Personal Responsibility. Take some

So, I hear it's National Cyber Security Awareness Week, where the Federal Government pretends to have a clue about cybersecurity risk and who the hell they are trying to target as predators.  I'm sure the eCriminals are shaking in their boots. 

The Government are offering terrific tips too, like stop sending your banking passwords or personal information to strangers.  Seriously, those people probably deserve to have their identity stolen and sold for a cheap pack of cigarettes in Eastern Europe. 

Speaking of upseting the iApplecart, the new iPhone technology sure is crim friendly.  Gone are the days when burglars or stalkers had to go to extremes to seek out their target; rifling through their garbage, peeping through their curtains in the middle of the night, and following them around a Coles supermarket before creating a chance meeting with their prey in the frozen food aisle and coincidently having identical items in their basket.  Oh-my-god, we are soul mates!  

I imagine this is how the pre-iPhone stalker worked.  One has to admire the devotion that stalkers put into their art back in the day, assuming a commitment and dedication to their subject that lifecoaches and personal trainers could only dream of. 

I think I'm far too apathetic about life in general to get that interested in anything.  Last year it took me a couple of months to get excited about planning an overseas holiday, like it was some sort of university essay I just didn't want to begin.

I've started to notice on my Facebook news feed that people are advising me where they are and who they're with, generally from they time the awake until ... well, it doesn't stop really.  This relatively new stalker-burglar friendly application is courtesy of Apple technologies.  Thanks a bunch, Apple.

When it comes to technology, I think I reside somewhere in the 1990s.  I still use a Video Cassette Recorder on occasions, and will continue to do so until it decides to stop working.  So with this track record, I will probably purchase an iPhone or its equivalent sometime in August 2020.  But I sure as shit won't be telling anyone where I am and what time I'm there.        

It all seems fairly harmless I suppose, but where does it sit legally when the technology is inevitably abused?  As it already has been.  You can probably put my reluctance to engage with these types of applications down to paranoia, but how many of your Facebook friends meet the following description?  Attractive, above average IQ, generally well liked, performed well in school, bullied as a child, fairly shy, often socially awkward, had their heart broken, signs of depression? 

Yeah, well that pretty much sums up Ted Bundy too; a sadistic sociopath, as it turns out, who murdered more than 30 young women in the United States in the 1970s.  Now it's highly unlikely there is a serial killer on your friends list, given they are extremely rare and there are only about 100 active ones working in the United States at the moment.  Wait a minute; 100 is quite a lot, right?  So my question is this - why do people make it so easy for people who wish to do them harm?

We all have to take a bit of bloody responsibility for our own safety and welfare, but some people think that's just too much trouble on their part.  Take the dubiously named Slutwalk in Toronto, Canada, which took place this weekend.  As far as I can tell, the march involves women dressing up in slutty clothes to march in protest against a statement that was given by a Toronto Police representative in January this year, saying “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized”. 

Sounds like a timely message from the authorities to me.  So why are these women trying to make a big statement to the rest of society that they should be able to wear anything they want and still stay safe on the streets? 

Well, this is just one of those issues that feminists like to hijack, by labelling any call for them to engage in a bit of common sense as victimisation.  The protesters seem to be angry at the police and the court system and society in general, but we really shouldn't be the target market for their protest - they are preaching to the converted. 

Yes, we all agree, women should be able to walk down the street in a bikini without being harassed, but that's not friggin' realistic, is it?  Rapists don't care for human rights or sexual harassment claims or feminism or your feelings.  I imagine they wouldn't be raping women if they did. 

Rape is a problem in society, but it's not society's fault, in that it's not caused by class or marginalisation.  Despite their issues or background, all rapists have a choice about their own behaviour and they choose to rape.  And if you're wearing a short skirt, they will likely choose you over someone who is not in a short skirt.  Yes it's wrong that they target you, but it's REALITY.  Good luck trying to make them more sensitive to your rights as a woman.

