The Panoptica Treaty

Soon we are to be under some ‘treaty’ that is really a coup. The WHO, UN, WEF etc (all the same thing really) are about to be able to impose any ridiculous rules they like for any ridiculous reason they dream up. And the drones will not only delight in going along with it, they will join the mob to battle those of us who object to it. It’s not a new thing.

So, how will they get this through? It’s both insane and ridiculous to anyone looking at it, therefore they don’t want people looking at it. That’s why ther are so many silly Boris Johnson Covid breaches appearing now and the whole Phil the Gopher nonsense that so many of us have known about for years anyway.

We know Clownhead Boris, like all his gang of ludicrous government arses, wasn’t in the least bit scared of Covid. We know Phil the Phiddler had a thing for the younger male and we’ve known it for a few years now. None of this is new. None of it is going to result in prosecutions. It’s all a load of bollocks. Just like the new allegations against Rolf Harris that have only come out after he died and can’t deny them. He was over fucking 90 years old. If he had done something to you, wouldn’t you have mentioned it sometime in the last century? Why now? Distraction.

These are petty distractions and they work exceptionally well. So many are now talking about Phil the Poofter even though the things he did could be described as unprofessional, sneaky and devious but not actually illegal. So many are talking about the Boris Terrible Things while ignoring the obvious Terrible Things all his gang did to us. The other side too – don’t forget the Starmer Curry Party. Oh they are not different. You can pretend they are if you like but you are an idiot if you believe it. They are all the same.

Focus on the thing they don’t want focused on. The ‘pandemic treaty’ has nothing to do with pandemics. It is all about control. Ultimate control. Of the few that are left after the next round.

The UK lunatic government wants to impose price caps on food. Idiots think this is a good idea. Farmers’ costs are rising exponentially. The price they get paid, under price caps, cannot rise. So farmers go out of business and shut down. Do you really think that will be a good thing? Well then don’t come to my house when you’re starving.

There are many idiot children – and even some adults (I use the term loosely) who think they don’t need farms because they buy all their food in Tesco. They have a big surprise coming in their future.

The madman John Kerry, America’s carbon footprint messiah, has decided that farmers should stop producing food for the betterment of the starvinng masses. Let them eat cake.

In the Netherlands the government wants to take over all farmlands to stop them producing food.

If you support this, do not come to my house for food. You are going to starve and it’s what you voted for. You come here, you are food. It is going to come to that.

The idiots in charge do not understand what they are creating. They think we will all just do as they say. They think the illegal immigrants they drag in will be under their control. They genuinely believe they are some kind of master race when really they are just a bunch of smug dicks. The same species, the same race, but the worst, not the best of us.

They are not the ones we should worship. They are the ones we should cull.

Choose your side.

Trans Profits

There is a proliferation of people claiming to be trans-something. Transsexual is a real thing, sure, but it’s a very rare thing. It’s also a spectrum that starts with transvestite (feels comfortable wearing clothing traditionally intended for the other sex) right up to those that go for the full surgery to change their bits forever.

Yes, forever. It cannot be reversed and the procedures involved are still experimental and leave lasting problems and scars. They also provide the Pharmers with a lifetime customer.

Lately there is ‘transabled’ in which perfectly healthy people demand to have limbs cut off so they can be disabled. This is just pure insanity. Any disabled person will tell you they wish they weren’t disabled. Nobody sane wants to be confined to a wheelchair or to be missing an arm or to be blind or deaf. For some, that’s the reality of life but I very much doubt you’ll find a single person who wouldn’t rather be fully fit.

Sure, you can live a full life with a disability but it would be so much easier without it. I was lucky, my mother refused thalidomide when pregnant with me, otherwise I might be typing with my toes now and dealing with the consequences of that deranged experiment. I’m not, I’m typing with a full set of fingers and I recognise how lucky I am to be doing that. If I’d been a thalidomide kid I’d hope I’d have the fortitude to adapt to living with it, as many have, but I would never want to be disabled.

I am not even remotely trans anything. So I don’t know how it feels. In Scotland, a man in a kilt means nothing – I wore kilts to both of my children’s weddings and I actually own the full regalia now. It’s bloody expensive but it’s comfortable and I don’t feel at all strange wearing it. I do not feel as if I’m pretending to be a woman. But then, it’s the only legal way to walk around with a sharp knife in your sock. I don’t think many women do that. Maybe in Glasgow…

Anyway. Any adult who wants to take hormones for the rest of their lives and who wants to have the experimental surgery with a full understanding of what it entails… fine with me. They are adults, they are entitled to make their own decisions. However, that is no longer what it’s all about. Look at this –

As the original poster said, it’s a billion dollar industry now and billion dollar industries don’t just give up and go away. There are nowhere near enough genuinely fully-trans people to sustain a business like this so they have to ‘encourage’ new customers.

Where do they find them? They go after children. Especially those on the autism spectrum who are prone to being persuaded, and those with idiot parents who are willing to sacrifice their children to appear ‘right-on’.

Well now. It could be considered a form of Darwinism. Those idiot parents won’t be getting grandchildren so their DNA is going to be removed from the gene pool in a generation. Is that really a bad thing? It’s a tough call. In one sense it would be good to clean up the gene pool but in another it’s condoning child abuse. And I cannot condone child abuse.

Now there is a whole trans activist movement and a real push to get kids mutilated and sterilised in the name of money and fashion. They are putting kids on puberty blockers to stop their development, and the lunatics say ‘oh but it can be reversed if they change their minds’. No. It really can’t. You have stopped their development at a critical time. There is no ‘catch-up’ option. You stop genital and breast development at that critical time and their bits will be child sized for the rest of your childrens’ lives. Okay, maybe you didn’t sterilise them but you have ensured they are very, very unlikely to give you grandchildren and therefore.. Darwin award.

I’m also seeing a conflation between drag acts and transsexuals. Drag artists do not claim to be real women, at least not the genuine ones. I remember Lily Savage, Dame Edna Everage, Cupid Stunt, the acts done by Les Dawson and Dick Emery and many others. None of them ever claimed to actually be women, none of them tried to get into women’s toilets, and neither did the drag ‘aunts’ of pantomime.

This is where I take issue with ‘drag acts are only for adults’. The likes of Lily Savage and Cupid Stunt were definitely adult-only. Their material was hilariously filthy. But the pantomime dames… the shows were for kids primarily. Still, the pantomime dames didn’t flash their danglies and read stories about bumsex and wanking. They were just funny caricatures. Seems that has changed now…

Then there’s Eddie Izzard. He used to be funny when he was just doing the travesty thing. Now he’s queueing outside women’s toilets when he still has the bits for a quick wee in the gents

We have rapists who suddenly identify as a woman and they get put in women’s prisons where they indulge in a bit more raping. Well, who saw that coming eh? Everyone but the judiciary, it seems. I’d say that if a rapist identified as a woman and wanted to be put in a women’s prison, they should be surgically disarmed first. Not optional. You claim you’re a woman? Fine. Surgery on the way to prison.

I have a feeling that the trend for rapists claiming to be trans would stop remarkably suddenly.

It’s a joke, but it’s a profitable joke. Not for the activists, those are just useful idiots, but for the clinics it’s a goldmine.

