trying circumstances, in a jumping part of town.
Enjoying something so wholesome as a glass of sherry late at night was not part of the program.

Samuel Gawith's BALKAN FLAKE
A blend of fine Virginias and Latakia from The House of Samuel Gawith & Co. Ltd.
Kendal, England

This is a thin sliced flake of well pressed tobaccos that has a nice aged funkiness in the tin. It looks like folds of rotten peat moss. It is a fine product.
That said, it is not particularly exciting, though enjoyable.

Balkan Flake needs to be smoked slowly lest it eventually bite the tongue. It smells very nice - unless you are a woman, or a little child, or a foreigner, or neurotic, or a non-smoker, or a smoker with issues. Or allergic. Or traumatized from an abusive childhood. Or a degenerate. Or deficient in the imagination department. In which case I feel a little sorry for you. You must not have any fun.
It reduces to a very fine white ash. If you mix it half and half with a real Balkan, it will still reduce to a very fine white ash.

It is more exciting if you do indeed mix it.

The term Balkan, to Samuel Gawith & Co, seems to mean a goodly presence of Latakia. Everyone else takes it to mean a generous inclusion of Turkish, however. Once you know this, the Gawith products are not disappointing - you weren't expecting the reek of Smyrna, Samsoun, or Yenidje anyway.

Enjoy it with a glass of amontillado or oloroso late at night.


NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


A warning:

The ragamuffin, drunken people and psychotics are forbidden to enter the Tower.
No smoking at non-appointed spot.
Prohibit carrying tinder and exploder (banger, match, lighter), restricted cutter (kitchen knife, scissors, fruit knife, sword and so on) and metal made appliance.
Prohibit carrying animals and the articles which disturb common sanitation (including the peculiar smell of effluvium).

This is what a sign outside the Oriental Pearl TV Tower (東方明珠塔, official name: 東方明珠電視塔) in Shanghai (上海) tells visitors.


Sage words, forsooth!

My office building ALSO discourages ragamuffins, drunks, and dipsomaniacs, and smoking is expressly forbidden at non-appointed spots. Carrying swords, bangers, or exploders is likely frowned upon as well, and I believe that they might look askance at the peculiar smell of effluvium too.

Strangely, I do not feel like my freedoms are under siege.

Even though, psychically at least, that sign is indeed on the wall. I can feel building management radiating the words of awe, but I am at ease. These aren't my habits, those words are not directed at me.

I have never had the urge to truck in the peculiar smells of effluvium.

[Savage Kitten would beg to differ on this point, but she isn't here. So again, I am NOT involved in any effluviastic smells, no matter what she might say. Let us move on.]

Years ago, my reaction would have been different. I can remember a sign in a Chinese-run hotel in Kwala Plugog that informed me "forbid to light joss in toilet". When I saw it, I had a sudden vision of guests holding spontaneous incense parties in the crappers.
An amazing concept, yet, strangely, charming. So very old-world.
I too wished to light huge bundles of joss and dance in the smoke. Twirling gay streamers of bathroom tissue. Combustion and fragrant love!
Ah, the sweet smell of sandalwood and glue!

When I asked the hotel-clerk about it, he explained that he had told his old man (the proprietor of the lodgment) to paint "piss-off, damn' hippies" on the wall, but his father had his own ideas - "forbid to light joss in toilet" sounds so much more diplomatic than "hey, all of you Western gadabouts, please do NOT smoke pot whilst using the loo, we know what you're doing in there!".

Undoubtedly a wise decision.

And I suspect his father may have soul mates, as far as phrasing signs is concerned.

"Tender fragrant grass, how hardhearted to trample them."

The person who composed this plea is undoubtedly a gentle romantic, and wishes to touch your soul, rather than fiercely chastise. Alas for the tender grass. Take heed, take heed, and please soften your cockles. Thank you.

It is likely that he too would wish you not to light joss in a toilet. It is an unfit thing to do.

If that necessitates, engenders, or enables, a peculiar smell of effluvium, so be it.

Monday, August 24, 2009


The Bay Area Zionist Conspiracy held a meeting last month, in the Illuminati Building at the intersection of Mason and Bilderberg Streets.
Several items were discussed in detail.

Ruling the world by proxy.
Subverting film festivals.
Exposing Ann Coulter as a crypto-Jew.
Stealing organs.
Perfecting our Jedi-like powers of mind control.

It was, of course, a grand success. Especially that last item. Which is why you are now reading this blog. Keep watching the pendulum as it swings back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. You will send me all your money.

I shall not be surprised if some idiot cites this post as proof that Jews control the universe.


Now, gratuitously, I must mention that some of the Jews, crypto-Jews, semi-Jews, and Anarcho-Masons in the Bay Area have started another blog. More Jedi mind control, rest assured.
Keep watching the pendulum as it swings back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. You will send me all your money.

So far, there are thirteen contributors:
Chaim ben David
Friar Yid (not Shlita)
Gland 'X'
News Service
The back of the hill


Which leads me to mooncakes. As Steffy, one of the contributors of Pro-Israel Bay Bloggers, writes on her own blog, this is the time of year when mooncakes become available in Chinatown.
[This blog:
This post: ]

Mooncakes are round pastries of the approximate size and shape of a tuna tin, composed of a thin dough crust surrounding a sweet filling which is usually augmented with a preserved egg yolk - when you cut the mooncake, the egg-yolk will by its appearance in the centre recall the full moon. The lunar image is not the only reason for the inclusion of the egg-yolk, however. It is an expensive and luxurious ingredient which adds a richness to the taste, and by its slight saltiness accentuates sweetness of the main filling ingredient.

Many people slice the cake into thin wedges to eat with hot tea. Others, like myself, simply cut it in half, so that we may pretend that we're going to save part of it for later, but then we decide to have another cup of coffee, and we guiltily scarf down the rest of it. So good!

I particularly like lotus-seed paste mooncakes and redbean mooncakes, both the one yolk kind and the two yolk kind. Back in the eighties I would always buy them from the Eastern Bakery (on Grant at Commercial), but for the past decade or so I have usually bought the brands that come four to a sealed tin. They aren't necessarily any better, but I have a thing for decorative tins.
Eggroll cookie tins, mooncake tins - so useful, so nice, don't you agree?

Savage Kitten, of course, thinks that I'm nuts. I have far more empty tins than I need.

I've tried pointing out to her that if there ever is a flood, they will make handy flotation devices, but she just looks at me funny. She is NOT convinced.
So much cynicism and disbelief, alas, what is this world coming to?

Keep watching the pendulum as it swings back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. You will send me all your money.


NOTE: Mooncakes are usually not kosher by a very wide margin. Not only is lard often one of the components of the dough, but frequently it is also present in the filling. But there are brands from Hong Kong and Taiwan which use peanut-oil instead. The list of ingredients will clarify the issue, but to the best of my knowledge none of the many brands available has a hechsher.

You could also make your own.


