Norman and Saxon

Norman and Saxon - Rudyard Kipling.

“My son,” said the Norman Baron, “I am dying, and you will be heir
To all the broad acres in England that William gave me for share
When he conquered the Saxon at Hastings, and a nice little handful it is.
But before you go over to rule it I want you to understand this:–

“The Saxon is not like us Normans. His manners are not so polite.
But he never means anything serious till he talks about justice and right.
When he stands like an ox in the furrow – with his sullen set eyes on your own,
And grumbles, ‘This isn’t fair dealing,’ my son, leave the Saxon alone.

“You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your Picardy spears;
But don’t try that game on the Saxon; you’ll have the whole brood round your ears.
From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest chained serf in the field,
They’ll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are wise, you will yield.

“But first you must master their language, their dialect, proverbs and songs.
Don’t trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the tale of their wrongs.
Let them know that you know what they’re saying; let them feel that you know what to say.
Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear ‘em out if it takes you all day.

They’ll drink every hour of the daylight and poach every hour of the dark.
It’s the sport not the rabbits they’re after (we’ve plenty of game in the park).
Don’t hang them or cut off their fingers. That’s wasteful as well as unkind,
For a hard-bitten, South-country poacher makes the best man- at-arms you can find.

“Appear with your wife and the children at their weddings and funerals and feasts.
Be polite but not friendly to Bishops; be good to all poor parish priests.
Say ‘we,’ ‘us’ and ‘ours’ when you’re talking, instead of ‘you fellows’ and ‘I.’
Don’t ride over seeds; keep your temper; and never you tell ‘em a lie!”

... This isn't fair dealing.

Close Enough.

CLOSE ENOUGH (2009)

He thought about you alot
A constant memory that could not have been forgot
Never came close enough
He played it cool because he didn’t want to look a fool or make a fuss
Keeping his feelings withheld deep inside
Somewhere below the surface, somewhere they could hide

Was it real, did the pair of you almost share a moment back in 2005?
Although he wasn’t feeling confident that he could be the prize
The one you really wanted, maybe that night?
Would it have really been so wrong, as you turned off your light?

Just a quick kiss on the cheek after he walked you home
He never wanted you to go it alone
Did the two of you ever come close, but not close enough?
He always thought of you, that you were out of his league
He didn’t think he was what you need

He recalls the night, you scored that date with another
The guy who turned out to be a joke
As you shared a laugh about it at the bar as you two, later spoke
He told you in not so many words that he always wanted you
But the timing was always wrong, there was nothing you both could do
Although maybe you both should have done
Maybe it would have been a lifetime of love, you both could have won?

Now some years have passed, they seem to go by so fast
And he still wonders if you felt the same?
Or was he just another face, just another name?
Would you have ever have grown close, close enough?
Made it through the storm when the going got tough?
How does it feel, Knowing that he still thinks about you?

Skelly Makaveli (c) 2010

Words, Wide Night.

Words, Wide Night.

Somewhere, on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you

and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy.

This Week 70 Years Ago...

The little boats of England,
The little motor boats,
The little penny steamers,
From Lands End to John O'Groats.

The Brighton Belle, the Margate Queen,
The Vigilant, The Lark,
The Saucy Jane, The Gracie Fields,
(Even a Noarh's Arc).

Picked up their country's message
That it's back was to the Wall.
There is danger, there is danger,
Will you answer to the call?

Francis Drake, and Collinwood,
And Nelson of the Nile
Were on their quarterdecks again,
-You should have seen them smile.

When all the little boats pushed out
From Dover to Dunkirk,
To heed their country's message,
That was their job of work.

(Sara Carsley.)

Dunkirk, 1940.

Robin Hood And Alan-a-dale.

Come listen to me, you gallants so free,
All you that love laughter to hear,
And I will tell you of a bold outlaw
That lived in Nottinghamshire.

As Robin Hood in the forest stood,
Under the greenwood tree,
He saw a young man in scarlet red
Singing a roundelay.

As Robin Hood next morning stood,
Among the leaves so gay,
There he saw the same young man
Come drooping along the way.