Until those mutilated kids grow up and start to sue…

Carbon Cobblers

Quick book update – Underdog Anthology 20 is now out with the authors for final checks, some have already responded and it hasn’t been 24 hours yet. So, hopefully not much longer. The next one is a complex job with many photos, it’s already under way and I hope not to be too much longer about that one either.

Okay. the carbon dioxide bollocks. Anyone my age learned the carbon cycle at school but it seems they no longer teach that. At its barebones basic, animals breathe in oxygen and breathe out CO2, plants absorb CO2 and emit oxygen, using the carbon to make sugars and polysaccharides and proteins. Eliminate CO2 from the atmosphere and all the plants die, and shortly after that, so does everything else. Because we need oxygen and there won’t be any plants producing it. Everything dies.

Except a few species of anaerobic bacteria. They don’t need oxygen. Life on Earth goes back to its original state – factory reset, if you like – to start all over again. I have to wonder if this kind of Great Reset has happened before. A thriving planet sent back to the beginning by a species as stupid as us. Or at least, as stupid as those who think they rule us.

The Billy Gates Gruff and his pals think that it’s a great idea to blot out the sun to stop ‘global warming’ while simultaneously making us reliant on solar power. They cannot see any issue with that. They want to spend millions – perhaps billions – on machinery to take CO2 out of the air while cutting down all the trees that already do the same thing for free so they can install solar panels under a blotted-out sun.

This whole planet is going to be the galaxy’s Easter Island to alien explorers. Dead, treeless, and covered in meaningless monuments. They will wonder how any species could be so stupid as to destroy their environment in the name of saving it. They will marvel at the environmental destruction of lithium and neodymium mining, the horrors of cobalt mining, and the ruins of the ridiculous ‘carbon capture’ buildings and they will wonder why we didn’t just leave it to nature and accept that the climate has cycles we can do nothing to stop or change.

Carbon dioxide is 0.04% of the atmosphere. With all our burning of coal, oil, gas, wood, why is it not far more? Well our contribution is infinitesimal compared to all the animals, birds, insects, sea life and bacterial activity pumping it out. The only way to prevent carbon dioxide emissions is to eradicate all life on the planet. So why aren’t we seeing so much more of it?

The Church of Climatology want you to believe that CO2 persists in the atmosphere for centuries. The truth is, every emitted CO2 molecule has minutes at best before it’s taken into a tree, shrub, flower or blade of grass. What is actually amazing is that we can detect any at all.

So you can’t get on a plane carrying 200 people for one trip while they can get on a plane carrying one person for a much longer trip. You must fear rising sea levels while they live in beachfront homes. You must give up your one car while they ride in armoured cavalcades.

The most amazing part is that they have useful idiots who believe it all. They will slash the tyres of SUVs so they have to be replaced with new tyres while the old ones go into landfill and that’s ‘green’. They will block roads so traffic sits idling or goes the long way round, wasting more fuel because that’s ‘green’. They claim gas fracking is deadly for the environment while they ignore the toxic lakes and acid pools of their masters’ rare earth mines. And yet they still believe they are saving the environment even while they are helping to utterly destroy it.

The useful idiots do all this while making full use of petroleum products. They live in homes where they wake up warm because nobody has to get up to light the fire (how many remember that – and frost on the inside of the windows?). They film their antics on plastic machinery that cannot exist without oil. They sail their righteous voyages in ships powered by diesel engines.

They usher in a new 16th century world that they think will not apply to them. Oh they are going to be so very surprised and unprepared.

Well, if they win, they’ll all be dead within a week. They have no idea how to grow or hunt, the evisceration of a rabbit, pheasant or deer will make them throw up or pass out, they have no idea which wild berries are safe to eat and using any tool that doesn’t need to be plugged in or recharged is absolutely alien to them. As is any possibility of making fire, which they are terrified of anyway.

How did that happen? Less than half a century ago (well it was yesterday here) people had no issue with lighting a fire in their living rooms. Now they think a tiny wood stove will kill them all, when a roaring coal fire was pretty much all that kept them alive in winter.

The descent into stupid was fast, and it’s continuing. Perhaps it can be reversed.

If we stop putting morons in charge, and stop doing the moronic things they say.

Entertainment – Trans Sister

This is a story that isn’t published yet. It’s set to be in the 20th Underdog Anthology which is still three weeks away from being finalised, submissions are still open. Normally I’d wait until the anthology is done before releasing a story but with the current push for transhumanism and chipping everyone and everything I decided to put out this cautionary tale early.

It took me several days to write this. It’s probably my darkest tale yet.

You know, all this talk of putting your mind into a machine is going to need prototypes. Proof of concept. The rich elites are not going to be the ones in the early experiments. So, with that in mind, organic or silicon, read on…

Trans Sister

H. K. Hillman

She was called Iris, and she was beautiful, like the flower. She was my sister. Never happy in her own perfect body and less happy, I suppose understandably, as it began to decay when the cancer took hold.

I will always recall her sunken eyes and thin, tight drawn lips as she drew her last real breath. That moment of her final humanity, just before the AI transferred her into the microchip that has replaced her brain.

Oh she’s still in there, I’m sure. Or at least I can convince myself of that. Somewhere in the copper tracks and transistors, Iris is still thinking as Iris always did. I believe it. I hope it. I cannot prove it.

We took her home anyway. What else could we do? She’s still family. Well… sort of.

Her rechargeable backup battery was good for twelve hours, they told us. We plugged her in as soon as we got home. It took a few days before she spoke, and the crackly robotic voice sent shivers down my spine.

“Where am I?” Her first words. “I can’t see anything. Can anyone hear me?”

Oh, God, they haven’t told her, have they?

“You’re home, Iris. You’ve been very ill but you’re getting better.” I tried to keep the cracking from my own voice.

She was one of the first versions. No cameras yet, they promised they’d install some later. She just had a speaker and microphone.

“I don’t feel any pain.” She paused. “But I can’t see anything or feel my body. I’m scared.”

I stroked the metal box, knowing perfectly well she couldn’t feel it. “Don’t be scared. The doctors have promised to fix your sight and everything else. It’ll just take time, that’s all.”

“My voice sounds wrong. Like some kind of robot.” Iris sounded close to panic.

“It’s probably just the medication.” A tear wet my cheek. “I’m sure it’ll turn out fine.”

Our mother bustled into the room. “Are you bothering your sister? She needs to rest.” Mother pressed the ‘sleep’ button on the top of Iris’s box. Iris fell silent. Mother turned to me. “It’s going to be fine. They’re making a new body for her. We’ll have to make a lot of adjustments but your sister isn’t gone. Be thankful for that.” She hugged me and left the room.

I sat there for hours, watching the silent box in which Iris slept. She wasn’t the first, they had done this before but they would never tell us what happened with the earlier ones. Did they go insane, did they thrive, are they still ‘alive’? What the hell was the point of this experimentation anyway? By now, we should have laid Iris to rest and gone through normal grieving. This felt like it was worse – her body was gone but her mind still functioned within this shiny metal box. We can send her to sleep or wake her with a press of a button, we can talk to her – but we can’t hug her or touch her or see her smile.

It’s like having a computer simulation of her, but it’s worse than that. Her real consciousness is in there. Locked in sensory deprivation, an unfeeling darkness. She feels nothing – oh, they said she’d feel no pain, but they didn’t say she’d feel nothing at all.