I've often thought of creating a filling based on sugar and crushed almonds. But given that I live so near C'Town, I have never gotten around to it.


Friday, August 21, 2009


Can I see it, can I see? I want to touch it, squeeze it! Oh pretty please, prod prod prod poke poke poke!
This in high-squeal by a petite female person.

No, it's not what you think.
Unless you remembered that sebaceous cyst I mentioned a while back - then it is exactly what you thought.
I had an itchy episode yesterday at work, and now my evil twin skin Skippy is no longer trying to fight his way out of my upper back. News of which at first severely disappointed Savage Kitten (she is FASCINATED by Skippy and so wanted to be there when Doctor Jew lanced it), but then curiosity gained the upper hand. Prod prod prod, poke poke poke.
It's the spirit of scientific inquiry.


Cut to this morning.

When she wakes up she is full of beans. When I wake up, I am crusty, grumpy, and zombie-like.
I had barely gotten back under the covers, with my cup of coffee on the side table, when she came energetically bouncing onto the bed to tell me all about the virtues of baking soda.
Apparently it's great for cleaning. Works real well on caked-up crud.

Savage Kitten, being a contractor rather than an employee, has two extra days off while her company goes on a retreat to eat tofu, hug, practice trust-building exercises, thump drums, and commune with the dolphins within.

So yesterday, she decided to tackle the kitchen floor.
Probably as a result of those beans.

The "caked-up crud" on the kitchen floor was paint from the several times I've manufactured protest signs in there. Acrylic, brightly hued, as well as transparent. Plus gesso.

She accused me of being rather like a dog that went where it shouldn't, and needed cleaning after. When I pointed out that ALL middle-aged men are like that, she grabbed something to roll up and hit me with.

Smack, smack.
Smack, smack, smack.

'Oh it wasn't all THAT bad, and after the paint hardened it was kinda decorative.....'

Smack. Slap. Whomp. Mediaeval.

'But sweetness, I often do the dishes and other stuff.....'

Mediaeval, big time. A flurry of whacking.

Fortunately she's only a small rowdy Chinese girl, rather than one of those big threatening overweight white she-oxen from the Midwest. And a rolled take-out menu is not particularly effective for chastising.
So I merely grunted and shifted sideways.

An hour later, putting myself together for the day, I asked her where yesterday's shirt had gone - I needed the little notebook in the pocket.

"I put it in the laundry. It probably smelled nasty, after what you squoze from the cyst."

'So you put it underneath stuff to keep me from grabbing it back.....'

"Not true at all! Why do you always think the worst of me, you paranoid old git?!?"

'Because I know you.....'

"Hah, you don't KNOW me!"

And right at that moment we both recalled that scene from Reno 911 when the two female cops were called to a disturbance at the whorehouse - the pervert who previously had thrown a tantrum over "juices, juices everywhere" was tied naked on the bed with a giant dildo strapped to his forehead.
As soon as he saw the two cops he started yelling "don't you judge me, you don't know me, you don't know me!"

Every time anybody said anything in that scene, he would holler "you don't know me, don't you dare judge me, you don't even KNOW me!"


Dear reader, if you saw someone buck-naked with a giant dildo on his forehead, you would probably believe that you knew him far too well, and you didn't want to know anything else - certainly enough to judge him, right?
Doesn't a giant dildo strapped to the forehead tell you more than you really need to know?
Enough, by a wide margin, to be thoroughly judgmental?
Yes, you know him. You know him plenty.

As I left I promised her that if I EVER found her spread-eagled with a giant dildo strapped to her forehead, I wouldn't judge her. Stand off to the side, maybe, to have a better view - but I would not jump to any judgments.

'I know you, woman.'

I could hear furious howls of outrage behind me as I left the building.
Something hit the door after I closed it.
Coming home tonight is gonna be interesting.

Thursday, August 20, 2009


Yesterday I gibbered on about Calvinists, as you probably noticed.
One of my regular readers (Spiros) also noticed the posting, and commented: "I am a goy and I am intensely disloyal to the little baby Jesus."
Which gave me the title to today's post.

"I am a goy and I am intensely disloyal to the little baby Jesus."

It is quite possible that whatever search-programs or blog-aggregators are favoured by the born-again fundie morons will now turn up this post, because of the key-word in the title, and yield me tonnes of angry vituperation.
Misspelled, ungrammatical, totally batty.

And just ever so entertaining.

I like reading hate mail.

People who write hate mail often say goodbye to mister Spell-check, and hello to mister I-need-medication.

Yes, I am a sadist - I enjoy poking at idiots.

And I too am intensely disloyal to the little baby Jesus.


Neither the little baby Jesus, nor his evil twin grown-up Jesus have any place in my life.
I have not found him, I have no intention of finding him, he can remain lost for all I care.
If he ever finds himself, I'm sure we'll all find out.

I suspect he's actually in an ashram south of Pondicherry contemplating his navel. The sign on the door says 'gone fishing', and his mail is being returned by the current tenant - Jesus doesn't live here any more. Stop forwarding your questions, he really couldn't care less.
He's almost certainly blotto on bhang, like ninety percent of all the self-indulgent westerners who seek spirituality in India. He probably doesn't know what day it is, and may not even realize what month.
"Tewdally out of it, man, like wow!"

In other news, today's profound religious revelation is that navel lint is caused by the alignment of stomach hairs - as you move and twist, the stomach hairs guide the minute textile fibres towards the navel, where they come to rest. At the end of the day there will be a fuzz-clump there.

The innocent baby Jesus probably did not have navel lint, but grown-up evil Jesus does. Once he wakes up from his zotsed-out stupor, tell him that someone else already figured it out. Stomach hair. Waxing solves that problem. Hallelujah.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


Yes, you read it correctly. But not ALL of them. There are some Protestants I do not despise. That being, of course, my ancestors. Who were Dutch Calvinists.

Willem van Deursen (b. 1542) and his son Peter (b. 1575), left Brabant and fled to Haarlem to escape Spanish repression. In 1607 Abraham Pietersen van Deursen was born there, who would emigrate to New Amsterdam (d. 1678). His son Isaac Abrahamsen van Deursen was born in the new world in 1635.

[Why the names Abraham and Isaac? Well, Abraham left the place of his fathers, and journeyed into a land not his own..... ]

The descendants of Abraham remained fairly religious till a few generations ago.
I do not know if my great-grandfather (who was descended from Abraham on both sides, and whose wife was also descended from Abraham) still attended church - I doubt it, but I am fairly certain that my grandfather did not. Same goes for my mother's side of the family.
Consider us Jack-Calvinists. Run-aways, if you will. Force us into a church, and we'll burn the damn' thing down.

I mention all this because of Ann Coulter.


In her latest venomous piece of dreck, ms. Coulter writes:
"Then there's Barry Lynn, alleged "Christian minister," whose stock in trade is to denounce any mention of religion anyplace, anytime. Look, I'm a Christian minister, but even I have to admit that the sight of a kindergartner praying is terrifying to most folks. (The first person to post Barry Lynn's bar mitzvah photos or birth announcement (mazel tov!) wins a free copy of my latest book, "Guilty: Liberal 'Victims' and Their Assault on America.")