The argument that we all should take some responsiblity for our actions, and use a bit of common sense, is not saying we're asking for it if we neglect to take personal responsiblity.  Far from it.  But considering what law enforcement agencies, the legal system and forensic psychiatrists know about rapists, the Slutwalk approach seems nonsensical, irresponsible and downright dangerous. 

The whole idea pushed by feminists that police are appealing to women for any reason other than their welfare is so ridiculous, but I would expect nothing less from feminists, who seem to care more about progressing the feminist movement than womens safety.

Taking a bit of responsibility by not wearing a slutty short skirt down a dark alley in a dodgy area of town is a smart, necessary message, and should not be used as an avenue for feminists to get on their soapbox and bang-on about women's right. 

Rapists don't care about women's rights, so giving young girls the message that they should be able to dress like this and shirk all personal responsibility defies logic.  Common sense is the key; dressing up as a hooker to make a point is counterproductive and just bizarre.

Coffee Uprising

I like to call this post - STUFF I DON'T UNDERSTAND.  Coffee futures. Huh?  Stock charts make my head literally explode.  But I do know the cost of coffee is going up, so I have a consulted a masked blogger to find out why.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I received this email in a random Caffeine Induced Rage from masked blogger, and thought I should share what happens when people who understand stock charts are not able to purchase their cup of liquid stress at a reasonable price.  ...And it looks like a bloody good reason for why the price of coffee is going up.

-------------------------------

Check it:
http://stockcharts.com/h-sc/ui?s=%24djakc

Top left corner. It's COFFEE. Or more accurately, coffee futures. If you change it to a weekly chart from a daily chart and hit update, it will show you that the price of coffee has doubled in a year. Why is that, you ask? The answer is POMO.

POMO ---------> http://www.zerohedge.com/article/wonder-why-market-just-surged-one-word-pomo

The US Fed is printing money, delivering it to day traders in the big US banks, who are speculating on the stock market and driving up the cost of commodities. Coffee is a commodity. As a result, the coffee makers like Gloria Jeans have to buy POMO inflated coffee, and they pass that on to you each morning, in a more expensive cup of coffee.

OMG YOU YELL WHY IS THE FED DOING THIS TO ME????

a) To help get Obama re-elected in 2012 by rigging the markets.
b) To stop the world from collapsing into an apocalyptic dystopian hell as a result of a global market crash, by rigging the markets.
c) To help all their banker mates get rich by rigging the markets.
d) They think ordinary people are too stupid to notice the market is rigged and will put all their money in shares [see reasons a) b) and c) above]
e) They hate coffee.
f) They like Las Vegas. Wall Street should be more like Las Vegas Y/N?
g) All of the above.

All I know is that my coffee went up from $2.90 today to $3.20 and I'M NOT HAPPY JAN.

A Good Bus Service

I hear alot of stories about Canberra’s finest bus service. Most of these stories come from people who have been so damaged and oppressed by our public transport system that the only mindset bearable to them is to look for a silver lining to bus catching; or a gust of diesel smoke, as it were.

That’s why their response to any enquiry regarding the clearly endless merits of riding Action buses is to smile gingerly and tell you, “well, I have a bus pass that swipes”. Oh, splendid. A bus pass that swipes. It’s no wonder the ACT Government gets away with this brilliantly inefficient service.

I will be housesitting in the far North Tuggeranong suburb of Narrabundah in June, which is about ten minutes from my workplace. So I thought I might check out the Action bus system, in a futile attempt to become like one of those bicycle riders, who think they’re making some kind of big statement about the environment simply by riding one. This may hold appeal if I were young, impressionable and hopelessly naïve enough to think that I was going to be the one to change the world. But, alas, I'm not.

How crap can the public system be? Well, let's see, the outlay is about $2.50 less a day that what I currently pay for parking. But the nearest bus stop is a few streets away, and who the hell wants to walk that far in the middle of friggin' winter? And the times are completely inconvenient. So it's expensive, completely inconvenient and not easily accessible. Wow, I’m surprised that more people aren’t getting on ‘dem buses.

