The choice that isn’t

Jerry Cordite has been filmed saying that people should not be attacked because they choose to be gay. Choose. If you are gay, did you get a choice on that?

I am a straight white man. Fortunately my high content of toxic masculinity lets me say ‘fuck off’ to anyone who hates me because of my non-choice in the matter – but I did not choose this.

If I had been given a choice I might have gone for bisexual. I might have had a lot of fun with that. But there was no choice. I am what I am and you are what you are.

I don’t care about your sexual preferences. Really. If you are gay, well have a good time, I won’t be involved but you enjoy yourselves.

I have not met many lesbians that I know about but I have met many gay men, some of them so camp they’d make Julian Clary blush. They all made me smile, most made me laugh. I would never feel threatened by any of them. They were wonderful people, full of the joy of who they are and fully accepting of who they are. They knew their lives and not only accepted it, they embraced it and made it their own.

As did I, as a straight white male. This is me. I am hetero. I am cis in the new pretend science. My skin lacks pigmentation. I was ginger before it went grey. I have danglies between my legs. You want to hate me for things that were not my choice? Go on then.

While you have your hate ramped up to lunatic dribbling, why not add in that I smoke too. And drink whisky way, way beyond any Puritan diktat. Go on, get that blood pressure up. You know you want to. Fill that brow with Righteous sweat, fill your mind with the terror of finding some heretic who won’t play by the rules. Pump up those forehead pusles.

If you step back, look at the Georgia guidestones and other clues, you’ll soon figure it out,

Gay people and straight people do not matter. Black and white people do not matter. The end point cares nothing for religion nor sexual preference nor for skin colour. Agenda 21 wants us all dead.

You can be straight or gay or black or white and they are going to kill you anyway. They have a plan. You are useful now but when the plan is complete, you are in the way. Ask Lenin.

Something kinda hit me today…

I’ve been watching weird stuff on YouTube again. These days I don’t get anywhere near as drunk as I used to, so I need a new source of story ideas and the darker recesses of YouTube are a goldmine.

So I was watching a reporter trying and failing to take apart David Icke’s theories and remembered something.

I know, I know, Icke is mad, he talks about lizard people but… that’s what I remembered.

Back in the early 70s when I was still just touching my teens and still had a geeky fascination with the dinosaurs of millions of years ago, there was a thing. A scientific theory that over the millenia they had existed, an intelligent dinosaur had started to appear. Not a brachiosaur or a triceratops or a tyrannosaur, this was a smaller, roughly human sized species. Not blessed with massive teeth or claws but instead developing the intelligence to stay out of the way.

And then it was gone. No trace of that research remained.

I had to consider. Could a smart lizard have got through the extinction event that didn’t actually kill the dinosaurs? They aren’t gone, they are at your bird table and in the swamps of Florida and India and Australia now. They didn’t die, they adapted. And they adapted very well, even though the average sparrow is as smart as an unplaned plank.

So, if that intelligent or pre-intelligent dinosaur existed, where are they now?

Consider. If this exists it has had millenia to develop before the dawn of humans. Humans can hypnotise each other now, in seconds. I am not an expert hypnotist, not at all. I have personally convinced antismokers of absurdities with mere words. A good hypnotist (human) can have a two hour conversation with you and you won’t remember a word of it. Nor will you remember giving them your bank details. Yes. That happens.

Shape-shifting is not necessary. Humans are incredibly gullible creatures. You can be made to see a human face on a lizard by modern hypnotists, never mind by those who have had millenia to perfect their art.

Okay, you can call me mad now. I’ve been called worse. I am in the Icke world of ‘I don’t care’.

Remember a film called ‘They Live’? How about a TV series called ‘V’? Dr. Who’s subterranean lizard race. We keep coming back to it like we’re giving ourselves clues.

Or maybe it’s just fantasy. Maybe we are just looking for someone else to blame for our fucked up lives.

But again, it’s clear someone wants humanity reduced to a slave race. The Georgia Guidestones are clear on this and that is literally set in stone. Agenda 21 is similarly a matter of public scrutiny. It’s no conspiracy theory.

