Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

Alan Moran (please check the spelling)

12 Saturday Dec 2009

Posted by in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 9 Comments

Some feel that Alan's work beggars belief .....

As the pub regulars will probably know, I am an especially hostile reader of Alan Moran’s stuff over at Unleashed.

For Pete’s sake, he’s a paid right wing think tanker for the big end of town – well maybe not a thinker and maybe it just rhymes with “tanker”.  With the expectation that Unleashed will not publish my comment there, in the spirit of a free kick over here at the Pig’s Ams, if they don’t publish it ….. here’s what I said in response to the latest pile of shit from Alan:

………………………………………..

I can’t for the life of me work out why they keep publishing your stuff, Alan.  As a paid apologist for big carbon (amongst others), how can you claim any independence or credibility for this rubbish ?

Set aside all the ridiculous stats, quotes from wherever and general bullshit.  I mean “running 13 month averages” !  Why not make that running 13.782 day averages ? Anything that might suit YOUR cause.

I think the whole climate change debate can be boiled down to a simple idea – there is a right way to think about what you do and a wrong way.  You don’t need stats.

It is wrong to drive a huge 4WD around the city when a small fuel efficient car, a bike or public transport would suffice.

It is wrong to use a clothes drier when it’s a sunny or windy day and you can put the wet clothes on the line.

It is wrong to burn coal to generate electricity when solar power and wind is abundant.

It is wrong to flush a toilet with high grade drinking water when grey water or rain water could be used instead.

How blind are you, sport ?  I mean, you’ve got a PhD, Alan, where from ?  The school of short planks ?

So don’t give us any more of this tripe.  Just go out and do the right thing – and for that the world will thank you.

The American Wars

12 Saturday Dec 2009

Posted by in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 55 Comments

If you were on the other side of this picture, you could see the US flag on the monkey's gun stock.

Article and photograph by our Middle East correspondent  Reuben Brand

A contemporary history soaked in blood, a humanitarian disaster in Iraq and Afghanistan, a new US President promising “change” and what have we learnt?  Nothing. Writes Reuben Brand

The past eight years of our history have been marred with violent bloodshed, war, fear, terrorism, propaganda and countless loss of life – there are a myriad of questions that need to be asked and answered in order to make any kind of logical sense of this mess, one reoccurring theme is the role America plays surrounding our dark devolution into the new millennium.

Throughout my travels in the Middle East and surrounds, I frequently hear the same issue being raised, “America is a very big problem.” It doesn’t matter whether I am in Pakistan, Syria, Oman, Kuwait, or any other place of interest, the sentiment remains the same: “America is a very big problem.”

Contemporary history as we know it began on September 11 2001, when two iconic towers fell in New York and over 2700 lives were lost.

As tragic as any loss of life is, are we expected to believe that the deaths of 9/11 could possibly justify the invasion of Afghanistan, the systematic detainment, torture and abuse of countless civilians on no charge other than suspicion, the illegal invasion of Iraq on the premise of weapons of mass destruction, and the brutal deaths of 6.6 million Afghanis (both violent and avoidable) and 1.2 million Iraqis?

Are we really expected to believe that these wars, these humanitarian disasters, that have shattered the lives and homes of millions of Afghanis and Iraqis leaving them as destitute refugees; these wars that have completely destroyed two countries – which now conveniently have US backed puppets installed as their “democratic” leaders, are being fought to ensure the safety and freedom of the West, primarily America, from some form of barbaric terrorism? Does anyone else not see the irony in this?

Keep the West safe from terrorists by terrorising everyone who looks, dresses and sounds different. Especially those who don’t agree with the doctrine or ideology of the worlds super power. “If it looks like the enemy, shoot it!” were the rules of engagement given to Sergeant Ken Davis on his first tour of Iraq. Yes, I tend to agree with the sentiment of the region – “America is a very big problem.”

Any honest person would have to ask the question “why didn’t America invade the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia?” We all know that Iraq and Afghanistan had nothing to do with 9/11. We all know that Al Qaeda is primarily a Saudi backed organisation, its leader, Osama bin Laden, is a Saudi and it was 19 men, all Saudi nationals, spare a few, who hijacked three planes, flew two into the World Trade Centre and one into the Pentagon. This is all common knowledge.

Al Qaeda attacks America, so America in all its wisdom and “intelligence” decimates Afghanistan and leads a pre-emptive strike and invasion of Iraq – go figure.

In an address to the nation on March 17, 2003, just two days before the horrific Shock and Awe bombing of Baghdad, former US President George W. Bush stated, as fact, that “Intelligence gathered by this and other governments leaves no doubt that the Iraq regime continues to posses and conceal some of the most lethal weapons ever devised.”

The only weapons of sizable measure found in Iraq were the weapons US and coalition forces used to kill 1.2 million Iraqis.

There were no WMDs in Iraq, we all know that.