It’s like the ACT Government decided to plop everything that is wrong with the city of Canberra in one convenient location, by combining a shelter for the criminally insane, a garbage dump, a slum and a needle disposal facility, and putting the whole experience on wheels, giving it the flashy name of Action.

In fact, Feargal Sharkey, the 80's Irish singer, even penned a little number about Canberra's public transport system in his 1985 smash hit. Here's proof:

A Good Bus Service by Feargal Sharkey

I hear a lot of stories, I spose they could be true
All about Action and how it will probably screw you
High is the risk of missing the bus, the risk of being late for work
And still I have so much to learn

Well I know cause I think about it all the time
I know that good service is hard to find

And a good bus service is hard to find
Strict timetable, the lasting kind
A good Action bus is hard to find
Offers to sit near me; they will be declined

My expectations may be low, I blame it on the truth
Soon enough I’ll learn you’re painfully uncouth
I’ll face it like a fighter then boast how I’ve grown
I’m sure getting to work will be like getting blood out of a stone

And a good bus service is hard to find
Strict timetable, the lasting kind
A good Action bus is hard to find
If you sit near me; I’ll kick your behind

As I reflect on all the Action horror stories
My ideals of public transport were as foolish as they seemed
If I don’t start heading to the bus stop now I’ll be left behind
A good bus service in Canberra; it’s hard to find

Cyber Browsing

I've been trying to get interested in the whole internet shopping thing, and it's not going terribly well.  I find shopping in the real world to be a bit of a slow death, let alone in the cyber world.  A waste of one or two perfectly good hours looking at stuff while shuffling along at an infuriatingly slow pace through a retail outlet the size of the Pentagon.  Shopping is tediously boring at the best of times, and it seems that the cyber version isn't terribly interesting to me either. 

Although, at least in the cyber world you don't have to put up with apathetic retail assistants.  Things have changed alot since the glory days of retailing, when specialised salespeople would inform customers about the merits of a given product with an air of servitude and grace.  These days you have to deal with shop biatches who avoid eye contact in fear of having to actually assist you, or worse, are so perky and lively you just want to give them a smack in the back of the head. 

And then they try to sell you clothing items of high quality, which means they are designed to wear out in eight months instead of six.  And shopping online also means you don't have to put up with trying to negotiate your way through a sea of baby strollers, which are pushed fervently through the mall, and are apparently designed to ensure your child can survive a sudden and unexpected encounter with a herd of charging wildebeest. 

So women all around me have been banging on about their online shopping purchases; wearing faux fur coats from New York and red boots from Swaziland, or somewhere similar to that but probably a place that has a functioning economy, thus the ability to ship clothes to women all over the globe.

Anyway, I do believe I have just failed at online shopping.  This evening I spent a good eighteen minutes or so browsing the websites Google decided met my exacting search criteria; that being online shopping.  I looked through about thirty identical looking t-shirts on one site before I decided that I would prefer to stick a hot poker in my eye rather than look at any more.  How does one find anything they are looking for? 

Scrolling down the sidebar under Styles, I was offered timeless, contemporary, bohemian rhapsody, modern romance, disco fever, and casual.  Casual!  Yes, I know what casual is.  Let's go there.  I found the Style: What's this? tab to be particularly unhelpful.  Under casual tops, I could choose from knits and tees, blouses and button-down shirts (what's the difference?), tanks and camis (difference?), polos, sweaters, fashion hoodies, blazers or rompers in ruffles, silk, cotton, loose boatneck, assymetrical, rayon, blah, blah, blah.

Most of these websites are user friendly.  When I say user friendly, I mean completely infuriating.  And the FAQ section is always special.  Neither questions nor frequently asked, this is the section of the web site that compiles all the spin the company wants to snowball you with in one convenient location.  Question: What is the preferred customer discount plan?  Answer: Duh, an opportunity for us to assist you in hemorrhaging money. 