Desrtruction of the money generating base drones makes no sense if the world is run by rich people who want to get richer. Who will make all the fancy shit if we all live in mud huts and eat turnips?

What use is billions of dollars when there is nothing to buy?

The rich idiots are being suckered like the rest of us. I am wondering whether it is the lizard stuff or the rich family stuff I should discount from Icke’s theories. The lizards care nothing for our money, and neither they nor the rich boys care anything for us.

Money is not real. It’s numbers on a screen backed up by nothing. It’s illusion. As is everything else.

It does not matter what you are ‘worth’ in monetary terms because if money is not real then neither are you.

We are all the same in the end. Megarich or megapoor, makes no difference. We are all doing what we are told.


I have a print copy of the pre-edit version of Norman’s House for the first person to tell me in comments the artist, album and song that has the first line I used for this post title. Only five copies exist. One day it might be worth almost whole pound, you never know.

Jury service. Again.

The first time I got the call for jury service was ten years ago. At that time I thought ‘Okay, could be interesting’. There is a number you have to call the night before you are due to attend and I was cancelled by phone. Nothing happened.

The second time was five years ago. Business was slow and being locked into impending jury service meant I could not take on any project that might overlap the set dates. I also could not give definite times for my availability after the date in case I ended up on some long, drawn-out trial. In the event, I attended but was not selected.

The business did not recover. Companies wanting research and testing want it done now or at least at a definite date. Most went elsewhere and didn’t come back. You don’t get referrals from other people’s customers so it just faded out. I finally gave up for good and closed the lab in December.

Meanwhile I had started up the publishing business. I knew it wouldn’t be a quick start. I had to learn a lot of new stuff, especially marketing. I really did start from zero on that one.

It’s really just now starting to come together. Leg Iron Books has its own website and Facebook page and I have begun trying to word a few good Facebook ads. Their prices start at £23, which isn’t bad, but a badly worded ad is worse than no ad at all. Just getting into the swing of things and…

I had a letter today. Jury service again. I have been ‘randomly selected’ every five years (they apparently have to leave a five year gap) compared to many people I know, of my age and older, who have never been selected.

Last time, I was trying to revive a business that was starting to struggle. Being seen as unreliable, because I couldn’t give fixed dates for anything, finished that business (there was another factor but talking about that will land me with a jury of my own, and I can’t prove it). Once the last contracts were done, that was it.

This time they strike when I’m just getting a new business underway. It might sound paranoid but it really does feel as though they are trying to kill this one too.

If I am selected, they will have the most reluctant juror they have ever had. I will do my utmost to get it over with as fast as possible. There is no public transport out here, I will have to drive to Aberdeen every day and it’s not an easy drive from here. I’ll have to leave early and get home late, try to eat something and sleep a few hours before the next round.

I will have no time for anything else.

I also have my parents visiting in April and the court date – April 10 – is right in the middle of their visit. One week later and it wouldn’t have mattered so much. Oh I’ll call on Monday and see if they can change the date but if, as I suspect, they act without sympathy or compassion they can expect this juror to do the same.

I am going into this in a very bad mood. Three bloody times they have done this. The first time it would have been okay, the second and third times are starting to feel personal. Am I going to get this shit every five years until I get over 70?

Well this time I am going to be prepared. I will have the next anthology done before April and I will have Facebook ads ready to roll before then too. It will probably mean I’ll be incommunicado while they run but that can’t be helped.

The worst part is that it could mean that any book submissions in April could go unread for a long while. Again, that will make me look unreliable in the eyes of the authors submitting and I could well lose a few while the legal system plays with my life once more.

I’m starting to think that getting banged up for something for a few months could be worth it. That would disqualify me from jury service for good.

The terror!

Apologies for being uncommunicative. It is Granddaughter’s first birthday so I have been the typical Grandad who buys no sensible presents. I have also been finalising ‘Norman’s House’ with the help of Roobeedoo and CStM and one other and it will be on time, as promised, for release in under a week. Also, I have been getting to grips with marketing. Why anyone voluntarily does that job is a mystery.

