Sunday, 6 January 2013

Postcard from around Londonistan


“What’s so special about Malala?”, asks one of the Muslims (of this what I’m told is a typical UK street scape  these days) rhetorically:


hat tip to Vlad Tepes
Update May 2015: 
Yet another video deleted by Big Brother: The message posted instead  means "people" have complained about the video. Today, I have forgotten what video it was, but the same "people" are still getting videos deleted by the thousands, and I am sure  these complaints would - to quote Obama and assorted suspicious politicians - "...have-nothing-to-do-with-islam..."



Since the "media" has latched  onto this case in a big way, these  muslims seem  to  show a little something akin to  shame - in their own weird  way of course, which  is: blaming the horrid deed  on anyone except themselves. First finger-pointed target are usually the bad bad Jews. This time it’s the  bad bad CIA .

But,  just  imagine, if the media would do their job ethically by reporting the ugly truth more often and name the beast by its name, the so-called moderate muslims  might develop a sense of shame and eventually condemn such acts by their brothers unequivocally.

But I think the 4th Estate is a lost cause, it's up to us "the 5th Estate" to "NOT go gentle into that good night..."





With apologies to Dylan Thomas, I would like to title this one: 

Calling the West...


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 















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