Perhaps Bush, in one of his many dyslexic moments got the word WMD mixed up with MWD, a term used by geo physicists whilst surveying and drilling for oil. Measurement While Drilling to be exact. There are plenty of MWDs in Iraq – not exactly a threat to global security, more like an asset to financial security.

The US government mislead its own people, lied to the world and created a war deemed illegal under international law. A war that continues to be in grave violation of the Geneva Conventions. A war for which we are all now paying the price.

Lord Bingham, one of Britain’s most authoritative judicial figures and retired senior law lord, delivered a speech in late 2008 regarding the invasion of Iraq. “If I am right that the invasion of Iraq by the US, the UK, and some other states was unauthorised by the Security Council there was, of course, a serious violation of international law and the rule of law,” he said.

Bingham continued with explicit reference to the mistreatment of Iraqi detainees in Abu Ghraib: “Particularly disturbing to proponents of the rule of law is the cynical lack of concern for international legality among some top officials in the Bush administration,” he added.

Ok, so we have a fair idea of why Iraq was invaded, but what about Afghanistan? The US says it is looking for Bin Laden – with all the technology in the world and they still can’t find him? It makes you wonder that perhaps Afghanistan has something more valuable on offer.

It does – Afghanistan holds the keys to the rich natural gas and oil of the Caspian Basin, which will be transported through the yet to be developed Trans Afghan Pipeline – a blueprint the US has had on the backburner for some years now. Once implemented, this lucrative pipeline will hungrily carry all the natural resources it possibly can across Afghanistan, down into the seaport of Gwadar in South-Western Pakistan.

Afghanistan’s border with Pakistan also allows the US to keep pressure on the only Islamic country to possess nuclear weapons. Pakistan posses a serious threat to US control in the region – ‘destabilise and disarm’ is the general theme, how it will be played out is yet to be seen.

Just as Bush propagated his lies about Iraq concealing some of the “most lethal weapons ever devised,” President Obama, six years on, remarked on March 27 this year that “we are in Afghanistan to confront a common enemy that threatens the United States, our friends and allies – So I want the American people to understand that we have a clear and focused goal: to disrupt, dismantle, and defeat al Qaeda in Pakistan and Afghanistan.”

Slightly more eloquent than his predecessor, but it is more or less the same old rhetoric.

In a White Paper from the Interagency Policy Group’s Report on U.S. Policy toward Afghanistan and Pakistan it was stated that “in Pakistan, al Qaeda and other groups of jihadist terrorists are planning new terror attacks. Their targets remain the U.S. homeland, Pakistan, Afghanistan, India, Europe, Australia, our allies in the Middle East, and other targets of opportunity.” Well that just about covers the globe, so according to this report al Qaeda is planning to destroy the entire world. Quite ambitious for a group whose leader lives in a cave.

Obama delivered another speech earlier in the year about “responsibly ending the war in Iraq.” Desperate to try to turn the humanitarian disaster that America created into some kind of humanitarian aid mission, Obama made it clear that “America’s men and women in uniform have fought block by block, province by province, year after year, to give the Iraqis this chance to choose a better future. Now, we must ask the Iraqi people to seize it,” he said.

To seize what? A country that you destroyed?  It’s a farcical remark. The whole idea of an irresponsible country preaching about “responsibly ending the war in Iraq,” is ludicrous. The responsible thing to do would have been not to invade in the first place.

Obama then went on to portray US military violence and aggression as acts of friendship and kindness.

“Our nations have known difficult times together. But ours is a bond forged by shared bloodshed, and countless friendships among our people. We Americans have offered our most precious resource – our young men and women – to work with you to rebuild what was destroyed by despotism – So to the Iraqi people, let me be clear about America’s intentions. The United States pursues no claim on your territory or your resources. We respect your sovereignty and the tremendous sacrifices you have made for your country.”

The pre-emptive strike doctrine, the shock and awe campaign, the routine torture and humiliation of innocent civilians at Abu Ghraib and the countless other war crimes perpetrated by the US tells us another story about respecting sovereignty.

So what have we achieved over the past eight years of blood thirsty war? Is the world a safer place now? No. Of course it isn’t. We have achieved more mistrust, more hatred, a new arms race, more support for the Taliban and other insurgency groups and most devastatingly we have achieved on average, the violent deaths of over 2670 Afghanis and Iraqis everyday for the past eight years. Congratulations, what an achievement.

There are no quick fixes, but it’s about time Team America backed off and stopped trying to police the world – their vigilante actions create a pile of bodies wherever they go. Honestly ask yourself if the past eight years of bloodshed has been worth it.

Reuben Brand is an Australian Freelance Journalist currently based in the Middle East. For more information please visit his website at www.reubenbrand.com

No Sea Ice For Christmas

11 Friday Dec 2009

Posted by in The Public Bar

≈ 42 Comments

Santa Surfs Teahupoo

Story and Digital Waxadry by Warrigal

With satellite imaging showing the Arctic sea ice to have retreated to its lowest extent in living memory, reports are now coming in from Tuktoyuktuk, an Inuit settlement on the shore of the Arctic Ocean, that locals on Polar Bear patrol have rescued a man from floating pack ice. The man, diminutive of stature and wearing an improbable green and red outfit, said he was an “Elf”, a tribe unknown to locals, and said that his name was “Rollout D’Barrel”. When this name seemed to confuse the Inuit he explained that where he came from everybody had funny feelgood names.