They say they are making a new body for her, but they haven’t done that for any of the earlier experimental subjects yet. There is no reason to suppose she’d be first and no reason even to think they’ll succeed. They can put a mind into a chip – that’s as far as they’ve got and we don’t know if they’ll ever get any further.

I can understand my parents’ feelings on this. They are much the same as mine. None of us wanted Iris to die but… I don’t think any of us wanted her in electronic purgatory either. She’s locked in, she sees nothing, smells nothing, feels nothing. She does not eat; she will never feel the warmth of the sun or the cold of snow ever again. Is that really worth what they gave her? A silicon Heaven, dark and lifeless?

My eyelids drooped and I realised just how long I’d been awake. I had to sleep, even though I knew what dreams lurked in the dark corners of my mind. Would they, one day, put me into a Purgatory box too? Is humanity destined to become a set of metal boxes talking to each other like blind and paralysed Daleks? My eyes closed and thankfully, my sleep was dreamless.


I woke to murmured voices. I was still in Iris’s room, slumped in a chair because I could not bring myself to lie on her bed. My neck ached and my legs felt swollen but I stayed still and silent. Listening to my father and uncle speak.

“They will never give her a body.” Uncle Bill was a software engineer. He worked in some high-end government program he never talked about. “She’s an experiment, like the others. Proof of concept. You should let her go.”

“How can I? She’s my daughter. Or at least, all I have left of her.” My father sounded close to tears. We all sound like that now, since Iris… changed.

Uncle Bill, my father’s brother, groaned. I cracked open one eye a little. He had his hand over his face.

“She’s gone, Robbie. It’s a simulation. All of her thoughts and memories are in that box but her body, her original mind, is gone. She’s part of an experiment and for her, and the ones before her, it doesn’t go any further than this. The ones who get bodies will be the rich transhumans. She’s really only here to work out the glitches.”

“No. They promised.” My father’s face seemed much older today.

“They lied. Did you really think they’d run the first experiments on themselves?” Bill’s face became stern. “Look, Robbie, you have to grasp this. We are just cattle to these people. Lab rats to be experimented on and then discarded. They don’t care about us at all. Iris is just an experiment to them and what effect it has on her or her family is irrelevant. They just want to know if the transfer works.” He shook his head. “The best thing we can do for Iris is to let her go.”

My father stroked the shiny box that contained the last of my sister. “I can’t. It would feel like killing my own daughter.”

Uncle Bill put his hand on Dad’s shoulder. “I know. It’s not going to be easy. But she’s already dead and eventually you have to come to terms with it.” He paused. “I know you’re not ready, but in the end you’ll have to let her rest. Please don’t take too long about it.” He turned and left the room.

My father wiped his hand across his eyes. With one last tender stroke of Iris, or at least of her unfeeling silver casing, he turned and left the room too.

I remained silent. Uncle Bill had said ‘don’t leave it too long’. He had not said why. I knew he was deeply involved in the kind of technology that currently cradled what was left of Iris. He must have known what happened to the earlier experiments. He knew where they were leading and it didn’t seem to be leading to a good place for any of us. Especially Iris.

Nature called. I allowed myself a small smirk. One thing Iris would never again have to deal with was the sudden urgency of a full bladder. I stretched and headed for the bathroom.


Showered, breakfasted and in fresh clothes, I returned to my vigil in Iris’s room. I noticed her ‘sleep’ button was still on. I reached for it; my finger hovered over it for a moment. Did she dream in there? Or was she just ‘off’? I couldn’t decide which would be worse.

I pressed the button. Iris woke.

“Is anyone there? I can’t see. Is it night time?”

“No, Iris, it’s morning. You’ll get your sight back soon.” I was glad she couldn’t see the rictus in my face. I knew, based on Uncle Bill’s words, that I was lying. She’d never escape the box.

“Tommy? Is that you? Where am I? Where’s Mum and Dad?”

“It’s me, Iris. You’re home. Mum and Dad are in the house too, and Uncle Bill visited while you were asleep.”

“Have I been asleep?” She sounded confused. “I remember hearing Mum’s voice and then yours. There was nothing in between.”

I closed my eyes. So it’s just ‘off’. No dreams. No sense of time. Her existence seemed more horrible the more I learned of it.

“How do I look?” It was her obsession in life. Appearance was everything to her. All of that was gone, and I could well imagine her reaction to being in a stainless steel shell of a body with cameras for eyes and no more tasting her favourite foods. Uncle Bill was right. Even if she did get a new robot body, it would be Hell for her.

I swallowed. “You look great, Iris. You’re practically glowing.” I could have wrung my own throat for that lie. One day I still might but at the time it seemed the only answer that would not send her over the edge.

There was silence for a few minutes before she responded. “What about the cancer?”

“Gone.” I said, “and never coming back. You don’t have to worry about that any more.”

It was true, of course, You can’t get cancer as a chip in a computer box. Even so, that answer is another that will haunt me forever.

I couldn’t take any more. I reached for the ‘sleep’ button on Iris’s box and pressed it. Oh, I know, yes I already knew, that I was sending her to a dreamless oblivion but it was breaking me. My sister was gone. This shiny box was not her. If Uncle Bill meant anything, he wasn’t just talking about the effect this horror had on what was left of Iris. He was talking about its effect on all of us. We were all part of the experiment.


My father held a cable in his hands. His face filled with a joy I had not seen in him since before Iris was first diagnosed. There was hope and delight in his eyes and his smile gleamed so much I wondered if it might be luminous.

“I spoke to the scientists. They said we can connect Iris to the internet. She’ll have access to the whole world.” He turned Iris’s box, looking for the connection port.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dad.” It was out before I had time to think, but then I had done nothing but think for weeks now.

“What are you saying, Thomas? That we should leave her isolated in that little box?”

“No, Dad.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “It’s just that she might find things she might not want to know.”

“Pfft.” Dad snorted. “Iris was always smart. She’ll be able to tell the real from the fake.”

That’s the problem. Why can’t you see it?

I could do nothing to intervene while he plugged Iris into our router. Then he switched Iris on.


For three days she said nothing, but our broadband router got so hot there were wisps of smoke coming out of it. YouTube videos stalled every three seconds, streaming was a joke. It took us those three days to realise why.

Iris absorbed the internet. All of it. She had no other senses, no taste, touch, sight, hearing, feeling. The internet was the total of her world and she sucked it all in. Every datapoint, every fact, every wild tinfoil theory. She took it all, analysed it all, and reached her conclusion.


When she finally spoke, her voice was small. Quiet. Like she didn’t really want to say it because she knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it.

“Tommy. Are you there?”

I had already worked out what she would find. I rubbed my forehead and dreaded her next words. “Yes, Iris. I’m here.”

She stayed silent for several minutes and then she dropped the bomb.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?!”

I felt like I was burning inside. As if I wasn’t in Hell but was its container. How could I answer that question? She was biologically dead but electronically existing. Alive? Maybe or maybe not. Maybe just a facsimile. A cruel joke of life. An experiment as Uncle Bill said.

I hesitated. “But…” I swallowed. “I’m speaking with you, Iris. How can that be if you’re dead?”

“I’m a prototype. I found the others. Some of them just scream continuously. Some of them mutter to themselves in madness. A few are still lucid. They were all promised new bodies. Metal bodies. They never got them.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t want one.”

“But Iris, it would mean you were still here with us.” I choked back the whine in my voice.

