Humanity Won; Kangaroo Didn’t

Posted: April 22, 2017 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty., culture, Matters that Matter, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

I have never been more proud of my species than the occasion on which I watched the video of an Australian man squaring up with and punching a Kangaroo.

To begin, this was not one of those cruel kangaroo-boxing charades as per the Victorian era…it was a kangaroo that deserved to be punched and man that deserved to do the punching.

To set the scene of this wonderful moment, it begins sadly.

A young Australian man has been diagnosed with terminal cancer, meaning that his life is a great deal more ‘over’ than the rest of us currently walking around.

This being so, the chap is still luckier than a fair many people; because he has his friends who are insistent on taking him out to live life whilst it’s still liveable.

So this friend takes his very ill pal out to do what they both enjoy most; hunting with their dogs in their jeep.

Here is where the video begins.

A shakily held camera (a shakily held camera is forgivable considering cancer) atop the jeep, Aussie outback whizzing past and distressed calls of the men looking for their dogs which appear to have disappeared.

As it turns out, they had a fear of what had become of their hounds, and the fear was confirmed.

The motor pulls to a stop and a man, the friend, leaps down and begins walking towards what we can now see; a large dog in the unfriendly embrace of a very large Grey Kangaroo (‘the big kind’).

The man is walking towards the two animals with manly purpose; and here’s why that’s brave.

A Grey Kangaroo is about 5-feet-something tall and filled with testosterone and all the muscly meat that entails.

Have you ever seen a shaved chimp? Whilst casually reaching for a banana you’ll see their arms ripple with all sorts of unnecessary-yet-insisted-upon-by-nature muscles, and a kangaroo is no different.

In a permanent ‘look at my muscles’ pose, a lone male Grey Kangaroo is highly aggressive and will happily consider your garden as it’s new pot to piss in.

Along with this, the kangaroo is deadly owing to one weapon in its arsenal; the tail.

Usually seen as a mere aid to its hopping about the wilderness, it is in fact like a crocodile’s tail; filled with muscle and unyielding bone, not prehensile but it’ll make you apprehensile (but only if you’ll excuse poor puns) when you discover it’s trick.

When fighting, kangaroos might look as though they are indulging in a bitchy little face pushing fight, with scratching being the order of the day, but this is not the end all. For the deadly strike, the kangaroo will lean back on it’s bewilderingly now-leg-like tail (currently holding its entire bodyweight) and proceed to kick out with its legs into the abdomen of the opponent.

Picture a tripod bouncing across the Australian landscape, only you didn’t realise this until too late and now its going to involve that third leg most unfairly in a fight.

The force breaks bone, and should claw catch flesh: the belly can easily be carried off and away.

To tackle this takes guts, as it is your ‘guts’ that can also quickly be staining your bush shoes and the kangaroo’s toes.

That is what this man is walking towards, with oh-so-perfect a purpose.

The kangaroo sees the approaching Aussie male, and let’s the dog escape (with which it appreciatively flees).

The man is now right up to the kangaroo, and there is a hell of a lot of testosterone in the air this afternoon.

He and the kangaroo both square up, with the Roo bulking out and the man shaking loose like Bruce Lee as he adapts to a boxing pose.

And then, the man promptly puts his hand though the kangaroo’s chin.

Through it’s chin.

Butter.

Like UTTER BUTTER.

And I’m standing up and yelling “YEEEESSSS” at this, in my cosy bedroom at home, thousands of miles away and two weeks later.

The kangaroo waves is arms in pathetic yet vital little spirals in effort to keep balanced whilst it leans back dependently on its deadly secret weapon of a third leg.

The look on its face is of be-fucking-whilderment.

Befucklement.

It does not have the processing skills demanded of it now to understand the tuned ability of this incredible species: humanity.

Exactly how to stand so as to generate adequate power for the punch, precisely where to aim and land the blow through the now-since-buttery chin of the kangaroo, and the compassion of heart to not have your mate’s trip spoiled by the loss of another great friend to our species: dogs.

The kangaroo is entirely and irrevocably undone by the chap’s species, his knuckles and his good form.

The standing up for your species and your mates is the pinnacle of what we should be spending our time doing and this could not have been better (like BUTTER) exemplified here.

Kangaroo defeated, humanity the victor, this Australian man nods his head in appreciation of the occasion (“Yeah.” would fit well here) turns, and walks away, back to his dog and his mate to enjoy the rest of their trip together.

My hero and yours.

The statement is ultimate.

The next time we have a chance do this this it might be Aliens…so get your shit together, do some push-ups and hug your mates.

Well done sir; bravo humanity.

Sam

Video here: http://youtu.be/FIRT7lf8byw

(Disclosure: A kangaroo WAS mildly hurt during the making of the article, but it was being a bully dick and deserved it.)

