March 2009 - Orble - Potter in a Harry

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Potter in a Harry - March 2009

Alfie admits he blogs.

March 30th 2009 01:53

Alfie, that naughty impish boy has admitted to the tabloids (for an undisclosed fee) that his whole life went downhill when he saw an ad for Oble and that they paid writers.

He said, "It's all lies. Everything I ever wrote on my blog." Then added, "But hey, everyone else is bullshitting through their teeth about who they are."

Alfie said his most popular posts were the ones he cut & pasted from the media. He admitted he didn't have any independent thoughts but that he just spent all day watching tv or on the net to form his mind.

"I loved talking abou the net on the net. It's what people are interested in."

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Posted By: Lady Henrietta Muddling - Category: My Son's Writing

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Miss OddShoes

March 9th 2009 19:14

You might know of ... the Original Sin ...

So my Grade 1 teacher, Miss Oddlum, who was nicknamed Miss OddShoes by Weddy, was a very caring, tender and gentile female, who was eminently fitted out with grace by God to be a teacher of children. And so I fell in love with her maternal instincts. Without knowing it. I thought I was falling in love with her physical appearance. Later on in life I was to fall into the same trap time and time again. It’s just ignorance of the uninformed or ill-formed conscience. It’s why people believe advertising, I guess. They don’t know any better.

Peter Schaffer, in that most memorable and weighty stage play Equus, tapped into the damage that television does on an infantile mind. He also wrote the stage play Amadeus, which was translated admirably into a motion picture. I would highly recommend that everyone read Equus & Amadeus.

So, there I was. Six year old Kevin. Infatuated with 20 plus odd Miss Oddlum. She was everything my mother wasn’t. Caring, self-sacrificial, a worker, balanced, etc.

I wanted so much to give her a present. Without having to tell her how much I appreciated the fact that she accepted me as I was and didn’t judge me for being unkempt, scruffy, morbid, introspective and all those qualities I possessed way before I was supposed to get depressed about the reality of life. I wanted to say to her, ‘Thanks for taking some compassion upon me and treating me as though I was normal, when everyone knows I’m weird as.’ But I couldn’t do that at the time. So I thought I’d give her a present – a clichéd token of my appreciation for something I appreciated fully but couldn’t elucidate fully upon due to my puerile grasp of English at the time.

Even at a very young age, I was conscious of the existence of God and sin and hell and heaven and judgement, and all those religious things people want to brush under the carpet and pretend don’t exist, as though this world is all there is, and there is no afterlife. Money is their God. This life is their heaven. I think that’s why God put hell in the centre of the earth and made it molten in it’s heat intensity. It’s a just punishment for everyone who loves this world more than the next world. They get to spend their eternity in it.

I had a bit of normality as a kid. I got pocket money like other kids. I got lunch money. Money is funny stuff. In Australia, it’s metal and paper (or plastic nowadays). But back when I was a kid it was metal and paper. People place so much value in paper and metal when it’s turned into money, yet pay so little attention to the pebbles and rocks and trees.

So I used to think about what was the best way I could spend this sacrosanct money I was given. I came to the conclusion buying a gift/present for Miss Oddlum was the best thing I could do with it. There was a city about 40 miles away and once a week dad and mum would drive their to buy things that weren’t available in our little home country town. They were both so preoccupied with this shopping trip and their own lives and their own miseries and how they couldn’t resolve the fact that they didn’t love each other, I was free to wander around, as long as I was back at the car at the due departure time.

So wander I did. Like a biblical sheep wandering far from the flock waiting for the Good Shepherd Jesus to pick me up and carry me back home and tell stories about how one lost sheep is of more value than 99 safe sheep.

There was this glitzy, glamour gift shop in the city. In retrospect I realise it was a bogan trash shop, something like a forerunner to Cheap As Chips or The Reject Shop, but at the time, it was a paradise and glut of eye candy to a young boy. It wasn’t a hard decision. The gift shop was the place I would buy Miss Oddlum a gift.