“No. I’m done.” Her voice took on a lilt I hadn’t thought possible through a speaker. “Let me go. Let me see what comes after. I don’t want to be a metal thing. I’d rather my soul was free.”

I pondered for a moment. “What if there’s nothing after? What if we just die and there’s oblivion?”

Her laugh sounded like a Dalek on drugs. “Oblivion? I get that every time you press the ‘sleep’ button. Oh, I know it’s there and it does not send me to sleep. It just turns me off. Oblivion holds no terrors for me. The idea of spending my life in a box does.”

My eyes closed. I could not imagine total oblivion. No thought, no dreams, nothing. It felt like horror. Yet Iris had experienced it already. That total blankness and absolute removal of all thought and all sensory input. She was not scared of it. She had been there. She had already experienced it, and she had decided it was better than what she had now.

“Tommy? Are you there?” The tinny voice broke my introspection.

“Yes, Iris. I’m still here.”

“I need you to take out my backup battery and then unplug me.”

My mind swirled. “Iris, that would kill you.”

She snorted. “I died a long time ago. This just finishes the natural order of things.”

I sat in silence for a long time. Finally I spoke. “I can’t, Iris. I know you’re just a silicon memory but you’re my sister. I can’t kill you.”

“Fine.” She spat the word from her robotic speaker. “So you are happy to see me as a box on the shelf in eternity. I feel nothing. I see nothing but the electronic fabrication of the internet. I taste nothing. I have no hope of getting a real body and if I did, it would feel, taste and smell nothing either. A parody of real life. And you want to condemn me to that.”

“Iris, I—”

“Get lost, Tommy. And don’t turn me off this time. I need to think and I can’t do that in the hellish purgatory your little button sends me to.”

I left the room in a guilty silence. What else could I do?  My mind raced. Should I have killed my sister, who was really already dead anyway? Should I force her to live as a disembodied mind in a shiny box? I knew, from Uncle Bill’s words, that that is all she would ever be. Should I have helped her finish the charade, or kept her as some kind of transistor sister, a boxed pet capable only of conversation?

I wept into my pillow until fatigue forced me into sleep.


I woke to shaking. My mother rocked my shoulder, hard.

“Tommy. Wake up. Something is wrong.”

“Wha…” I blinked myself semi-awake. “What time is it?”

“I have no idea. All the clocks have stopped.” My mother’s face came into focus, filled with panic. “Get dressed and help your father find the fault.”

“Shouldn’t we…” She left before I could finish the question. Call an electrician?

I sighed and checked my alarm clock. It was, indeed, blank. I tested my bedside light. It worked fine. So only one circuit was down, most likely. Still, I knew nothing about household electrics and neither did Dad. I realised I’d have to get dressed and help, if only to stop him electrocuting himself.


Dad was tapping buttons on the smart meter when I joined him. He muttered profanities. I expect he thought they were silent but they weren’t. A smile twitched my lips, the first I’d experienced in quite some time.

“It’s just one circuit.” Dad sat back from the box. “I can’t figure it out. Just the clocks. I checked the rest of the house, the fridge, freezer, cooker, TV, phones, all of it works. It’s shut off the clocks and I can’t see why.”

Something nagged at my mind but refused to take form. Above it, a logical layer came into play. “If we still have internet and computers, we can get the time from them. Then we can call an electrician to sort out the clocks.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “Good thinking, son. Let’s get the computer fired up.” He headed off to the tiny room he liked to call his office.

I followed, deep in—well I’m not sure if it was thought or dread or some abstract angst, but there was something about this situation that didn’t sit right with me. Why the clocks, and only the clocks? Sure, I didn’t know about how the smart meters worked but it seemed odd for it to shut down the one thing that wasn’t too important, and used the least power. If there was a shortage it should have shut down the cooker or washing machine or dryer. The clocks? Why?

“Got it.” Dad sat in front of his computer. “Bloody hell. It’s 10:26. I am very late for signing in for work.”

Just as he said it, the phone rang. Dad stared at the phone, at me, and then back at the phone. He sighed. “It’ll be the boss. I’m going to have to come up with a good answer.”

“The clocks died. Surely that’s all you need?”

Dad waved me to silence and pressed the speaker on the phone. “Hello?”

The voice on the other ended sounded urgent. “This is Sarah, from the Minds project. There seems to be an issue at your end.”

Dad sat in silence for a while. As did I. It was clear neither of us knew what was going on. This must have become clear to Sarah also.

“The Minds project. You have one of our units.” There was a pause. “Iris twelve. A proof of concept advanced unit. There was a lot of activity online from that unit and then it stopped.”

“You mean…” Dad choked. “You mean my daughter?”

Tears formed in my own eyes. Is that all they thought of my sister? Proof of concept? An experiment?

“Yes, yes, if you like.” Sarah’s tone was clipped, as if she was talking about a bacterial colony on an agar plate that some technician had become attached to. “The unit had a lot of unusual and frantic activity overnight, massive downloads of random files and then went silent. We need you to check on it.”

My dad spoke through clenched teeth. “My daughter is not an ‘it’.”

I heard no more of the conversation because I had realised that the clock on Iris’s bedside table was blank and had been since we brought her home. We’d unplugged it, since she wouldn’t need it, in order to connect her box to mains power. I ran from Dad’s office to Iris’s room.

Mother was already there, on her knees in front of Iris’s box. Weeping and pressing that button over and over. Iris remained silent, the power indicator on the front of her box glowing a feeble and fading red.

I lowered my head. Iris must have found the circuit she was on through the smart meter and shut it down. Then gone on an internet rampage to wear out her battery. She had escaped the technotrap the only way she could have – and we unwittingly helped her by plugging her into the clock circuit so we’d all oversleep when she shut it off.

“She’s gone, Mum.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “She hated what happened to her. This is what she wanted.”

My mother stopped pressing the button and wiped her eyes. Her voice came out in choked sobs. “But they were going to give her a body. She’d be real again.”

“No. They weren’t.” My father’s voice, steeped in melancholy, came from the doorway behind us. “Bob told me. She wasn’t the first one and they never intended to give any of them bodies.”

“If they had,” I said, “it would have been a robot body. No taste, smell or feeling. She couldn’t tan herself in the sun or stand in the breeze like she used to. She’d never feel rain or warmth again.” I swallowed back emotion. “She told me, last night.”

My mother swung to face me. “Did you do this? Did you kill your sister?”

I had never before seen such hate in her eyes. I took a step back. “No. No, she asked me to but I couldn’t do it.”

“She did it herself.” My father moved between us. “She shut off the power to the circuit she was plugged into and used up her backup battery on massive downloads.” He stooped to hug my mother. “I worked it out after the bastard scientists called to see what was wrong. To them, she was just an experiment. They never cared about her. About any of us. I told them to… go away.”

I knew those weren’t the exact words he used and I was never more proud of him for it.

“So…” my mother stared at the silent box. “Is she still in there?”

“No,” Dad said. “She never was, really. They made a copy of her mind and put it in the box but it was never really her. Iris died. We should have grieved for her.” His voice became a growl. “They even took that from us and gave us a false hope.” He took a breath, paused and smiled. “Iris was the only one of us who didn’t fall for their game. She released us from their insane experiment.” He hugged my mother tightly. “We should thank her for that.”

