impatient, obnoxious, petty, argumentative, and obsessed over meaningless details

Monthly Archives: November 2011

surveillance fail

To the police surveillance van outside our flat, renaming your wifi would make you stealthier



It is just like what I said about the London riots where people rioted for UGG boots:

from zerohedge:

“Video showing the utter chaos and calamity that ensued when shoppers were fighting over towels put on sale at $1.28 each. Towels.”

“If this is how people act when towels are on sale, it certainly makes one wonder how well society will function when there’s actual chaos– like supply disruptions for food, fuel, or electricity”.


Diplomats have also been told to prepare to help tens of thousands of British citizens in eurozone countries with the consequences of a financial collapse that would leave them unable to access bank accounts or even withdraw cash.
Fuelling the fears of financial markets for the euro, reports in Madrid yesterday suggested that the new Popular Party government could seek a bail-out from either the European Union rescue fund or the International Monetary Fund.


Reminds me that I need to get a gun and some medicine for the coming zombiepocalypse. I lost my my copy of

Thankfully I picked up the SAS survival handbook. It tells me that a key requirement is the will to live, some days I am not so sure.


Germany 4.0

I am feeling a bit sick the last few days so I only have time to write a little rant about some things dear to me.

There was an incredible amount written in the Irish newspapers over the weekend about our budget being read out in the Bundestag before we knew what it contained. That is the reality, having sold sovereignty to pay for the retards who were ran the country into the ground.

David McWilliams: on the Nazi past:

For those who have spent any time in the Bundesrepublik with German people, this unwillingness to accept European leadership because of what their grandparents or great grandparents did 70 years ago verges on a sort of neurotic self-loathing. It also bears no relation to the evident aspirations of modern Germany. But it is as it is. And yet this German self-loathing is a disaster because only Germany can save the eurozone from a messy break-up – or prolonged stagnation which will lead to a messy break-up.

Unless Germany leans on the ECB to buy up more and more European government bonds, the present crisis will continue and end in chaos. The reason the Germans won’t mandate the ECB to do so is because they are worried about hyperinflation if the ECB prints too much money to buy all these bonds. It has seeped into German folk memory that the economic cause for the rise of Nazism was hyperinflation. This has been parroted again and again by those who don’t know their history. The opposite is in fact the case.

The hyperinflation was over by 1924. Hitler came to power almost a decade later and what propelled him into power was the response to the 1929 crash: fiscal tightening. In 1930, the German chancellor, responding to the fall in German output in the 1930-1932 period, inflicted too much austerity. Unemployment soared and Hitler rode to power.

So Hitler came to power not because of inflation but because of deflation. If there is any lesson from German history, it is to loosen policy – both budgetary and monetary policy – in a downturn, not the opposite.

I think it is hilarious that Germany have bought Ireland. We might get someone with a brain in charge. Maybe the words of the German envoy will finally be listened to – (I never get tired of reading this article)

In his 15-minute speech the ambassador said:

Ireland was a “coarse place”.
Junior ministers here earned more than the German Chancellor.
Some 20pc of the population were public servants.
Our “chaotic” hospital waiting lists would not be tolerated anywhere else.
Wage demands were too high.
Our immigration policy was wrong and we had learned nothing from Germany or the Nordic countries.
He also cited the doctors’ rejection of €200,000 a year posts on the basis that this sum was “Mickey Mouse” money and referred to the former dominant position of the Catholic Church within the country.


Nigel Farage is not happy as this was “something the European project was supposed to stop”:

The title of this post comes from a video by Max Keiser who also talks about how the Euro was supposed to guard against a German dominated Europe.

martha stewarts hip

facebook porn

I read that peoples Facebook accounts got hacked with porn. I wanted to find some examples but all I got was this:

sandwich made in china

The wankers! This would cost a fiver in dublin


Confessions of a Twitter Addict

Pretty pathetic story in Friday’s new york times:

It started June 25, 2008: “Testing, testing. Is this thing on?” My first tweet. I began by trying to make a few friends laugh. I had no idea how quickly tweeting would consume me. Before long I was posting 20 to 30 times a day, seven days a week. Some of my posts were funny, some sad, some vaguely existential — “Living happily ever after is killing me” — some flirty, some filthy. I posted daily for three years with only one exception — the day my father-in-law died. Eventually, I attracted about 25,000 followers. Not bad for a noncelebrity.

Soon my entire life revolved around tweeting. I stopped reading, rarely listened to music or watched TV. When I was out with friends, I would duck into the bathroom with my iPhone. I tweeted while driving, between sets of tennis, even at the movies. (“I love holding your hand in the dark.”) When I wasn’t on Twitter, I would compose faux aphorisms that I might use later. I began to talk that way too. I sounded like a cross between a Barbara Kruger installation and a fortune cookie. I posted every hour on the hour, day and night, using a Web site that enabled me to tweet while asleep.

It was an obsession. And like most obsessions, no good came of it.