Dry January has ended and I made it through. I did it. I succeeded in having a drink every single day for the whole month. I also got right through Veganuary with similar success, aided by bacon and eggs and Danish cooking and cheap meat paste. Now I wait to see what silly, petty, pointless fad I have to defy for Fuckituary.

In between I have made rare visits to Quora. My latest visit was the perfect chance to inject terror into both the antimokers and the followers of the Green God at the same time.

Yes, that’s me, but if you’ve at all followed my books you already knew that.

All I did was tell the truth. That is enough to terrify them now. I used to have to make stuff up, like when I told some poor woman that all grey dust was cigarette ash that had been building for four hundred years and never decays. Actually, the ‘never decays’ part wasn’t my invention. The antismokers had already convinced their drones of that part. I just embellished it.

I don’t have to make anything up any more. Reality is now officially more terrifying than fiction to these people. It’s so, so easy now.

I have a feeling it’s going to get even easier.

Race, IQ and the DNA Man

(heavy hat tip to @CadeFonApollyon on Twitter for the link to this one)

James Watson, one of the three scientists who worked out the double-helix shape of DNA, is in trouble again. He’s 90, and still causing controversy with just a few words. Good for him.

Basically, he sticks to the idea that people from Africa are not as smart as we honky crackers. This is based on IQ testing. And, indeed, if you take those IQ tests at face value, he has drawn the correct conclusion.


I have taken a few of those tests and two things are evident. One, a good level of education will massively improve your chances of getting a higher score. Two, if you practice the tests, your score will go up.

Three, drinking an entire bottle of whisky will knock twenty points off your score. Three. Three things are evident. I don’t know why I forgot that one.

Some aspects of the IQ test are spatial awareness and shape recognition. You can either do them or you can’t. Personally I would dispute whether that’s actual intelligence but anyway…

There is usually an anagram. For me, I either ‘get’ an anagram immediately or I won’t get it at all.

There are number sequences and other numerical tests. I do well at those.

Now, I grew up on a council estate but made it into a grammar school with (mostly) excellent teachers. I know what an anagram is. I took many classes in geometry and arithmetic, I can work out number sequences, I know what a Fibonacci sequence is.

So basically, I know what those questions are asking of me. Since the test is also timed, that puts me at a big advantage right away.

Suppose I had grown up on a farm, a hundred years earlier, somewhere in the remote parts of Scotland. All I had access to was a little local school with a few teachers. They taught basic reading, writing, and simple sums. They would have been teaching me to function as a farm worker because that is what that community needed at the time.

No matter how smart I was, I would have had access only to just enough education to make me a productive member of that small society. Is that a bad thing? Well, let’s say it’s a farming community of a few hundred people and every generation sends twenty or thirty off to become doctors or lawyers. Sure, those kids will end up rich and successful but who’s going to run the farms?

Furthermore, a tiny, remote school is not going to attract specialist teachers. They can’t compete on pay with the city schools. You get born there, you’re stuck there.

Where you place this scenario shouldn’t matter, but it does. In Europe the number of people in remote villages is far, far lower than the number of people in towns and cities.

In most African countries it’s the other way around.

So, when you compare Europe with Africa, you are comparing proportions of people who have received comprehensive education with those who have no idea what the IQ test questions are asking of them because they have never seen questions like that before. You are comparing the education levels of a largely industrialised, urban population with that of a largely agrarian, manual labour population. Is that a fair comparison?

Another confounding factor is that the UK requires kids to stay in school longer than we really should. Let’s be honest with ourselves for a change. Not everyone is going to benefit from university. Handing out degrees in silly subjects is not going to get them any job anywhere and they end up loaded with ridiculous debt to get it.

Some kids are destined to be bricklayers, binmen, street sweepers, and we need those people. Imagine a world where everyone is far too educated to take any of those jobs, where we all wander around all haughty among the mountains of uncollected refuse and overflowing blocked sewers. We wander around a lot because we have nowhere to live – no bricklayers, electricians, plumbers… they all have degrees in Imaginary Subjects and are now far too important to do those ‘menial’ jobs.