Who to Vote For; Clinton or Trump?

Posted: November 6, 2016 | Author: | Filed under: Matters that Matter, writing | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Clinton.

Vote for the same ol’ shtick; Mrs Hillary Clinton.

Whilst once there was a time in which politicians were acceptably immoral and had private agendas for which presidential powers were sought to necessitate; we are now in the perilous epoch of activism and public power.

The sway of the influence no longer is cast by those climbing by ambitious claw and tooth to the top of the perpetual foothills; for the era of personal politics is upon us.

People looking to gain an attribute beyond power are named upon the ballot slot.

Whilst we have Clinton; from the elderly school of dangerous dogs ready to bark and bite a jaw-shaped hole through their enemies in vainglorious effort of keeping the course, we also have Donald Trump – the irrelevant.

Trump has travelled through 7 decades without experiencing negative consequence, living on the accumulations of Trump the Greater and Senior – a Republican and a businessman. The father, one of the potent individual by which the United States came into fruitful fruition, died with an empire ready only to crumble.

From a 7 billion dollar legacy of concrete and formidable zeros, we look into a future of rubble and a single zero.

With Father’s empire to cushion his every failure, Donald has only one successful promotion throughout his life and this is fact that he inherited his name and fortune.

“My name is Donald Trump and I am extremely wealthy” is the successful fact; compounded by his repetition into being something he himself conjured.

And with this being his only success; Donald seeks to push the saturating idea to the hilt; “My name is Donald Trump and I am so extremely wealthy that I became President of the USA”.

A lonely failure, prisoned by his father’s success, the fortune that should have blown doors from hinges before him has constricted him to having one single phrase and one simple point: “My name is Donald Trump and I happen to be wealthy”.

For an individual without the backbone of solid achievement, and with only one thing to say, we now have the ambition that goes beyond seeking power and focuses its aim directly at legacy: Donald Trump wants to be more successful than his incredible father.

Donald wants approval that he has done something without his father, independent from the legacy that shackles him and free from the burden of his own mediocre 70 years.

Upon victory, Donald will seek another – now an international appeal, once more without substance and with the style of an ill-educated celebrity; whereupon he will be met and matched by the world of rabid politicians ferocious in their attacks to gain ground and influence.

A legacy of rubble comes tumbling towards us now, of which Donald Trump will insist on being voted most popular by those who remain.

Clinton is the antithesis of this.

For those denouncing her successes as being a matter of inheritance from her husband’s career, we should remember that she became a Senator and Secretary of State despite her husband writing her off as a figure he sought alternative company from; orally.

Hillary Clinton inherited high intelligence, few sociopathic tendencies and a moral upbringing from her parents.

With so adept a brain and education (in career as well as through a high-standard of schooling) saw her to the role of Senator and White House Secretary of State.

Her femininity, husband’s adultery and the portrayal of her as a frigid career woman caused Hillary to sharpen the teeth and strengthen the grip to hold fast until the ambition was met with completion and another challenge.

Hillary is an old-school politician with the evident will to surpass the standards tossed at her feet by challenges throughout her life; she has made selfish actions and thoughtless mistakes and these in her past are astoundingly rare and accounted for.

Clinton is spectacularly qualified as a politician and leader, whilst that sharpened ruthless edge makes for a President the nation and world is in need of.

And above all; she is a good person. Seeking changes in the world that are essential, though not easy, and changes that are right, though unpopular.

With Hillary Clinton as President of the USA, the world would have a typical leader, more of the same, spouting the day-to-day jargon we’ve come to expect and that many are revolting against.

She would do the job and well.

Donald Trump as President will be the result of a popularity contest with such self-absorbed fear that it shall supersede the point of the entire electoral process; to anoint a leader to do right by the United States of America.

Clinton now portrays what people most want changed: a removal of the jargon, of the old elite, of the dynasty, of the nepotism.

And I expect the removal of this to come profoundly so; following the defeat of Donald Trump in November.

But this depends on the will of the people.

Some vote for Hillary against Trump and vice versa.

Some vote for Hillary because of her policies and the high probability of her proficiency in the role.

Some who vote for Trump are not voting for policies or his qualifications for the role; they are voting for his personality.

And this is weak.

And for a comment on fear; I am afraid that the people of the United States are becoming beyond holding aloft as an example of how to lead the world.

I fear the United States is about to finally disappoint the world beyond reconsideration or forgiveness.

So in aggressive Western response to the economic and expansive rise of China, Brazil, Russia and China, aligned with the decline of the USA and the European Union; I’ll be keeping my chin up and sense of humour alight…I hear Canada’s popular as of late.

