Friday, July 22, 2005

Bombing the Brits


Over the past month, a series of bombs have hit the great city of London. It is as yet unclear how many have died, how many will be maimed for life and how many will be scarred in their psyche for life. A gross and inhuman act in the name of "the religion of peace". At present it is generally expected that further bombings will follow.

Big Mistake.

Now I don't like England. I don't like the weather. It rains all the time, and when it isn't raining you can't see a thing because of the fog. I don't like their soggy fries soaked in vinegar. I don't like their virtually non-existent cuisine. (Yorkshire Pudding and haggis are the exception and I hate that too.) I don't like the women, cause they are neither as bright nor as gorgeous as the Dutch. However, I do like, nay, I love the Brits.. The Brits may be protestant, or catholic or pagan, Welsh, Scottish, Irish or English, they may call themselves Tories or labor or liberal. They are, without them even realizing it, first and foremost British. Their soul seems to be intertwined with their island, nourished by its soil. I adore that stiff upper lip. And when that stiff upper lip starts trembling in mild irritation.

Run!

It has been tried before to break the spirit of the Brits. V1's and bombers swarmed over London almost daily, three quarters of a century ago.. Did the Brits give up? Nope! One of the greatest world politicians of all times summed it up: "We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and the oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.""

Bombs might be falling left and right. The Brits will have their cup-a-chai, unperturped, and get on with their lives.

So, my message for Al Qaida for today is: "Congratulations. Hope you don't get bored with your 72 virgins too quickly. Hope they don't use their teeth too much. Great thing you acted according to the letter and the spirit of islam. Bad thing you had to piss of the Brits. First you made the mistake of pissing of the Americans. Everyone knows how crazy those cowboys are. Now you make an even bigger mistake. Why do you guys keep fucking with the wrong crowd?
I know you guys are "dying" to get to your paradise where the child-raping, mass-murdering slaver Mohammed is waiting for you with your 72 virgins. But haven't you ever heard of "efficiency"? Britain is not Spain. New York is not Bali. Stop fucking with the wrong crowd."

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Wanna talk about it?


We live in a therapeutic society. Everything that happens to everyone has to be discussed, analyzed and finally worked through. We just don't feel complete anymore without our daily dose of orgasmic catharsis. Everyone is in therapy.
We've had a hundred years of psychotherapy and guess what? (Everybody say: "What?") The world is getting worse! Somehow we've gotten this idea that neurosis is bad; That we are entitled to happiness; That any slightly unpleasant occurrence should be classified as trauma and worked through.
"My dog was run over by a car!" - Deal with it bitch!
"I'm so lonely" - We all are. Deal with it bitch!
"I can't get it up anymore!" - That's cause you're gay motherfucker. Deal with it!
When the soldiers came home after worldwar II, they didn't sit around on carpets in groups talking about their feelings, they gritted their teeth and went back to work. (Of course their were no fucked-up liberals around to ask them how many villages they burnt and kids they killed in Asia.) They didn't complain. They got married and raised families. Life went on. You think you're traumatized cause your daddy was a little strict? These guys were walking scars.
And then there's the therapists. They show you into a little room. You get a free drink. The clock is set for 45 minutes, and when you're finished you leave your $120,- on the table. Remind you of anything?
One of my clients was in therapy for 20 years. She was referred to me with the same problems she had when she started 20 years ago. Didn't that fuck of a shrink that had her in his caseload ever have the thought: "Hey, this is not working. Maybe I should just tell her to get a fucking life and move on." No he didn't. After I left the company, she was taken over by one of my colleagues. Last I heard the two of them were busy working through her mourning process because her dog died.
The clock keeps ticking, the insurance keeps paying, and the client is getting worse.
Even worse are the amateur therapists. I once broke up with a woman that I loved with all my heart. I drove straight to my best friend. We sat on a bench in the park facing the water and I cried. He started asking me questions, therapeutic questions and more questions. Just shut the fuck up and let me deal with it will ya? I never saw him again.

So, in closing I'll give you the following pointers so that you may get your life in order and live happily ever after:

1. Shut the fuck up!
2. Deal with it Bitch!

Monday, July 18, 2005

Ugly Bitch


Don't even start laughing. The bitch won an award.

New Blog

I've been working on a new layout for my blog. It's damn hard, cause I know absolutely zilch about software. But it seems to be getting better. Visit the link and tell me what you think.