Who the hell has the time to follow fashion anyway? Probably about six people in the world. Which might explain why runway models are always wearing some of the weirdest crap, none of which ever makes it to your local retail outlets.

Best Before: May 21, 2011

Apocalypse now, anyone? I bet y’all have forgotten that the world as we know it is supposed to end today. In my haste to spend time in reality, I completely forgot that the world’s selectively perceptive people (see: village idiots) had deemed today to be the world’s use-by-date. Best before May 21. I hope I have a bit of time for one more blogpost before the armageddon hits the fan.

Despite all their constructive version of the facts (see: lies) and alternative wisdom (see: ignorance) that the world is nudging its Judgment Day, no-one in the mainstream (see: sane people) will take these folk seriously. Why is no-one taking them SERIOUSLY? They have a very SERIOUS message! They are screaming out to us: please have me commited. On a more serious note, I truly adore the more challenging, socially misaligned members (see: psychotic lunatics) of society.

Days like this give us a very clear indication of who among us is one of these excpetionally special folk, and it should be a time of rounding them up and introducing them to some type of correctional facility. Apparently the Rapture was predicted to occur in June 1994 as well, but when that didn’t pan out to anything remotely apocalyptic, they re-jigged the world’s use-by-date in a show of responsible citizenry and cooperative lunacy. 

When it turns out that they are differently logical (see: wrong) this time, I guess we’ll just call it a learning experience (see: mistake). The next time anyone gets word that the world is going to end, can you please keep it to yourself, because I am far too busy for such a crisis.

A bunch of plankers

Planking occurs when simpletons engage in acts of moronic stupidity by laying horizontally on precarious ledges 100 metres above the ground for the purpose of entertaining other idiots who want to look at their pictures on Facebook.  I first heard the term planking about 3 days ago, after some genius fell off the narrow railing of a highrise Gold Coast appartment. 

And if you need any further evidence that this activity is very foolish can I just mention that Sam Newman did it?  What happened to the good old days, when the weakest links succombed to tuberculosis or cholera before the age of five? 

Now they miraculously reach adulthood and lie around planking.  Planking is the new cholera - eventually it'll get ya.  I really don't understand why it's so interesting, but that's probably due to the fact that I have a functioning brain.  Isn't planking just lying down?

I tried to look up the Australian Planking Association on Google, to see what all the brouhaha is about.  Google asks me:  Did you mean the Australian Banking Association?  No Google, I didn't; use your brain.  Google asks me: Did you mean the Australian Plankton Association?  No Google, is plankton in the news right now?  I don't think so.

I suppose these plankers are like plankton.  They are pretty darn low on the food chain and they are taken out fairly early in life because they haven't evolved like, say, sharks or astrophysicists.  Are young human planktons so desperate for attention that they are willing to risk their lives?  Of course not; they are just dickheads.  But surely they would get the same rush by sticking to their traditional hobbies; like breaking and entering, assault and battery, and vandalism. 

Speaking of planking things, the former Terminator / Governator planked his maid Mildred ten years ago, which produced a bastard baby cyborg.  He decided to tell the Shrivernator of the illicit plank only after he left office.  Which was a good move politically, but a stupid move domestically.   Maria was all pissed and crankypants and was last seen leaving their palatial Malibu pad shrieking "Hasta la vista baby! I won't be back!"   

Even my fave royal - Queen Lizzy - has been up to a spot of planking lately; on the balcony of the Palace after Wills and Kate's international wedding circus.  If you weren't carefully paying attention, you may have missed the entire firm's outstanding display of Irish planking, or reverse planking, amid all the hoopla.  Right on trend.