So off I went. Up and down the aisles looking at all the glitzy trash, clutter, rubbish items that old women buy in their desperation and fit their houses out with. As though they are in the armed services and using their houses as a training ground or obstacle course. But there I was, thinking they were all wonderful, as though I was a six year old with dementia and Alzheimer’s, bereft of a walking stick, or granny trolley. A boy much more advanced in years interiorly than the exterior would suggest. A genius child. An unrecognised one at that. (Intone the trumpets and play the violin. Screech!). Then, there it was. A jack-in-the-box apple with a rice-paper expandable snake inside. How Original sinnish. Michael Hutchence should have bought it and whacked off into it, instead of topping himself in a Sydney hotel using the door knob as a mastubatory aid. But isn’t the world and media wonderful. Accidental death. Sicko death more like it. He had everything the world can offer a man. Fame and fortune. And still he felt as empty as a snake skin without the snake inside it. God will not be mocked. If you live a life of luxury, He will come along at a time you know not and just whip that life right out from under your feet. So watch and pray, because you know not the hour nor the time of your own death. Imagine dying during an important Blog Post. Then realising it wasn’t anywhere near as important as saving your soul.

Signed Kevin.

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Posted By: Lady Henrietta Muddling - Category: Nothing Land

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Hug a Cardboard Box.

March 8th 2009 01:30

See this cardboard box? It used to be a tree. That’s me hugging it.

I’ve been Bibling up again in prison. I’m really getting into this religious stuff. I forget sometimes I’m supposed to be telling you about my life as a child and where everything went wrong, and why I turned into a serial killer, but I’ll eventually get to the point.

So I went to school. And fell in love with quite a few female teachers. Sting from The Police sung about this schoolboy fantasy with young teachers in Da Do Do Da … and even made an obscure reference to Lolita, ‘Just like that young man in that book by Nabakov.’ That book was Lolita. Don’t read it if you are a compulsive masturbator.

It is natural for a man to get turned on by women. The desire of a man to live with a woman goes back to the beginning of human life when God said, “It is not good for man to live alone.” In creating human nature, God gave man an intellect capable of thinking, and a heart capable of emotions. It’s a shame modern people confuse the two, by thinking with their emotions or other body parts, but that’s another story. When it comes to desires, God can implant a desire in man’s heart and intellect, but man can reject it, or Satan can convince man it was a bad desire. Our thoughts only have three sources: God, ourselves and Satan (and his cohorts). So man, who is, by nature inclined to desire to live with a partner, can choose to live alone for various reasons. How hermits and eremites fit into God’s plan is beyond me. If it’s not good for man to live alone, how come they’re the main ones who become saints, and all the lay people go to hell? As for men desiring men and women desiring women? Don’t get me started on poofs and lessos, and how they were born that way. Homosexuals are just anti-God. They reject God as He has revealed Himself, and have made up their own version of God – who conveniently happens to approve of everything they think and say and do. They’re like ice-cream cones with a spider inside. They look all nice on the outside but confront them (take a bite out of their wayward lifestyle) and they make the most vicious straight person look like a saint. They’ll poison your soul if you believe anything they say about religion. To indulge in homosexuality, they’ve made a subconscious choice, and sometimes a conscious choice, albeit their consciences are ill formed or hardly formed at all. They deserve pity for their religious ignorance, not condemnation. God will take care of that one. And I’ll be there cheering. I’ll go to hell for multiple murders and they’ll go to hell for being ignorant. For years poofs and lessos have been trying to justify their lifestyle as non-sinful, and now they’ve come up with nothing more than a blasphemy: ‘God made me this way.’ What? I beg your pardon? What rubbish. It’s true that since Original Sin, all mankind is born inclined towards evil, but to suggest any inclination to sin is unfixable by sanctifying grace, and you can’t do anything about your sinful state is pure religious ignorance. Poofs and lessos just want to stay poofs and lessos and justify their immorality. It’s that simple. God wishes all mankind to be saved, and gives each and every one of us sufficient grace for salvation. These Rainbow-ribbon-wearing pillow-biters want God to change His laws to accommodate them, rather than changing their lives to accommodate God’s laws. It’s that simple. And don’t let anyone tell you any different. Bible up, and read up. Read obscure books about religion. Not all this modern neo-pagan rubbish by idiots. Read writings by the great men and women of history. Most of their names start with ‘S’. St Benedict, St Teresa of Avila, etc. Some of them have names starting with ‘B’. Blessed Dom Marmion, etc.

Leaving homosexuality aside for a brief moment … Of course, modern philosophers (If you can call them philosophers, and not just Satan’s evangelists) – like Freud & Co – will rant and rave on about the male desire to make his mother his lover. [Freud was one sick pup. Just because he had a mother-fetish, doesn’t mean everyone does. Freud was just a living example of how many humans judge others by their own standards]. Other pseudo/quasi philosophers will deny God created the world. His very existence, even. I’ll leave them to their errors and ignorance. Everyone should go to jail and find Jesus.