“Whale meat makes me feel good.” A young local whispered to his little friend on the edge of the gathering.

D’Barrel somewhat incoherently claimed to have been trapped on the floe for some time and only survived by eating the contents of a Fortnum and Mason Christmas Hamper which he claimed was meant as a gift for an expatriate English family in Chicago, but he thought they wouldn’t mind given his circumstances. His story was proven when empty wrappers and a pressed metal tin containing the crumbs of consumed water crackers and an unopened jar of Ballachung was discovered on the floe after the rescue. D’Barrel said he had feared for his life when his floe had drifted close to a larger floe on which two trapped and starving polar bears where eyeing each other with gluttonous intent. D’Barrel said he believed that his outfit made him look like a ripe tomato and that the bears, being carnivores and unfamiliar with tropical salad fruits, decided to ignore him.

During a short stay in the settlement’s rudimentary hospital where he was rehydrated and encouraged to take some hearty seal broth, D’Barrel became agitated and said that a great catastrophe was working up at The North Pole. After being calmed he began the full telling of his story.

Rollout was team leader on “Wheeled Toys” and he and his crew had been out on the ice engaging in a team building exercise when the ice had cracked and he had drifted away from the others.. The locals being unfamiliar with “wheeled toys” and “team building”, then sought to discover just what he had been doing out on the ice and why.

D’Barrel was flumoxxed by their questions and becoming agitated again, replied testily, “I’m an elf, get it!? Wha’d’ya think I was doing? Where do ya think it all comes from, every year, year after year!? I’m talkin’ Christmas!!! Hain’t ya ever heard of Christmas?”

The locals, perplexed and feeling that their traditional hospitality may not be working, replied hesitantly that they didn’t have a “Krismus” but that if he really needed one they could send down to the capital, Iqaluit. They might have one.

“Santa?” Rollout asked, “Anybody?” “Your know; fat jolly old bloke in a red suit; naughty and nice; shortbread and mince tarts; the holly and the ivy, anybody?” They just looked from him to each other, some shoulder shrugging and looked back. “Is this Santa your headman?” One asked.

“Now ya talkin’! Yes, he’s my headman! Look he’s in big trouble. The summer ice is breaking down and it doesn’t come back as much in the winter. We figure we’ll have to relocate the entire operation within the next few years or the whole shebang will just sink to the bottom of the Arctic Ocean.”

“Shebang….?” There’s no cognate or equivalent in Inuit.

Well you can imagine it went on like this for some time. The questions flying over their heads and the answers dying in the air between them but finally Rollout managed to convince them that he wasn’t mad and that starving Polar Bears and melting tundra would be the least of their worries if Santa and the rest of the Elves were not rescued and the entire “shebang(?)”, packed up and crated to a new location. This “shebang”, the locals came to understand, apparently manufactured or warehoused an enormous variety of toys and treats that were then deployed globally at the height of the northern winter in an attempt to maintain the balance of global happiness and as a celebration of the peoples way of life. It sounded like a crazy idea to the Inuit.

“It is like whale meat!” the little fellow whispered to his friend.

Confusion still reigned as the people and Rollout prepared the canoes for the long journey to the North Pole. They offered Rollout a seal skin suit but he said that his red and green would keep him warm and off they paddled. It was a long way to the Pole and they had to overnight on some of the bigger floes. As they got closer the sea ice was packing up and they would soon have to changeover to the sleds. The dogs never liked travelling in the canoes.

When they finally arrived at the Pole there was nothing there. Well nothing they could see. Rollout produced a small device from his pocket and after entering a very long alphanumeric code, he punched the big red button in the middle. Suddenly it began to snow and sleigh bells could be heard in the air, holly was spontaneously popping into existence across the facades of several rather grand and elaborate ginger bread houses. The Inuit were most surprised. Their houses were good for keeping your meat but a house you could actually eat…, that was something else!  All at once the scene was filled with small people similarly attired as Rollout, all rushing about as if all charged with some desperately urgent task. Somewhere a lugubrious and somewhat tuneless voice was singing about the weather outside being frightful.

“Look, let’s get inside and I’ll take you to meet Big Red.” Said Rollout to the startled Inuit

Rollout walked the stunned troupe up some stairs to a set of very large biscuit and icing doors. He ushered them through. They found themselves in a vast hall filled with production lines, rotary moulding machines, furnaces, the entire panoply of industrial equipment all chugging away to produce teddy bears and tricycles, dolls and domino sets, water pistols and Wii’s, everything and anything a child could want. Not the children of the Inuit of course. They would have little use for most of this stuff.