French Cooking

I've spent the morning planning what I will cook for dinner tonight; like I do every Sunday morning.  So many choices, so many ingredients, so many cookbooks!  Do I choose a cookbook written by an actual chef who has tasted food, or do I take the passionate yet pointless advice of a vegan moviestar who eats air for dinner, like Gwyneth Paltrow?  Oh, so many decisions...

As if.  Let's come crashing back to reality, my friend. I don't cook. Well, I occasionally cook, but I would call it obliterating the basic foundations of the food pyramid rather than cooking as such. I am, however, a highly competent chef when it involves pressing a couple of buttons on the microwave. 

If a snooty Parisian food critic ever comes to my house assessing microwave cooking techniques, I will earn a couple of Michelin stars straight away for my superior and savvy style. Ohhh, technique fantastique! they will snort. I know, you're judging me. That's okay, I get that alot.  But when people tell me they enjoy cooking I say - enjoy it compared to what? They probably also enjoy using toilet duck and vacuuming cat hair from velcro carpet.   

Denial: "I love vacuuming the floor.  I don't get to do it very often, but when I get to do it for someone else, it makes me so happy and fulfilled! And a clean toilet makes me fulfilled as well. But if I'm the only one home, I never do it."

I see cooking as a chore, which I why I commissioned French cooking artiste extraordinaire Manu Feidel to come around to my house every Sunday afternoon to prepare a roast or some exotic dish involving pheasant, goat's cheese and other posh-sounding food for my gastronomic pleasure. Are these ingredients supposed to go together? I don't know. See why I don't cook? 

Although Manu didn't show up last weekend.  I can't comprehend his beautiful broken English at the best of times, but I believe he cited some ballroom dancing competition that he was involved in. Honestly, who's going to believe that? He's French, he can cook and he can dance? Yeah right. 

But he did tell me to text - Manu to 191 777 - over and over again. I don't question French chefs, so I have done so. You probably should as well.

Osama's WAGS

Terrorists are a colossal pain in the arse to interrogate; what with their incessant whinging about the lack of internet access in Guantanamo which means they can't chat to their terror networks on Skype or update AnnihilateTheWest.com, and their outrage at the new rule that prohibits them from spending their days carving out a labyrinth of underground tunnels and escape routes with spades and shovels.  Did it not raise any eyebrows when local demand encouraged Bunnings to build a home improvement outlet in Gitmo?

The human rights lawyers, unemployed hippies, smug, self-righteous students and leftwing journalists who huddle around terrorists in their time of guilt need have a tendency to muddy the waters of public opinion, so it is often the case that these mass murderers are perceived by the public as simply innocent bystanders who were caught in the wrong desert at the wrong time. 

Sure, these guys were caught brandishing AK-47s in a terrorist training camp, but I think we have all found ourselves in that sticky situation from time to time.  Just ask David 'Traitor' Hicks.  Oh, that's right, now that he has a book out, he refuses to answer pertinent questions like, "are you ever going to give a satisfactory explanation for your presence in a terrorist training camp?"  Maybe Hicks is a camel.  Has anyone thought to ask him if he's a camel?  Because that would be a satisfactory explanation. 

And now with the Democrats in power in the United States, the officials at Gitmo are not allowed to use any of the techniques that enable them to get terrorists to spill the beans; like asking them questions that may hurt their feelings, may catch them out in a lie, or do anything that they would usually do when, you know, they are interrogating a dangerous terrorist who possesses information imperative to international security and/or the future stability of the west. But that’s okay, don’t push him; I guess he’ll just talk when he’s ready..

Without the use of interrogation techniques, it may as well be a job interview with an explosives company. The leftwing seem to think terrorists will open up to express their feelings of hatred and their plans for the next jihad on the west if they are simply offered a cup of hot cocoa and a milk arrowroot. They have zero concept of how these terror networks operate. And the terrorists know all too well that the western media are sympathetic to human rights, so they milk it for all its worth through their nutty support network in the west (see: human rights lawyers and the Fairfax media).

