Some people don’t have it, others are ravaged by it, and if you can’t tell already – I am referring to the ability to wiggle ones eyebrows independently.
I don’t mean they can wriggle their eyebrows free from express command by higher authorities, more so that they can make the right eyebrow wriggle, as well as it’s sister.
Yes, I do believe that each eyebrow has a gender. My right is a dude, my left is his female fellow.
They are both entirely independent from each other, with separate social circles and professional squares.
Some people can’t do this. But they can dilate their nostrils.
I cannot dilate my nostrils, despite a vast amount of time doing…something (let’s call it ‘effort’) at the bathroom mirror (poor thing).
Both my wife and my boss can do this.
I however, can belly dance; whereas they can’t even watch.
I remember realising I could make my belly roll at a dinner party of my parents. The conversation was flowing, which was a shame as it was so dull, and I found myself as a last resort (forgive me, only being a young child, I was not mature enough to be so bored).
So, I just wondered if I could command my stomach to flip-flop in a manner that might cause halt to the conversation that was flowing like the dribble that such drivel rhymes with, and then I did it.
Soon I was on the table, feet amongst potatoes (as a young boy should – though normally not mashed), and tummy in the air, like a patriot of physiology and very keen to continue.
And things really haven’t changed since.
The belly dance is a tremendous tool as it is both as conversation stooped and starter – this being why I call it ‘corking’.
Some fellow of mine might be conversing at me, very face-first, about Brexit. I then say “Hey pal, look at midriff” and he’ll respond with: “Wowee Sam, good for you! It’s like Brexit, right? And another thing…”
I must admit my belly dance has been ineffective against Brexit and its constant production of dull argument, though I persist.
I belly dance in the face of democracy.
The problem with democracy is that it enables a majority of people to make a really bad decision.
That follows with a response to my theory, with the counter: “Are you saying that the majority of people are stupid?”
Of course they are, have you met people? Have you met the modern person? The average man in the street…doesn’t. Choose your topic of purposeful action, any at all, because the answer is ‘no they don’t’.
And we’re sinking into a quagmire of circumstance in which the talent of the nation is buggering off, and those that got us into this mess are expecting those whom voted Remain to get us back out of it.
Nevertheless, talent like this guy and his stomach aren’t going anywhere.
Particularly when I want to take a swipe at Remoaners too.
Uninformed of a separate selection of facts, those that berate the majority of the nation, such as I just did, could really do with a bit more experience outside of their preference.
Snobbiness is the worst failing of the British people, and the Remain campaign demonstrated that from the beginning. That is why it failed and that is why it is inherently unlikeable.
One thing that is guaranteed about the Brexiteers is that it has that feeling of blind romantic adventure. “Let’s do this and see what happens! We can make the best of it! Freedom!”
Whilst these sentiments may be based in untruths, the attraction remains – more so than the UK has within Europe.
European membership should have been celebrated whilst we had it. We all benefited, and could have improved our standing too, and now we are without, divided, and horrified by the fact that both sides were right and wrong in an ugly blend of uniformed ignorance and inexperienced ignorance.
Nationalism can be a wonderful thing if we could all have just gotten along.
Your loss. I’m a patriot to the side, proud of the best bits and eager to improve the rest, whilst unashamedly keen to make the most out of things for my neighbour and me.
Britain will be easy pickings for a belly dancer like me, beginning with the number one industry in the UK.
Not just a rainy mist apparently named by Snoop Dog, but a source of national unity akin to red phone booths, bizarre humour, bad teeth, and a reaction of chat-ceasing awe in the face of my belly dancing.
The drizzle industry is going to make a killing this year, and I want a piece of that soggy pie.
Patriots will have it shipped in, using it to obscure their neighbours, keep the laundry soggy like a Briton, and mystify the Mrs in association with a stiff upper lip and stiffer stiffy.
And it is during this kind of conversation you and I are having (thanks for contributing) in which I as a youngster first found cause and ability to belly dance.
I’m sure, whilst taking part in this conversation today, you’ve already found yourself trying it too.
Good job, see you on the drizzly other side.
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.
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.
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?
I think I’d make a lovely dictator.
It’s all in the elbow and secret police.
Beautifully folded arms and brutality in the case of people not celebrating your birthday and, congratulations, you’ve won.
