Sunday, June 24, 2007


Posted: Wed Jun 20, 2007 7:55 am Reply with quote
Following the 'Cornwall' incident, and the subsequent balanced enquiry and report, new ROE setting out protocols for the use of boarding parties have now been issued to the Fleet (the ships as well as the St).

These protocols have been put together following an extensive consultation exercise with not only the axis of evil, potted rogue states and global jihadists, but with the whole panoply of human rights organisations and home-grown dissidents.

The S of S for Defence stated ”These protocols ring in the dawn of a new age in dealing with asymmetric threat and are seen as a template for future strategic doctrinal development. They are an example of best practice and world class, and have already been adopted by the Easter Island Defence Force (R)

Rules For Naval Boarding Parties

1. No boarding party shall be assembled unless it comprises of a fully diverse, multi-faith, and multi-racial team, and must include as an absolute minimum, 1 x Muslim, 1 x lesbian, 1 x homosexual, 1 x disabled and 1 x transgendered person, with a diverse range of language skills including Farsi, Chinese, Indian, Filipino and Arabic (English is optional).

2. Each party shall be issued with a comprehensive suite of pre-recorded pro-jihadist, anti-Western programmes and leaflets, in a variety of formats including sound only versions for the visually impaired and Braille for the visually/aurally impaired. In addition each team must carry an audio loop. No member shall deploy unless he/she/it has received media ops trg.

3. No combat dress is to be worn as this can cause tensions when boarding. Jumpsuits, in non-threatening pastel shades shall be issued, with name badges prominently displayed both front and rear in Farsi and Arabic, with a raised font for those requiring Braille.

4. Badges of rank may be worn, however they are to be affixed with Velcro so they can easily be removed to give the impression that nobody is in charge, or swapped so the best person can take charge.

5. Before undertaking any boarding a sound risk assessment is first to be undertaken. AWACS will be deployed (taking care to ensure that it remains at a safe distance from any potential threat) to assess the risk. If there is the slightest indication that there is the slightest risk the operation is to be called off immediately and handed over to the Health & Safety Executive for action. In any event no boarding party must launch without signed authority from the S of S for Defence. If the ocean is the slightest bit choppy, or any of the team subject to sea-sickness, the boarding is to be immediately cancelled.

6. Boarding is to be carried out in a non-threatening non-judgemental way and care must be taken not to stereotype when conducting a sensitive search of the boat. Weapons, if they are deemed necessary, are to be unloaded and worn casually as if to give the impression that they are mere accessories, and not an essential tool to up the ante if required.

7. If, after boarding, there is the slightest hint of a raised voice the entire boarding party is to lay down its weapons and MOD F90, undress, and state:

“We, part of the evil Western Empire, are truly sorry that we have disturbed your gun running activity and would be grateful if you would transport us immediately to the nearest rogue state. You will be aware that under the Geneva Convention we are allowed to retain our Stonewall membership cards, our family (and by family we don’t just mean 2 +2, they come in all shapes and sizes) sized bag of dolly mixtures, and out iPod with downloadable Islamic chants and prayers, and would be grateful if you would respect this. In addition, permission to retain that nice propelling pencil that dear old Auntie Mavis gave me for Winterval last year would b appreciated.

8. Immediately, it is known that the boarding party has taken the sensible decision and surrendered, a General Naval Order is to be immediately issued ordering the entire fleet, including underwater assets, to make their way , at full speed, back to Portsmouth, where a vast array of counsellors will be waiting to provide the necessary support. They will remain there until the terms of surrender have been finalised between the Government of the Rogue State and the Media Operations Director of the BBC.

End of Revised Boarding Party Rules

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Flat Cat Blogging.

I remembered this evening about the girl I consider the housemate from hell. She seems inoffensive enough, but she’s a bit of a twit. You’ve heard of passive-aggressive people? Well K is passive-passive. She spends so much time sitting on the fence that she’s got an arse full of splinters.

Anyway, K was living with C then moved out to share with me. C’s a bit of a psycho. And I mean with a capital PSYCHO. He lives in a rundown house with holes in the floorboards, his idea of doing the dishes is to leave them out in the yard for the rats and birds and rain to clean.

Yes, I’ve seen the plates sitting out on the back yard table.

And he likes to eat roadkill, and is a well (self) trained taxidermist.

As C’s a bit of a whackjob, K finally got over his moods, so moved out. Since I needed a housemate and we knew each other, had worked on a couple of jobs together, it suited both of us.

Of course, C lobbing a full can of beer at her helped her to that decision.

Her moving out didn’t quite destroy the relationship between them, but obviously placed a strain on it.

K also came with a cat she called Tigger. Tigger was a longhaired feral tabby. Why on earth anyone would try to keep a feral cat as a pet has got me, but that’s the way she is, I guess. So long as he could come and go as he pleased, he was generally ok. Not the most affectionate or demanding of cats, which was also fine by me.

So Tigger is out and about one night and doesn’t come home.

I’d gone to bed around 11 that night, not fussed since the window was open for him.

K came home the next morning around 8-9, and was looking for her cat. He didn’t come when she called, so I got roped into looking for him. I wasn’t quite compos mentis at the time, and didn’t have my glasses on, but from the back porch and looking down the driveway, there was a dark shape in the gutter across the road.

Of course K had to spot it just after me, and asked what it was. I said I don’t know, I need to get my glasses.

I head on out the front (with glasses on) with her trailing after me.

Yup, it was the cat. He had been hit by a car – one of those glancing blows that leave the animal barely touched physically, but still dead as a doornail.

I went back to get some gloves, and stuff to dispose of the cat and the bloody hysterics start.

“Oh, my baby! MY BABY!” Much wailing and gnashing of teeth, tears running down her face and screaming in agony.