Crossing an overhead gantry above the ceaseless production lines the group entered a large and comfortable office and were surprised to find a big man with a most impressive hairy face. The Inuit, not having much facial hair, where particularly interested in the man’s snowy beard. He was stripped to the waist, wearing a pair of particularly lurid board shorts and trying to keep his balance on some sort of machine that was seeking to tip him off an equally lurid piece of foam and plastic, sharp at one end and with two fins descending from it’s lower surface. The Inuit didn’t think much of the thing. It was too small for seal hunting and it provided absolutely no cover from the wind.

The big man jumped off the machine and swiping up a nearby towel began to dry the perspiration from his vast pink body.

“Ho Ho Ho”, the big man laughed and seemed to be really enjoying himself “After it’s all over this year I’m going to take my holidays in Tahiti. Thought I’d get some big wave action in at Teahupoo. Just boning up on my drop technique.” It was then that he noticed Rollout and bounded over and embraced him in a sweaty hug. “Rollout, my dear boy. We thought we’d lost you. Things haven’t been rolling as smoothly in “wheeled toys” since your little adventure,” Santa winked, “and you’ve brought friends. How charming!”

Santa, looking this way and that, took Rollout aside and, sotto voce, whispered in Rollout’s ear, “Well Rollout, you’ll be happy to hear we’ve solved our little location problem in your absence. Done a deal with Denmark. We’re going to Greenland! Top of the ice. Should be safe there for a few years. The cloaking technology will have to work overtime but it’ll give the folks in Copenhagen time to get their act together and maybe in time we can move back to the Pole. Bit of a bugger with tradition and all but what else can we do? There’s going to be no ice to sit the whole shebang on in a few years. We worked it out with that nice boy Fred and his charming wife. She’s Australian did you know?” Rollout said that he knew. “Anyway, they were very understanding. Their kids were thrilled having Santa about the palace. Fred told me that Demark had done a similar deal with some Tuvaluans and some Bangladeshi’s. This global warming thing has got everybody from low lying areas on the move. It’s playing hell into our location database and the whole “naughty or nice” vibe is going through some necessary changes. Did you know Rollout that it seems there are people who are actively frustrating the whole amelioration business on purely political and ideological grounds?” Rollout said that he hadn’t known, and that the whole science thing had never been his strong suite. He left that sort of thing to the scientists. If they said it was so then it was so. What did he, an elf in “wheeled toys”, know from climate change. “Well,” said Santa, “they haven’t been very nice and I’ve a good mind to just give them more of the same, another hottest year, more catastrophic fires, more class five hurricanes and maybe a “six” or two for good measure! It’s the kids I’m sorry for. Their mud minded parents condemning them to a world without ice and snow. It’s a tragedy Rollout, a rolled gold tragedy. All those carols will have to be rewritten and the cards; they’re all going to have to look like those joke cards from Australia.” Santa seemed then to notice he was still wearing nothing but board shorts. “See what I mean!?” he said throwing his hands out.

During this discourse the Inuit had been inching closer hoping to catch the drift of what was being said. It was evident that the panic had been cancelled. What had been immediately urgent was now simply highly prioritised.

“Look, we’re neglecting our guests Rollout.” said Santa and pulled on a tee shirt that didn’t quite cover his ample girth and left his pink navel exposed above the board shorts. The hibiscus design on the T seemed to confuse the Inuit even more, tropical flowers not being common or popular north of 70 degrees north.

“Ho Ho Ho” Santa let off another blast of laughter that sent the Inuit scuttling. He gathered them together with much mirth and said that he was so tremendously grateful that they’d rescued Rollout and was there anything he could do for them.

The Inuit withdrew to a huddle in the midst of which matters of great moment were being decided. After much toing and froing the Inuit had decided that what they really wanted was more sea ice, so the Polar Bears, a central totemic animal, could continue to hunt and the seals would thrive. It seemed a small request to them and, given that anything seemed within the gift of the Great Santa, they believed he would have no trouble with a few thousand square kilometres of sea ice. It was just frozen seawater after all.

Suddenly the mirth that had twinkled Santa’s eyes faded. He became very serious. “If only it were possible, I’d do it in a moment. But I’m not as powerful as I used to be. The boffins tell me it has to do with “believing”. Apparently the power of this place is all based on “believing”. Not enough kids believe in me these days and that saps our energy. It makes our workload lighter, not so many gifts to make what with the non believers harassing their parents through the malls spending money they can’t afford on gifts that’ll be discarded by new year. It’s a shame really. The gift of Christmas was never about the toys, it was supposed to be about the giving.”

“You know, I remember this one little boy, it must have been some time back, a long time ago anyway. He lived in what was essentially an orphanage, not a lot of love there. Anyway this one Christmas he’d been particularly nice all year, and believe me in that place that wasn’t easy. All he wanted was a wooden truck. Well he’d been so good and the truck would have been easy but I had a better idea. The maintenance man at the place where the boy lived was a lonely widower whose own son had long since moved away. I won’t bore you with the details but we managed to get the old man to make the boy the truck. We had that kind of power then. Anyway, they became firm and lifelong friends and their friendship helped them both endure the difficulties of their shared situation. Now I was particularly proud of that Christmas gift and we didn’t have to make a thing.”