The scarlet he wore the day before -
He'd cast it clean away,
At every step he sighed 'Alas!
How wretched I am today!'

Then stepped out brave Little John
And Much the miller's son;
Which made the young man bend his bow,
When he saw them come.

'Stand off, stand off,' the young man said.
'What do you want with me?'
'You must come before our master now,
Under the greenwood tree.'

When he came before their master,
Robin asked him courteously,
'O, have you any money to spare
For my merry men and me?'

'I have no money,' the young man said,
'But five shillings and a ring.
And that I have kept for seven long years,
To have at my wedding.

'Yesterday I should have married a girl,
But she's been taken away
And chosen to be an old knight's delight,
And my poor heart is slain!'

'What is your name?' said Robin Hood.
'My name is Alan-a-dale.'
'How much will you pay if I bring her back
And give her to you without fail?'

'I have no money.' the young man said,
'And that is the truth I tell.
But I will swear to be your man
And ever to serve you well.'

'How many miles to your true-love?
And tell me no lies, I say.'
'By the faith of my body,' the young man said,
'She lives five miles away.'

Then Robin hastened over the fields,
He didn't linger or wait,
Till he came to the church where the wedding was
And rushed in through the gate.

'What's this? What's this?' the bishop said.
'Now tell the truth to me.'
'I'm a bold harper,' said Robin Hood,
'The best in the north country.'

'O welcome, O welcome,' the bishop said.
'That music pleases me.'
'You'll have no music,' said Robin Hood,
'Till the bride and bridegroom I see.'

Just the a wealthy knight came in,
Who was both grave and old,
And after him a dainty lass,
Who shone like glittering gold.

'This is no fit match,' said Robin,
'That you are making here;
And now that we have come to the church,
The bride shall choose her own dear.'

Then Robin put his horn to his mouth
And blew blasts two or three;
And four-and-twenty bowmen brave
Came leaping over the lea.

And when they came to the churchyard,
Marching all in a row,
The first man was Alan-a-dale
To give bold Robin his bow.

'This is your true love,' Robin said,
'Young Alan, as I hear say;
And you shall be married this very hour,
Before we depart away.'

'That shall not be,' the bishop said,
'For your word shall not stand.
They must be asked three times in church -
That's the law of our land.

Robin pulled off the bishop's coat
And put it on Little John.
'By the faith of my body,' Robin said,
'The clothing makes the man.'

When Little John went into the choir,
The people began to laugh;
He asked them seven times in the chursh
Lest three times wasn't enough.

'Who's giving the bride?' said Little John.
'I am.' Up Robin stood.
'The man who takes her from Alan-a-dale
Must reckon with Robin Hood.'

And so the wedding came to an end -
The bride looked fresh as a queen;
And then they returned to the merry green wood
Among the leaves so green.

(Traditional/Folk)

Gordoom's Facepalm Moment;

No need for words.

Letter to me at 16

Nice and simple this one..



That is all.

Do you remember David Bellamy?

I remember him most fondly.

He was a favourite of mine when I was a child.
His enthusiasm, and animated motions of glee when he spoke about whatever bug, bird, flowers, or mammal that he was on the television telling us about, always enchanted me.

I wanted to be just like David Bellamy, I used to do impressions of him, stroking my pretend beard and gesticulating wildly in front of the family dog. (Who would stare back in bewildered confusion with his head tilted slightly to one side!)

I had a few of his books too, and I seem to recall an 'I Spy' annual related to him as well. He was in fact, a perfect childrens wildlife presenter.

Where did he go? He just disappeared from our lives in the late nineties didn't he?
I put it down to the fact that children's wildlife programmes were less popular now, for whatever reason.

Part of me even wondered if he had passed away...

Well, thanks to Steve at The Daily Referendum, I have been reunited with my childhood friend, alive and well, and still just as enthusiastic about his science, which he believes is the reason he is no longer with us on our televisions;

Two media colleagues, Julian Pettifer and Robin Page, were publicly sacked by the BBC — in essence, because they could no longer be viewed as non-biased in their opinions.

I can only only assume that, to them, I also fell into that category — because from that point on my career on TV came to an abrupt end. Despite my resume of approximately 400 TV shows. more: 5th December 2009...