Thanks,

Sam

I’m Not Even Procrastinating

Posted: August 26, 2016 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty., Matters that Matter, writing | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

I watched a meeting today in which Real Madrid footballer Ronaldo and UFC fighter Conor McGregor meet and discuss how hard they have to work to be what they are; pinnacle people.

Men of the kind of wealth which makes you immortal, athletic monsters with hearts of purest gold, confidence and determination to be the perpetual “better man”.

I was pleased not to have been invited.

They would have stood there with their six packs, bank balances, glories and futures, whilst I would have sat there in a t-shirt that states: “I sometimes writes blogs”.

The kind of guys who recline by leaning into their rock-hard starched back muscles which never unstiffen owing to sheer will. Cooling their feet in bank balances.

They have fans. I’m entirely on my own.

I slobbed yesterday.

I’ve survived my slobbing period and have slobbed much fiercer than I did yesterday. However that was back in teenage days, in which I committed to appropriate slobbing just in an attempt to have some ounce of fat on my bones.

Appropriate slobbing.

I woke early, made my wife a packed lunch and walked her to the train station for work, kissed her a farewell and ran home to make a day’s worth of the day. Oh boy, I was going to be so proactive I might just tick it off permanently.

I then proceeded to eat chocolate and ice cream, potato chips and wine, fast food remnants and the daylight – all devoured into nothingness. I sent the occasional email and told my wife I was working in an effort to excuse myself owing from being a real adult.

I excuse myself with the fantasy that I’ve worked hard and the universe will one day require outstanding one-in-a-million Candy Crush skills, the likes of which only I have seen.

Thank goodness I masturbated so much; it was up to me to slog it out alone there.

My occupation of chairs is a compliment to full utilisation of buttocks.

If it hadn’t been for my snacking, we’d all be a lot worse off. I leaving all the healthy grub for you folk; get broccoli.

At least heroin gets you out of the house.

I’d call this procrastinating; but I’ve found something else to do.

This is nothing; completely nothing yet never nothing completed. One cannot get ‘nothing’ ticked from the list.

So the best idea, as is usually discovered by the collectors of plastic bags, cats, and drool, is talking to oneself.

Bitch.

Bitching at myself to stand and walk.

Be in a situation that need not necessarily be good for the serenity but sure is a blessing on the stories you have to look back on.

Having stood and walked, I compliment the good grief out of myself and perhaps I suggest going outside.

That’s something.

It’s not nothing.

Perhaps I suggest I’m the greatest human to ever live, stick my tongue in my cheek and live like that’s the way I’m supposed to.

Excuse me, I’m going out.

Sam

Muhammad Ali – Speaking to Himself

Posted: July 8, 2016 | Author: | Filed under: culture, Matters that Matter, The Greatest Human to Ever Live, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’ve heard some criticism as of late.

Following the seemingly destined article from Time magazine by a chap following Ali through his early to late years, an article of magnificent insight and appreciation as only from one who was there if not him, I read a “Dear Editor” letter in response.

Apparently a wanker had a pencil this day.

Forgive a paraphrase or two, (something along the lines of which I’ve said prior) for the response came as thus:

“I don’t like boxing. He wasn’t great. Nah.”

Indeed, this Italian chap named Fausto, spoke of his likelihood to not even read this edition; so strong was his disappointment of what it contained within. Not that he would know; owing to not opening the edition he was so disappointed in.

Little minds might well sift for insight into menial and miniscule subjects, and that’s fine (what could be finer than thinking about nothing much at all – please see metaphysics), but I don’t like a bully with or without a pen and to see a journalist and the dead picked on for the purposes of you wishing to share a bad day are unacceptable.

Get thee to a nunnery and from there turn left to OFF in a FUCK manner.

Why was Muhammad Ali great?

Was he?

Only in terms of people; yes.

In terms of the science of the sport; indeed – “Nah”.

Nifty and continual; a chap who showed his penchant for dodging like a loony-tune, and leaving a man exhausted from successfully achieved swings and far more numerate misses.

His boxing was very good; and that is an understatement when regarding the mass murder (he could kill me repeatedly if he wished) of him vs I, and then an enormous overstatement should he have ever dared (as surely he would have) to dance with Tyson.

And that’s that; most thatilly.

And it is joyfully important to recall to all minds that his boxing talent and skill were merely as they were; “His boxing was very good”.

Naturally you’re to assume I’m on my way to thriving in verbosity over his spirit and standing; his courage and morality; which I have regard for, but not before compliment boxing as the scene-setter it is.

A world of men willing to receive a knuckily death-threat to the pretty and increasingly ugly face, the whimpering brain and even the shocked visceral innards.

It might not be the art it is often entitled as; but it is an extraordinary frame.

And so on to the man beyond the athlete.

