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Monday, May 21, 2007
Shit, It’s The End Of The World
In one of those very rare seismic events that affect the course of history just once in every person’s life time, something happened on UFO Updates this past week that could impact upon the mental well being and spirituality of many thousands of people. As is often the case, the event happened by oversight; Errol Bruce Knapp let slip through a posting that actually told the truth. Here it is:
It is amazing how close the Kenneth Arnold description of the objects he saw, comes to matching the Horton Brothers flying wings designed for Germany during WWII, yet no one, even today wants to consider the possibility that this was what Arnold could have seen.
And the speed? With jet engines, that speed could have been achieved. I know this will be rebuffed, because it will be said jet engines were not capable of those speeds at that time in our technology. But, hey, I don't care! It is just another of my opinions.
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Well bust my buttons and fuck my granny’s she-goat hamster! Yee haw! Cue the bunch of fuckwit no-life anoraks who are now going to line up to tell him just what he has predicted that they would (because of course, nothing’s new and we’ve been here before) and that historically what he claims is impossible. And those that do step forward are US govmint paid stooges who’s job it is to keep the UFO myth going. See who they are and shame them. Pull down their pants and paint their willies purple.
And so by a sequence of coincidences and errors in the space of two weeks did begin in America the biggest con job ever foisted on the public of the world.
Just when you thought the world was a safe place, where boundaries divided the mad from the sane, and where values like “It may be a quiet news day but I shan’t shovel shit” held sway, someone you admire, in this case Greg Bishop, goes and acts like a complete tosser and gives credibility to the biggest load of ass wiping pig shit to hit the Net for oooooooooh, at least a week. Out of concern for your health I ask if you are mentally exhausted after reading that last sentence because it was quite long. I am referring to this swill fest of unoriginal urinal white colored piss
I’m getting exhausted reading all of Dear Old Don’s postings on Updates at the moment. Why, there’s just so many of them. But at least I’m grateful for small mercies because Hootsmon Martin Shoveoff isn’t currently saying anything. Boy, is Martin a long winded, boring, lugubrious, sour faced, pathologically sad fuckwit of a show-off or what.
It is utterly reprehensible and frankly quite nauseating to mock and ridicule a man simply because he has moved into old age and his mental faculties may not be what they once were. It is even worse when that person is Dick Hall and you recall and take into account not only his immense contribution to Ufology but also the fact that he was actually part of the story at critical moments in its development and history. Anyone that could resort to that level of behavior deserves nothing but the utmost contempt and on that basis, I am happy to announce that I think Dick Hall is totally crackers. Utterly and completely lost it and the best thing he could do is shut the fuck up and let us all remember him as the aggressive nasty little piece of work that we all loved and cherished.
This was his last posting to UpDates about the Guernsey UFO:
I think an even more pertinent question is, did the object move at all? No mention is made of any motion.
Oh it had a motion Dick, an immense one. It dropped 50 tons of alien shit right into the middle of the English Channel which caused a Sue Army which in turn resulted in the earthquake that hit Kent.
If it just "hovered" there and didn't do anything extraordinary, than I am reluctant to call it a "UFO" and am inclined to suspect a local solution, something like a tethered balloon. I see. UFOs don’t ever hover it would seem. Unless the thing is darting around doing an impression of a demented house fly high on the effects of bleach, then it’s not a UFO. It’s a balloon. The most polite way I can describe this observation is stupid.
I'm not suggesting that as a definitive answer,
Then why the fuck did you say it, you half wit.
only an hypthesis
I thought long and hard about whether to correct the spelling mistake and in the end, I decided not to, as you can see.
that needs to be explored.
But I bet your bottom dollar you aren’t going to bother doing it, you lazy good for nothing waste of space.
Don is right;
Whoa there; two out and out indiscriminate believers all in the same posting. I’m getting giddy.
Secret military technology as a knee-jerk skeptical explanation is horse manure.
I wouldn’t knock horse shit until you’ve tried it cobber. Of all the manure that animals excrete, that’s the one that grabs my culinary interest the most.
But the pilot's size estimates obviously are guesses based on assuming various distances and even then assuming a real size.
No twat features. He stopped his plane mid-air, got out, walked through the clouds to the UFO and measured it. His statements about size are about as accurate as you can get. Happy?
There is no UFO-like performance indicated,
Oh fuck off. We’re not back with this shite again are we?
so a local explanation is a reasonable suspect.
Meaning what? Grab hold of the nearest person you can find and ask him what he thinks on the basis that he’s a local? Is that why you were such an ace investigator when you could remember your own name? God save us.
ALIENS OVER GUERNSEY; “WE’RE ONLY HERE FOR THE SHOPPING”
If you know anything about the Channel Islands, then you will know that the only redeeming feature about that collection of outcrop that should really be part of France but which mysteriously the French have never asked for, is that there is no sales tax in the shops. Ergo it follows that the same goods in the shops there should be miles cheaper than the equivalent on the UK mainland. The fact that they’re not is a testament to the thieving mentality of the robbing bastards who control retail merchandising on the islands.
This message though has clearly not reached alien visitors to planet earth who can only have gone hovering over Guernsey because they think earth goods are better value there. It has to be that because I cannot think of any other reason why they would want to go there, can you?
Furthermore, there’s even less reason for aliens to visit the UK now following the disclosure that the British Ministry Of Defence, that bastion of secrecy and deception that has manifestly kept hidden for the last 60 years details of British contact with ET, is going for full disclosure and is going to release all its files for public scrutiny. Speaking personally, I’d rather they didn’t do this because regretfully I will now be able to see that actually there are no such things as aliens, just a bunch of unexplained events that have occurred to some really stupid people who can’t tell their ass from their elbow. I would prefer the mystery and hint of conspiracy was maintained so that I can continue to have a porpoise to my life.
