Climate Change [The Fairy Tale]: “And They All Lived…”

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away, where no man had boldly gone before, in a land where the sun never set and the climate never changed, lived a lovely young princess called Airwick.

Wherever she went, gaily tripping around the land, singing her sweet songs, and dancing her pretty little dances, the air was fresh and clean smelling. And the good folk who inhabited the land were happy and abundant.

Then one day, a large and sweaty giant, known as Al Ogre, came and settled right in the middle of Princess Airwick’s kingdom.

Al was a goodly soul. He hurt no-one. But he did talk a lot. I mean, on and on and on and on. It burned your ears. You wanted to take the good folk of the kingdom and smash them into…I’m sorry, medication…now, where was I?

Oh yes. Goodly soul. But Al Ogre had a BIG PROBLEM. He had an Inconvenient Tooth. So, he could only imbibe liquids. And those liquids caused Al to emit the foulest, most toxic whitehouse gases.

Poor Al couldn’t cure his problem because he had no healthcare. And no private insurer would take him since Inconvenient Teeth are top of the list of Unacceptable Pre-conditions.

Al’s whitehouse gases became the bane of the kingdom. The air turned green. The birds fell from the sky. The rivers ran dank and dark. And the livestock turned quite mad.

They took to reading Gary Larson. Smoking cigarettes. And attending tea-bagging parties. Look, have you ever been tea-bagged by a full-grown, prize-winning Angus bull? It’s not pretty…sorry, medication again.

The Princess grabbed Al by his big, sweaty paw and dragged him into her father’s royal chamber, to see if he could find a solution. The King – for it was he: King Stephen The Colbert – thought and thought. But all he could think of was a joke about a Rabbi, a Bush and eight gallons of industrial lubricant.

In desperation, King Stephen leapt to his feet and cried in anguish, “Can no-one rid me of these whitehouse gases? I will give my daughter’s hand in marriage and half of my Treasury to the man who can fix my kingdom!”

“Er, Daddy,” whispered the lovely Airwick, “I’m gay. Remember? Civic partnerships? Benefits? Countess Ellen von Idol de Generes?”

“Oh,” stuttered the good King, “Right. Half my Treasury, then.”

“Um, Your Majesty?” came a little squeak. Everyone looked around to see who had made the squeaking sound. The squeaking seemed to be coming from beneath the robes of Sir Benjamin Shalom Burn-That-Key-And-Repel-All-Boarders, the Grand Pooh-Bah of the Royal Marmalade Preserve Bank of the Kingdom and Everything Beyond.

There was a rustling of the robes, and out scampered Tiny Timbelina, the Holder of the Royal Purse and Lord High Crayola of the Treasury Chest.

“I’m awful sorry, Your Majesty,” squeaked Tiny Tim, “But there’s no gold in the Treasury. Remember, we lost it all bailing out the kingdom’s banks, when we defaulted on the twenty-first mortgage you took out on the castle.”

Doom and gloom settled on the royal chamber and all of the courtiers. There was wailing. There was gnashing of teeth. Then, there was some whining, and a tad more wailing. Just when all seemed lost, a fanfare erupted from the courtyard. Princess Airwick ran to the balcony.

“It’s Lady Hillary of Florida and Michigan,” exclaimed the lovely Princess, “Maybe she can help us. Gorgeous hunk of womanhood that she…”

Airwick was interrupted by the sound of the great doors to the royal chamber being flung open. There was a hushed silence as a huge Knight entered the portal. He removed his helmet, to reveal flowing blond locks and a chiseled chin. The dust motes danced playfully in the sunlight glinting from his perfect armor.

It was Sir Willam Du Rex. The lady courtiers fainted. The menfolk muttered. The sheep were terrified. And Princess Airwick sniffed loudly. “Bloody cradle robber…,” she muttered, under now less than fresh breath.

Sir William strode to the middle of the room, and without a sideways glance, or bow towards the King, cleared his throat loudly and bellowed, “I give you the Mistress of New Hampshire…”

Sir Bill then slunk back towards the crackling fireplace, grabbed a steaming tankard of malt and placed a serving wench called Moanithica on his knee. “Oh Sir Bill,” she squealed, “I ’ant cleaned orf the last stain yet, ye knave…”

Lady Hillary circled the room, her expression haughty, her eyes burning hot coals of fire. “I bring good news and bad news,” she screeched, in her lilting southern purr.

