Election Scandal deepens as new allegations of fraud emerge.
According to a White House source, an unspecified number of prayers for the removal of Trump, made by non-Christians, who are not entitled to pray in this election, have been uncovered. Demands for an investigation into this “blatant move to influence the will of God” have been called for. Experts are looking into the Book of Revelation for clarification.
But can't be arsed to read it. Then I can't recomend this series of excerpts highly enough.
You can take me away now. I've cleared my desk and I'm ready to go.
Any voter fraud that may have taken place, is just as likely to have been committed by Trump supporters as those of Biden. After all, Trump has a lot of crazed fanatics in his camp, who would not think twice about doing whatever it takes to get him elected.
And in all this kerfuffle about voter fraud, everyone seems to have forgotten about the -arguably- greater crime of impersonating a president.
Some things that happen to us in childhood can stay with us for all of our lives. When I was a small boy, I was quite badly bitten by my best friend’s pet tortoise; leaving me, to this day, with a phobia of anything that lives in a shell. Our adult personality and behaviour are, to a significant extent, shaped by things that happen to us in childhood. In some instances of a particularly traumatic event, it seems we somehow block the incident from our conscious memory, but it stays buried deep in our psyche, causing us no end of problems in later life. I often wonder what might have happened to me when I was a child, that I can’t remember.
I am all in favour of restoring our natural environment back to its original state. No one was more pleased than I at proposals to reintroduce long absent species such as wild boar, beaver, and even wolves back into our countryside. There is, however, a point at which we must draw a line, and acknowledge that what existed centuries ago may no longer be appropriate to the modern age.
In my opinion, that point was reached when plans were announced to reinstate the once common European goblin back to its former habitat, in the area now known as the Peak District. Apart from the understandable alarm and opposition of the sheep farmers, of which there are many in the Peak district, there are other, more troubling, concerns that would stem from such a scheme.
Although the staple diet of the goblin is sheep, which is by far their preference, they will occasionally eat the odd child. Goblins are known to be a lazy species, and children tend to be more easily caught than sheep. Supporters of goblin repopulation claim that the number of children eaten would be almost negligible -two or three per year, at most- but several parents groups in the area maintain that even that would be unacceptable. I tend to agree.
For some months now I have had a desire to buy a bicycle, but because of increased demand during the lockdown, when it seems everyone desired a bike, all the bike shops are out of stock. This absence of opportunity to get my hands on a bike has resulted in my spending a lot of time thinking about them. I also notice people riding bikes much more than I used to.
Whenever I see a bike, the first thing I tend to notice is whether it has got mudguards. The majority of bikes one sees these days do not have mudguards. When I was young, all bikes had mudguards; they came as standard. I can only assume that mudguards are considered uncool these days. I can understand that; I have, in my time, been as big a slave to current trends as anyone. But, although I can understand it, I’m afraid I certainly cannot buy into it. In fact, I think it is plain stupid.
Anyone who thinks that a bike without mudguards is cooler than one with them, should consider how cool having a dark, wet stripe that extends from the top of their backside to the base of their neck is? Cool is fine, but if it comes at the expense of appearing to be an idiot, give me mudguards every time.
Put mudguards on your bicycle; you know it makes sense.
I used to pass a homeless man on my walk to work, many years ago. He would be sitting in the same shop doorway every morning, huddled underneath his dirty blanket. I would always drop a pound coin into the little plastic cup that was always standing on the pavement, next to his feet. One morning, a work colleague saw me putting money in the cup, and later commented that I was probably only doing it in order to feel good about myself, rather than out of any genuine concern for the homeless man. I gave a lot of thought to what he had said, and in the end I had to admit to myself that he was right. I was, indeed, using that poor down and out to boost my own self esteem. Of course, as soon as I realised this I stopped giving him money, even though this did cause me a minor inconvenience in having to walk a different, slightly longer way to work.
Since then, I have, on principle, never donated a penny to any charity. I do sometimes feel guilty about this, as there are many worthy causes out there, all in need of funds to execute their good works, but If guilt is the price I must pay for doing the right thing, I am prepared to make that sacrifice.
Before I am held up as some kind of paragon of virtue, I must admit that I have made a small concession to charitable giving. There is a scheme on Facebook whereby one can donate one’s birthday to a charitable cause. I am not really sure how that generates income for the charities, but if they can make a few quid out of something I didn’t really use anyway, good luck to them. I also donated an old wedding anniversary that I don’t need any more.
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