So, I’ve written on the subject of fascism before (https://samsywoodsy.com/2012/12/13/im-a-nice-guy-but-i-cant-deny-the-fascist-in-me/) and this time I’ve got some evidence. The burden of proof is a wonderful thing when you have some.
Looking through annuls (as well as the anals…HA!) of history I’ve discovered the good deeds of dictators.
Naturally, mostly there is some an over-whelming degree of horror and unenlightened hatred from a few bullish men that feared losing power…but, my word, could they get things done…
Essentially- picture King Kong telling the trains to run on time. That train would arrive smiling because it was told to, with a faint whiff of not-big-enough banana just as you are ready to board for your morning commute into New York- avoiding the congested area around of the Empire State building owing to some sort of Great Ape in a uniform encouraging trains around from on high.
Picture this, and then picture your dead children, and you kind of get the idea as to why dictators can get things done.
Evil is a method perpetrated against others to ensure fear, and that fear is then used to sustain a very physical grip over the inhabitants of a state. As one famous US general once put it: “Get ‘em by the balls and the hearts and minds will follow”.
This is the method- often…and fuck it.
However, this is not the only method- for we also have Julius Caesar, Dictator with a capital ‘D’ because that was his actual role of office, and it suited him wonderfully.
Although Julius certainly had people killed; it was his politics (and wealth) that brought him the position of power in Rome, and the position giving to other by which to argue lay purely in how numerous you were in a knife fight. Act alone? Commiserations. 40 of you? Good for you- you’ve just done some ‘disposing’, not an easy thing to do and an awful stain to get out of your toga.
See Franklin Delano Roosevelt!
See his apparent wonderfulness, and forget-you-not that he ensured that whatever he sought to enact would become so by creating for himself: ‘Emergency Powers’.
FDR obtained his immense powers whilst the US was in the proverbial ‘shits’ (and…possibly literal…possibly- I expect that shit was a major aspect for someone in the depression era) of a grand-old, we-don’t-have-them-like-we-used-to depression…where the dungarees were dusty, the dust was the dinner, the dinner was the dog and there was nothing for dinner. Where’s the dog? In the dust. Yummy.
FDR created a great deal of benefits to the unemployed working-man that were necessary to bring the US out of the dark-depths of the depression, prior to the outbreak of WW2. And when that world conflict finally had itself a Pearl Harbour- things really got easy for FDR.
However…what matters here is that he was a nice guy.
Some might argue that he indulged in numerous and constant affairs whilst in office and whilst in wedlock to his (or rather: the nation’s) First Lady Eleanor…but she indulged right back at him. Indeed they would both appear to be rather good at indulging in the genitals of their chosen sexual partners. A gift for the extra-marital indulgences also seems to have served them well, whilst their actual marriage was rather more of a superb working partnership as opposed to a matter of the boring-old ‘love no other’ horse-tripe that so infuriates those more well libido-ed amongst us.
Maybe it meant they were more in-tune with their feelings following the ‘training’ of adultery.
“Once I was aware that I was feeling horny, upon which I acted. Another time, Pearl Harbour has Japan happen to it and I knew, as I did before, that I must fuck shit up…one…more…time”
He never said that, but I said it once whilst pretending to be him. Does this count? No, it does not.
They were good people.
And he was a great man.
Wonderful at affairs: foreign, domestic and extramarital.
A lovely dictator.
In his shoes- could you ask for more? Aside from the paralytic illness obviously (I hear he achieved that illness by falling off a boat. Paralysed and wet…never again).
Then there was all he achieved from the beginning of his Emergency Powers- such as working towards what would become the United Nations and a universal declaration of human rights. It took a dictator to get that done.
Prime Minister Harold Wilson, a man that acted upon the good council of academics and researchers to bring about the litigious roots for the legalisation of homosexuality 1965.
His actions, though tremendously unpopular in a land when one feared a gay man as something akin to anything that was a predator with an erection- bizarre and an enemy, brought us to where we are now, a place in history where homosexuality is celebrated as a joy and regarded by many (thankfully the younger of our over-crowded generations) as a social norm.
Who gives a fuck if the elderly want to maintain a world to their liking? Even if they gave a great deal during their lifetime- that is no entitlement to dissuading good people from harmless actions. Besides, a popular component of the meaning of life is: leave where you arrived a little more cheerful than how you found it. And stop being such a cunt.