“On my travels around the globe,” she continued, “I met with the wicked Snow Witch of Narnaska, Queen Hopes-Palin-By-The-Moment. She has told me that her ice is melting. And that she does not believe us when we say it is being caused by whitehouse gas emissions. Unless we rectify the situation immediately, she tells me she will be forced to surge into our kingdom, build a new nation and call it Republi-stan.”

The room gasped as one. Then the room took a turn for the worse. And had to lie down until it felt more like a greenhouse…[Editor: Thish can’t be right (hic). Shurely shome mishtake. Get back (burp) to the shtory…] The room gasped as one. The menfolk took to fainting. The women were terrified. And the sheep began to mutter dark oaths.

“But wait,” screamed Lady Hillary, in her soothing, honey-soaked caress, “There’s more: the good news. A band of goodly and kind wizards and witches are meeting in CopenKayHagan. They are led by Harry Obama, Gordon Weaselly and Hermione Murkyl. Maybe they can get rid of the Inconvenient Tooth?”

Right. Much discussion. Blah, blah. Dinner. Drinking ’til stupid. Blah, blah. Commercial break. Watching a game or too on the telly. Blah, blah. Packing. Blah. Good-byes. Blah. Digging Sir Bill out of the wenches’ quarters. Blah.

And fast forward to the whole Royal Court on its way to CopenKayHagan. Fighting off the lecherous Tiger-In-The-Woods and his band of club-hurling Wild Cats. Ten? Thirteen? Who knew? Who could keep count?

In any event. Chapter Thirteen: The Royal Party eventually came across Harry Obama and his goodly wizards and witches in the Nobel School of Shagwitch, right in the heart of CopenKayHagen. Where they were deep in the middle of an enormous filly-blustering. Sir William was game. But backed off, after seeing the death ray in Lady Hillary’s eyes.

King Stephen begged Harry and his friends to help them. Harry made a long speech. It went into the night. All of the next day. And half way into the following week. The women fainted. The men muttered. The sheep had already been eaten on the long journey to CopenKayHagan. With some fava beans. And a nice Chianti.

Eventually the School’s Headmaster, Professor Grumblebore shooed Harry back to his seat, and announced that the oldest sage in the land might have the answer.

A sound of shuffling came from a dark corner of the room. A bent and wizened old man, with a long, white beard, hobbled forward. He coughed. He hacked. He wheezed. Then he took a deep breath, and in a voice heavy with the trace of a foreign accent, exclaimed, “My name is Rip Bin Liner. Why did it take you so bloody long to find me…?”

“Get out of town,” trilled a voice behind the old geezer. A young man, bearing a striking resemblance to Danny Kaye, skipped forward. “My name is Hans Cooper Anderson,” he sang, in his perfect tenor pitch, “I once was an ugly duckling. But now I have the answer.”

Hans executed a huge grande jete, landing right in front of Harry. Dramatically, Hans pointed to the livid scar on Harry’s forehead. “The answer lies therein,” he announced.

“When the evil Lord MoldyBeck left you with that scar, he also gave you powers beyond comprehension. I comprehend because I wrote the script. With those powers, you can cure Al Ogre, and save the kingdom.”

“Oh,” mumbled Harry. “Brilliant.”

He picked up his wand and made to tap Al on the shoulder. Unfortunately, just as the tap was about to land, Ron and Hermione, in flagrante delicto, fell on Harry and the wand was hurled into the air.

There was a blinding flash. The ground shook. The walls rumbled and fell. The earth opened. The plates moved. The frog kissed the Princess. Lava erupted. The sun was covered by a huge dust cloud. And an Ice Age descended for the afternoon. Manfred and Diego gobbled up Sid. The whole world was covered with water. And everyone, but everyone disappeared.

When finally the waters receded, the only person left was Airwick. But the poor Princess had caught the full blast of the distorted magic from the miscreant wand, and had been turned into an iron statue of a Little Mermaid. Which statue still sits, all alone, in the harbor of CopenKayHagen, in the shadow of the ruins of the former Nobel School of Shagwitch.

As for King Stephen, Sir William, Harry Obama and the rest, they were never seen nor heard from again.

So there.

What?

Who says every story has to end with “…and they all lived happily ever after”? Have you read the papers lately? Do you see how bad things are? Did you vote? Did you? No-one’s ever satisfied. My job is never done…

[The Moral of the Story: “Don’t count your climate change protocols until your carbon-trading fraudsters have been snatched.” – (http://tinyurl.com/yen42bb)]

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Published in: on December 12, 2009 at 9:13 am  Leave a Comment  

Dr. David Kelly: Was He Killed By Israel?