On another matter, it distresses me to report that the web site UFO Digest which generally is full of almost acceptable crap has recently decided to climb to the top of the slide and go for the downward run to the bottom with a vengeance. To start with, they’ve got some clown called John Milor who always starts his articles sounding as if he’s going to talk common sense but just when he’s pulled you in, words like “Genesis” and “God” start to appear and amid the groans that you can hear yourself uttering in self directed disgust at having been suckered in yet again, you find yourself saying out loud, “Fucking Americans and their Neolithic religious fixation”. So to any Americans reading this, I say “Fuck God”.
To add to the general distaste of what Dirk Von De Plonk is doing at his site, he has another writer called, wait for it……………………….. Art Champoux. I kid you not. Art apparently is a UFO investigator of some standing. “Some standing” suggests he’s had a permanent erection for the past 30 years. I mean puleeze, no one but no one gets called Art Shampoo.
Whilst we’re on the subject, have you had a look at the picture of the young Brit he’s got writing for him called Sam Willey? Actually, isn’t Willey a bad word? Oh no, sorry, that’s willy. Shucks. Has someone sat on Sam’s head?
And finally, working with Ufologists is like working with children and animals; basically, they’re gob shite stupid. There goes poor old Patrick Huyghe and Dennis Stacy of Anomalist books, nice enough guys as they come, who have just published an interesting new book on the Betty and Barney set-to called Encounters at Indian Head: The Betty and Barney Hill UFO Abduction Revisited. The problem with what is no doubt an excellent book is the fact that it has been co edited by the current biggest Ufological fuckwit going, namely Karl Pflock, and that rather detracts from the book’s credibility. One can only hope for Patrick and Dennis’s sake that the hamster wheel of ufology will turn quickly and that Karl will hop off and be replaced by some other brain dead retard who wants to draw attention to himself for reasons to do with mental health issues.
Do you understand what makes Victor Martinez tick? I mean, what exactly is the chain of thought of someone who spams like he does? How do you get from the story of Serpositary to “Ladies; Your Tits Are An Aid to Dietary Control” and assume that someone who is interested in one will be interested in the other? You know, I bet you Victor lives alone. As you will know, on this blog we do not discriminate or make fun of those from ethnic minorities; we are, all of us, after all, all from the same big happy family of man but in Vic…………….oh shit…………………………………………………………………….…………… raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalph. Slurp. Haven’t fucking done that for a while.
Bessie Brazel? Didn’t she used to play piano in a bar in Lubbock dressed as Errol Bruce Knapp’s curmudgeonly pet spankmesiter? I mean, 60 fucking years on and only a deranged Frenchman, an eye specialist who can’t see the wood for the trees, and a bunch of hopeless fuckwits who enjoy rimming each other could possibly still be interested. It just beggars complete and utter belief. SHUT THE FUCK UP!
My name is Tim Banal and I wear a big pith helmet. There is no point to it but then, why should there be? If there was a point to everything we did in life then I wouldn’t be walking around with this dildo shoved up my ass, would I? I interview people and I am “of America” apparently. Christ, getting a fucking life pal.
As my penis always says to me, "Artie, if you can't say something nice about someone, then think of something beastly instead" and so, on that point, I would just like to wish our dearest Kimblings the very best for his premier and hope it goes well.
I notice there is talk of my death, Andy Roberts, pain, diarrhea, and other unpleasantness in my absence. The cats away and you lot come scurrying out to take advantage. But I cannot be angry for I see that you have been enjoying yourselves and carrying on with the fine principles and traditions previously established here. And so I say; good luck to you.
So, where have I been, you might ask. I’ll tell you freaking where; in Despair. It’s just been too awful to contemplate. Mine is a tragic but uncomplicated story that won’t take long to relate, for it goes, quite simply, like this. It’s all turned to absolute fucking, god awful shite.
And what’s more, having not purged myself for a while of my pent up frustration and exasperation, it has now culmatively swelled to such a massive, throbbing, pulsating climax of spermatozoal puss that I fear I have lost complete control and it will erupt in a monster wave of white bile that will shoot skywards for miles and then will take ages to slowly trickle downwards and back to earth with the result that you’ll be wiping it off your terminals and keyboards for months to cum. So be it.
But………..where to begin?
Useless Fuck Orifice magazine, aka UFO twattycuntybollocks drivel has now sunk below the line it’s possible to sink to. There cannot be any sane person interested in the subject who actually reads this piss poor magazine any longer because other than the title, what actually does the publication have in common with the subject any more? Last time I looked, the main article seemed to be some garbage about a night club singer. Duh? There’s someone else in there that looks like Worzel Gummidge but might actually be a little furry hamster that ferrets around the English language like a demented, garrulous, non stop fart machine and then there’s Regan Lee. Okay we’ll leave that one for now.
And the paper that the whole shambolic mess is printed on? Give it to Sheryl Crow, she’ll know what to do with it.
And aren’t you all traumatized by the fact that little Lesley’s cable connection was recently knocked off. Well, if you won’t pay the bill you silly cow, what do you fucking expect, you cretinous, useless asswipe? Back to Starbucks with you. Your absence may have got you as wound up a cat’s gut on a banjo but it gave the rest of us a blessed fucking break from the shite awful mess and your “it takes six hours to load” web site.