I couldn’t believe she was reacting like that. Heaven knows what the neighbours thought.

I’m just glad I kept my back to her, because rigor mortis had set in, and the cat was stiff as a post. And I mean STIFF. I was nearly hysterical myself, but it was from laughing too hard.

The poor bloody cat was lying in the gutter on his side, four legs outstretched, tail likewise out straight, and when I picked him up, he still had his four legs and tails sticking out at all angles. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen – like something out of a bugs bunny cartoon.

Her screaming and wailing just added to the surreal nature of the day and my gut hurt from not laughing out loud. I didn’t think it would be politic to fall over in stitches. I don’t think she would have appreciated it somehow.

I got the cat wrapped in a towel, but didn’t get the chance to bury him or otherwise dispose of him.

K called up C (I agree, dumb idea) and wanted him to preserve Tigger’s hide. (Ya, even dumber idea).

So C agrees and comes over, collects the corpse, with much whining and sooking from him, too. (How do these people make it past the age of 12?)

Needless to say, he and K had yet another falling out, and it got even more dramatic when he nailed a piece of the bloody cat to the front door telling her to pay up or she’ll never see the cat again.

It was like something out of a d-grade schlockfest. Things like that really do happen. Of course, there was a happy ending to all of this:

I got to go with K to the court for a restraining order against C, I kicked her out and got The Godmother in as a housemate (yay) and C is still a total whackjob. He’s very creative, but still needs to be locked up.

K went overseas, and spends her time between here and there.

Monday, June 18, 2007

A Woman's Right To Choose.

Well, maybe here in Australia.

Not so sure about Afghanistan.

Or Iran.

Okay, I'm still not up on all this embedding technology, but if you double click on the above thingo, you'll get taken to the liveleak article with a couple of lovely pics. Also, Publius Pundit has been covering the freedom of women in Iran to dress as they please here, here, and here.

Freedom in religion. Yeah, right, whatever you say.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Toilet Humour.

As those of us with kids know, toilets are an endless source of amusement.

My girl has found the ultimate way to amuse herself in the toilet.

Behold! I give you:

Bog Art!

The TMI Files. Theology And The Four Year Old

I know postings a bit light on, but there was a bit of an upheaval in the household and we've got a new housemate. My teenage niece, L, has joined us in Bogan Central.

That's been keeping me out of mischief, as has my new job. It's nothing fancy, just office work, and my hours are around Magilla's, so it's perfect for me.

I've also been pulling together my thoughts on patriarchy and feminism, but I need to be able to sit down for a few solid hours to get that done properly.

For your entertainment in the meantime, however, Magilla is very bit on Jesus and God at the moment. Since she was away over the long weekend the other week, she missed church.

And since she enjoys going to church, she lets me know that she's missing it.

Yesterday, driving home from daycare, she asked me if we could go to church. I replied that we would go on sunday as usual.

She continued on...

Magilla: You can't say that Jesus makes it rain any more.

Me: Oh, okay then.

Magilla: The sun dries the water up from the sea and the pools and takes the chlorine out and makes it in clouds. That's what makes rain.

Me: Is that right?

Magilla: Yes, so Jesus doesn't make it rain.

Me: Is that what Daddy says?

Magilla: Yes, so you're not allowed to say that any more.

Me: Okay, but who's watching over everything?

Magilla: Jesus. Why doesn't Daddy like God and Jesus?
(this is a recurring theme in our household)

Me: Well, some people don't understand about Him and decide that because He's not like normal people they don't like Him or believe in Him.

Magilla: Oh. But God and Jesus are good people.

Me: Yes they are.

Magilla: I think Daddy should like Jesus and God. And John Howard.

Me: You want me to say something?

Magilla: Yes. You should tell him to like them.

Me: I should have words with your father and tell him about Jesus and why he should like Him?

Magilla: Yes you should.

Me: Oh. Okay.
(dumbstruck. her father is a rabid anti-religion atheist.)

From there, the conversation turned to the concept of the Trinity. Well, two members of the Trinity at least.

ME: You know, Jesus and God are the same person.

Magilla: They are?

Me: Yes, they are different parts of one person. You know how I'm not just Mummy I'm also Nilk? God and Jesus are like that.

Magilla: Why?
(her favourite question)

Me: Well, to you I'm Mummy, but other people call me Nilk, don't they?

Magilla: (slowly) Yes....

Me: I'm still the same, but I'm your mummy, not anyone else's, and I'm different with you than I am with them, yes?

Magilla: Yes....

Me: It's like that with Jesus and God. He's the same person, but He sometimes does different things so we call Him either Jesus or God.

Magilla: Does Jesus and God call you Nilk?

Me: (laughing) Yes, if He's talking to me properly. But God doesn't talk to us like normal people. We don't hear Him with our ears, which is why some people don't understand and choose to believe He's not real.

Magilla: But He is real.

Me: Yes, and even though we can't see Him or hear Him like I'm talking to you now, He's still with us. And sometimes if we listen, we can hear Him inside of us. It's not like normal listening.

Magilla: I haven't heard Him.

Me: No, but that doesn't mean He won't talk to you. I've heard Him, so I can tell you He's around. He doesn't talk much to us, but He's here alright.

Magilla: Okay.

About this time, we pulled up at home, and Theology 101 was over.

We'll no doubt have many more of these discussions, and it's remarkable to me how comfortable she is in her belief.

Of course, the other side of her family tree isn't impressed, but church and God are not negotiable, so I guess I will be having words with them at some stage on this matter.

Another snippet to amuse which has nothing to do with religion.

Magilla says to me a couple of days ago: I wish the Fat Cat (who has been on a diet) would get fat again. Then she won't be able to run away!