Let’s get one thing clear straight away. Factions of Israeli intelligence and para-military organizations are active in both the US and the UK. And they do engage in assassination. This much I learned while researching my book on British Government involvement in illegal international arms sales [http://www.lulu.com/content/384105].

The question is not so much did Israeli intelligence kill David Kelly, as which faction might it have been? The point arises as a consequence of FB Friend Aulde Holborne’s comment on my earlier post [http://tinyurl.com/y8oevjy] on Dr. David Kelly’s death, linking Kelly to Israel’s ‘interest’ in micro-biological research and bio-weapons [http://tinyurl.com/yhrj32v].

Israeli Intelligence (like most of Israeli bureaucracy) is a kaleidoscope of rival political factions, which mirror the prevailing divisions on the mainstream political scene. The two primary factions are those with allegiance to Likud and to Labor. And the rivalry is as intense as that with Arab nations. Leading to many of the same consequences.

Beginning with President Carter, and the rise to power of Likud and its first Prime Minister, Menachem Begin, the Likud faction within Israeli intelligence lost faith in the US always to have its back. Likud never forgave Carter for the Camp David Accords with Egypt.

As a consequence, the Likud faction took the view that it could not rely on defending the state merely by mounting operations against its Arab neighbors, in situ. It took the view that it needed to be able to strike at its enemies (real and perceived: and after Camp David, many European countries, along with the US, were no longer perceived by the Likud faction as friendlies) wherever they were to be found.

This approach first found expression in the follow-up to the massacre of Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics in 1972 (and the subject of the movie, “Munich”), and with Operation Entebbe, the hostage-rescue mission carried out by the Israel Defense Forces at Entebbe Airport in Uganda in 1976. Indeed, many of the men and women involved in those two operations formed the basis of the foreign operations of the Likud faction thereafter.

It was one of those officers who was the primary Israeli source for my book. One of his most illuminating comments was that the West would never understand Israel until it understood that Israel (by which he meant the Likud faction) was not interested in peace. It wanted victory.

And to that end, the Likud faction engaged in illicit arms-dealing, money-laundering, assassinations, what-have-you, all across Europe, in the Eighties and beyond, in support of what they perceived as their agenda for Israel’s security. Not just against Arabs and Palestinian terrorists. But also against any they perceived might be less than friendly to that agenda.

My source told me that this included active psy-ops against the British Conservative Party in the Eighties, since they perceived both Margaret Thatcher and John Major as being way too friendly towards the Arabs.

These activities included the major sex scandal that brought down Cabinet Minister David Mellor, who was introduced to his belle by a man in the pay of the Likud faction; and at least one MP, who lost his seat after being set up by the Likud faction in what became known as the ‘Cash-for-Questions’ scandal.

I vividly remember my last encounter with my source, in a hotel room in Montreal, when I recall how clever I felt at catching him out. He had been referring to his knowledge of the circumstances of the death of my mate, Hugh Simmonds, in third party terms, as if he’d heard about it all somewhere else…vague…unkown…

After some pithy ‘cross-examination,’ I got him to admit that he’d actually known Hugh personally, and had done business with him. The corollary was clear to both of us, as an icy silence descended on the small hotel room.

The context for our ongoing conversation up to that point had been that Hugh had been actively engaged in organizing illegal sales of arms to Iraq at the personal behest of Margaret Thatcher. And that my source’s Likud faction had been none too happy. My source had already hinted at his involvement in the assassinations of billionaire publisher, Robert Maxwell (illegal arms sales to Iraq), and rocket scientist, Gerald Bull (who was helping to develop Iraq’s missile program).

The silence ended only as he glanced at me with his piercing blue eyes and spat out that “…we would never have killed someone like Hugh…” [Makes mental note to self: don’t piss off self-confessed Israeli assassins in dingy hotel rooms in Montreal, when no-one knows where you are. Change trousers…]

So, the point is this. Israeli intelligence kills to protect its interests. The Likud faction does so quite happily all round the world, even in those countries that are ‘friendly.’ The question is, what was there about Kelly that the Likud faction might have believed represented a threat to their interests?

Well. AH’s forward link suggests it might be something wider, namely too much knowledge about Israeli research on bio-weapons. But could it also have been something to do specifically with Iraq?

I have no knowledge myself. But I have some thoughts. Over the years, Israel has engaged in some fairly strange covert relationships, in order to further what it sees as its own legitimate interests.

It shared technology being developed by gun developer and rocket scientist, Gerald Bull, with the apartheid regime of South Africa. It bought weaponry from North Korea, to sell to the Iranians. It sold weapons to Pakistan, in order to defeat the Soviets in Afghanistan.