“That boy’s now in his sixties. I saw him last Christmas Eve, he was snoring on the couch as I transported in. He’d wrapped that truck in gay paper and the tag said, “To the Gas Tacker, with all my love, Poppy” He still had the truck after all those years! You see that truck was love itself and I bet that that boy’s grandson loves it more than any gleaming plastic and chrome brand toy. I know because he’d been really nice that year too, and we knew that he really wanted Poppy’s truck. We really piled it on for him that year.” Santa seemed to lose himself in the reverie. The Inuit gathered around Santa, each one gently laying their thickly gloved hands on a shoulder, an arm. Rollout was particularly distressed. He’d never seen Santa without a smile. The rest of it was all news to him.

Santa, I never knew….” Rollout said uncertainly.

“Oh yes. That’s the truth of it. We used once to be able to do all manner of wonderful things but these days it’s more difficult. Not enough believing,” Santa suddenly became aware of the Inuit once more, “or maybe it’s the kind of believing. And that’s where your sea ice comes in. You see for a long time a lot of people believed that oil and coal were cheap and risk free. Now we know that to be false but not enough people believe that there was a problem in the first place, and even those that agree there’s a problem often can’t agree on what the problem is and how to attack it so you see, not much has happened. Not enough people believing a solution is possible and believing they can do something to help. We’re bamboozled by believing, but we’ve lost empathy and love.” Santa shook his head. “We can make all this stuff.” Santa dismissed the entire production hall with a wave of his arm. “Stuff is easy. People believe in stuff alright! It’s love and empathy that take a little more. I’m afraid that I can’t give you any more sea ice. Not enough people believe in sea ice anymore. You see my problem.” Santa opened his empty hands to the Inuit.

As if on cue the doors to the office opened and in marched a formation of tray carrying elves. “Ah, refreshments!” cried Santa, his former gloom instantly replaced with a beaming smile as he handed round the eggnog and hot chocolate. “Mince Tart anyone?” Santa was full of bonhomie. “You see there is an upside to all this but I just can’t get a handle on it at the moment.” Santa paused and looked momentarily perplexed. “Still it’s Christmas. Can’t be gloomy at Christmas!” he turned to the Inuit again. “Sorry, no sea ice, but is there anything else you may want?”

The Inuit conferred briefly again. “No, there is nothing we need from you. We’re just happy to have found Rollout and come to this place and seen all these wondrous things. It’s sad about the ice but we’ll manage. We always have.” The Inuit all gave Santa and Rollout their best happiest smiles, their big white teeth dazzling in the middle of their ice burnished brown faces.

“Well let me at least see you safely and swiftly home. Rollout, get Comet hitched up. He’ll get them home right enough!”

As the elves gathering on the steps of the production hall parted to let the Inuit through, the Inuit saw the most improbable craft they had ever seen. Not unlike a great canoe with skids where the bottom seal skins should be. Their gear, sleds, all the dogs, canoes, everything, all stowed and roped down in the back while up front a very toey reindeer, just one, was tearing at the ice with his hooves. Piling in under the furs provided, the Inuit once more graced Santa and the assembled elves with another terrific symphony of smiles as everyone promised they’d meet again.

In a trice Comet, the sled and the happy Inuit were gone.

Santa, putting his arm around Rollout’s shoulder said “What do you think little Inuit boys and girls might like for Christmas?”

“I’m not sure Santa. Do the Inuit even have Christmas?” Rollout was still uncertain as to where this whole episode was leading.

Santa laid a finger up the side of his nose and winked at Rollout. “Well I think we can safely say that when our new friends get home they’ll tell their families and those families will believe the stories and in the people in them. Oh yes, Rollout. I think we’re going to need to know about those children; who they are, where they are, whether they’ve been naughty or nice and what they want. I can feel the believing beginning.”

And with that Santa rubbed his hands with glee. “Lots to do Rollout, lots to do! Christmas comes but once a year!”

Cyrus: Chapter 15, part 1 The Seige of Sardis

09 Wednesday Dec 2009

Posted by in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 21 Comments

by Theseustoo

Impatient with the limitation on his speed that having to stay with the infantry and baggage train had imposed on him, Cyrus had boldly pushed ahead. Thus he was the first to arrive at the city gates of Sardis at the head of his cavalry; even before the rest of the army. Cyrus left the column at a distance he deemed safe from any archers on the city walls who may be tempted to take pot-shots at them, then, holding aloft a lance, to which he had attached a piece of white cloth to serve as a flag of truce in his right hand and a wickerwork shield in his left, he cautiously approached the city gates. With his wickerwork shield held in front of him and keeping and extremely sharp eye out for possible missile fire, Cyrus hailed the guards that he knew would be on duty in the gate-house to man the now heavily-barred gates, which had been closed the instant the dust from Cyrus’ expedition had been seen rising in huge brown clouds above the horizon.