But just when you thought terrorists were difficult interviewees, spare a thought for the U.S. Government officials who have just questioned three terrorist WAGS; otherwise known as the Wives and More Wives of Osama bin Laden. These women were reportedly equally as charming and amicable in their demeanour as their dead husband was in his heyday. I can just imagine how the conversation went.

Government: “What do you know about bin Laden's future terrorist plots?”
Wife 1: “How dare you ask me any questions! You are all racist! I have human rights, you filthy American white boys! I hate you! Where's my human rights lawyer?!?!”, amid a whole bunch of shrieking and ranting. 

They were apparently hostile, which some sections of the media find surprising for some reason.  I wonder if they co-signed the letter Osama wrote expressing his desire to see President Obama assassinated.  If anyone in the world could be found guilty by association it should be this odious trio.  I guess they will get their comeuppance when they are forced to appear in a new television pilot; The Terrorist Wants a Wife.  Or maybe The Terrorist Blew up his Wife.  My feeling is they will want a six figure sum to do a series of The Real Housewives of Afghanistan.    

And now al Qaeda has gone all al Qaeda on the Middle East. Again. Not that they ever stopped. They've just seemed to have ramped up the suicide bombings.  If they want to blow each other up just let them go.  It saves America doing it.  I'm so tired of hearing about their civil war and general irrational crankypantsness.

Elevator Departure Statements

The elevator is a great invention, isn't it?  Designed to induce awkward silences whenever more than one person occupies it at the same time.  I work on the 10th floor of an office building, thus I ride the elevators a fair bit, thus I spend a fair bit of time listening to snippets of conversations of people coming back from lunch, and I take the opportunity to interpret various topics and meanings of their chat in any way I wish.

And I stand quietly in the corner. Judging. Psychoanalysing. No, not really, most of time I just want them to talk about something more interesting.  So I’ve started to notice a lot of Elevator Departure Statements (EDS), and I’ve decided that I want to make like the lower floors and join this elite group.

An EDS occurs when random strangers are having a conversation in the lift about a topic that could verge into disagreeable territory at any moment. And then you hit floor seven, and a lady gets out and throws a smoke bomb into the conversation and everyone stares at her as she flounces off with her grocery bags and latte as the doors close.

Let me give an example.  The other day, us elevator riders, as a collective, agreed that the weather was too friggin' cold.  Because it was.  And then the lift binged for the seventh floor.  As the doors opened, a lady got out and said "Well, I like this weather." 

You know what just happened? We just got EDS'd – she dropped the verbal smoke bomb and got the last word. No questions asked, just the last word. You can’t argue with a set of metal doors. Well you can, and I'm sure there’s a therapy group in the public service that you can join and some public servants who are willing to champion your disorder. There are no (habitable) floors above me, so my elusive EDS moment may never eventuate.

An EDS is psychological warfare, my friend. They so know the effect their weapon will have on innocent bystanders. As far as I’m concerned, if you have a point, make it, and stand behind it. Everyday Aussies dropping an EDS. What is this country coming to?

It's cold. Seriously.

Somehow through the blah blah blah of the opening news stories on Sydney's outrageously self-absorbed national-ish nightly news, I heard that the precious residents of Bondi, Coogee and the North Shore froze last night when they bottomed out at 8 degrees.  Seriously, is that all they got? 

Right now, I am simultaneously too warm AND too cold; but my built-in thermostat has been on the blink for years.  Canberra has real actual cold weather at the moment, Sydney.  Winter is an impatient mistress, and I do not like cold weather one little bit.  Oh, the expletives!  But I chose to live in Canberra because the housing market in Antarctica is through the roof.  If this keeps up, I'm going to have to order an ice throne from Narnia like Tilda Swinton's. 


I did not order this weather and I would like to know who I can return it to.  No-one forecasted it accurately, and it feels a lot like false advertising, because, if I remember correctly, we were promised at least 9 degrees. 