The only reason for her sneering dig at the reverend Barry Lynn is that he wishes a division to be maintained between church and state - which, in the eyes of the odious Coulter and many of her fans, smacks of disloyalty to the little baby Jesus. Something apparently only Jews are capable of.

What Coulter and people of her ilk need to understand is that if we lessen the boundary between Church and State, people like me will come busting out of the woodwork. And we won't be happy.

Heck, I'll gladly lynch any number of members of the heretic denominations that threaten my irreligious freedom - Anglicans, Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Adventists, Southern Cretinist, whatever. The only version of Christianity I would even want to see empowered is Dutch Calvinism. I am not particular about which obnoxiously stubborn and opinionated pissant version of it, either - I've got relatives all over that creed, and most of us haven't been Church-going in generations.
But still.... shtrenge Dutch Calvinists are infinitely superior to all those Anglo-protestantisms. Punkt.

Yes, I really do find most English-speaking versions of Christianity to be loathsome. Totally icky poo.

The psalters of Petrus Datheen and Marnix van St. Aldegonde make what would be mere pedestrian praedestinationism sparkle and shine - in Dutch, in poetic Dutch, and only in Dutch.
Still wrong (far too gnostic, too Christic, not old-testamentarian enough, and not nearly of an acceptable liberality or liberalistic), but eloquent and given to great lyric.

Bugger the English language versions of religion. Including, especially, typical American fundamentalist versions. They are intolerable.

You superstitious backwoods heathens are barely one step above savages.

The separation between Church and State is the only thing that keeps me from wanting to shoot you. Please count your blessings.



For those of you who are baffled as all git-out by this mention of Calvinists, the following opinionated backgrounder may be useful. It is brief.


In 1533 Jean Cauvin (John Calvin, 1509 - 1564), an argumentative student of theology and law at Paris, fled for his life, eventually ending up in Geneva. His weltanschauung was influenced by much of the theological ferment then current in Europe at that time, including Lutheranism and Anabaptism.
Two basic themes that he developed were Biblical authority as opposed to Church authority in matters of the faith, and praedestinationism.

Two major ethno-denominational groupings eventually formed that were based on Calvin's thought: Scotch Presbyterianism, and Dutch Reform.
The less said about Scotch Presbyterianism the better - those people never had to fight a super-power for freedom for their faith, and in consequence have a self-satisfied priggishness wich is quite unstomachable.


At the same time as Calvin was contemplating his navel in Switzerland, Netherlandish cities and nobles were getting steamed over Philip the Spaniard's attempts to unify the Netherlands into one coherent legal and administrative system.

The Netherlands which Philip had inherited were a loosely unified mess of conflicting law codes and civic privileges, sporadically called to order by a grand meeting of the States General in Brussels. While all territories were represented in the States General, not all played along with its decisions, and even fewer had any intention of doing so in any consistent manner. Other than in name, their unity lay in resisting Philip and disagreeing with each other.

The situation exploded in 1567 when Philip sent the Duke of Alva (may his name be erased!) into the Netherlands to eradicate dissent and destroy heresy. In 1568 Alva had two of the grande seigneurs of the Netherlands (counts Egmont and Hoorne), executed in the Grande Place in Brussels.
Their crime was not disloyalty or treason, but that they had been too permissive of religious dissidence, even though they themselves had remained Catholic.

The executions may have been pointless. But they did serve as tinder.

For the next four years, Alva savagely suppressed all dissent, political and religious, throughout the Netherlands, painting a swath of blood and murder across all the provinces. The tide turned in 1572 when the Sea Beggars captured Briel in 1572, gaining a foothold along the coast. Within the next few years the rebellion gained strength and territory, eventually unifying all of the northern provinces. Protestants, who faced certain death in the south, fled north in large numbers, and contributed their skills and their lives to the cause of the rebel republic .

The war between Spain and the Dutch lasted until 1648, by which time Protestantism, in it's rather severe Dutch Calvinist form, had become entrenched in the north. Thenceforth Netherlandish quarrelsomeness would have the perfect medium in which to manifest itself - religion.
[Not until twentieth century politics would another so perfect vehicle for petty dispute and despicion come along (and how the Dutch enthusiastically jumped on that bandwagon is another story).]

Among the first actions that the Calvinists theocrats took was the banning of Catholicism in Protestant cities (and permitting Judaism).
Thereafter they started fighting among themselves.

Not only in the Netherlands.

The first Dutch Reformed church in the new world was established in New Amsterdam in 1628, and the first church was built in 1633 on what is now Pearl Street in Manhattan. The Brits eventually seized the property for military purposes, and a new church was built in 1693 on Exchange Place. By the end of the century Dutch Reformed congregations had arisen all over New York and New Jersey, including areas which are now Hareidi strongholds such as Brooklyn, Flatbush, Hempstead, Monsey, Paramus, etcetera. By 1792 the Dutch American churches split off from the Dutch churches, at which time they already consisted of various splinter groups on both sides of the Atlantic.

In 1816 Dutch government meddling created even more splinter groups, all disunited in opposition to the official approved Dutch Reformed denomination. In 1822 more seceders split off from the Reformed Church in America to form the True Dutch Reformed Church, while in 1834 dissidents left the Reformed Church in the Netherlands to form two new denominations, the Christelijk Afgescheiden Kerk (Christian Separatist Church - CAK) and the Gereformeerde Kerk onder het kruis (Reformed Church under the cross, aka the Cross Churches).

It gets worse.

In 1841 pastor Ledeboer and his group in the Netherlands set up shop separately, along with others (forming the Ledeboerian faction). A number of these people headed for the U.S. in 1846 under the leadership of Pastor Albert Van Raalte, becoming the second group of people to immigrate to North America to get away from religious freedom (the Puritans having been the first). They established the settlement of Holland, Michigan (gosh what an imaginative name for a settlement of Dutchmen!). By 1850 they had more or less united with the Reformed Church in America.

Shortly thereafter, a group of dissenters split off from the Second Reformed Church (in Grand Rapids) and the Fourth Reformed Church (in Pella) to form the Christian Reformed Church. The True Dutch Reformed Church joined with the Christian Reformed Church in 1890, forming their own classis within the movement - Classis Hackensack. In 1908 most of Hackensack withdrew from the Christian Reformed Church in a dispute over the faithful joining civic lodges or fraternal organizations.

Second Christian Reformed is actually a term for split-offs from the Fourth Christian Reformed church (Pella), which itself is a split-off variant of Dutch Reformed.
Second Christian Reformed should not be confused with Third Christian Reformed or First Christian Reformed, even though most Christian Reformed Churches adhere to the same source documents: The Apostle's Creed, the Nicene Creed, the Heidelberg Catechism, the Belgic Confession, and the Canons of Dort.