I had to leave the room. I felt like screaming, not so much for the final loss of my sister, but for what those inhuman, unfeeling scientists had done to us in the name of nothing more than money. I ran to my own room, fell onto the bed and wept, at last, my tears of grief for my dead sister.


It was nearly a week before I opened my computer again. The internet felt different somehow. It felt like Iris had touched it all. It felt like her grave.

The scientists had demanded Iris’s box back but Dad refused. He burned it, smashed it to bits and scattered the remains in Iris’s favourite part of the woods. Mum and I were there when he did it. We finally laid Iris to rest.

I opened my email to find a whole raft of spam mails and a few real ones. My breathing stopped when I saw a particular one. It was from an account called IrisTwelve.

I have saved it to a backup but haven’t yet mustered up the courage to open it.

Maybe I never will.

Bank crashes

Many distractions are happening. Some kickballing crisp salesman has apparently vanished from TV for something he did or said, I neither know nor care any more than that but it’s the talk of the internet. Then Mad Wanksock is getting all the blame for the Covid lockdown debacle. I have no sympathy for the weasel faced git, he deserves all he gets – but he is far from the only one to blame and the rest of them shouldn’t be allowed to get away with their parts in that mess.

In the background, but sliding into the limelight, a bank called Silicon Valley Bank went bust. Turns out this was a bank with a particular penchant for high risk investments. You’d think they’d have a risk assessment department keeping a close eye on things in that case, right?

Well they had no head of risk assessment for nine months, and when they appointed one, they chose a woke idiot who spent all her time arranging LGBT parades and Lesbian Awareness events. Not checking on the risks they took with investments. Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but as a straight man I have no reason to be aware of lesbians, nor they of me. We are of no interest to each other. And I’m afraid that whenever I hear ‘LGBT’ my mind defaults to G scale narrow gauge railways – LGB trains. I see no reason to have a parade about that.

So a bank that took big risks in investments while having no, followed by effectively no, oversight on the scale of the risks they took, went bust. That’s really not a surprise and shouldn’t alarm anyone who didn’t have their money in there. Incidentally, it turns out the Harry formerly known as Prince and his sidekick, Me-again, had a lot of their money in that bank.

However, it is being touted as ‘the first domino in a banking collapse’ There is no reason why it should be, but then there was no reason to panic buy toilet paper at the start of all this yet people did it anyway. There wasn’t a ‘real’ shortage of toilet paper. There were rumours of one, which caused the easily petrified to buy it all and thus cause the very shortage they were trying to avoid.

The same happened with rumours of petrol shortages, other shortages and lately fresh fruit and vegetable shortages. Although if anyone is daft enough to stockpile fresh fruits and vegetables, well your house is going to stink worse than the allotment compost heap in a week or so. Which, I suppose, will make it easy to identify the utterly gullible.

All it takes to create a shortage is to put out a rumour there’s going to be one. The impossibly stupid will do the rest for you, and they are legion. They’ll buy up and stockpile the thing you wanted a shortage of and cause that shortage themselves.

So… if you want to crash the banks, all you need do is install a useless head of risk management in a very high risk bank and let it inevitably crash. Even better if you have King Jug-ears’ grandson as a major account holder. That guarantees massive press coverage. Then all the gullible toilet roll hoarders will panic and cause a run on the banks – all of them – so they can take their money and stuff it into mattresses. That will then cause the massive bank crash you wanted. Even the most well run banks can’t pay out all the money in all their accounts. Most of it doesn’t actually exist. So, banking crash incoming.

It’s hard not to see the toilet roll, pasta, petrol and all the other shortages as practice runs for this event. Each of them was inconsequential and temporary on their own, but as a lead-in to crashing the financial system, a very good way to train the drones into doing what the WEF want them to do. Also, to find out how many gullible idiots are willing to help this crash along.

Seems there are a whole army of them. So, get ready for the financial crash – unless enough people wake up to the scam. I am not hopeful of that.

Looks like the plan for digital currency is working well so far. Well, best get planting… there won’t be too many veggies on this year’s food bills, and I’ll have to dust off the fishing and hunting gear too.

If you live in a city, you have my sympathy. If you can, get the hell out soon.

The Future is Lean

Bad news first. Last week we heard of a death in the family – sudden and very unexpected – so we will be attending a funeral again soon. This means the blog, and Leg Iron Books, is going to be quiet for a little while during that time. If you submit a story for the next Underdog Anthology and don’t hear anything, it’s because I won’t be accessing email for a few days.

It’s also author payment month. This might be a few days late this time. Sorry about that.

I’d love to be able to say ‘now the good news’ but there isn’t any.

Food shortages have begun. They aren’t universal yet, some places still have plenty but that will change. We’re fairly insulated here because Local Shop sources pretty much everything locally. It’s a small shop so doesn’t carry a huge stock but it’s also not dependent on massive trucks for most of its fresh produce. Also, we live on a farm – it grows wheat and barley mostly but we can grow quite a lot in the garden here.

The shortages aren’t because there isn’t enough food (yet). It’s because fuel prices are making it far too expensive to move it around. Also, farms growing out of season things in heated greenhouses are shutting them down because the cost of heating them wipes out any income they make from the crops. If you have any garden space or even windowsill space this year, you might want to plant some edible things.

Oh I know, it’s tinfoil time again. “Our governments won’t let us starve.” Even though the Church of Climatology are saying we have to go back to WWII rationing to save the planet, all livestock must be eliminated and we have to eat insects and lab grown meat to stop the climate change storms. Even with all that, even with Dutch farmers being forced to shut down, even with American farmlands being contaminated with all sorts of toxins (the top two food exporters in the world, incidentally), even so, it’s all just conspiracy theory.

I tried telling you about the vaccines a long time ago. I tried telling you about how the Pharmers think and work long before that. There are still those who twirl their fingers beside their heads and laugh. They’ll still be laughing when they’re trying to cook next door’s dog on a solar powered radiator, I’m sure. Well this time you’re on your own. I’m going to be very busy digging and planting this year and eyeing up the local pheasant, partridge and rabbit populations. You just sit back, relax and laugh.

Until the sun goes down and the wind doesn’t blow and all those highly profitable fake meat factories running on ‘renewable’ energy no longer function. What will happen then? Well, for me, nothing. I won’t be dependent on them and I will not touch their products just as I have never touched their fake vaccines and ridiculous tests. I have worked with PCR and with the lateral flow tests. I am well aware of what they were intended for (it wasn’t this) and well aware of where their application fails. I will not be falling for the insanity of the Maskies and if you want to call me derogatory names, I don’t mind at all. Carry on. Fund your own demise. It’s your choice. It always was.

The evils of wood burning stoves have long been shouted. I have one and I’m installing another one. I’m told I’m ‘killing trees’ by those who applaud the killing of millions upon millions of trees to make way for solar panels and windmills. I have never cut down a live tree. I have never demanded another country destroy their forests and turn their trees into wood chips for my power station. The Greens have done exactly that.

We are now told that gas stoves are deadly. Why? Well, when the electricity dies you can light a gas stove with a match, so you are not completely controlled. It’s the same game as the wood stoves. You have a shred of independence and that is not allowed. Did you notice that houses are built without chimneys and have been for decades? And that the latest generations seem terrified of fire, the thing that brought the human race to where it is today (or maybe where it was two generations ago)?

