56 year old father-of-six marries.
Spontaneous, sexually incontinent, insouciant father of Lara Lettice, 26, Milo Arthur, 24, Cassia Peaches, 22, Theodore Apollo, 20, Stephanie,12, and Wilfrid, 1, has done the decent thing by marrying his mistress in a nuptial mass at the Catholic Westminster Cathedral. Evidently not a practicing Catholic, baptised into the One True Faith but confirmed in the Anglican heresy, it looks like Boris is not picky about the finer details of difference in the many branches of Christianity, nor in matters of belief, doctrine or dogma. As he didn't marry his previous wives according to the rites of the Roman Catholic church, those women were no more than sinners in the eyes of the Church and therefore no impediment to Boris - (as long as he said Sorry for that and I promise not to do it again, within Confession), marrying his Catholic mistress (as long as she said sorry for being a mistress and having a bastard child, within Confession) from marrying for the first time - yes, such is the logic-chopping that enabled Father Daniel Humphreys to bestow the great Sacrament of Matrimony upon those children of Mother Church, Boris and Carrie.
As a lapsed Catholic myself, I have intellectual respect for those who have managed to throw off the shackles of early indoctrination, but our lad has done no such thing - he seems to simply and consistently do what is convenient at the time. It may work in one's private life - although the trail of failed marriages, relationships and casually-fathered children in Boris' wake kinda suggests it doesn't really, but honestly, is this any way to run a country? His former right-hand man, Dominic Cummings, doesn't think so. The whiff of a PR stunt to distract from Cummings' revelations (Westminster spite is the spiteiest) clings to this hastily arranged wedding (the original plan was for something grand, splendid and even more expensive than the redecorating project that so enraged the nation's B&Qers, scheduled for Saturday, July 30th 2022) Doubtless this devout pair simply couldn't continue to live in sin for a moment longer than necessary.
Wearing that nice white linen shirt that he sported in the Rose Garden, last year, Dominic, (educated Durham School, fees £15,993 per annum day pupil, values: "moral integrity, ambition, responsibility and kindness, which are the Mark of a Durham School education and give our pupils Confidence for Life"): dished the dirt for 7 hours. Dom graduated from Exeter College, where he took a First in Ancient and Modern History. He was described by one of his tutors as "someone determined to bring down things that don't work."
He said Boris was unfit for office.
No! Really? What else, Dom?
Carrie, now Mrs Johnson the Third, was desperate to get Dom sacked, and get her chums into top jobs.
Well, we kinda knew that, too, Dom. What else?
In February 2020, instead of getting to grips with a pandemic plan, Boris was: "distracted by finalising his divorce, his girlfriend wanted to announce being pregnant and an engagement, and his finances".
Got anything else, Dom?
Key people went skiing in February.
And?
He didn't go to Cobra. Five times. But he would only have been flippant.
What else? In March, Donald Trump asked if Boris would join in a potential bombing campaign in Iraq. And Carrie was upset about her dog. And nobody paid any attention to my plan.
What plan was this?
And?
People were trying to break into my house to kill me and my family, so I had to leave London.
What else you got, Dom?
Nicola Sturgeon attended the devolved governments' meetings then went straight out and gabbled on to camera.
Okay.....
That Matt Hancock, he's a liar.
We know.
Here you go, folks, we are governed by a bunch of dilettantes who are completely out of their depth in matters not pertaining to their immediate personal wealth, comfort and status. Cummings suggested that when the choice was between being governed by BoJo the Hoho or Corbyn, then matters had come to a desperate pass. Would we fare any better with Captain Hindsight?
All this plays straight into the hands of those who would break up the Union. Cue Gordon the Ruiner, lurking in the far North Lands, and galloping to the rescue. He has his own Thinktank: Our Scottish Future.
He commented: "Middle Scotland's support for the SNP is conditional - and they are now asking for honesty, for openness and for getting the facts on the table.....it is time for the SNP to agree to hold public hearings on what independence means for everything from the pound to the pension."
And Nicola is stalking around on her six inch killer heels, saying ye ken? they Westminster barmpots, it's nae wonder I led the Scoatisch people the way they needed to be led. Her spokesman said:"if even half of the shambolic picture Dominic Cummings has painted of the Tories' chaotic response to the pandemic is true then it proves the First Minister was absolutely right to take the initiative to help keep people safe."
And Nicola is stalking around on her six inch killer heels, saying ye ken? they Westminster barmpots, it's nae wonder I led the Scoatisch people the way they needed to be led. Her spokesman said:"if even half of the shambolic picture Dominic Cummings has painted of the Tories' chaotic response to the pandemic is true then it proves the First Minister was absolutely right to take the initiative to help keep people safe."
We might have fared better had this chap succeeded in his leadership bid in the 2019 contest for leadership of the Conservative Party.