Soon a Lydian guard appeared on the wall above the gate; although he was armed from head to toe, his hands were empty as he waited for Cyrus to state his purpose. In tones which would undoubtedly be clearly heard well inside the city walls Cyrus declaimed: “Ho there! Inside the city! Tell your master, Croesus, son of Alyattes, that Cyrus, son of Cambyses, King of Persia and Media, has come to finish what Croesus started! If he does not wish to come out to fight, let him skulk inside his city, and hide behind its walls like a coward, we will then lay siege to the city and deprive you of all the goods that you normally receive through these gates; until you either surrender or starve!”

As the guard disappeared once more from the top of the wall to give his message to Croesus, Cyrus returned to the column where Harpagus awaited his instructions. “Let us fall back far enough to allow him time to come out of the city and draw up his battle-lines.” Cyrus said; then he added, “These Lydians are brave men; in all Asia there are none braver; they will not surrender without a fight!”

Appreciating the appropriateness and the candour of his king’s personal assessment of the enemy, Harpagus saluted him, striking his gauntleted right fist across his mailed leather cuirass. “Yes Lord!” he responded firmly, as he turned and, giving a brief hand-signal, wheeled his column about and withdrew far enough to allow Croesus to draw up his lines of battle without any fear of interference. While the Lydians were occupied with this, the Persian infantry section began to appear on the horizon; followed closely by the baggage train.

***      *****      ***

Croesus had assembled his generals to discuss how they might best approach this new situation with which they were confronted. As soon as he entered the war-room, Sandanis spoke, “Sire, I’ve sounded the assembly; all the mercenaries who live in or near the city have been recalled; they await your command.”

Croesus nodded his approval of Sandanis’ actions; smiling at the other generals he said confidently, “He is very bold this Cyrus! But we Lydians still have the best cavalry in all Asia! What forces does Cyrus have with him?”

“Mostly infantrymen,” Sandanis responded, “with only a small detachment of cavalry… he is too rash Lord; it seems he has attacked us impetuously; although we have very few infantry without the support of our allies, yet our cavalry are easily a match for him now!”

“Very well,” Croesus said thoughtfully, “…the enemy have courteously withdrawn to allow us to draw up our battle-lines; we shall oblige this young man and teach him not to be so impetuous! As for battle-lines, we shall put our cavalry in front with our infantry behind them; the shock of a cavalry charge from my lancers will break up their formation and make the infantry’s job much easier; the Persians won’t know what’s hit them.”

***      *****      ***

Harpagus had watched Croesus form his battle ranks and had immediately observed the strength of Croesus’ cavalry; which consisted mainly of heavy lancers; and which formed his front rank. Obviously, he thought, Croesus intends to use them as shock troops to charge our front line, hoping to scatter it and thus break through to the rear of our ranks; where he realized grimly, they would easily be able to do incalculable damage. Although he was reluctant to admit it, Croesus’ battle-lines worried him; he knew that in the face of such a charge, even the most experienced spearmen could break ranks and flee. Harpagus knew all too well that if this happened the battle could easily turn into a complete rout and all would be lost.

The general trotted up to Cyrus just as he was giving his final instructions to his officers, “My lord,” he said gravely, as his king finished speaking, “the enemies’ strength lies in their cavalry; our infantry-men cannot match them; neither can our cavalry, which number less than half of theirs. But I know how we can make their cavalry useless to them…”

“Indeed Harpagus?” the King enquired eagerly. Cyrus had agreed grimly with his general’s assessment of the enemy’s plans; convinced by what he had seen himself of how they were beginning to line up in their battle formation; he too had been worried by the strength of the Lydians’ heavy cavalry, “What do you think we should do?” he asked frankly.

Harpagus replied with surprising confidence, a grim smile, and a twinkle in his eye: “Have half the cavalry dismount; unpack the camels from the baggage train and then have the cavalrymen mount these as their steeds; we will put them in front, with our infantry close behind, with the rest of our cavalry protecting their flanks and to hunt down enemy deserters; horses have a natural dread of camels; they cannot stand the sight or the smell of them. Thus the enemy cavalry will be uncontrollable and spread confusion among the enemies’ ranks, leaving their cavalrymen easy targets for the spears of our infantry and the rest of our cavalry.”

“Very well; do it! Quickly!” Cyrus ordered, immediately and intuitively recognizing a sound plan. A few minutes later, as Harpagus had suggested, Cyrus and half of his cavalry had mounted their new steeds. Fortunately Cyrus’ cavalrymen were just as familiar with these beasts of burden as they were with their own horses; so they had no trouble adapting to their new mounts as they now quickly rode up to take their place in Cyrus’ front line. When this was done, Cyrus turned once more to give his final instructions to Harpagus, “Show them no mercy; but make sure that Croesus is taken alive even if he resists when he is captured!”

