Tuesday, 11 July 2017


          Tailpiece by William Hogarth, 1761

A few short years ago, Peter Hitchens’s – that possessive is correct, incidentally, as ‘Hitchens’ is not a classical name – column in The Mail on Sunday was one longish essay. Then, I imagine a reluctant editor took Little Hitch aside and said, Peter, not great news. The focus groups have reported back and, well, it seems that essentially people are now so shit-thick that they can’t follow one long essay. They watch adverts and Sherlock now. We need a shorter lead piece and some fun-size snacks to break it up. Hitchens would have sighed, but he took the candy bar. However, I am going to present today’s blog offering as a patchwork quilt, a series of impressions of the week. Sit down, pull up a pouffe – or a wife, if you are Muslim – plant your feet thereon, and we will begin.

Those who know Markie well will happily attest to the fact that he needs no excuse to party. However, should such an incentive ever be required by self, I can think of nothing better than to be informed when they start shooting Antifa. These revolting people are in dire need of bullets to the head. A German politician with access to the relevant purse-strings – and a woman, naturally – decided a few years ago that Left-wing extremism wasn’t what the young folk call a ‘thing’, and cut the funding that might have nipped this phenomenon in the bud. Now, we see the city of Hamburg put to the sword by these very people, while Germany frets about ‘Right-wing extremism’. It really is time for live ammunition, both for the monkeys who perpetrate this kind of unpleasantness, and for the Jew Soros, who funds it.

One of the songs in the repertoire with which I stun and amaze visitors to Costa Rica is Lola by The Kinks. The song features the immortal line, Girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it’s a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world. And, gentle reader, it is a line that never rang truer. The world’s first non-gender-assigned baby has been born in, as one might expect, Canada, whose Prime Minister and My Little Pony have never been seen in the same place at the same time. The parents’ blather is too depressing to repeat here, but suffice to say that ‘the state is no longer to be allowed to oppress our newborns by assigning gender without our permission’. I am convinced that this approach will not play well with our future Mohammedan overlords. And so is Lola.

It is not, it goes almost without saying, difficult to make fools of creatures of the political Left. They make it easy, for a start, and twitting those whom the wags call ‘Libtards’ is, to quote the eminent thinker Iggy Pop, like hypnotising chickens. One north American chap, however, has performed above and beyond the call of duty. A gaggle of anti-Trump supporters dutifully cheered and applauded the gent as he gave his impassioned anti-capitalist speech. The only snag was that the speech was compounded entirely of quotes from that sizzling 1930s bonkbuster Mein Kampf, by one A. Hitler. Anyone can make a mistake.

Here in Costa Rica, the government of President Solis has a curious knack of signing into law legislation that actually benefits those outside the political class. Some time ago, Costa Rica made it illegal to feed wild life, and this particularly concerns the three main species of monkey here, they being the White-Faced Capuchins, Squirrel Monkeys or Titis, and the fearsome-sounding Howler Monkeys. The Capuchins are the Mafia of the rain-forest who shake tree branches at me and my dogs when we are out for a stroll. They are feared by the Titis, sweet-natured, chirruping creatures who like to maraud the mango trees like little pirates. If a Capuchin corners a Squirrel Monkey, it will call its mates, attack and eat the smaller animal. The Howlers make a frightening noise, although they are vegetarian. They are slow-moving – although faster than Sloths, which we also have here – and need to be able to communicate over distance. One yelled outside the chalet in the middle of the first night I spent here, and I nearly converted to religion. Anyway, the new legislation will stop airheads such as the north American girl in the rental chalet along the way, who could regularly be heard shouting, ‘here monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey! while proffering bananas from her balcony. Giving bananas to monkeys seems like the most natural thing in the world. It is not. If monkeys want bananas, they will take green and unripe ones from the plant. Giving them ripe bananas can pass disease – and this works both ways - cause female monkeys to abort, and change the route the monkeys travel for food. The legislation is most welcome in a country which covers 0.2% of the world’s land, but contains 5% of its animal species. President Solis is also the man who politely refused to take in Muslim refugees as ‘you wouldn’t like it here’. How refreshing to be in a country where one thinks its premier a good egg.

In other Costa Rican news, the national soccer team – the Ticos – squeaked a 1-0 win over Honduras on Friday to edge that little bit closer to the next World Cup. I long for them to qualify. On the day of the big quarter final in the last World Cup, Prez Solis gave the entire country the day off. They are crazy about football here. Notably, being in a bar full of Costa Ricans watching a game – any game – is preferable to being in an English pub with fat skinheads using football as an excuse to shout a lot and hug each other without being thought a poove. Funny that.

In other Association-Football-related news, I see Roy Larner’s 15 minutes have come to an end. Mr. Larner was the hero who did what the police all too rarely do. He took on Muslims, one of whom attempted to slice his head off with a machete, while uttering the immortal words “Fuck you, I’m Millwall.” Mr. Lerner’s actions came during what Diane Abbott called the ‘incident’ at London Bridge in which Muslims killed several people while screaming that their god is greater than, presumably, Mr. Larner’s god. But now reality has caught up with Roy. I thought it wouldn’t take long. He has been ‘caught on tape’ uttering a ‘racist tirade’, which is what the press call heated opinion. He is now guilty of wrongthink, and his defenestration is proceeding through the form. You cannot tarnish Brand Islam with impunity. The Daily Telegraph, incidentally, describes Mr. Larner’s actions on the night of the Muslim attack as follows;

‘Larner made headlines when he shouted "F--- you, I'm Millwall" at the London Bridge attackers last month.[

Is that all he did? No. He stood up to enraged, insane Muslim men with machetes in their hands. How I despise the British, shariah-compliant press.

When will two of the world’s most powerful and influential nations see the folly of giving high-ranking jobs to black women because they are black women? The UK has Diane Abbott, who may be Home Secretary by Christmas, and who has shown a spectacular level of stupidity, bias and malice in her career as a beneficiary of the unofficial positive affirmation and tokenism that the political class cannot resist. Ms. Abbott’s inventive style of mathematics we know about. She also has interesting and creative ideas concerning race, believing the problem with modern Britain is not immigrants but white people. She sends her children to public school while partaking fiercely in class war, spent £12,000 of tax-paid money on a portrait rendering her as grandly tribal, and thinks Mao Xidong did ‘more good than harm’. The US, for its part, has Maxine Waters, a woman whose level of mental illness threatens to thwart the most accurate measures of psychical dysfunction. Her speeches often finish with three or four minutes of leading the crowd in the chant, ‘Impeach 45!’ referring of course to the nemesis of the Yankee political class, Donald Trump. She often refers to Trump as mentally unstable, which strikes me as being a case of the pot calling the kettle, er, a kettle of colour.

I think we will have this sort of round up every week. Best wishes to all Traumavillians and remember; This is 2017. You must keep your sense of humour. As I once wrote in poetic mood;

Never lose your sense of humour.

Humour’s what your sense is for.

You might lose the battle

But you’ll never lose the war.

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