THE BOOK PAGE, RORY STEWART, THE PLACES IN BETWEEN. 7/3/2010
A travel book without pictures is hard travelling, but hard travelling is Rory Stewart's Zen-hobo schtick, Woody Guthrie meets Lawrence of Arabia, not for him a Land Rover to Kandahar, and a film crew; no, a modest, unsupported, blistering walk along the old Silk Road across Afghanistan; eat your heart out, Eddie Izzard, celebrity Marathon Man - isn't he the most revolting of transvestites, all these things he does, for charity ? - but probably Stewart's rucksack, filled with antibiotics and notepads, had no room for a digital camera and so The Places In Between has no illustrations, save a few wee maps, schoolboy stuff, or junior officers, for the use of. It will, however, be a conscious, editorial judgement, not to have pictures, the prose requiring none, presumably; that's a moot point, at least it is around here, in bonny Scotland, and the spartan and entirely unnecessary omission of illustrations is a huge irritation to we miserable few who are not globe-trotters. Although the book, the stuff it relates, is different enough to merit perseverance, some illustration of the scale and barrenness of Afghanistan would have helped, without distracting; there is a happier medium, between film and prose.
I learned recently that Stewart has the snaps and that he lectures around the world about his journey, utilising them in a quaint slideshow -see YouTube Rory Stewart Lectures parts 1 - infinity - but my edition of the book has nothing to ventilate his meetings with remarkable mullahs, headmen and shapeshifting warriors - one minute Taliban, the next fighting for the puppet government of Karsai the Pimp in a war without end, Bismillah. Stewart reveals that it is often brother against brother and then brothers against cousins and then cousins against the next village and so on, comprehension of the hostilities impossible, even to those involved.
Rory, perhaps casting around for a project to enhance his extraordinary cv - Guards officer, governor of an Iraq province, writer, film-maker and now Tory prospective parliamentary candidate, and all whilst still resembling a sixth former - hit upon the idea of tracing the steps of a mediaeval Moghul emperor across parts of the Old Silk Road, where the villages, caravanserai-style, are never more than a day's march apart and wherein - an Islamic rule - he must be given hospitality and shelter, however poor his hosts. He remarks, tellingly, that in many villages people dined mainly on Naan bread, there was neither power nor sanitation, the only evidence of technology being the ubiquitous Kalashnikov propped against the wall, a mute, potential contradiction to the weighty and convoluted etiquette of successive village elders. Here, says Stewart, loyalties shift like desert sand. He knew most of this stuff before he set off in the steps of Babur the Great, yet he went unarmed and alone, relying on his wits and his knowledge of Persian dialects to see him through a hostile terrain, in deep snow and likely to encounter many with reason to suspect, hate or kill him. Hard travelling such as this would be a commendable feat in the Lake District; in Afghanistan, now or at any time I suppose, it was Odyssean Homeric.
Claiming it for himself by citing it in his bogus political heroes, Prime Minister Snot has devalued courage as he has devalued the pound and the nation, the horrible fucking bastard. The staggeringly narcissistic, one-trick pony and busted-flush Messiah, Obamalama, writes acres of glowing, flowery pages devoted to his own entirely unremarkable yet by his own lights heroic journey - his Da left his Ma and he is of mixed race parentage, No Shit? And don't call him Barry, he courageously prefers Barack, that's about it, now that he travels Air Force One Class, in the middle of an army of crophead pyschopaths. Rory Stewart, should he be elected, will be a rarity, perhaps unique in UK politics, a person of real, demonstrated courage, insight and ingenuity.
The Places In Between can be read as largely apolitical but then Animal Farm can be read as a fairy story and to miss the politics of either is to miss the point. Stewart, in his succession of meetings with Afghani men - it is nearly always men, is observing power, not of a party political kind, the kind which so taints and corrodes our own societies but of a more robust and potentially explosive nature, the sort which comes from the barrel of a gun or a knife in the back.
Towards the end of the book Stewart lets rip at the futility, the stupidity and the arrogance of the current Infidel presence in that distant shithole. Oh, he almost cries, the impudence of these Presbyterian mass murderers and their careerist public administrators. Having chronicled the disparate feudalities of a dog's breakfast of a land, often living several centuries in the past, Stewart contrasts this Devil's melange with the air-conditioned youngsters doing Obama's and Brown's vain, stupid opportunistic bidding in Afghanistan's beleaguered capital, trying to impose on this alien place a set of spurious values to which even they do not hold:
"I doubted that the new policy makers in Kabul understood much of this. For the last three months, whenever I reached an internet cafe, I had received an email from someone who had gone to govern Afghanistan. They started passing the UN application forms around in 2001 and then the circulars appeared: "Please don't expect to write to this email - there is no internet connection in Kabul. " Finally, there were messages from new addresses "@pak.id" "@afghangov.org" "'@worldbank.org" "@un.org," talking about the sun in the mountains. I now had half a dozen friends working in embassies, thinktanks, international development agencies, the UN and the Afghan government, controlling projects worth millions of dollars. A year before they had been in Kosovo or East Timor and in a year's time they would have been moved to Iraq or Washington or New York.