“Yes Lord;” Harpagus said obediently, then, nodding his head in the direction of the enemy’s ranks, he said, “It seems the enemy is almost ready…” “Then sound the charge before they have a chance to seize the initiative!” He ordered. Harpagus saluted as he instantly replied, “At once Sire!” Then turning to his trumpeter to relay his King’s command, he said firmly, “Trumpeter, sound the advance!”

***      *****      ***

When your Christmas Greeting is MY Christmas Tax Deduction.

09 Wednesday Dec 2009

Posted by in The Public Bar

≈ 4 Comments

Bah humbug ! With thanks to the great Alastair Sim

Well, I thought I’d seen some pretty cynical bastardry in my time, but today’s Email in-box had the cake-taker of the year.

It read “This year, instead of spending money on posting out Christmas cards, we decided to donate the money amongst three of our favourite charities”.

Which, on first thought seems reasonable enough.  Second thought “ah, yes …. and get a 100% tax deduction … with no accountability for how much actually IS donated”.

But there was a rider …. As the recipient of the Email, I was asked to pick amongst three worthy charities by clicking on a link …. and thereby helping their marketing people update the database – revealing amongst their clients and suppliers, who was still alive and paying attention to their Emails.  Click on that link – get spammed to death !

I think this piece of scroogality really alienates people at Christmas and turns generosity into a cynical tax dodge and marketing exercise.  Instead of opening a nicely hand-penned card that joins us for a moment with our friends and which we put up on the venetian blind or on the TV stand as a warm reminder, we get a soul-less poisoned Email.

Bah, humbug to them !

Gemini inimeG Stars

07 Monday Dec 2009

Posted by in Emmjay

≈ 4 Comments

Knees Up Mother Brown

Geminis have spent a large portion of their lives convincing their friend that they are not a small and somewhat underpowered car marketed by General Motors *.

But the twins, as you well know Gemini, are well and truly worth twice the trouble – and more.

Geminis are by their nature kind, gentle, charming, warm, cuddly conniving children who complete each others sentences and cheat on their homework.

Geminis will come into a fortune when their Mastercard accidentally trips a bug long latent in the local ATM.  Being twins, Geminis will blame the other guy when the bank’s private dicks come rapping on the flyscreen door.

Geminis will purchase tickets to a really expensive Joni Mitchell concert – only to find out that a really tall guy with an afro haircut is sitting in the seat in front.  Fortunately, that person, being a Capicorn on the cusp of a bicuspid, will feel a deep and abiding need to visit the toilet and will not return after the support act (Andre Rieu) strikes up the first chords in the second tune of his set.

Lucky numbers this month are pi/n and sigma (although that was a Chrysler).

Lucky colour is a greyish kind of khaki – quite suitable as a camouflage thing.

* Also with brakes to match, and alleged (but not demonstarted) steering.

Astral Wally

Cosmic Seer

The B52s Play Up in the Nathan Rees Memorial Ballroom

07 Monday Dec 2009

Posted by in Bands at the Pig's Arms, Emmjay

≈ 3 Comments

The B-52s Rockin' the Lobster

Well, 14 months is a long week in a NSW politics, and exhausted patrons at the Pig’s Arms were delighted to wash the muck off and share a cleansing Trotters Ale – and catch the ageing disgracefully B52s.

Our intrepid Manne was there with his trusty Nokia E51 to bring all the lushness of the Rock Lobster to the Pig’s.

Hell Hospital: Episode 5

03 Thursday Dec 2009

Posted by in Hell Hospital

≈ 31 Comments

By theseustoo

(Disclaimer: this series of stories is completely fictional and none of the persons, places or institutions in these stories are real, but figments of my own imagination. Any similarity to any real person, place or institution is entirely coincidental.)

Swannee, though tall and ruggedly handsome, was that rarest of all types of man, a faithful one. He loved his ever-fertile and almost always pregnant wife and ten tin lids; he was looking forward to the eleventh, so that he’d have his own cricket team; and the faintest trace of the remotest possibility that he might ever allow himself to entertain the slightest thought of ever being unfaithful to his beloved wife, Catherine, had not even begun to speculate about the merest possibility of crossing his mind… in spite of the brevity of the journey.

Swannee was also just daft enough to be honest and to love simplicity; all the lies and deception which invariably accompanied infidelity were far too complex for his simple soul, so infidelity was the very last thing he would ever consider with anything but horror and revulsion.