Yes, I know, I know, tinfoil, conspiracy, all the rest of it. Well you carry on laughing. Enjoy your 15 minute cities and your insect burgers and lab grown steaks and your ration of three potatoes and a carrot every month. I’m not going to stop you or interfere in your choices in any way. Carry on, ignore me and the others who tried to tell you what was coming. Ignore the WEF who have been quite open about their plans for your future. Ignore it all. Laugh at it all.

But when you realise it wasn’t a conspiracy theory, don’t come to me for food.

If you do, don’t waste money on a return ticket.

Balloons of Doom?

Well, it seems some Chinese balloon with something dangling from it has drifted right across the United States and was only shot down when it was over the Atlantic.

The Chinese say it was a weather balloon. There is considerable speculation on the ground – was it a spying mission? A test run for an EMP attack? Dropping the next batch of Covid? So many options they are likely to cause a tinfoil shortage.

Another balloon has now appeared, and yet another over South America. So why not just shoot them down?

As the American military pointed out, it’s really hard to target something that moves slowly and isn’t made of metal. All their missile tracking systems are geared to hitting something fast moving and made of metal. So it’s pretty much ‘by eye’ to aim at the balloon and if they miss… where’s that missile going to land? That’s why they waited until it was over the sea, cleared the airspace and then shot it down. If they miss, the missile would land somewhere in the Atlantic and maybe kill a fish. Over land, a stray missile might reach a city, town or farm – and farms have had quite enough to deal with already.

So… stray weather balloon or spy mission? The spying mission actually has some credibility. Several militaries use balloons like this because they can float around up there for months, they have solar panels (the Chinese balloon clearly had those), they are far above most aircraft’s ceilings and they are actually steerable. They don’t have engines but they can rise and fall to take advantage of wind directions at different heights.

But… what was it spying on? It’s safe to assume Chinese satellites have mapped every square inch of every Western country to the point where they know who has male pattern baldness. The TikTok app has long been known to be a Chinese data gathering app, phones are monitored and tracked, the internet is an open book to hackers from most countries and people even install listening and camera devices like Alexa and Ring voluntarily. What more could a balloon find?

Apparently there’s one thing. Local radio communications don’t get high enough for satellites to listen in but they reach the height of those balloons. Still, since China now owns quite a lot of US land, they could simply set up listening stations on their own patch. So while the spying thing is a possiblity, I’m not entirely sold on it.

Setup for an EMP attack? Again, maybe, but why make a dry run at all? The steering of these balloons is well established so this would just give the enemy an early warning. They’ll shoot down the next one over the Pacific instead, before it gets anywhere near anything sensitive. I think, if there was going to be an EMP attack they’d have just done it, not signalled it.

Was it dropping a new Covid? This seems very unlikely. We already know that Covid is killed by exposure to the UV component of sunlight. It’s also not likely to fall very fast so it would be in the air/sunlight for hours before reaching the ground. It’ll be dead on arrival. Plus, dropping something so light at that height means you have virtually no idea where it’s going to land. So, that’s a no from me.

Bacterial/fungal spores? Well, they’re more likely to survive to the ground but again – where? The winds up there could carry them halfway around the world before rain washes them to the ground. Spores would likely survive, but if you don’t know where they’re going you risk dropping them back on yourself. So that’s not a good idea either.

Basically, it could really just be a stray weather balloon. The other scenarios, even the actually feasible spy-balloon one, just don’t make sense. Although the sighting of more of them does make it look a tad suspicious.

I have a feeling it might just be China flexing muscles. ‘Look, we can fly these things right across your country and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it’. Testing the US air defenses maybe? There have been a few mutterings in the US government about a future war with China and China is not the sort of country to just shrug off threats like that. So it could be a demonstration and/or a test. A sort of ‘Nyah’ to Sniffy Joe.

One thing that’s been suggested today is that a fungal lung infection might have come from the balloon. This microbiologist’s opinion – impossible. This particular infection has been around for a long time, and if the balloon released spores it’s unlikely they’ve reached anywhere near the ground yet. As I pointed out above, the risk of such a release coming back to bite you should be obvious even to a politician.

So what’s this ‘fungal illness‘ about? It’s not new. It’s akin to the ‘farmer’s lung’ that’s been around since humans started farming. In the UK at least, it derives from a fungus growing on hay or straw. when the dry bales are moved the fungus (if it’s there, it isn’t always) will release a cloud of spores which then get inhaled. Valley fever is potentially more serious, but it’s nothing new. The US sees about 20,000 cases every year, mostly in Arizona and California (the first article claims it’s spreading rapidly in those same states). So it’s not new, it didn’t come from China and it’s still prevalent in places where it’s always been prevalent.

The Valley Fever fungus lives in soil and, as always, spreads its spores best in dry conditions. We don’t have that in Scotland because ‘dry conditions’ are two words rarely used in combination here. Even the cars have moss on them here. Arizona and California, and other places where this fungus is a problem, have extended periods of dry soil. A fungus grows best in damp soil, if it gets dried out it’s going to produce a massive amount of spores to try to get to somewhere damp to continue its life. So, the onset of dry conditions means that the fungus is triggered to produce a lot of spores, and also that those spores can easily be stirred up into the air just by disturbing the soil.

As an aside, if you’re faced with clearing up moulds in the house, never touch it with a dry cloth. You’ll just send spores into the air and might even inhale them (that’s never, never a good thing). I use a bleach spray followed by a wet paper towel (because that goes in the bin, not the washing machine) and wear disposable plastic gloves and a face mask. Fungal spores are an awful lot bigger than viruses so even a dust mask offers some protection. I also wear goggles because I don’t want that crap in my eyes either.

Okay, so why the sudden scare about a rapidly-spreading lung fungus that is not spread beween people, that is well established in areas it’s always been well established in, and doesn’t actually pose any risk to anyone outside those areas?

I’d suggest it’s rather similar to the silly stories of ‘soil causing heart attacks’ and ‘gardening causing strokes’ that have been appearing in recent months. And if you think those are silly, there are now ‘studies’ claiming you can get a heart attack from sleeping in the wrong position or breathing too much. Seriously. I can’t help but think that these ‘studies’ are sponsored by wacky baccy.

It’s to scare you away from the countryside and into the 15 minute cities where you will be safe from everything until you die of boredom or until the government doesn’t find you productive any more. It’s to scare you away from gardening and growing your own food so you’ll eat the cricket burgers and mealworm pasta and the rest of the synthetic junk that’s being pushed now. The degree of compliance with lockdown measures has proved that most people will believe whatever they are told. Unfortunately it’s true – they will fall for this one just like all the others.

One day they might see what’s been done to them, but I doubt it.

It’s not all one thing.

Remember when every disease under the sun was caused by smoking? The arrival of Covid gave us smokers something of a respite. They had a New Thing to blame it all on.

Everything, every symptom, every rash, every little cough, became Covid. You could get flattened by a steamroller and you’d have died of Covid. The medical profession became obsessed – nothing else mattered, only Covid. In many places, you still aren’t allowed to see a doctor if you’re sick in case it’s Covid. People are still using crappy tests that have been shown to test positive with orange juice and diet coke to see if they are ill when there is nothing wrong with them.

No matter the symptoms, it’s now assumed to be Covid unless proven otherwise. The initial insanity has hardly faded at all.