Many Christian Reformed Churches in America, when they still worshipped in Dutch (in some places up until the nineteen-seventies or eighties!) still held to the Psalter of Petrus Datheen (1531 - 1588), though some "Reformed" Churches held instead to the Psalter of Marnix Van St. Aldegonde (Philip van Marnix, lord of St. Aldegonde, 1538 - 1598), and a few sick deviants had long since switched to either the first or second Statenberijming ("State's Rhyme" - the official version of the psalter), which dates from governmental meddling in church affairs starting in 1816 under William I.

In the Netherlands, several of the congregations of the Christelijk Afgescheiden Kerk and the Cross Churches combined to form another denomination - the Christelijk Gereformeerde Kerk (Christian Reformed Church, but not the same as the Christian Reformed Church in the American Midwest).
In 1886 Doctor Abraham Kuyper and his followers split off from the official Dutch Reformed Church to unite with Christelijk Gereformeerde Kerk.

The Ledeboerian churches in the Netherlands joined with the remaining Cross Churches in 1907, forming a denomination which called itself the Gereformeerde Gemeenten (Reformed Congregations).
The remaining Ledeboerians in America had meanwhile formed the Netherlands Reformed Church in Michigan in 1877.


In 1924, Reverend Herman Hoeksema of the Eastern Avenue Christian Reformed Church in Grand Rapids refused to agree to the teaching of the doctrines of common grace and presumptive regeneration, and left the church with most of his own congregation, plus a congregation in Kalamazoo, and other dissidents. In 1926 they organized the Protestant Reformed Churches. Their unity lasted less than thirty years, nearly half of the members splitting off in 1954 to form the Orthodox Protestant Reformed Churches - which joined up with the Christian Reformed Church in 1961.

During WWII a new denomination arose: Gereformeerde Kerk Nederland - Vrijgemaakt (Reformed Church Netherlands - disassociated). By the nineteen fifties, this new denomination was also present in the U.S. and Canada.

A group seceded from the Gereformeerde Gemeenten (Reformed Congregations) over a doctrinal point that is totally incomprehensible, and became the Gereformeerde Gemeenten in Nederland (Reformed Congregations in the Netherlands). Their American branch is called the Reformed Congregations in North America.

Naturally, the recent mega-merger in the Netherlands of the Nederlandsch Hervormde Kerk, the Gereformeerde Kerk Nederland, and the Dutch Lutheran Church has (of course) resulted in even more break-aways.

The end is not in sight. Dissidence is a sign of health.


1. If at this point you are reminded of that scene in Life of Brian where they discuss the differences between the People's Front of Judea, and the Judean People's Front, that is perfectly appropriate. They are SPLITTERS, and it is entirely unknown whether they support your RIGHT to have children even if you are biologically incapable of it.

2. Decades ago I ceased believing that the Messiah already came, and I am skeptical that he will ever come. I await his first coming, even though he may tarry. And I was always dubious about the theory in any case.
No, I don't particularly feel like dealing with 608 more commandments. Why do you ask?

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


Savage Kitten, it saddens me to say, is a bigot. There are times when she just will not accept that the "other" is equally valid.
No, this has nothing to do with 'moral-relativism', it is not about alternative points of view or different ways of doing things.
It is about innate characteristics that are hereditary and biologically determined. Stuff that people should not be blamed for, as they can't help being that way.
Repulsive, yes, but it isn't their fault.

The other night we were watching teevee, when an ad came on involving Italian food. Little did I realize that she instinctively felt an antipathy towards one person in the ad.

In the ad, a gentleman answers his door to find a giant cockroach trying to deliver a pizza. And he refuses to accept the delivery.
Quite brusquely, too, which seemed uncalled for.

I asked Savage Kitten what she would do if a human-sized cockroach came to the door delivering pizza.

"I'd slam the door and look for a can of Raid!"

But he's just doing his job!

"He's a bug!"

Yes, he's a bug, but he's obviously a thoughtful and responsible one. He's trying to be a useful member of society, exactly like all the other human-size cockroaches! You should give him a chance.

"He's a bug!!"

He probably bathes regularly and he probably has a home and a mortgage like everybody else. Just an average Joe.

"He's a bug!!!"

And what about his children? Should they go through life fearing that one day someone will suddenly pull out a can of poison, and DO them?

"He's a bug!!!!"

I bet he has a little daughter at school too. With two little pink ribbons, a sweet playful little girl - would you want her to be excluded by the other kids? Do you want her to come home weeping, and tell her daddy that the humans were mean to her at school?

"He's a bug!!!!!"

There she'll be, wanting to play with the other girls, maybe jump rope or cat's cradle - she's probably a whiz at cat's cradle, with all those extra hands......

"What, kids don't play cat's cradle anymore, what the hell planet are you from?!?"

See, that illustrates the problem exactly. Kids' play patterns nowadays are all about electronics and a lack of real interaction with others. They no longer use their imagination. It makes them anti-social, and incapable of empathy. They lack a broadminded perspective.

Monday, August 17, 2009


There are times when you really have to wonder how sane your fellow human beings are. Sometimes, the brain doesn't function. Things do not go click, there is a profound lack of gearshift, the machine is stuck on vibrate.

I am surprised there isn't more food poisoning in this country.

A counter person at a sandwichery in the financial district which is now no longer in business once astounded me by first wiping down the work area with a grungy cloth, then, wearing the same gloves which were smeared with grunge, proceeding to make a sandwich.
Naturally I started screaming when he began to construct my lunch.

The looks of flabbergastion on the faces of the other employees spoke volumes. Why was this middle-aged git screaming so?
I never ate there again.

At a restaurant where I worked years ago, a can of mango pulp was the issue. The fact that it exploded a jet of orange goo into the air upon being punctured with a can opener did not suggest to a coworker that the contents were no longer kosher. The smell of fermentation (rot) could not overrule his conviction than if it was canned, it was safe till the coming of the mahdi.


It took wrothwaxing, wrestling, and prolonged argumentation to get him to throw it out.

I mention all this because this past weekend a friend detailed a dispute with her auntie. About a bottle of oyster sauce with a large green blob of hairy mold on the surface of the savoury brown goo. And an argument that devolved into weepy wailed assertions that it could NOT be thrown out, why, it was still good, and it was (nearly ) new! A waste!
New, in this context, means that it had hardly been used since the bottle was opened when Noah landed the Ark. There being still over ninety percent of the original contents in the bottle.
Quite new. Yes.

The most interesting statement, from my friend's point of view, was that "if you throw it out, some undeserving white person will find it in the trash and use it - but I paid for it!"

She hastened to reassure her auntie that white folks aren't that stupid - no matter how undeserving white folks might be, they would NEVER think of using oyster sauce that had a huge blob of green mold in the bottle!

And in any case, the white folks hardly ever go through your trash. Honest.