His wife loved him for it with absolute devotion, of course. Named after the Catholic saint who had been executed by being crucified to a spinning wheel of fire, Catherine loved her husband deeply and felt it was her Christian duty to pump out as many sprogs as she could for him… She would give him the cricket team he had always said he wanted! She was almost there… another three months and she would pop sprog number eleven… Her beloved Swannee would finally have his cricket team! However, recently, she had secretly begun to wonder, with just a trace of nervous trepidation, whether or not he’d want the two reserves…

As a result of his native simplicity and his state of constant domestic bliss, what with all those willing and helpful children to help him with the chores around the house, Swannee was absolutely oblivious to the attention some of the female staff-members were beginning to pay him during their lunch hours. He was quite sure they were ‘just being friendly’. “Though by gum,” he thought to himself, as Loreen leaned forward to give her order in a deeper and huskier voice than usual, “…they were certainly very friendly… and I’m sure that pinch on the bum was just a friendly tease… it doesn’t mean anything at all, really… I hope I don’t catch her cold, it sounds serious from the huskiness of her voice…”

Loreen’s cleavage loomed large in Swannee’s vision and he was reminded that he’d promised to take the cricket team to the hills for a camping expedition in the near future… This weekend would probably be good, he supposed, as he bent to extract a hot pie from the oven.

He couldn’t help wondering why it was that Loreen and Paula always ordered items which came either from the oven or from bottom cupboard just above floor level; he was beginning to get serious back pains from all that bending over. He began to suspect, not without reason, they were competing to see who could make him bend over the most. Now he was sure they hated him because they seemed to tease him all the time, and they made him work so hard; bending over all the time like that. There was nothing he could do about it however; he had a job to do; the cricket team must be fed; he just had to serve these two temptresses their lunch and try to ignore any ‘unusual’ remarks or behaviour.

*****      *******      *****

Loreen could not believe her outfit was having no effect at all on her intended victim; yet it seemed as though Swannee were completely unaffected by even the sexiest of her work outfits; he had not even appeared to notice her fishnet stockings and suspender belt, even when she sat down facing the serving hatch and ‘accidentally’ allowed her short skirt to ride up over her thighs to reveal a small triangle of her black lace panties; her fishnet stockings went unnoticed and her cleavage ignored.

“How,” she wondered, frustratedly, as she checked her assets in a restroom mirror, “…can he ignore all this?! Is he gay?!”

*****      *******      *****

Paula too found Swannee’s obliviousness to her charms extremely frustrating; all the more so as she had noticed that one of the cleaners, the infamously nicknamed, “Loose-lipped Loreen” was quite obviously making a play for what Paula now considered ‘her man’. Was it her imagination or her jealousy, she asked herself, or was Swannee beginning to succumb to that Loose-lipped Loreen’s charms? She had seen him stare at Loreen’s ample bosom for what seemed like ages yesterday; was he a ‘big tit’ man? She wondered, regarding her own small but pert breasts with a dubious expression on her face. Is that why he hasn’t noticed me yet? Okay, she decided instantly, tomorrow it’s the padded bra!

*****      *******      *****

Elaine slowly turned the cards over; she’d decided against a ouija board because she didn’t want to involve her assistants. So she’d waited until they’d gone off to lunch before she took out her tarot cards and did a reading for the morgue, hoping the ether would favour her with some information about the lurking presence she now knew was haunting the morgue…

Perhaps, she thought, it was a ‘lost soul’ who’d been unable somehow to find its way to the ‘Other Side’. But she dismissed this idea very quickly; true, some souls did become earthbound for various reasons, but she had sensed something unusually terrible and evil about this one…

The first card she turned up was ‘The Fool’… a naïve young man setting out on an adventrurous journey or about to have a new experience; though not a bad card, it warned about the possibility of trouble as a result of the fool’s naivety and inexperience.

The fool was ‘assisted’ by the High Priestess, a woman of significant spiritual ability would help him with this novel experience. The ‘Death’ card which followed seemed perfectly logical, representing natural change; it’s meaning being more to do with the symbolic ‘rebirth’ which this card implied, rather than actual death itself…

These two cards were ‘crossed’ by ‘The Empress’… a powerful woman was preventing the natural change from happening. In the position which represented the immediate future, however, was the ten of swords; this card may very well indicate death, but even if it didn’t mean death it certainly meant an awful lot of trouble: The card depicted a knight, slain by ten swords, still sticking upright out of his prone corpse, making him look like a weird party-wiener, with ten cocktail sticks in a single wiener…

Trouble, she thought… and maybe even death, was coming to the morgue…

Very spooky, she thought… but the cards never lie. The question is, she now asked herself, who are these people? And what is their connection to the morgue; if she knew that, she would have a much better chance of understanding what the cards were trying to tell her… And what did all this have to do with the lurking presence she had sensed in the morgue; and which presence she still seemed to sense, just beyond the fringes of her consciousness…

*****      *******      *****

Proclaimers Play the Pig’s Arms

03 Thursday Dec 2009

Posted by in Bands at the Pig's Arms, Emmjay

≈ 15 Comments

The Pig’s Arms patrons were delighted to welcome the Proclaimers to the Nathan Rees Memorial Ballroom upstairs.

They ripped !

And Manne was there with his trusty mobile phone bringing something just slightly less than professional broadcast quality video to the patrons who were too pissed to make it up the stairs.

Much less walk the whole 500 miles !