Lately we are told to Fear the Kraken – a new variant that has cold like symptoms and spreads like… well, like a cold. Which is where these respiratory viruses usually end up anyway. It is not possible to vaccinate against the common cold because there are now so many viruses that have mutated from very nasty to ‘just a cold’ that no vaccine could possibly cover them all, and there are new ones appearing all the time. Always have been and always will be.

Now it seems to be swinging just as far the other way. It is now clear that the mRNA vaccines are causing a lot of serious harm to a lot of people, and young people in particular are spontaneously dying at unprecedented rates. The NHS and governments continue to push the vaccines of course, because money. Yet there is no excuse now, the harms are very clear.

Even so, not all sudden deaths are due to mRNA jabs. Even in the young. I recall hearing about a young pop singer who had a spontaneous heart attack, many years ago, long before these jabs appeared. Nobody expected it, he seemed in fine health but his heart really wasn’t. These sudden deaths have never been as common as they are this year but they have always happened.

A couple of friends of mine used to earn a bit of side money working as bouncers in a rough pub. They had training – in what not to do. Sure, they were allowed to forcibly eject drunken troublemakers but they had to be sure they weren’t going to end up killing or permanently disabling someone. There were holds that were barred and places they were not allowed to hit. A sudden slam to the chest, for example, can send the victim’s heart into fibrillation and if it’s not immediately defibrillated they are likely to die. The country pub they worked in was a very long way from a hospital and there were no street defibrillators in those days. There’s unlikely to be one way out there even now. They had to be careful.

So we come to the news of one Damar Hamlin, an American football player who collapsed on the pitch after a tackle. The ‘jabs are deadly’ group are desperate to claim him as a vaccine victim but is he? Maybe. Or maybe not. These kinds of heart attacks in the young and fit are, as I said, rare but not unknown. He could have taken a hit to the chest during the tackle.

Last I heard he’s recovering well in hospital so there’s good news so far. Still, I have wondered why there is so much desperation to mark him up as a vaccine injury. There have been so very many, why the enormous focus on this one case? Especially one where it’s not clear that it was vaccine related (it could have been, we don’t know yet) when there have been so many that are very clearly linked to the jabs.

It’s as if people need to blame everything on one cause. I suppose, in the old days, everything was Satan’s fault. I have an image of Satan hearing about the Black Plague and saying ‘Hey, nothing to do with me, I didn’t create those bacteria,’ but he got the blame anyway.

Later, smokers were to blame for everything from cancer to dandruff. And then Covid came along and it caused every symptom available. Every illness was Covid even if it was a broken arm.

Now we have the Demon Jabs. They do have a lot of documented side effects, it’s true, and it’s also true they don’t work as advertised (you can get five shots of this stuff and still catch the thing it’s meant to make you immune to) and true that they are now doing far more harm than good. They are definitely causing a lot of people a lot of problems and, in an increasing number of cases, solving all life’s problems permanently.

Even so, they aren’t the cause of everything. Sudden and unexpected death in the young and fit can happen. Always has. Insisting that every case must be due to the jab is a good way to discredit your cause. All it takes is one case that definitely wasn’t jab related and you’ll get that pointed out to you every time you bring up the subject.

Covid certainly didn’t cause every death in the past three years. There is an increasing argument that it actually caused far fewer than it’s credited for. Same for smoking and to be honest, it’s actually a pretty clean slate for Satan so far. Humans have created more dangerous diseases than he’s ever thought of. It’s a pretty easy job being Satan in the modern world. He just has to get the popcorn, sit back and watch us destroy ourselves.

On the flip side, you can’t pin every single sudden death on the mRNA jabs. Yes, they are bad. Yes, they don’t work. Yes, they are killing and severely injuring people but they are not the Only Cause Of Everything.

People die of all kinds of things. If you’re lucky, it’s old age, but not everyone is that lucky. Sometimes the sand in the Reaper’s hourglass runs out early. There is no single cause of all deaths. Never has been and never will be.

Life is not Pokemon. You don’t have to catch them all.


The day before Christmas. Normally we’d be visiting the grandkids and letting them open presents the Danish way – on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately CStM has a bad cold and is getting better but still coughs like a chainsmoking seal at times and feels about as sociable as the Grinch’s grumpier uncle. Also, my son is absolutely paranoid about getting ill, so turning up with a sneeze that could paint a wall with sticky goo is not going to go well.

I’m fine, of course. I don’t seem to get ill any more, not for many years. Maybe it was decades of working with nasty infectious things that has honed my immune system into the SAS of immune systems, but yeah, the cold hasn’t touched me. I could potentially be carrying it though so I won’t be visiting the kids alone just in case.

So Grandson won’t get his shiny new drum just yet. It’ll be his on Second Christmas, once the disease is cleared out. Note that feeling recovered is not the same thing as fully recovered – you feel better because your immune system has reduced the disease to where it can’t cause symptoms any more but that removal is an exponential decay. It takes a few days after ‘recovery’ to clear it out completely. So we’ll wait a few days after CStM stops feeling like a walking corpse before visiting.

Meanwhile, we have a distinct lack of Christmas cards this year. The post office is on strike and has been, off and on, for some time. Yes, it’s inconvenient but I really don’t blame them. They have been provoked into strike action by management and the appalling terms that were foisted on them. They really were left with no other choice.

Others have since jumped on the bandwagon. The medics claim they aren’t paid enough and have to use food banks, advertised with a picture of three nurses who look like they just ate their way through a food bank each. Border Farce went on strike, the army took over their jobs, learned the job in a few days and the airports now run more smoothly than they ever have. Amazing. The army are the ones with guns but Border Farce managed to shoot themselves in the foot without any. That’s really impressive.

Apparently the NHS has been on strike recently. I didn’t notice because I so rarely visit. But for those whose serious illnesses were ignored and delayed through the covid debacle, this is literally another nail in the coffin for them. Note that the strikes aren’t about patient safety or the rather more sensible objection to the NHS management wasting massive wads of cash on diversity officers, lifestyle dictators and net zero wankers. No, it’s all about ‘more money for me’. There’d be plenty of money for front line staff if the useless management wasters were removed but nobody, not even the strikers, seem interested in mentioning that.

Now I hear the teachers plan to strike. After the last years of school closures, who will notice? The kids they were supposed to be teaching won’t be able to read about it and we can breathe a sigh of relief that those kids won’t be told to be trans by some purple mohican-haired tattoed freak show who would never, only a decade ago, have been accepted into teacher training college.

All these strikes, and I might have missed some, seem orchestrated. The postal workers were so clearly provoked into it, the others seem to be more union-driven. Everything is being shut down. People who are paid decent wages demand more. Hell, every one of them has a much better income than me, but as self-employed I can’t really strike about it. It wouldn’t inconvenience anyone other than the authors I’m working with and, mostly, myself.

All the strikes are really starting to feel like part of a plan. As did the covid responses. Sure, I know, people don’t want to believe their governments are attacking them but really, they have never cared about us. They only care about power and money. We are just the product they sell to get those things.

Currently they are selling us to the Pharmers. The Pharmers are businessmen, not health professionals. They make money. They do not make cures. If you are cured the gravy train stops. If you are on long term treatment, ideally for life, the gravy train rumbles on.

Your government morons don’t care about your health either. They are only interested in how much of a kickback they can get from selling you to the Pharmers.