Friday, August 14, 2009


One of the blogs out there which I read occasionally deserves a note of thanks.
No, not because of a posting nor because of an insight that was exceptionally worthwhile.
Yes, both the postings on that blog, and the insights expressed by the author, are indeed worthwhile. And you will enjoy visiting, if you are thoughtfully inclined.

The blog in question deserves a thank you for this comment:

Not Brisk said...
Bray, if you are looking for hits, just bash Charedim....
August 12, 2009 11:59 AM

It was under a post on the Bray of Fundie's blog which was in flamboyant praise of matters gay.
In this comment string (58 comments ao today, comment number 3).


Not Brisk defines himself thus: 'A humble Charedi who attempts to deflect the Charedi hatred on the Internet. The authentic Charedi voice is grossly underrepresented in the blogosphere and the web evolved into an uneven playing field that tilts in the advantage of the Falsifiers. This forum provides a fresh perspective on the current and past sociological phenomena in our community.'

It's worth your while to visit his blog.



Brisk is the Yiddish name for Brest-Litovsk, a city of strategic importance and hence much assaulted during several centuries of rivalry between Poland, Lithuania, and the Russian Empire. It is now in Belarus - no, the city didn't get up and walk, the political boundaries did.

Brisk, in the context of the aforementioned blog, refers to the Soloveitchik tradition, specifically pointing towards the 'Brisker Rov', rav Yitzhok Zev (HaLevi) Soloveitchik, also known as ha Gaon Rabbi Yitzhok Zev, and as Rebbe Velvel ('little wolfling' – Zev means wolf, velvel is Yiddish for little wolf), son of Rabbi Chayim (HaLevi) Soloveitchik (1853 - 1918), descended from rabbi Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik (1820 - 1892), rabbi of Brest-Litovsk, author the Beis HaLevi, a work on the Mishna Torah and the Torah.

Der Brisker Rov fled the gathering storm in Europe and settled in the Holy Land, where his sons and grandsons have since founded many yeshivot. His brother Moshe (HaLevi) Soloveitchik went to America, where he became the rosheshiva of Yeshiva University - and Moshe’s son is the famous Rabbi Yosef Dov (HaLevi) Soloveitchik (1903 - 1993), called the 'Rav' by his students, who was one of the all-time great luminaries of Yiddishkeit in the new world.
His younger brother Rabbi A'aron (Halevi) Soloveitchik (1917 - 2001), confusingly was also know as the 'rav' to his students.

Brisk in Israel are anti-zionist and Hareidi, while the Rav was a Zionist and Modern Orthodox. And so, though less so, was the rav.


The Brisk Derech, as far as Talmud Toireh is concerned, tends to look for the underlying meanings and connections in text-passages, seeking distinctions (chakiros), especially in outcome or result, and thus analytically finding the operating principles, without necessarily discovering why they operate - understanding the intent of the Almighty is not the point, understanding precisely what his instructions are, is.

It could be described as grasping abstract concepts in order to grasp the concrete - knowing the meta-system in order to know the micro-system. In consequence of their focus on the meanings of the texts, the Brisker Derech has gained a reputation for strict interpretation, verging at times onto rigidity and literalism.
On the other hand, Brisker Lomdus also has a reputation for nurturing brilliance.


It turns out that Hamas is a bunch of pussies. Despite their stated loathing of the Western World, and their aim to impose an Islamic dictatorship over the Levant, they just aren't extremist enough.

Yes, they've killed hundreds of Fatah members. Yes, they've assassinated dozens of Christian notables in Gaza and the West bank. And yes, they have indeed murdered any number of civilians - in Gaza, Israel, the West Bank, and even Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria.

This is of no consequence.

They just aren't sincere enough for the Wahhabis.

"Hundreds of worshippers at Ibn-Taymiyah mosque declared Gaza an "Islamic emirate". The mosque's imam - Abdul-Latif Moussa - and armed supporters swore to fight to the death rather than hand over authority of the mosque to Hamas. Jund Ansar Allah (Army of the Helpers of God) gained some prominence two months ago when it staged a failed attack on a border crossing between Gaza and Israel. The group is very critical of Hamas, which governs Gaza, accusing the Islamist group of not being Islamist enough. "
End quote


"Hamas said a grenade fired from the mosque killed one of its fighters. The other fatalities were reported to be gunmen, and a child was also killed. "
End quote

The fierce gunbattle between Jund Ansar Allah ("Muslims") and Hamas ("moderates") is ongoing. Statements in support of Hamas from various European politicians and the city of Berkeley are expected soon.

Crossposted here:
For more information about the Islamic Emirate of Gaza, or to book tours, please contact Ms. Mary Robinson or Mr. George Galloway.

Thursday, August 13, 2009


Cancer-industry co-opted Native Americans have never appealed to me. Not even when they were still Cigar-store Indians. Buttocks, buckskin, and cheroots - no thank you. There's just something so unwholesome about a glowering naked man offering smokes.

I realize that that describes every visitor's ideal sexual escapade in San Francisco, but it isn't a very heartwarming view.
Despite the lovely feathers.

Earlier today I was smoking a pipe at the local tobacconist. Which, as a matter of fact, has TWO such figures. Both stand in the window, near enough to each other that they are probably on intimate terms. Postern to postern. One looks in, the other looks out.
While puffing, I became aware of a bearded personage on the other side of the glass gesticulating agitatedly. And soon realized that it was not my attention that he sought, but that of the bigger of the two feathered gentlemen.


One of the partners who owns the place had just sat down at the computer, when the conversation outside reached a climax, and the bearded personage slammed his fist against the glass. Something he perceived the Indian to have said was wrong, utterly wrong! Feh!

The Indian merely glared at him. The other Indian didn't even bother to look around, but continued to gaze at the counter. I guess the smaller of the cancer-industry co-opted native Americans was supremely indifferent to the conversation; whatever the bearded personage's opinion was, he was having none of it. Meh, and what----ever.
He was quite placid. Smug, even.

The partner at the computer jumped up and ran outside screaming angrily - "how dare you bang my glass! You oaf!" The bearded personage screamed back, louder. The Indians remained silent.
The screaming continued. Fists were waved. Suggestions of congress with maternal relatives were mooted. Violence was offered in lieu of any conversational satisfaction. So!
The Indians continued to remain silent.


Soon calls were made to involve the police. The bearded personage invaded the store, and screamed incomprehensible insults at all of us - including several clearly invisible people. The invisible people quickly gained the upper hand in the dispute and the bearded personage withdrew.
The police arrived too late to be part of the discussion.

While all this was going on, a customer purchased a cigar, inquired about a place to smoke, and mentioned the weather. The other owner chatted pleasantly with him about this and that, agreed that Indians were troublemakers, and gave him a light.

On his way out the customer volunteered that he was from Brooklyn, and that there were far more crazy people in San Francisco than in the entire New York area. Incredible. Just staggering. How did we put up with it?

New York sounds like a wonderful place.
I really must visit one of these days.
Are there any cigar-store Indians there?

