Monday 1 April 2019

The Wild Geese of Bloat On Kaliber 16̊ 16’16”

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away up the M1/M6 I lay listening to the radio in the dark. Something very, very important was going to be broadcast and yours truly was going to hear it first hand live with the usual, unknown to the serealscum, delay just in case the person voicing words went off script and broke the trance as hypnostance by unlie.

And lo it was of great import.

I remember thinking at the time that it was verily of greatest merit, if not good, that someone who was from the killer clown reich should be saying such wise things when, at the time, all I got was rationing and ersatz clothing in a country quickly reverting to the state desired by our habiru brigands of the 1800s.

Another moment of hope sprang upon me when I was now wandering around generally. Though by this time the scales of wordyweirding had fallen and the godfraud made for a cold calculus. How far does peace go?

At that time the freakfarm had decided that a load of watchtowers and fierce dogs with elastic bands round their balls had almost ever done the racist amnesiac effect. West end legowalls and broad way schweremachinengewer with freedom of movement for the chosen was no longer needed since the geezers in the white hot white disco flares had signalled to their coreligionist genital cojuxtapositioners that it was time to come over to Moiami and NooJowki.

I remember just at the time I was wondering what kind of amp I could buy to blast the Undertones out at even higher volume with my part of the peace dividend, a larger bit of arithmetic heaved into view. Like most back of the envelope calculations it was inaccurate, though not in error, but informative. In the space of a couple of years two teams had lost their jobs and instead of wandering forth into the world to beat swords into ploughshears one lot went and died on us and the other went totally scrypto.

For those of you who don’t remember NATO/Warpac I’ll put it in language that can be better understood. It was as if a load of force-feed San Fernando valley intergenerational porn stars had got strangegod all of a sudden and instead of bringing skin care to the world the tops had gone off to shoot up in the desert&fry and the bottoms had gone and become bank robbers.

In another analogy it was as if the bank robbers had decided to become abortionists instead of security consultants and the bank managers had decided to go get AIDS in San Fernando gimpshows. Around and around and around the money worshipping heathen traffic themselves and all others.

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Voyoy cheeky, leave us a deadletteredroped..