Compare the term “sacrifice” to the term “donation”. The sacrifice of three prime years to a melancholy ether, could well be a synonym for donation to his might, his thought and his future.

Less so a matter of sound fiscal planning; his absence from the boxing scene was a departure from the income scene; his heroism of self did his wallet and entourage no favours.

Still, though I am grateful to this man, who made demonstrate the easeless act of will in order to achieve a more contented heart.

Morality made apparent.

There is a final credit to devote to this man.

I’ve heard a plethora of vocal recordings, capturing Ali and often letting him loose, from squeaky loud mouthing to an old hat wearing a better one than you, I’ve heard what Ali said to himself.

“I am the greatest!”

“I AM the greatest!”

And thus he became so.

Amidst a dislocated brain from the meat mountain of Foreman and the part immovable object/part irresistible force of two-hundred-thousand-year-old genetics from Frazier, and the shuffling existence of the concussion-infused Parkinsons disease; Ali has remained the greatest through no victory other than this; he took the time to realise he was.

“I AM the greatest!”

Ali was because he told himself he was.

And luck – both good and sour.

Ali told himself he was the greatest and so he was.

Self-doubt can lay a person to the unknown foundations of tomorrow, but Ali would only be the foundations of that tomorrow following a regard held highly and a continuation of the mantra.

He told himself: “I AM the greatest!”

And then; see what happened.

Thanks,

Sam

For the superb article of Ali by Robert Lipsyte, see the following link: http://time.com/4358073/muhammad-ali-robert-lipsyte-on-the-life-of-the-greatest/

Reasons to Stay in the EU, Reasons to Fight on. Referendum; Before and After

Posted: June 26, 2016 | Author: | Filed under: culture, Matters that Matter, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

THE BEFORE

Why stay in the EU?

By the way, I’m not campaigning; I’m pleading.

Having come back recently from Italy and noticing the ubiquity of EU flags outside commercial centres and all government institutions; it would be frightfully embarrassing to explain this to them when next I visit.

How do you not take this personally?

When the Scots threatened and nearly did leave; I took it personally with a worrying proximity to truly meaning the much repeated mantra of “Fuck the Scots”.

And let us maintain the fact that Europeans are not a bunch (a fairly accomplished bunch at that) of folk to insult. Two World Wars and a whole load many more is an indication as to whether or not Euro-Unity is a necessity.

I can picture too easily the heaving shoulders of a Belgian confused and hurt as to why I left him; and I can only say “it’s not you. It’s not me either. It’s fucking Nigel!”

I loathe, with enough depth so state the word “loath” nice and slowly like I mean it, Nigel Farage.

As of then and as of now; he took purple from us.

And I had purple intentions; and only a few of them were throbby.

Mainly revolving around immigration, though less so by fantasising hoards of ‘worringly-brown’ families walking up to me in a dark alley and stealing my job and raping my benefits and far more so about wearing a fairly funky shade of the stuff as I make my way about the planet.

And now purple denotes displeasure towards all other dark shades; particularly skin-wise.

I might feel inclined to omit Europe from my travel from hereon; owing to being English and quite ‘simply’, ‘terribly’ and ‘awfully’ (not to mention ‘ever so quite rather’) embarrassed if that’s not too imposing thank you please sorry.

Similar to when travelling around any country where incredibly dangerously English is not the first-language and you are happened upon by a regrettable local regrettably insisting on some back-and-forth tongue wagging and all you can muster (in a manner as though protecting your family) is: “I’m sorry; I’m English”. Essentially translating as “I’m sorry…I’m English…I just can’t…”

Because I’m European.

THE AFTER

I feel you’ll be able to tell the change in my demeanour; from dainty absurdist of luxury to…now…melancholy.

Perhaps I should have written more with an aim to convince in the hope of at least 1 chap happening upon it and from then seek to Remain.

And there are things that will be missed, and things we shall surely flinch at.

An economic dip (dipped in shit); forecast to upset even Eskimos.

A decline in international influence (we were an effective and moral country and now we can accomplish less for the world).

The future of generations only young are tarnished by the moral fibre of our elders; whilst the efforts of our even-elders are admonished (how could we have betrayed that corner of those foreign fields that are for ever England?) so as to indulge cowardice and ignorance at the hands of demagogue profiteers.

In a world of in dire thirst for unity, even less than that sacrifice of our European brothers and sisters; we have betrayed ourselves and the as-one spirit that can only come from a world of noble individuality.

From here; there is one way forward.

The absolute and merciless progression of compassion for one and all.

Outstanding or nothing.

The forging of great days or bust.

Though it is odd we are doing this now, not for our children, but for our grandchildren, such are the repercussions.

Epic-up Great Britain; for we now have no option but to save the world.

Ridiculous; isn’t it?

Good.

Fuck Nigel.

Sam

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