Wednesday, August 12, 2009


Confession: I have never smoked Revelation, which Albert Einstein enjoyed when it was still made by Philip Morris, nor the version later produced by House of Windsor. The closest I've come are some of the Burley blends made by Drucquer & Sons in Berkeley -- not available since that estimable enterprise was run into the ground by many bad decisions nearly two decades ago -- as well as some mighty weird crap from Sutliff. Consequently, I have nothing to compare Bob Runowski's recreation of that disappeared product to. I'll just have to assume that Epiphany is as close to Revelation is can be got.

Oh, and I've tried some Iwan Ries stuff. Which was educational.

But I really like Bob Runowski's oeuvre, so I gave it a shot.

This may not become a regular part of my rotation.

Blended by Bob Runowski
Packed by Cornell & Diehl

Burley, Virginia, Latakia, Perique.

Essentially this is an American tobacco with an English attitude. It has that characteristic roundness of taste one expects of a Burley blend, and the Latakia is restrained rather than obnoxious. And it is easy to like.
It does not knock my socks off. The Perique is a nice touch.
Complex, woody, generous.

I've heard that there is a light fruit scent added; it is not really noticeable, but I distrust such things, and that may be shading my opinion. Many old fashioned American mixtures were like that, and anything with Burley may benefit from the treatment. Air-cured leaf often leaves me strangely dis-satisfied, though, and toppings seldom ring my bell.

Epiphany is a very good product, but I have to be in the mood for it. Sometimes it just isn't the right time of day. I hasten to add that I am not at all like Albert Einstein, and have a perverse fondness for Turkish tobacco, which many regular American blends lacked entirely.

It does make me wish that I had smoked both the Phillip Morris and House of Windsor versions, though. Having those nose-memories would have made smoking Epiphany a remarkable adventure.
Perhaps I need to smoke more of it.

Add it to the reference library.


NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


This is the sage advise of a commenter on the Bray of Fundie's blog. It's good advice. And I will gladly take it to heart. Once I figure out something truly nasty to say.

"If you're looking for hits, just bash Charedim!"

[Bray's blog is here: The post that elicited the comment is this:
Bray praises homosexuality, more or less. And fervently desires that we should follow that splendid example. ]


The problem is that I can't really think of anything vile to say about Charedim. Most of the problems which that community has are not unusual, nor unlike problems of other communities. Nor more so.
The only thing that does seem to be theirs and theirs alone is bad hair day.

Sheitels, in hot summer weather, are absurd.

Especially because of the chlorine in pool water. It destroys wigs like nothing else.

You'd think they'd know this.


Everyone agrees that the current shverre problems within Judaism are the fault of the Charedim. Oh, and the Reform, of course (which utterly goes without saying).
But how are these groups defined?

The answer is surprisingly simple.
Charedi is anyone so strict that they will not eat my food, nor attend my shul.
Reform is anyone so lax that there's a chezkas treifus regarding their food, and whose place of worship I would not visit.

So, except for the ones who match my minhag and hashkafa precisely, they are wrongheaded heathens.
All of them.
No exceptions.

You should understand that being neither of the above is NOT an option. These definitions are so flexible as to be all-inclusive! There's room enough for everyone.

Welcome to the warm embrace of Yiddishkeit, now go visit Bray's blog (
Tell him Atboth said hi.



What's in a name?

Charedim / Haredim / Kharedim - no, these are NOT merely orthographic differences. The division runs deep.
Haredim are emphatically NOT speakers of loshon kodesh (Yiddish), heaven forefend that you should even thinks so. Feh. We don't known what they are. Maybe a type of Reform or New age?
Kharedim are Litvaks from some shtettel around Vilno. Which is called Yeevus or Yiva or Yitze-Instityiut or something. Ver veist? Russishe menshen, vielleicht. Hard gutterals, like Ollanders, or farmers from Groningen (shudder). Not the getzivilizierte Flemishe klanken vi unsere leite, vi 'n Ontverpener aksent. Keine zachte chchchcheeee. Hence the 'kh' spelling.
Also, they're noodges.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009


As you have no doubt figured out by now, I have a mean streak a mile wide. And while I thoroughly enjoy ripping the iridescent wings off of little puppies, torturing goblins by waving silver at them, and depriving monkeys of a valuable source of protein by de-lousing them, the cruel and vindictive thing that I probably most enjoy doing is snarking morons.

Such as Becky O'Malley - publisher of the Berkeley Daily Planet.

[Exposé of the BDP here: ]


The BDP scrabbles for survival in that narrow hell halfway twixt advertising rag and vanity publication, and, attempting to boost sales, panders shamelessly to the ignorant gut-reaction bleeding hearts and campus anti-Semites in the burg of Berkeley.

Under Becky O'Malley's leadership, the Berkeley Daily Planet has established a pattern of obsessive anti-Israel invective and vitriol. Which, in Berkeley, is ideologically mainstream and reflects a comfortably middle-class weltanschauung.
Par for the course, and perfectly normal. In Berkeley.


The reasonable reaction to the anti-Semitism of the Berkeley Daily Planet is perhaps best expressed by a letter recently sent by the East Bay Council of Rabbis.

"Those who have voiced their opposition to the Daily Planet’s coverage are entitled to speak and be heard. It is not accurate to label everyone who has disagreed with positions expressed in the Planet as militant right-wingers. "
[End quote]

I usually think of myself as a strident left-winger, in the classic liberal mold. But with the Berkeley Daily Planet's encouragement, I shall also try to think of myself as a militant right-winger.
This may prove extremely difficult - I would far rather be an 'effeminate liberal' than a 'misogynist RW bastard', to quote two terms flung into the discourse on a comment-string recently.

[This post: On this blog: This comment string: ]

The crux of the letter sent by East Bay Council of Rabbis is particularly germane:

"At times criticism of Israeli government policies and actions has crossed over into classically anti-Semitic expression when it targets Jewishness itself as a blameworthy status—as did the Kurosh Arianpour commentary the Daily Planet printed some years back. Disseminating hate speech against any ethnic or religious group, while it may be constitutionally legal, is not acceptable when allowed to stand on its own in a community paper and given the appearance of reasonable discourse. Hate speech against any group is unacceptable; in the same vein we would expect that the Planet would refrain from printing racist or homophobic material. The claim of freedom of the press does not excuse journalists from meeting the standards of civil discourse. "
[End quote]


What the rabbis wrote really says it all.
But, in case you want to go into further details, do please feel free to browse through the articles at the Berkeley Daily Planet Watchdog ( It's much better than actually wading through the miserable prose of the BDP itself.

[Consider this delightful comment about Becky O'Malley, for instance: "it has come time for her to seriously consider converting to Judaism. It would give her license for her obsession, and it might paradoxically help dissipate some of her inner psychological turmoil." ]

And please also sign this petition:

FYI: The Berkeley Daily Planet's editorial offices are at:

3023A Shattuck Avenue
Berkeley, CA 94705
Phone: (510) 841-5600
Fax: (510) 841-5695

Feel free to write them a letter, using very simple words, and remember to complement them on their fearlessness. They like that.