I am genuinely thrilled to have him back! Seriously!
I can still learn much from him, and he's still talking about things that I want to hear about, just as he did when I was a child.

There is no evidence of carbon dioxide being a poison, or that it is capable of causing a warming Armageddon.

What follows is a summary of the proof — straight from real science, peer-reviewed over the past 232 years by legions of physicists, thanks to Newton’s Principia. more: 12th December 2009.

Mr Bellamy, welcome back Sir!

For FUCK'S SAKE!

English Mother fucker, do you speak it?

Jules Winnfield; Pulp Fiction.

Their.

The possessive of they. Something that belongs to someone.


There.

Over there, under there, it is there. A place.


They're.

They are. Are they? Yes they are.


They're putting their coats over there.


GET IT RIGHT! It's not so difficult!

What's that? You could care less about what I say?

GOOD! Because that means that you DO care enough to be able to care LESS!

Personally, I COULDN'T care less, because I already care so little, whether you care or not, just GET IT RIGHT!

RAWR!

Because it needs preserving...

I read this this morning, on The Times' website.

A few minuites ago, I read elsewhere that it has been removed from the Times' website, with only a missed quote appearing randomly at the top of the homepage occasionally.

Full details HERE, but just in case that gets lost for any reason, here is what Jeremy Clarkson had to say in his column in The Times yesterday;

I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt

I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.

There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America.

Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.

And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”

It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?

You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.

You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany ... because you just can’t.

The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.

Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.

I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.

So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit.

Thank you Jeremy.

Education, edyokayshn, ثقاف

This gave me a giggle, with a hat tip to RantinRab.

1. Teaching Maths In 1970:

A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price. What is his profit?

2. Teaching Maths In 1980:

A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100. His cost of production is 80% of the price. What is his profit?

3. Teaching Maths In 1990:

A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100. His cost of production is £80. How much was his profit?

4. Teaching Maths In 2000:

A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100. His cost of production is £80 and his profit is £20. Your assignment: Underline the number 20.

5. Teaching Maths In 2005:

A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our woodlands.
Your assignment:
Discuss how the birds and squirrels might feel as the logger cut down their homes just for a measly profit of £20.

6. Teaching Maths In 2009:

A logger is arrested for trying to cut down a tree in case it may be offensive to Muslims or other religious groups not consulted in the felling licence.
He is also fined a £100 as his chainsaw is in breach of Health and Safety legislation as it deemed too dangerous and could cut something.
He has used the chainsaw for over 20 years without incident however he does not have the correct certificate of competence and is therefore considered to be a recidivist and habitual criminal.
His DNA is sampled and his details circulated throughout all government agencies.
He protests and is taken to court and fined another £100 because he is such an easy target.

When he is released he returns to find Gypsies have cut down half his wood to build a camp on his land.
He tries to throw them off but is arrested, prosecuted for harassing an ethnic minority, imprisoned and fined a further £100.

While he is in jail the Gypsies cut down the rest of his wood and sell it on the black market for £100 cash. They also have a leaving BBQ of squirrel and pheasant and depart leaving behind several tonnes of rubbish and asbestos sheeting.

The logger on release is warned that failure to clear the fly tipped rubbish immediately at his own cost is an offence. He complains and is arrested for environmental pollution, breach of the peace and invoiced £12,000 plus VAT for safe disposal costs by a regulated government contractor.

Your assignment:
How many times is the logger going to have to be arrested and fined before he realises that he is never going to make £20 profit by hard work, give up, sign onto the dole and live off the state for the rest of his life?

7. Teaching Maths In 2010:

A logger doesn’t sell a lorry load of timber because he can’t get a loan to buy a new lorry because his bank has spent all his and their money on a derivative of securitised debt related to sub- prime mortgages in Alabama and lost the lot with only some government money left to pay a few million pound bonuses to their senior directors and the traders who made the biggest losses.

The logger struggles to pay the £1,200 road tax on his old lorry however, as it was built in the 1970s it no longer meets the emissions regulations and he is forced to scrap it.

