This is a pixellated version of an artist's idea of what Ghengis Fokner II's exterior form will look like before he takes a running jump at a certain moment in time. He follows in the footsteps of his horsey predecessor who introduced internment last time in British Occupied Ireland and broke his neck while out fox hunting. Ghengis Fokner II has a bad back as a result of almost breaking his neck too while fox hunting. Currently the unelected English despot in Ireland is angry with the Irish natives because he has discovered the meaning of life and frankly it wasn't what he had hoped for. As a result he has resorted to perverting the course of justice in Ireland, kidnapping a highly respected Irish woman, interning her without licence, enabled the disappearance of a Royal pardon and torturing her in solitary confinement for more than a year now, along with other human rights activists to ensure the destruction of a much touted peace process in Ireland
His sectarian, horsey, unionist friends, whom he has been cultivating for many years, to work within his bigoted British Tory Party, while happy with his sadism towards Irish political prisoners of conscience, cannot however prevent him from treating their loyal apprentice boys bands like shit, in order to bring them to the his state of British enlightenment. Daily he instructs them in the following manner "Followers of the Way of Ghengis Fokner, if you want to get the kind of understanding that accords with the monarchy, never be misled by others. Whether you're facing inward or facing outward, whatever you meet up with, just kill it! If you meet a fenian, kill the fenian. If you meet a me feiner, kill the me feiner. If you meet a taig, kill the taig. If you meet your parents, kill your parents. If you meet your kinfolk, kill your kinfolk. Then for the first time you will gain emancipation, will not be entangled with things, will pass freely anywhere you wish to go." He is also a great believer in discomfort, hence torture, solitary confinement and internment without trial in British Occupied Ireland. He runs his establishment of British Occupied Ireland, rather like an English public school. Cold baths and rough games. Builds character he says.
“We interrupt our normal BBC News to bring you Armageddon” “Oh gawwd no! not bloody Armageddon, they said it was ‘Eastenders”says Richard, I know, I know, it's no laughing matter but there'a lot of talk about atom bombs at the Olympics and such lately, so I expect some of you are wondering what the Big One in Olympic London will really mean to you and your family. What will it be like to watch your loved ones in London getting incinerated or dying a slow death from radiation poisoning? And what happens after one dies a slow horrible death? Will it be oblivion ? or will it be rapture? Is there anything we can do about it then Richard I ask? Will we get any warning? Will millions of the Olympic Community in London die? Who's finger is actually on the nuke button these days? What about our Olympic Protest on the Thames, should we turn back and leave them to it ?
London Olympics: Armageddon ! Nuked & Ghengis Fokner II British Occupied Ireland ! http://bit.ly/BOLLIX
So what kind of precautions can Olympians take ? Put lots of bulk between you and any radioactivity is the answer. You can never get enough bulk. You will just have to form an orderly queue for your local Tube Station and find an abandoned gold-mine or something like that. Failing that huddle behind the closest available fat Londoner. Fat Londoners will all be reduced to bubbling pools of water you say? Well get digging then! Thats not very pleasant is it? Ok, right back to Perverted Justice in British Occupied ireland. Trouble is, I tend to wander off on tangents. Right where was I ?
Richard tells me some saucy anecdote about big girls with riding whips and being formerly strapped to the Queen’s bench in London. “You aren’t taking notes Bernie, that's the problem?” he says. “Well I would,” I say, “but to be honest it sounds like little Englander stuff to me Richard. You’ll have to do better than that if you want the new generation to listen to you. English public schools, cold baths and rough games building British character sounds quaint to them. Times have changed Richard, English garter belts, corsets are all museum pieces now. I never cared much for these thong things of empire either. Piddling around with a one track British mind doesn't cut it anymore, Richard. "They can’t get enough penis ," he says, “Yes, that’s how they are these days Bernie." What are you talking about Richard ? women ? "Totally self-centred, worse than us in many ways. Olympian Armageddon !, London nuked! They wouldn’t care if you’d were being bum-phucked by the Kray Twins quite frankly, though apparently only Ron was actually AC/DC.” Bloody hell Richard what are you on about, people are paying good money to see the Olympics, not to end up being bum-phucked by the Kray Twins in London? "Bit cheeky I know Bernie but what the fuck, it also gives me a chance to be the phony..ahem.. count, that I really am."
So listening to Richard is a bit like looking in the mirror. ”Perhaps living in Thailand too long, has made me a bit cynical, Richard.” "The whole bloody world is going through a phase if you ask me,” says Richard, “will it come out the other end is the question, more importantly will we come out the other end of Olympic London” “Yes, well, who knows? Good old Richard, same old pessimist I see. To explain about Thailand to someone who hasn’t lived there is not a good idea. I should stick to the safe stuff of course, food, climate but after15 years there, it's difficult not talk about about the feeling of freedom, the absence of Western hang-ups, the laissez-faire lifestyle ?" "Probably not Bernie" Richard says, "People have seen too many TV documentaries about Thai bar girls."
I could have replied with something about, 'isolating myself from civilization’ but even that wouldn’t be the whole truth but being candid has its limits. I tried to tell Richard why I moved to a remote Thai fishing village. How I hoped to lose myself, my Self, in such a place. I was tired of my own ego, fed up with sentences beginning with ‘I’, bored with greed..my own and other people’s. “And did you?” Richard asked. “Did I what?” “Get your ego docked into the cosmos or whatever?” “No, I didn't. I’m still me.” Olive arrives on deck!. Its the Lord's Day of rest from the London Olympic protest voyage on board the Galway Whooker.
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