Crossposted at:


Monday, August 10, 2009


Dutch journalist Désirée Röver asserted last week that the Jews are responsible for both Swine flu and the bird flu. The purpose of this dastardly Jewish plot is to exterminate humankind.

"In het interview legt ze ook een verband tussen Joden en het H3N2-virusmateriaal dat was besmet met H5N1. Een multinational zou meer dan 72 kilo H3N2-griepvirus hebben verspreid. Dat had volgens haar op grote schaal de langverwachte vogelgriep kunnen doen uitbreken. De groep bestaat volgens haar uit afstammelingen van een in 740 jaar na Christus tot het jodendom bekeerd volk dat oorspronkelijk in Zuid-Rusland en Georgië woonde. "

[TRANSLATION: 'In the interview she also draws a connection between Jews and H3N2-virusmaterial that was contaminated with H5N1. A multinational corporation (she asserts) spread more than 72 kilo of the H3N2 influenza virus. According to her, that could have caused the long-expected Avian flu to erupt. The group consists, according to her, of descendants of a people that converted to Judaism in 740 CE, who originally lived in southern Russia and Georgia.']



It would appear that many Dutch find this interesting theory believable. Judging from the commentary of readers of the Telegraaf.

The CIDI (Centrum Informatie & Documentatie Israel - the organization that reacts to manifestations of anti-Semitism in the Netherlands) is considering filing a complaint - Désirée Röver's statements are potentially dangerous and inflammatory.
The readers of De Telegraaf beg to differ.

I shall not bore you with translations of every comment that was placed under the article - mostly scribbling from the shallow-end of the European gene-pool - but give you merely a sampling of Dutch thoughts.

"It would be better if the CIDI investigated the behaviour of the IDF in the occupied territories", "It is time to take steps against the evil CIDI propaganda machine", "suspect that the flu virus was released by Los Alamos", "mean Jews", "It's true, they are spreading it", "there's more and more proof of this", "the CIDI supports the cruel rapaciousness of Zionism", "always accusing others of anti-Semitism", "always picking fights", "the government is trying to silence free speech", .......

Well golly.

The theory that Jews are spreading various strains of flu is quite insane. And is, as you probably realize, just another version of a traditional canard.

Jews don't spread flu.
They spread GOUT.
Everytime I have gehakte leber (chopped liver), I get gout like you wouldn't believe. Oy, both feet. The pain, you should only know!
And I'm not even mentioning cholent, a curse I tell you, keeps me from catching a wink on shabbes afternoon, there I am lying awake in the dark with throbbing toes, twitching, with azoy ghastly an indigestion to boot, uuuuuuuy, am I suffering, gevalt!

And far better I should not even tawk about brisket.



Normally I do not read De Telegraaf, limiting my exposure to the Dutch gutter press merely to the Algemeen Dagblad. Decent Dutch newspapers are the Volkskrant, Trouw, and the NRC Handelsblad. Today, for some reason, I delved into the Telegraaf. Not a healthy thing to do. An education I got. It is well known that the Telegraaf caters to lowbrows, bigots, racists, morons, and swine. The mental dregs of society, and their various neuroses and phobias.

It is Holland's most succesful newspaper.

The best newspaper in the Netherlands is, of course, the New York Times.



Désirée Röver has accused the United States of manufacturing HIV in order to eradicate African Americans.

She's also against inoculations, which are evil conspiracies, sinister plots, fie, fie.

Friday, August 07, 2009


Well, not really, not officially. The governments of most Western European nations did not formally declare seven days of mourning for respected leader Baitullah Mehsud, who was killed along with his wife and his body guards in an aerial strike earlier this week. But several leftwing notables lamented the loss, and opined that problems are never solved by killing, only by continued discussion and negotiation.

------Anonymous Scandinavian Anarchist spokesperson

Al Qaeda, which has for a long time now had comrades and allies in the various European socialist parties and within several governments, praised the Europeans for their sincere and heartfelt condolences, and reiterated that its primary conflict is with the United States, whom they once more accused of coldheartedly slaughtering innocents in the Muslim World.

------Anonymous spokesperson for AlQaeda In Sweden

The Muslim World could not be reached for comment.

Rumours are that there will be large public manifestations of mourning in Beirut, Baghdad, and Cairo, at which politicians will swear vengeance upon the evil and corrupt Western World before cheering throngs. Butter and flags will be burned.

------Anonymous member of the European Parliament


When asked about recent developments, spokesmen for the Western World had several comments.

The general European point of view was expressed as cautiously pessimistic, because of their cultural and political resemblance to the United States, which, it was explained, would make it easy to mistake them for decadent imperialist warmongers.
This is considered a grave liability, and efforts are on-going to counter any similarities.

Washington voiced guarded optimism that this latest success would clean up the gene-pool, but cautioned that there was still a long way to go - "Europe and the Middle-East, they are just full of these people".
Both Democrats and Republicans claimed credit for the deaths of Mehsud and his wife.

Israel didn't respond, and rudely told the BBC reporter to "shog off, go on, shog off".

Japan, which considers itself a fundamental part of the Western World (because they invented MacDonalds, Sushi, and Blue Jeans), was quoted as saying "nani....., korewa nan des'ka?" ('we applaud the death of all excessively hairy individuals, wherever it happens, and we really can't tell any of them apart in any case').

Stay tuned to this channel for more developments.


DNS Error - Server cannot be found - Trying to find all of my favourite opinionists at present is slightly frustrating.
This keeps showing up: DNS Error - Server cannot be found

DNS Error - Server cannot be found

What that seems to mean is "technical problems". You cannot find me at present, as I am invisible. It's an internet miracle. Of a negative kind. Blogger is off the air. IY"H temporarily.

But do not despair!

Simple type this:

And, if you want Dovbear, or the Boro Park Pyro, you can type in this:
or this:
Same for Bray:

The same ought to work for all your other favourite bloggers. Just put the name of their feuilleton between the double back-slash and the dot blogspot dot com. This will get you the feed from their blog, which will include their most recent posts.
You won't be able to comment until blogger is back on the air, but you will be able to formulate your well-thought out and eloquently snarky comments way before any of the other bearlings or pyromaniacs. That alone is worth the price of admission.
Boruch Hashem.

Thursday, August 06, 2009


I am high as a kite. Weeeee! It's the sugar. Like any five year old, once you feed me sugar, I will run around in circles screaming at the top of my lungs. Arms outstretched. I am an aeroplane!

We had an ice-cream social at work yesterday. There is still tons of ice-cream left. We have been ordered to eat it. All of it.
And the remaining toppings.