There are men who will desire an incestuous relationship with their mother. I’m not doubting that, however, this inordinate desire of a male to centre his love /affections upon his mother in a sexual way is a moral disorder – a depravity – a deviancy. It is not something to be explained away under any other banner. Or marketed and sold as something that’s not on the label. But that’s what modern psych’s do. They’re no different to the big corporations and food giants. They’re deceiving people. Along with themselves. They spend their whole life trying to justify a moral disorder as something else. Or telling you food is good for you without any nutritional value. Just pure preservatives and food additives. No wonder ADD & ADHD are rampant. Stay off the red cordy, and stay right away from Red Bull. Especially don’t mix it with vodka, speed, ecstasy or ice. Modern philosophers, like modern food giant marketers [read liars], are always colouring, shrouding and disguising their lies in flowery, verbose, loquacious language, trying to paint their lies as something else. As truth. When it’s not. It’s like Van Gough painting a self-portrait side-on, showing his ear so that people assume he had two ears, and didn’t cut one off to give to a prostitute because he was a degenerate. And in schools they laud and applaud Van Gough and make students study his life, without telling them that to be creative is not much value if you live a degenerate life. So kids grow up wanting to emulate degenerates. Because they’re creative. Have a look at the music industry. It’s almost as if the more degenerate you are the more fans you have and the more kids dress like you. And act like you. Or desire to. But it’s hard to live the lifestyle of the rich and (in)famous when you don’t have their bank balance. It’s a stupid thing to desire. You’re better off living and not giving them a second thought. Or admire the God-given creativity of Van Gough (as coming from God Himself) but don’t desire to become rich and famous in case you end up dying poor and unknown and sitting in hell watching people make millions out of your paintings while you’re suffering eternal torments waiting for judgement day to be reunited with your ear. Only to be sent back to hell with your ear. It would have been much more salutary value if Van Gough had used his ear to listen to God rather than give it to a prostitute. Over and above that, people like Don McLean make money out of Van Gough by writing songs like Vincent. Starry, starry night … And Paul Cox makes a film about Van Gough. People love cashing in on other people. Even after they’re dead. Look at how much Hollywood makes out of Shakespeare.

There are so few decent role models out their for children. I’m a better role model than most, and I’m a serial killer. Why? Because I’ve simplified things. Okay, so it’s a bit late, but at least I didn’t die in my own ignorance like 99% of the population are going to do, and wake up going, I knew I should have listened to my conscience five, ten, fifteen, twenty, forty years ago. It will be too late for them. They’re in for a hell of a shock when they wake up dead.

People into complexity lose sight of the simplicity of the matter, and forget wanting to have sex with one’s own sex, or one’s mother, or some married teacher is simply a sinful desire, which, if not rejected, but rather acted upon, becomes an actual sin. Quite an abominable one in the instance of sleeping with one’s own mother. For it goes against human nature. And confuses any children born of this incestuous relationship. Dad? Bro?

The majority of the people in the modern world can’t think straight. Those capable of thinking straight, ruin their own minds with intellectual garbage. They think being intelligent is a good thing. It can be if it leads to using your intelligence to discover wisdom. Otherwise you just end up in intellectual pride territory, assuming you’re superior to other people, which is totally contrary to wisdom and humility. And you end up lecturing other people about how to go about life when you can’t get your own shit together. It’s ludicrous.

Basically, truth = simplicity. One of the ways to tell if something spoken or written is true or not, is to see how clearly and simply the truth or error is explained. The moment it is shrouded in complex language, one should become suspicious. [Never trust a lawyer]. As Robert deNiro’s character said in The Deer Hunter, “This is this. This is not that.” It was a great philosophical scene. The characters around him think he’s nuts, but he’s the only one thinking straight. They’re all prepared to let this be that or that be this, just so they can get on with deer hunting, but what sort of deer hunters are they if they can’t think straight. This deer might be that human. It’s very important to distinguish between humans and animals when you have a loaded gun in your hand. “Look honey. I shot junior.” But because modern people erroneously think animals have souls, they save whales and abort humans. This has become that. The borders have become blurred. A stupid whale’s life is more important in modern people’s lives than a human life. Most of them deserve to die. I wish I’d killed more of them. Not whales. Humans. These dickhead environmentalists like the ones on ships who think breaking the law is the best way to uphold the law have about as many brains as the whales they’re trying to save. If you listen to them speak, they’ll will rave on about justice. Yet they can’t see that justice is founded on not breaking the law to uphold it. They’re morons. The lot of them. It’s all about thinking straight. And if your moral/philosophical platform is not formed properly, you’re like the man who built his house on sand. And the wind came and blew it down. And what a terrible collapse it was. Jesus said that.