Eight months after I began tweeting, I was laid off from a job in the music business. Looking for work in such a bad economy was brutal. Almost a year went by before I finally landed a job at a men’s magazine. Just before I started, I removed my name from my Twitter feed and replaced it with my initials, L.C.

One morning, a few months later, my boss came into my office. “We need to talk about your Twitter,” he said.

“Sure,” I said. “What about it?” He told me that someone in H.R. had stumbled on my tweets and was stunned. (Apparently, the ability to craft crude anatomical jokes isn’t what corporate America looks for in new employees.) My tweets were a clear violation of the company’s social-media policy. I had a choice: to delete the account or face termination. Sensing that my days were numbered, and being ambivalent about the job anyway, I chose to fall on my sword.

Being unemployed was even harder the second time around. On the other hand, I had more time to tweet. What did I get out of it? Certainly not fortune or fame — on Twitter I was, for the most part, anonymous. But for me, every tweet was a performance. As John Updike wrote, “No act is so private it does not seek applause.”

About a month after I left the job, I separated from my wife, and I moved out of our house on Long Island and into an apartment in Park Slope. One morning, in a fit of pique, I wrote something like, “I would’ve taken a bullet for my wife, but now I’d rather be the one pulling the trigger.” To me, it was just a joke. To my son, it was a disturbing remark about someone we both love. He threatened to stop following me on Twitter. I deleted the tweet immediately.

Around this time, perhaps not coincidentally, my habit started to feel less like a rush and more like a burden. Instead of tweeting to reflect on my life, tweeting had become my life. I began to think seriously about giving it up.

I retweeted some of my older posts, telling myself that they would seem new to my now much larger audience. The truth was that the self-imposed pressure to post constantly — and for the post to contain at least a kernel of wit or real feeling — had sapped me. I was burned out.

I finally committed “Twittercide” about a month ago. Some of my followers begged me to reconsider, and the flood of affection and good wishes felt a little like the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” But I knew it was time to return to mine.

Do I still have the occasional urge to tweet? Do I continue to compose tweets in my head? Do I miss my Twitter friends? Sure. But the immense weight of compulsion has been lifted. Now, before I go to sleep, I turn off my iPhone before I turn out the lights. When I wake up in the morning, my first thought is of making coffee, not of typing “Someone spiked my coffee with optimism this morning and I spat it right out.”

In my next-to-last tweet, I encouraged everyone to follow my son. With luck, he will also know when to stop. He is pretty funny. He will be even funnier when he gets older and sadder.

Larry Carlat is a writer, editor and Web professional who lives in Brooklyn. He is not on Facebook.


nobody home at london protest

2011-11-10 14:12

I like thermal imaging on my gun in Battlefield 3 as it gives them nowhere to hide. The same technology was used near St Pauls and they found out the protestors were not even there (businessinsider):

Some of the protestors are unhappy with the questioning:

“Are you making physical contact with the tent”, “do you have your press card on you”

They dont completely hate the police. They left a drunken armed police officer slept in a tent one night:

A police firearms officer who went on a drinking spree in London ended up sleeping the night in a protester’s tent outside St Paul’s Cathedral.

Pc Gary Withers faces disciplinary action after he took refuge in the anti-capitalist “tent city” after allegedly being thrown out of the Savoy Hotel.

The officer, a marksman with the City of London Police, was celebrating with colleagues after passing a firearms course last week.

Pc Withers, 35, ended up at the Savoy in the Strand but was reportedly asked to leave before he walked on to the Occupy London camp.

Protesters are said to have taken pity on him after he turned up late at night without anywhere to stay.

The next morning he was recognised by colleagues on duty outside the cathedral as he stumbled from a tent.

One source told The Sun: “He had a good drink and finally ended up at the Savoy where he was apparently asked to leave. He then must have walked to St Paul’s where there has been a party going on every night. He got chatting to a few of the crusties and, feeling a bit sorry for him, they invited him to kip the night in a tent.

“The following morning he was woken up and didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. Gary, who is ex-Army, had the shock of his life when he realised he had joined up with the crusties sleeping under the stars.”

The City of London Police professional standards unit is investigating and considering disciplinary action, though it is unclear if the officer has broken any rules.

The source added: “He had not been causing a nuisance to anyone. But the governors will have a word in his ear because it is not ideal for a police officer to be sleeping in a tent with the globalists outside St Paul’s where his mates are all on duty.

“He is feeling very embarrassed. But all his mates think it’s hilarious and nobody is really upset with him.”

Update: I saw a protester outside the Central Bank on Friday. He had a bucket attached to his boot with wire. The bucket was for collecting donations. The wire was presumably so he didn’t lose the bucket once he had spent the money he collected on booze and drugs. I don’t have much against the protest but this sort of ‘dude’ looked bad. In reality I think the Euro is probably going to fall apart and money will be useless so living in a tent on the street will be the norm.


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