Actually, I’d love that world. As the only one prepared to take any kind of cleaning job I’d soon be a millionaire. I could charge whatever I wanted.

For the record, I was the first in my family (large on both parents’ sides) to get to university. My motivation was that most of my family ended up working in the coal mines and I was not going there! I also have no reason to diss IQ tests, I score around 168 (just under 150 when utterly drunk) and once spent an evening practicing the test until it went over 180.

I could sit back and brag about it but I don’t believe the IQ test is testing what it thinks it’s testing.

A large part of what it’s testing is Western style education level. How can you be expected to solve an anagram if you have never even come across the word ‘anagram’? Obscure number sequences are easy when you’ve spent your education and career working with numbers. What if your career involved knowing when to plant and when to harvest, or when the herds would be in your area and ripe for hunting? There is nothing about that in the test.

The IQ test is set up for Western civilisation and, maybe, it does a good job of comparing our relative intelligence. Take the smartest of us and drop them into the Congo. My bet is not one will come out alive.

How intelligent you are depends on your environment. It’s great to be able to solve complex equations as an engineer, or to identify disease causing organisms as a microbiologist, but none of that is any use at all in a jungle where you don’t know where the safe water is, how to start a fire without matches or when you might be being tracked by a predator.

The test makes it look like all Africans are dim. James Watson still believes it but he’s 90, and dare I say it, he’s wrong. I know, I, as a minor scientist, should not be criticising the Great Ones but fuck it, I don’t care any more and haven’t for a long time.

The IQ test does not work on different education systems. If you live in a small African village your priorities are a reliable supply of clean water and safe and regular food. This is a little different from the remote Scottish village I mentioned earlier – water isn’t a problem there because it drops out of the sky most days, but the food supply is still more important than knowing how to solve a differential equation.

What we have here is a test designed by the West for the West. It does not apply to other ways of life. Yet those who it routinely scores as ‘low IQ’ have not died out. In fact there are more of them than us. So which side is the one doing it wrong?

Neither. Different peoples have different ways of life. Both sides have survived and prospered but they have taken different paths and that is okay. Both ways work.

But a test based on the principles of one way of life cannot apply to those who live a very different way.

I wonder what an African-based IQ test would look like? I bet most of Europe would fail it.

Nazis! Nazis everywhere!

The glorious Met Po-lice are currently deciding whether calling someone ‘Nazi’ constitutes a hate crime and therefore an arrestable offence.

No they aren’t. Not really. This all came about because Anna ‘Toddler Tantrum’ Soubry was called a ‘Nazi’ by some protestors. Now the Met are trying to work out if they can make that a crime without having to arrest every Leftie loon and EU drone who has called pretty much everyone ‘Nazi’ for years.

Basically, they want to make it illegal to criticise politicians. In a wonderful irony, these same people call the protestors ‘fascists’.

Well, if calling someone a Nazi is now a crime, I, along with many many others, have a list of IP addresses for trolls who have called us Nazi often. In writing, no less.

Nobody gives a gnat’s fart about being called Nazi any more. Like ‘racist’, it has been used far beyond the point of silliness and nobody cares now. The only ones who think it is hurtful are the ones who use the slur, and they get really butthurt when it’s turned back on them.

Out here in the ever-dwindling Land of Sanity, we still have the old ‘sticks will break bones but it’s quicker with stones’ rhyme.

Oh wait, there was something about words not hurting in there, wasn’t there? Meh. I like my version.

Anyway. The human race is going to Hell in a handcart, the UK government is pretty much fucked whatever they do now and the Monster Raving Loony party should be gearing up – they might get their first MP next time round. I mean, how much madder could they really be?

Incidentally, if calling someone ‘Nazi’ becomes a crime, then Dai Blimey could be expecting a very early morning call from the Rozzers…

Still if the idiot chains himself to No. 10, it’ll keep him out of the way for a while. I wonder if he’ll see a policeman this time.