Could it have been that, through some heavily-disguised cover operation (at which the Israeli’s are supremely skilled), the Israeli’s had some sort of shared development with Iraq in the field of bio-weapons? And Kelly (in his role as lead UN Inspector of Iraq’s biological weapons effort) discovered this? A stretch, I grant you. But nothing stretches the Israeli’s. Not really.

Or, did the Israeli’s view Kelly’s attempt at exposing what the US and the UK were really up to with the WMD’s in Iraq as an interference with their objectives for that operation?

Were the Israeli’s to become the recipients of the WMD largesse? For their own uses, or as surrogate provocateurs around the world? Again, one of the things that I have learned about the intelligence underworld is that nothing is too far-fetched. Not in the current climate of the covert War on Terror.

For example, I have mentioned that the Labor faction of Israeli intelligence, at least initially, opposed the modus that allowed the Likud faction to take the fight into other countries around the world, and to target not just Arabs and terrorists, but those they believed were not supporting their agenda.

That fight between the two factions became sufficiently ugly that personnel on both sides were targeted by the other for assassination, and the rivalry itself became the cause of the exposure of Iran-Contra in 1986.

My Israeli source was part of the Iran-Contra operation run by the Likud faction. And by the way, the Middle Eastern end of Iran-Contra was not begun by the US. It commenced as an attempt by the Israeli’s to curry favor with the new Iranian regime of Khomeini. The US jumped on the bandwagon when they wanted to use Iran to free their hostages held by Iranian-backed guerrilla groups in The Lebanon.

So, my source was in New York on one of his trips to buy arms for the Likud Iran operation (known as “The Blue Pipeline”), when he was arrested and put on trial for illegal trade in weaponry. He had been shopped by a member of the rival Labor Iran operation.

The Labor Iran operation was much smaller than “The Blue Pipeline.” It was begun by then Israeli (Labor Party) Foreign Minister, Shimon Peres, because he wasn’t getting a cut of the Likud operation. This was the operation on which Oliver North piggy-backed his activities.

In retaliation for snitching on my source, the Likud faction leaked details of the Labor Iran operation (and Oliver North) to a Lebanese newspaper, and so the Iran-Contra scandal began.

By the by, my source was eventually released from jail due to the intervention of the Israeli Ministry of Defense. And “The Blue Pipeline” merrily continued, because the media totally bought the line that Oliver North was the be all and end all of all Iranian operations (rather than a curious sideshow).

And don’t be thinking that it is only Israeli intelligence that operates in this unconscionable fashion. My mate, Hugh, was trained to kill. There is some circumstantial evidence that he was used in the Eighties to ‘clean away’ a rather strange byproduct of sensitive weaponry research in the UK.

Let’s say you have a small company. It has a hush-hush contract to develop, oh, I don’t know, one of the little gizmo’s that will be at the heart of some US killer satellite. You can sign the proprietors of the company to silence, because they are in the thick of it. They may even be former armed forces or intelligence personnel.

But what of the secretaries? The janitors? The low-level staff? You can’t go prancing around highlighting the fact that the trash in the dustbin is highly classified. And. You can’t have them popping down to the pub and telling their boyfriend that they found this really interesting piece of paper. “’Ere, have a look at this, Harold…”

So, some bright spark decided the best way to deal with the problem was to ‘clean’ it away. You may have noticed a rather deviant substitution by intelligence agencies with laundry and cleaning metaphors for killing.

Anyway, it was my mate, Hugh, who was given the task of ‘cleaning away’ a whole bunch of low-level employees of UK firms associated with developing aspects of Ronald Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative. Buy a book called “Open Verdict” [http://tinyurl.com/ykqzdmu]. He isn’t named. But he was spotted, and was perfectly described.

Which, of course, raises the possibility that, if Kelly was killed, and it was by an intelligence operation, it may not have been the Israeli’s. It could have been one of the UK home-grown varieties.

And that’s quite enough conspiracy for a sunny Sunday morning…buy my book…

Published in: on December 6, 2009 at 11:20 am  Leave a Comment  

**EXCLUSIVE** Surge-gate!!

Once again, I have beaten National Enquirer to the conspiracy story. I have uncovered the devastating connection between Tiger’s surge into his neighbor’s tree and Obama’s surge in Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Let’s review the similarities between the two situations:-

1) Barack and Tiger are both geniuses in their chosen vocation, and both demonstrated that genius at a young age.

2) They are both Leaders of the Free World. Well. Barack IS the Leader of the Free World, and Tiger pretty much always heads the Leader board in any golf tournament that he plays in the Free World.