Prime Minister Harold Wilson may or may not have harboured his own fearful grudge against his homosexual neighbour, he may have secretly yearned to bring sexual liberation to the masses that was frowned upon in the backbench of the Houses, but either way- he acted upon the informed and considered council of his chosen band of minds to ensure that what was right occurred.
At the time he was seen to be committing his nation to a moral danger, even in the sixties that swung, and it took a little time and far too much sadness to bring us about to where we are now. Fairly gay.
Before I select my final example of dictator-done-decent, I will quickly bring up that old chestnut of how Hitler’s military scientists did two things.
It is hard, in an article such as this, when on must bring about the sentence of: “And then there’s, you know… Hitler. And I’m sorry about that”.
I really am sorry about that. Not for mentioning Hitler, but for the results of him.
Although I really can’t take much responsibility for the Third Reich, I still feel an overwhelming urge to apologise for what they did. I’m not even blonde- but somehow I feel like I should have done more.
The positive effects of Nazi science today, amongst others, include:
- Research into nuclear experimentation, which would go on to be as applicable as we find it today.
- The negative effects of smoking.
Hitler’s scientists worked under his orders to discover and improve. Of course, there were other scientists working cold and malicious evils upon patients long-doomed to the Nazi dream, and these have been well documented and appropriately hated.
The effect now, however, is that we are a Nazi-scientist better off in research on smoking, inducing a ‘grand-stop’ of people partaking in the flaming sticks, and it is now seen as an item of ‘lacking’, as opposed to obtaining.
Essentially, smoking isn’t as cool as it used to be, and we have the potential to obliterate the planet as many times as we like until someone says: “Ok…I think they’ve had enough. Lessen up on the nukes”.
I guess it’s a bit of give and take, but at least we don’t have nuclear cigarettes- because those little stick of power would be really popular. Imagine the stains on our teeth.
Smoking is not as cool as it used to be and you have the orders of Dictator Adolf Hitler for that. And nuclear weapons are doing just terrifically.
Siad Barre was the fascist leader of Somalia throughout the 70’s who did some typical, African-leader, I’m-a-bastard, things. Yet forgive me, for there are some acts of his that fought the popular model to please the people and instead did what he felt was right via looking around the world to gain a better view.
Somalia, at the time of 1975 and for a good while of Barre’s reign, was essential a land of Islam and Sharia Law, the burqa being the only choice for women’s fashion and men felt a heavenly-condoned compulsion to carry a large rock in the hopes of seeing a woman doing something adulterous; like being seen.
Siad Barre, a murderer and tyrant, introduced the 1975 Family Law, permitting women to divorce their husband by their own choice, as well as being permitted to an equal share of inheritance from a dead male relative.
This was a good thing to do for women and although I doubt a Muslim woman trying to enact this right would rarely have been allowed out of the cellar, and may have in fact led to a great deal more death-by-gravel perpetrated some sort of religious ‘flock’ of cunts, it was a thing intended to do good, for good.
And it stayed this way for a while. Any trouble? Quash it. That’s right- not even ‘squash’ it, we’re not going to waste that extra lick of the tongue on these dissenter, not when we could be quashing them.
10 Muslim clerics stood in their mosques following the announcement of the Family Law and called for it to be ignored and urged rebellion.
They were all killed.
Not that Siad Barre was a pleasant fellow or anything of the sort. All I’m trying to convey here is this: the good act would have been rebelled upon had it not been for the hands of a dictator working their brutal magic.
And then there’s me…I’m a nice guy, but I can’t deny the fascist in me. Given the chance I wouldn’t permit religion in a nation state, owing to the matter of the millennia of devastation, and when I would be told that this was unjust…I’d hit them with a shoe. I’m a fascist; don’t judge.
Doubtless there would be those demanding several of the UN’s freedoms of speech and religion, brought about by my dictating colleague President Roosevelt, and I would have to impose a stance against this right, and I wouldn’t have to explain why because I’m armed. (In reality, of course, you may find my answer to such a question soon to come. Let’s just say I’ll alarm you to its presence, as well as for the sake of it).
“You’re entitled to your opinion but only here. Elsewhere I’d be following you home and liberating your wife”
I was about to conclude my piece here with the pronouncement encouraging action upon one’s ambitions for the world, and then pro-democracy protests began in Hong Kong (28/09/14). I feel piteous anger for those suffering such a thing as China.
China is a body ravaging its heart for the sake of its brain- a state that learned to eat its feet as fuel to march. Elimination of the of human rights has been remarkably beneficial to productivity- a lesson learnt long ago, at least as far back as realising how a whip can bring about pyramids in Egypt.