Some Bulgarian loggers buy the lorry from the scrap merchant and put it back on the road.
They undercut everyone on price for haulage and send their cash back home, while claiming unemployment for themselves and their relatives.

If questioned they speak no English and it is easier to deport them at the governments expense.
Following their holiday back home they return to the UK with different names and fresh girls and start again.

The logger protests, is accused of being a bigoted racist and as his name is on the side of his old lorry he is forced to pay £1,500 registration fees as a gang master.
The Government borrows more money to pay more to the bankers as bonus's are not cheap.
The parliamentarians feel they are missing out and claim the difference on expenses and allowances. You do the maths.

8. Teaching Maths 2017:

أ المسجل تبيع حموله شاحنة من الخشب من اجل 100 دولار. صاحب تكلفة

الانتاج من الثمن. ما هو الربح له؟

Let's Talk...

Reposted from the Yorkshire Libertarian Blog:

Let’s talk.

I need your help.

After a conversation with Andrew Withers, chairman of the LPUK, last week, I have taken on the role of regional coordinator for the Yorkshire region of the LPUK.

How many of us are there? How many LPUK members are in the Yorkshire region, and, indeed, how many people are reading this from Yorkshire, who are perhaps considering joining us, or want to know more about us, and the philosophy of liberty?

I’d like to try and arrange a meeting of some kind. Informally, so we can get to know each other a little. We can discuss Libertarianism in a nice pub somewhere.

I was at the LPUK AGM in York last year, and I thoroughly enjoyed the conversations we were all having together. Just speaking, and listening to like-minded people made the LPUK all the more real to me.

I think that is the problem we have at the moment, within the LPUK. So many names, but no faces. No genuine contact.

It feels to me sometimes, reading the LPUK member’s forums and to a lesser degree the main blog, that there are a lot of pissing competitions going on. Schoolyard ‘I’m more Libertarian than you’ nonsense, which can sometimes make me feel like we will never get anywhere.

I believe face to face contact, and a good old natter over a few bevvies is the best way to try and get things rolling. The LPUK internet presence has it’s place, it’s time and purpose, but now we need to be looking at taking real physical action.

We need to be getting the LPUK word out, in preparation not necessarily for the next general election, but for the one after. We need to be arranging meetings, getting our name out there, and getting people’s attention. I believe we need to be looking at getting a few LPUK bottoms into some local council seats if we have the people willing to stand.

I believe there is something for everyone within the LPUK. I honestly believe we can offer the change, a new direction, and next level of ‘democracy’ to this once great Country.

Great Britain has been viewed as the Mother of democracy throughout the free world, but now that democracy has become tainted, and spoiled. It no longer serves the people of Great Britain the way it was intended. It has been exploited, and abused, and manipulated to serve only the few, and not the majority.

It’s time for the next stage of democracy. It’s time for a change, and time for a new kind of freedom to all who would embrace it. A freedom that has been erroded, and withdrawn from us over the last twelve years.

This is where I need your help.

I am no politician, I’m barely any kind of organiser, or coordinator. I’ve stepped up to take this position because, quite simply, nobody else did. If someone more able were to come along tomorrow, and ask to take my place here, I would gladly step aside and watch them do a better job than I.

I am doing this because I believe it is the only way we are going to get ourselves known outside the internet.

The current by-election campaign in Norwich North has shown us that the mainstream media has no interest in us. Even as a legitimate, campaigning political party, with the youngest ever parliamentary candidate, we have struggled to get much coverage. Not that this was unexpected, we knew from the start that it would be difficult to get noticed, but what we do seem to have found however, is that the people that our campaigners in Norwich have been able to speak to, face to face, have been reacting positively to our policies, and direction.

I believe we will get the votes that we need to get our deposit back, and you have it here in writing!

But, back to Yorkshire, and the help I need from you.

Where are you all?

Yorkshire is a big region as we are all aware. I myself am in York, in the North riding. I’m fairly certain we have members in Bradford, in the West riding, but other than that, I have no idea where you are.

Who are you?

Are you a leader? Do you have experience in politics that you could share with the LPUK, to try and move ourselves forward? Would you be interested in becoming a parliamentary, or local candidate for the LPUK further down the line?