3) Both have weird names. Barack Hussein Obama. And, in fact, Tiger’s real name is: Eldrick Tont Woods [Tont! What? Was his father watching “The Lone Ranger” at the time? But, I digress…].

4) Both have nicknames that psychiatrists have said drive them to be over-achievers: ‘Tiger’ and ‘The One.’

5) Both are both left-handed. And, of course, the Latin root for left-handed is ‘sinister.’

6) Tiger’s mother was from Thailand. Barack was raised in Indonesia and Hawaii (which is…well…um…in the same ocean! Right!).

7) They are both of them at the center of high profile ‘social triangles,’ involving blondes. Tiger, of course, was cheating on his blonde wife with a blonde from Las Vegas. Barack had a surging moment with that blonde who crashed his State Dinner. And Michelle is a former sorority girl…which means she is an honorary blonde! Uh huh? Geddit?

8) Tiger crashed into some trees. Barack suffered that party crash. AND has been dealing with the economic crash. [Nope. I have no idea why my blog decided to replace the (8) with a smiley face…it’s ‘sinister,’ innit…?]

9) Barack plays golf. And established his Nevada state campaign in early 2007. In Las Vegas. Where Tiger began his affair with the cocktail waitress, also in early 2007.

10) In January 2009, Woods delivered a political speech commemorating the military at the “We Are One: The Obama Inaugural Celebration,” at the Lincoln Memorial. AND. In April 2009, Tiger visited the White House while in the Washington, D.C. area promoting the golf tournament he hosts, the AT&T National. [Getting curious now, huh?]

11) They both make speeches using long words that none of us understand, like ‘transgression.’

12) Tiger surged into his neighbor’s tree. Barack surged into Afghanistan and Pakistan. Tiger’s girlfriend caused a surge in his…hang on, can I say that? And the party-crasher lady was definitely causing quite a few surges when she surged towards Barack in the greeting line at the crashed State Dinner. [In fact, the whole Tiger-Barack experience of recent weeks is giving rise to a new social expression, called ‘Surge ’n Crash;’ much like the economic ‘Boom ’n Bust’…]

13) Pakistan (where, of course, Barack is surging) now has its own Open golf tournament, and just qualified for the golf World Cup, in which Tiger will be playing. And. And. Oh yes. Tiger’s girlfriend will have them Packed-In-The-Stands, when she releases the sex-tape we’re now hearing about. Ok. Alright. It’s not with Tiger. And I’m grasping…

…but the fact remains there is an obvious connection. And only the silly can really miss it. It’s this: Tiger and Barack are both love-children of the same visiting alien from outer space [hence, the problem with Barack’s Birth Certificate…]. And this avatar alien left them with special superpowers.

And more than that. They moonlight for each other. Oh yes! You just wait. I predict that in this coming year, Barack will start to use the word ‘transgression,’ and Tiger will develop an ugly follow-through on his swing…

Published in: on December 4, 2009 at 10:45 am  Leave a Comment  
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Scientology: “12 Days of Xenu-mas”

With Advent here, why shouldn’t the Church of Scientology have its own Christmas…I mean…Xenu-mas song? Especially after all their troubles this year:

“On the Twelfth Day of Xenu-mas, my Xenu sent to me (by way of inter-galactic FedExChurchMember)…

12. (French) Drummers Drumming (us out of France for committing fraud).

11. (Australian) Pipers Piping (up that we kidnap and brainwash folks in Australia).

10. (Same-sex married) Gay Warlords a-Time Warp Leaping.

9. Ladies Cruisin’ (and none of them Katie Holmes, who is NOT leaving Tom because of his religious views, but because he has an obsession with his body. Mind you, I have an obsession with Katie’s body…but I digress…).

8. Maids a-Milkin’ (all of our Church Members for as much cash as we can get).

7. Heads a-Swimming (from being forced to read every last bloody one of L. Ron Hubbard’s collected ‘Stories From The Golden Age’).

6. Hollywood Turkeys a-Laying (the Golden Egg, over and over and over again…).

5. Golden Ringtones (for the iPods Xenu is now giving all his followers so that we are no longer confused about his real message).

4. Calling Birds (Xenu Tweet-Tweeting on those bloody iPods).

3. French Pens (I mean…Penitentiaries).

2. Travolting (Old) Dogs (Ok. Shoot me. I ran out of ideas).

And A Cartridge In A Shotgun…”

[Merry Xenu-mas and a Dianetic New Year. Right. I’m off to have a shower now…]

Published in: on December 2, 2009 at 8:39 am  Leave a Comment  
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