Maybe someone will take him aside and explain which side the KKK is actually on, but somehow I doubt that.

We really have no right to laugh at those who voted Alex Occasionally-Conscious into government, over in America. Not when we look at what we’ve voted into power. We have a collection of utter, utter morons and should really seal the House of Conmen when they’re all in it and rename it Bedlam. Throw in some meat and tofu once a day and try to forget how they got there.

At least we can say the House of Lard is not our fault. We didn’t get to vote for them.

This is all going to come crashing down and they have no-one to blame but themselves. They can’t even blame the voters because they lied when they were touting for votes.

So now we are all Nazis. If I’m one, I’m the guy who got the hand-me-down uniform that’s all faded and doesn’t fit properly.

As a Nazi, I’m really not very good at it. I think I’d prefer to be a Tolkein dwarf – I’m small and handy with an axe – but I would have to grow a beard.

Beards itch.

Always Halloween

Everything is Halloween. The next horror to hit the shops is Valentine’s Day, forever associated with a massacre and carte blanche for every creepy stalker out there. Send a card but don’t sign it. Just write something romantic such as ‘I’m always watching you’ or ‘You smell different when you’re asleep’.

There is an old love spell that involves piercing a lamb’s heart with thorns and nailing it to the door of your crush. I would love to know if that ever worked. You can get lamb hearts in most butchers, even supermarkets – they make a lovely romantic Valentine meal. I mean, lambs, right? It’s the very heart of cuteness. How can it fail?

Easter, of course, is already in the shops. The Brexit scare that there will be no chocolate for Easter is giggle-inducing because the shops are already full of it. I think that was a ploy by the chocolate companies to induce panic buying.

Ah, Easter, the time of the Hollow Bunnies and rampant dental caries. See? That’s Halloween material for sure. Add in stories of people nailed to crosses then rising from the dead and hey, that is definitely another Halloween.

Christmas? A strange old man with a bulging sack sneaks into children’s bedrooms when everyone is asleep and if they are good he leaves them a gift – but it’s their little secret. Come on. What could possibly be creepier and more horrifying? Christmas is another Halloween.

There are normally spaces between all these Halloweens of course but Brexit has kept the festival going for ages. No breaks, no breathers. It’s relentless.

Lately, Gary Lineker, ex-kickball-player and the man blessed with ears that so resemble huge crisps that Walkers Crisps saw advertising potential, has been putting around a fake NHS leaflet claiming that we won’t have any medicines after Brexit. Even the NHS has responded with ‘can it, dickhead’ although they were rather more diplomatic.

A country isolated with no medication… Halloween. See? I might be the only survivor because I have a pack of 12 aspirin and that should last me for the next five years. I don’t take anything else.

Gary the Glum has been a prolific purveyor of Brexit-based Halloween stories. He is convinced the country is heading for the abyss but even though he can easily afford to move to another one, he isn’t even trying to. Just like that other horror master, A.C. Grayling. They are determined to ride the roller coaster to Hell but really, we all know it isn’t going there. So do they. They just want us to do as we are told.

Well that’s not going to happen.

‘There will be no NHS after Brexit’. It was there before the EU existed and if we stay in, harmonisation of health provision across the United States of Europe will shut it down. Since it seems to do little more than nag us about the way we choose to live, whatever shuts it down won’t bother me. Perhaps it can then be reformed to employ doctors and nurses rather than Puritan lifestyle Nazis.

I haven’t yet heard that Denmark will ditch the lucrative UK bacon market, nor that Germany is happy to never sell another car here. I’m sure those things are coming – we’ll all be back on eating pig’s trotters and driving Vauxhall Vivas and Morris Minors after Brexit.

Perhaps we’ll be back to horse and cart and feasting on gruel. Won’t that be fun?

This Brexit crap is a goldmine for horror writers. If they just got on with it, there’d be nothing to write about. Good old Tessie Maybe, the Queen of Indecision. A sensible Prime Monster wouldn’t have provided anywhere near this level of fun.

Well, tomorrow is another day.

I bet it’s also another Halloween.