What can you do?

Do you have contacts, or skills that would be useful in getting the LPUK’s message out there? Can you stuff envelopes, or pound the streets, or deliver leaflets? Can you make a donation to the LPUK, to help us with future election fees?

What do you want from me, your regional coordinator?

Tell me.

I believe that the LPUK is the only alternative now. All the other parties are merely differently coloured rosettes, but with almost the same ultimate ambitions and final outcomes.

They all want to rule you, and tell you how to live your life, while serving only themselves.

They are supposed to be working for YOU, you do not serve THEM.

Only the LPUK would give control of your life back to YOU. Only the LPUK will work to make YOU better off in every aspect of your life.

Let me know how I can serve you best, as your regional coordinator.

Hahaha!

This gave me a giggle from Pingwire.

Dr. Ism's Formula.

From Citizen X :


Obviously American, but the message applies everywhere.

People Like You Voting BNP.

.. Or so the bile-filled leaflet that came through my door yesterday told me.

My first question, before even reading any of it's contents was 'Who exactly, likes me voting BNP? '

Which people?!

The British Nationalist Party can't even get our written language correct!
I do not pretend to be some kind of linguistic expert, but surely a campaigning political party would get it right, right?

Well, upon further inspection, I realised, without surprise, that the leaflet was full of shit anyway, so I put it to good use...

Turbo and Rhea started to eat it, but they said it left a nasty aftertaste.

I suspect that will be the case if you vote for them too, so take the advice of these Ginuea Pigs, and piss all over the BNP instead!

The Difference Between MP's, And Us.

Hat tip to Trixy for this one.

The Hair Cut.

One day a florist goes to a barber for a haircut. After the cut he asked about his bill and the barber replies, 'I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week.'
The florist was pleased and left the shop.
When the barber goes to open his shop the next morning there is a 'thank you' card and a dozen roses waiting for him at his door..

Later, a cop comes in for a haircut, and when he tries to pay his bill, the barber again replies, 'I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week.'
The cop is happy and leaves the shop.
The next morning when the barber goes to open up there is a 'thank you' card and a dozen donuts waiting for him at his door.

Later that day, a college professor comes in for a haircut, and when he tries to pay his bill, the barber again replies, 'I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week.'
The professor is very happy and leaves the shop.
The next morning when the barber opens his shop, there is a 'thank you' card and a dozen different books, such as 'How to Improve Your Business' and 'Becoming More Successful.'

Then, a Member of Parliament comes in for a haircut , and when he goes to pay his bill the barber again replies, 'I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week.'
The Member of Parliament is very happy and leaves the shop.
The next morning when the barber goes to open up, there are a dozen Members of Parliament lined up waiting for a free haircut.

And that, my friends, illustrates the fundamental difference between the citizens of our country and the Members of Parliament.

Tonight

Going to test out the new tent, and camping gear this afternoon, just one night at Wren's, to make sure everything is as it should be with the tent, before we start taking it to the Moors.

Will have pictures, and a blog update on Sunday/Monday.

Haha!

Poor Karen Matthews.

It seems poor Karen Matthews is missing a few things while she's doing her time.

Sex, shopping, and coffee at her neighbour's, but not a word for any of her beer and fag tokens, er, I mean children, including Shannon, who was held prisoner in the base of a divan bed while her Mother plotted to grab newspaper reward money.

Poor Thing.

"Matthews said: "My downfall has always been men. I get the blame for everything.

"I am sorry - sorry that I am in here serving time for something I didn't do. But I have to decide how I always go for the wrong men.
"I was framed. I didn't do it. I don't care about money but how am I ever going to prove I'm innocent?"

They used to have people jump off rocky clifftops to prove their innocence. If they lived, they were deemed innocent by God, and were freed, but if they died, justice had been served, and the world had one less piece of trash roaming atop it.

That'd be cheaper for us taxpayers too!

Do the jump Karen!

Just A Quickie...

Chicken Katsu, followed by a delicious chicken teriyaki, with a couple of bottles of Asahi Black..

Mmmm...

That is all..