Do these meteroweatherologist crystal ball readers just pop any old number into their comp-a-tar before they head off for their morning brew - secure in the knowledge they have foiled us yet again?  Forecast collusion anybody?  And what happens if they accidently put in a figure that is grossly inaccurate?  Like 40 degrees instead of -10?  These things need to be addressed forthwith.  But you know what they say about the internet. Not wrong for long.    

I, on the other hand, can forecast the weather like nobody's business.  Lets see; tomorrow is going to be friggin' cold.  Consider your weather forecasted.  The scope of my forecasting brilliance knows no bounds. 

Anywho, it's far too cold here, and I would like to send this coldness back to the cold land in which it came from; which is likely to be Antarctica or Iceland or perhaps it popped over from Norway.  Is there some sort of cold weather convention going on at EPIC in Canberra?  Just another thing no-one told us about.  And remember, tomorrow is going to be friggin' COLD.  I'm a forecasting fountain - drink from me.  Or throw coins of silver and bronze.  I also accept Visa and American Express.

My beautiful Oxford. Just because.



  

Current affairs ADHD

What do you get when you cross Westminster Abbey, Bieber's six flying eggs and a bunch of Navy SEALs? Current affairs ADHD, that’s what. In the past week, the media have had me hooked on their inane sensationalistic news cycle; that being the royal wedding brouhaha, Justin Bieber's right royal egging, and the death of a loathed serial killer.

First there was P-Willy and Kate. Enough said. But also Harry, and Chelsea, and Kate's mum and dad, and the yellow Q, and Fergie's two wicked witches, and Bea's head decoration, and Pippa's bum, and Tara's nose, and Q's snub of Camilla, and the homeless-looking bishop, and Beck's OBE, and Posh's hair, shoes, garbage bag dress, baby bump, lack of baby bump, forehead hat, face, nose, mouth, eye makeup, pouting, smiling, frowning, pouting, etc etc, and the various media-created afflictions and bad wedding attire decisions of other random aristocrats and lowly-ranked celebrities I've never heard of.  Thank heavens the Navy SEALs struck bin Laden when they did or we'd still be putting up with the media's angst over the madhatter's man-made disasters.  

Bin Laden's days of hooning around the streets of Pakistan on the back of an ox and lapping it up in the glamourous mountains and cavernous rabbit warrens of the renowned tourist mecca of Afghanistan came to a dramatic end on the weekend when he was killed by a bunch of Navy SEALs.  It's always best for this type of military operation to remain covert, if for no other reason that whenever civilians (see: the media) get involved they always RUIN EVERYTHING.  Remember when the international media compromised Prince Harry's security in Afghanistan?  Dumb as dog shit.

Plus, the U.S. TV stations would have tried to get in on the action - 20 everyday Americans compete for the chance to blow out the brains of a terrorist...  Yes, that's a little uncalled for - but so was Bali, New York, London and about 500 other attacks he scripted.  True to form, bin Laden's last moments in his quasi-luxurious, cowdung loveshack involved grabbing one of his wives to shield him from the inevitable bullet in the head. Oh well, he's dead now. 

Trust the Pakistanis to be housing mass serial killers.  No surprises there.  Pakistan has been the heart of modern terrorism ever since bin Laden rolled into town.  But there's no time to rest, there are plenty more exploding fruitloops in bin Laden's neck of the woods.  So get to it America.  And it would be tops if you could please put the next one on YouTube.   

What's to say about the itty bitty Biebernator?  He performed his bouncy little routine in Australia the other night and someone egged him.  The next night he brought the "hero" bully-fighter (whose attack on his tormenter last month went viral) onto the stage to yell out a few words of youthful inspirational - that being his famous (apparently) tagline NEVER SAY NEVER! - to the terrifiyingly enthusiastic Bieber teenyboppers.  I would have preferred the Biebs to moonwalk out to the stage and tell the audience about his money, fame and bright future, and how they would never ever come close to such good fortune.  NEVER EVER EVER!!!!