Most of us are fairly young, and can metabolize this stuff pretty well. Some of us, however, are ... older. Please imagine what an excess of sugar does to our fragile bio-rhythms. Sugar. Caffeine. Theobromine. There was also vanilla, but to the best of my knowledge, it doesn't have any psycho effects. It just makes the stuff go down better. I don't know what happened to the chocolate chips and almond flakes - I assume that those disappeared into the engineering department as geek-kibble - but I just had a BIG bowl of chocolate ice-cream with a cup of coffee.
Five scoops.

The coffee, of course, is to keep me buzzing after the sugar burns off. Which will be in about half an hour. I just can't sustain the prolonged energy level that cholesterol whipped with cane sugar used to give me. Hence the caffeine. Which will contribute nicely to the fast-approaching sucrose hangover.
MY PLANS FOR TODAY: Chocolate and caffeine fuelled sugar burn-out till dinner.

Which may be more chocolate ice-cream.

Did I mention that I cannot resist chocolate? And that there is still a humongous bucket of it left?

This is gonna be one hell of a week.

Maybe I should just cover myself with whipped cream and hibernate.
Lick me up when it's over.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009


The other night I was at the Occidental Cigar Bar, enjoying a quiet pipe. Until two young ladies walked in. At which point, the female of the species outnumbered the male in that locale, there being three other customers besides myself, of which two were also of the feminine persuasion.
The new arrivals sat near me, and the larger of the two ladies lit up a double corona, then idly scratched her left rump just above the panty line.
The smaller one fired up a panatella (extra long), and wiggled to adjust her position on the bar stool (slipped thong).
The larger one had red wine, the smaller one a glass of white.

I paid them utterly no attention.

Until I heard about anal sex.

As it turns out, the larger of the two......

Within the amount of time it takes to smoke three bowls, I got to hear that she was Armenian, Irish, German, and Swedish. And Portuguese. And Welsh. And Cherokee (see the high cheek bones?). Did not object to err, um, eh - - - - but with friends only! Or at least men she knew. Had dropped acid while in college. Cooked great Armenian food. Preferred threesomes with two men way more than threesomes with two women. Unless the other woman was a real looker. Had never snorted coke with Giuseppe who owned a nearby restaurant, but wished she had. Pot simply makes her horny. Lots of pot makes her very horny. Was considering going to Vegas for a fortnight to make buckets of money. Had a daughter who was half-Moroccan, and a younger child who was French.
Voted Republican in the last three presidential elections, and was a lacto-vegetarian.

The smaller of the two women was not nearly so interesting. Her only peculiarity was that she was Russian. Just Russian. Not a mixture, no hyphens, just Russian. Had voted Republican in 2004 and 2008, but had been too young to vote Republican in 2000.
She thought Johnny Depp was the hottest, horniest looking man she'd ever seen. A stellar stud. But Leonardo Di Caprio was a very close second, and had abso-divine eyebrows. She'd take either. Bareback both ways. Would gladly go along to Vegas to make a lot of money, cover her rent for a few months.
Oh, and she was also a vegetarian.

They both agreed that meat eaters were gross. Utterly icky. Boring, too.

Details forthcame.

I am extremely glad that Savage Kitten is not a cigar smoker, and eats meat.
Doesn't drink either, red or white.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009


According to reports in Dutch newspapers, two unknowns placed a severed pig head on the doorstep of the Al Mouahidin mosque in Ede.
This to the distress of the local Muslim community, of course.

Ede in the Netherlands is where Muslim jugend celebrated tumultuously on September 12, 2001. The local authorities only intervened once people complained that they could not sleep because of the ongoing festivities.
The Muslim jugend in the Veldhuizen neighborhood were not unknown to the police before that episode, in case you were wondering.

As you may gather, I shall be giving Ede a big miss the next time I go to the Netherlands. There is no reason to patronize the businesses of a town that harbors such virulent hatred for Americans among its disaffected elements.
Remains of course the question whether I will ever visit the Netherlands again, given how large a percentage of the native Dutch also despise the United States - they seem never to have forgiven us for World War II - but that is not the issue.


The issue is the deliberate insult presented by that pig head. Which is just not a civilized thing to do.
Using pork products for religion-insulting purposes has a long history in the Netherlands and nearby countries. It is one of those traditional elements of European civilization which never transferred to the New World.

I have no problem disagreeing with the individual Muslim, or in fact considering the entire Islamic religion preposterous and repulsive on many levels. Freedom of religion also means the freedom to thoroughly despise someone else's religion. It is a freedom of which I make abundant use - I am quite displeased with every religion except my own.
But the religious tolerance of the Western World demands that you do not offend members of other creeds in such a manner.

Among the Muslims of Ede there were also those who did not celebrate in September 12th. These are the responsible "buurtvaderen" ('neighborhood fathers') who distanced themselves from the expressions of glee, try to keep things quite in the Veldhuizen neighborhood, smooth things over with the non-Muslims, and join mosques.
One should never so egregiously seek to offend the good people of another faith.
It just isn't proper.

Monday, August 03, 2009


I had already voiced objection, strenuously, and at length, about the small roomies discovering the magic bowl of quarters. The small roomies, in case you didn't know, include four bears, two ovines, two monkeys, two felines, three penguins, four pigs of various dimensions, four hamsters, a bright yellow guinea pig who believes herself the re-incarnation of Queen Nefertiti (Hatsheput is more likely), a charming big black spider with bright blue eyes, and several frogs. Plus a beaver. And a cow with ribbons on her hooves.

It's MY bowl of quarters. Mine.

I keep telling them that it is NOT a magic bowl, and does not replenish by a regularly scheduled miracle.
I put the quarters in, whenever I have an even number of extra quarters, and they are meant for doing laundry. Those are my coins. Laundry money.

They sneer at this explanation. It is absurd!
Obviously I never do laundry, because I smell bad. "Laundry", they say, "feh!"
And "forsooth!"

The head-sheep exhausts himself daily trying to scale the book case - the bowl of quarters is on the top shelf - and every day will assert that it must be his, he 'found it'. How he did so, not being able to climb, is a mystery. He says it called out to him. Many of the other roomies dispute this, not he but they 'found it'. And having found this mysteriously ownerless magic bowl of quarters, it is theirs.
Theirs, do you hear them, theirs! Finders keepers.

The arguments as to who gets to despoil my bowl of quarters are quite distressing.


Several of the more internet-savvy ones now also wish to "borrow" the brown leathery thing that resides in my back pocket. There is a magic piece of plastic in there that they can hear calling out to them, and in any case, why am I worried? They only intend to borrow the leathery thing, they will return it, honest!

None of these little anarchists has EVER returned stuff they've borrowed. Once they've got their paws on it, it's theirs. For ever.
I'm probably not getting the pair of boxers with the cute owl pattern back until the monkey has worn it to shreds.
Savage Kitten is not getting her finest silk shirt back either. Or those beads.

I have, for obvious reasons, taken to hiding my wallet (the aforementioned brown leathery thing) every night.
It is a good thing furry communists can't climb.

Search This Blog


It was rather cold in the city yesterday. As you would expect. Kind of March/April-ish. Which reminded me of the time I came down with a hor...