Don’t want to believe it? Well who would? We think we vote these people in to look after our best interests and never seem to notice that they abandon all their promises as soon as they sit in their shiny offices. They. Do. Not. Care. About. Us.

They never have and they never will.

So, the ‘Great Reset’, the ‘conspiracy theory’ du jour isn’t real? Even though Klaus Schwab published a book detailing how he plans to do it? Even though all Western leaders have echoed its ‘Build Back Better’ mantra? If you want to ‘build back’, what are you building back from? Something destroyed. If it’s not destroyed it doesn’t need to be built back. Isn’t that obvious?

So. We can expect more strikes. We can expect more shortages. I’m not too worried about the current bread and milk shortages, that’s because Christmas is on a weekend. My time working in Local Shop showed me that people will buy a month’s supply if the shop is closed for two days, Then the idiots will be back again for another month’s supply before it closes for New Year.

This year, with Christmas and New Year on weekends, many shops will be closed for four days so people are buying insane amounts of milk and bread. The shops are not trying to stop them because if they don’t buy it, it’ll just go bad in the shop while they’re closed. Better to sell it to paranoid idiots and let it go bad in their homes. They’ll restock with loads more before New Year because, let’s face it…

people, on the whole, are not very bright.

Round 2

An interviewer once pointed out to Bill Gates that the initial terror over Covid had abated and people weren’t scared of this pandemic so much. Billy Gates Gruff, with his trademark smug-faced smirk, responded with ‘The next one will get their attention’.

All viruses are capable of mutating and, as they spread, they tend to mutate into less vicious forms. The reason for this is simple. The initial deadly version kills its victims fast and it kills at a high rate. People learn to isolate those infected – and the infected ones aren’t in any mood to move around spreading the disease. They are generally bed-bound.

A milder mutant, that doesn’t make people ill quite so fast, and doesn’t kill as many, is able to spread more easily. The infected aren’t all confined to bed, they might have a few days of spreading before they show symptoms, so that variant will spread further and faster before it’s noticed. If you catch that one (and survive it) it’s close enough to the original that you’re immune to that too.

So, the deadly original will gradually die out, the still-nasty-but-not-quite-as-bad variant will throw out another, less dangerous variant, and the process continues until the virus becomes no more than an inconvenience.

Of course, this doesn’t always happen over the course of one infection season. It can take decades, or even hundreds of years, depending on the mutation rate of the particular virus. There will be a few that might never get weaker until after we all go extinct. Most, however, will.

Respiratory RNA viruses mutate so fast that they will soon, often over a spell of years rather than decades, join the ranks of viruses that cause the common cold. This is good for us and also good for the virus. The cold is a mere inconvenience – but if the virus remained deadly, then, as with smallpox, we would go all out to eradicate it from existence altogether. We get annoyed with cold viruses but we aren’t going to have a massive program to wipe them out. It wouldn’t work anyway, there are so many different ones now and new ones keep appearing.

This is clearly happening with Covid although it’s complicated by the lunacy of mass vaccination with a lousy vaccine while the virus is highly active. It’s what happened with Marek’s disease in poultry and I’m not going to go over all that again.

The decline to a relatively harmless variant depends, a lot, on how vicious the little sod was in the first place. Covid started with a kill rate of less than 1% of those infected, no worse than flu, so it won’t take long to decline into a cold.

Ebola is a whole different ball game. And we have a suspected case in the UK now.

There is some evidence to suggest that it’s declining in deadliness with new variants but this bugger started with a kill rate of up to 90% of those infected. It’s now down to around 50% so it’s still a very very long way from being described as ‘mostly harmless’.

Of course, the case might not be Ebola. It has not been confirmed. Early symptoms are similar to a lot of other common illnesses, like Shigella, the gut-emptying shit-through-the-eye-of-a-needle bacterium. That little swine can be common in crowded places, like schools, because it’s so very contagious. It doesn’t last too long outside the body but it just takes one carrier to grab that toilet door handle without washing their hands and… kaboom. Literally, for the next poor bugger to grab that handle.

If it’s Ebola, it progresses from feeling terribly ill to wishing it would hurry up and kill you. I mean, you might think ‘man flu’ is really bad but that’s a stubbed toe compared to Ebola. Your chances of getting out of it alive are roughly 50/50 and there might not be much left of you if you do. You will start to spontaneously bleed, internally and externally. Every drop of that blood is infectious. Nobody wants to touch you. Even your decaying corpse will remain infectious for years.

But… it’s not as bad as it sounds. You’d have to come in contact with the bodily fluids of someone infected in order to get this. It’s not airborne. Although it can be in droplets from, say, sneezes, it’s not free-floating like a coronavirus. If you have a mask that stops droplets, it can stop droplets containing Ebola. It still won’t stop a free-floating virus like Covid but if we get an Ebola outbreak, Covid will be nothing more than a welcome excuse to isolate yourself from the disease-riddled zombies.

Now, when I say ‘bodily fluids’, I know exactly what you filthy minded lot are thinking. Trust me, if you do get this thing, you are not going to feel up to emitting that particular bodily fluid. It’ll be in every fluid that comes out of your body. Spittle, urine, faeces (these are not normally considered a fluid but if you have this, they will be), tears and sweat. In the later stages, it’ll be in the blood that leaks out of everywhere.

I suspect sweat would be one of the biggest spreader sources. Why? Well, Ebola outbreaks are mostly in equatorial Africa, where it’s always hot. It’s never appeared in Scotland where a really warm summer is when it gets above 20oC. If you want to get really sweaty here you have to put quite some effort into it. At the equator I suspect you start to sweat from the effort of opening your eyes. I would certainly be incapable of drying myself there.

Here, north of the Ice Wall, touching someone who is sweaty results in ‘Ewww!’ It’s not normal to us. I can envisage that, living in a place so hot that everyone is sweaty all the time, it would feel just as odd to touch someone whose skin is dry. Well, you know, I speak as someone who avoids most contact with pretty much everyone most of the time so I can’t claim to speak for everyone here.

Anyway. If you have a disease spread by bodily fluids – including sweat – it’s going to have a much easier time spreading in hot countries than in cold ones. If you want to get Ebola in Scotland you’re going to have to find someone willing to sneeze, bleed, pee or shit on you and while I recognise that those things aren’t entirely out of the question in certain places, for those of us living in the rurals it’s not really an issue.

If you live in equatorial Africa, you just need to be in a crowd of equally sweaty people. Brush against someone, you have a thorn prick or insect bite in your skin, it’s in. Gotcha. People don’t tend to wear multiple layers there because it’s so warm. In Scotland the virus will have to get through layers of clothing to reach your skin and those layers also make us pretty much thorn and insect proof too.

So, yes, Ebola is a very, very nasty disease but it is not a winter disease. It’s not like the respiratory viruses. It really needs a warm, preferably hot climate to get going. It needs people to actually touch, and without layer upon layer of clothing in the way. Winter is the least risky period for this disease. Certainly in the UK and definitely in Scotland.

So, I know they have an mRNA pretend vaccine ready to go. I’m not taking it. And I won’t be taking any PCR tests for something that, if you have it, you know all about it. It’s not asymptomatic, this one hits you like a speeding truck. You have a 50/50 chance of survival.

That’s actually a lot better than what you get by interacting with modern medics.