And so it is that I must concede the point, which is good, out of sheer good fortune for ourselves: the world is inhabited by folk hoping for much the same as you and I…a happy life with little to fear.
Looking into the faces of the very young protesters of Hong Kong, I see no fear, but a righteous anger and pride that so often swells when the very threat of fear has been laid upon the land’s table and the generation about to encounter it decide, or rather realise, there is no alternative but to stand up to a bully.
So, there, my case for dictatorship falls to the ground, with a self-inflicted bullet to the brain, a pill still fizzing mid-way down the gullet, and the petrol still currently being doused over it. There must be no body.
However, though I am regrettably confident that the actions of the Chinese dissidents (I love that identity- a Chinese dissident will never be out of vogue) will soon be…quashed…I am equally confident that like every other leader, from dictator of Rome to tyrant of 20th century Europe, that which is evil shall fall, to be either gloriously forgotten or solemnly learned from.
Fuck China; it’s really good at oppressing people.
Here’s to democracy in Hong Kong…not that there’s any chance of anyone there actually reading this…
Of course, I don’t actually have a fascist inside me. No. Of course not. If I did then he/she wouldn’t allow me to blog about it.
However, opinion-wise (maybe not ‘-wise’, more…’opinion-esque’) I have to say that fascists always seem to be the way to go for me. Removal of free-will tends to mean that things gets done.
Let’s look at the Nazis. Apart from the war and the moral side of things, they were tremendously successful. Happy families, smart uniform, and a jolly rally every now and then.
Then there’s China. A super-power with little going against it apart from everyone else, yet everyone’s money is very much so in China’s favour. They’re doing rather well these days. China, you may have heard of it? It’s usually Eastwards. Unless you’re Japan…in which case IT’S COMING…
It’s a pleasant change to be able to say that WW2 Germany and China are good examples of anything apart from Ming pottery, black leather, and very, very neat hair, amongst other evil and pointless things, so this shows just how good they were/are at fascism and that’s not something they teach in schools. There’s no ‘Fascism 101′ in which you turn up to class the fuck on time, have your shirt tucked all the way down into your shoes in case it should escape, and do your homework to avoid being blindfolded against the wall and shot whilst your parents are glad to be rid of you, you rebellious little shit. Hmm. Taking a nasty turn with the allegory here. Maybe this is another negative side of fascism. Unpleasant allegories.
But I want to focus on the fact that if any of us become ruler of the world; we would want to run it our way, according to our opinions and abilities. With the world’s resources behind you, the only people against you would be the rest of the world that wants their resources back unless you’re pleasing them, an odd thing to try to do unless you’re ruler of the world.
However, no matter what, someone will be against your way of running things, and here is the crux of the matter. If you were to simply take a leaf out of Nike’s book of slogans and say: “Just Do It”, then maybe, things might get done. And all you need after that is time. And maybe bare in mind that Nike are being really rather rude and insistent. You don’t have to do it if you feel like it, unless of course you’re being told to do it by the local fascist, in which case you’d better remember that they can be pretty determined. And that you’re just a rebellious little shit.
Some people will become freedom fighters and terrorists, and all you have to do is outlast them. Gradually, people will forget that they are under a fascist state and will assume that things are as they should be, and that’s all.
I say, just take power and then fuck ’em. Now I’m prepared to give this a go, but don’t do it if you’re evil, that’d be extremely unfavourable to my game-plan here since people will assume I’m encouraging you. Unless of course you’re a fascist and think I’m being rebellious. You’d better oppress me before I get out of hand.
How would we take power?
Well, normally I’d suggest T-shirts, you walking propaganda you. Wear your political mantra and strut. If people begin to throw things, let it get stained with battle-wear. The red of the Union-Jack represents blood spilt- I hope your new stains will be just as romantic. Otherwise…umbrellas.
Umbrellas, rather than towels, are what I feel Douglas Adams should have recommend all travellers should never be without.
They can be propaganda, they can shield you (unless being it with anything harder than water), they can be brandished– yeah- brandished…before wither being used to fling, strike, thrust, adorably poke and, of course, gesture with. All this, and they are terribly English. The English do wet hair- we do wet-woollen shirts in summertime ponds.
Right. So there you go. Umbrellas and fascism: it’s probably been done, but at least you have something to do now. You fascist.