If you take into account everything everyone has said since the foundation of the world, you’ll discover that human’s still haven’t discovered depth of God’s simplicity and how much weight His words carry. “It is not good for man to live alone. Let us make him a partner.” That’s fruit for mental prayer/meditation.

The more you think about it the more you realise why isolation and loneliness is so torturous. Because it was not in God’s plan for us to live alone. But because people (women especially) are such headcases nowadays, we end up living alone rather than putting up with their inanity and puerility. I should have killed more women. Rid the earth of the current overflow of evil. Maybe I could escape from jail and start again. Do it properly this time. No, I’m rejecting that idea. I like it here too much to want to escape. I have time to write. I’ll leave women to run rampant all over the planet making other men’s lives a misery.

Signed Kevin.

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Posted By: Lady Henrietta Muddling - Category: Nothing Land

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Secateurs

March 5th 2009 23:36

It's a jungle up here. This is a typical Brisbane footpath. It's a nightmare for the junk mail / local rag deliverer. The houses are hidden. The mailboxes are hidden. And that's why a pair of secateurs are one of the most essential tools of trade to deliver junk mail

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Posted By: Lady Henrietta Muddling - Category: My Son's Writing

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Foxtel Self-Sufficiency Mentality.

March 4th 2009 09:37

Self-sufficiency has become really popular nowadays. If you speak to people they’ll talk about how they want to run away from the hubbub and rat-race that modern life is, and live self sufficiently. They’ll talk about how much TV annoys them, then go on to list the ten must-see programs they watch each week, and how upset they get when the TV has nothing but shit programs on. Which they watch, incidentally. These people will often say things like, ‘I’m bored.’ What they’re really saying is, ‘Can someone entertain me because I forgot to exercise my mind and need someone to do it for me.’

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Posted By: Lady Henrietta Muddling - Category: Nothing Land

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Junk Mail

March 3rd 2009 21:24

I hired a red trailer the other day. It matches my red car and red postie bike. I had to reject the green trailers at BP and go to Shell to get a red one. I hope no-one's house catches on fire and people think I'm a fireman, and expect me to put the fire out. I suppose I could spit on it for them. The pic is of the trailer parked outside my friends' place at Slacks Creek/Woodridge in the southern subs of Brisbane. It's so lush and leafy up here. Plus, Qld has the best weather of any place I've ever lived in. I'm going to settle down here. I might even pop myself the question and get married again. To myself. I'll send myself a flirt via the net just to let myself know I'm keen. I'll initially act disinterested. Then spend hours and hours text messaging myself, and chatting with myself on MSN. Play electronic ping pong. Then I'll refuse to meet myself unless I put a pic up or get on webcam. I'll play hard to get. Then I won't turn up to meet myself. I'll act like people do on the net. And really annoy myself. Then I'll stalk myself and send myself nasty messages

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Posted By: Lady Henrietta Muddling - Category: My Son's Writing

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Never a dull moment.

March 2nd 2009 22:13

I moved into a share accommodation place in Loganholme (Brisbane) a couple of weeks ago. The owner of the house is a primary school teacher. She used to be a fat heffer so she had her stomach stapled, and lost 70kg. Rapidly. Instead of eating and exercising she OCD'd on the modern way of dieting = not eating and sitting around all day thinking about food and weighing yourself on the latest set of digital IKEA scales. Now, flabby flesh hangs from her arms and legs, and decorates her body like stretch-marks on an oil painting left in the garage in full sunlight. It's not a good look. She's quite attractive if you ignore the flabby bits. She looks like Wrinkle Barbie. I saw a photo of her when she was obese (fat). She looked happy. Now she's a bitter twisted individual.

Anyway, that's enough backstory. This is about me. I'm on the net. We have to OCD about ourselves and the me factor on the net. It's part of our job description as virtual (false) identities

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Posted By: Lady Henrietta Muddling - Category: My Son's Writing

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April 2009

18 Posts

March 2009

7 Posts

February 2009