Their objective was (to quote the United Nations Assistance Mission for Afghanistan) "The creation of a centralised, broad-based, multi-ethnic government committed to democracy, human rights and the rule of law". They worked twelve- or fourteen- hour days, drafting documents for heavily-funded initiatives on "democratisation", "enhancing capacity", "gender", "sustainable development," "skills training" or "protection issues". They were mostly in their late twenties or early thirties, with at least two degrees - often in international law, economics or development. They came from middle class backgrounds in Western countries and in the evenings they dined with each other and swapped anecdotes about corruption in the Government and the incompetence of the United Nations. They rarely drove their 4WDs outside Kabul because they were forbidden to do so by their security advisers. There were people who were experienced and well informed about conditions in rural areas of Afghanistan. But such people were barely fifty individuals out of many thousands. Most of the policy makers knew next to nothing about the villages where 90% of the population of Afghanistan lived. They came from post-modern, secular, globalised states with liberal traditions in law and government. It was natural for them to initiate projects on urban design, women's rights and fibre-optic cable networks, to talk about transparent, clean and accountable processes, tolerance and civil society and to speak of a people "who desire peace at any cost and understand the need for a centralised multi-ethnic government".
But what did they understand of the thought processes of Seyyed Kerbalahi's wife who had not moved more than 5 kilometres from her home in forty years? Or Dr. Habibullah, the vet, who carried an automatic weapon the way they carried a brief case? The villagers whom I had met were mostly illiterate, far from electricity or television, knew very little about the outside world and had very distinctive attitudes towards politics, Islam and ethnicity. The people of Kamenj understood political power in terms of their feudal lord Haji Mohsin Khan. Ismael Khan, in Herat, wanted a social order based on Iranian political Islam. Hazara such as Ali hated the idea of centralised government because they associated it with the domination of other ethnic groups and with their suffering under the Taliban. These differences between groups were deep, elusive and very difficult to overcome. Village democracy, gender issues and centralisation would be difficult concepts to sell in some areas.
Their policy makers did not have the time, structures or resources for a serious study of an alien culture. They justified their lack of knowledge and experience by focusing on poverty and implying that dramatic cultural differences did not exist. They acted as though villagers were interested in all the priorities of international organisations, even when they were mutually contradictory."
Gordon Brown, Prime Minister Snot, the horrible fucking bastard, cannot deliver a fit-for-purpose national health service or police service or education system or pension arrangements or immigration policy or transport infrastructure or energy-delivery policy and the legislature he heads is as full of thieves as is Mr Karzai the Pimp's family. Meddling all over the world, like some far-sighted visionary, some adroit global-scaled public administrator here, at home, Brown is such an incompetent, despised, risible figure of contempt and ridicule that he cannot even sack the members of his cabinet of all the fools.
Barack Obama, both nigger-made-good and suave, urban sophisticate, cannot even deliver a health service of any kind, cannot rebuke the thieves on Wall Street, nor deny the impetus of Uncle Sam's all-consuming military-industrial complex.
What place have knaves and gobby dimwits such as these, Brown and Obama, YesWeCanning, in the proxy management of complex, ancient, tribal Afghanistan, whilst their own nations slide into police-state repression, austerity and Ruin?
And crucially the so called insurgency in Afghanistan has killed nearly three hundred British citizens without Ahmed even having to get a passport or a UK visa. By what deranged arithmetic does Field Marshall Snot, tearing his nails in the wee small hours, make sense of this madness? Sending Tommy as a propitiatory human sacrifice is not actually defeating terrorism, simply making it easier for those who would kill us to do so.
Rory Stewart's book tells us of an Afghanistan which the BBC and skymadeupnewsandfilth, embedded, compliant, never visit. It is a real place and foreign - and it will not easily bend itself to globalisation or the New World Order of Mandelstein and Merkel and the French dwarf - none of whom would ever risk a hair on their heads for their countries, fuck, no; vous etes 'avin le laff, n'est ce pas.
Proper book critics have hailed The Places In Between as a Bostin', Dog's Bollocks of a Travel Book and it may be that here we over-interpret its tales. I learned more, however, than I ever have about Afghanistan from reading it and for me the wee man's subliminal authorial message is the same as the one he recently delivered about Iraq - we shouldn't be there.
The Places In Between is in a library near you.
The Places In Between is in a library near you.Ed. note: Rory Stewart OBE FRSGS FRSL (born 3 January 1973), is a British diplomat, author, explorer, academic and politician, who is a senior fellow at Yale University's Jackson Institute for Global Affairs where he teaches politics and international relations. Prior to this appointment, he served in the Cabinet of the United Kingdom as Secretary of State for International Development from May to July 2019. He was the Member of Parliament (MP) for Penrith and The Border from 2010 to 2019.
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15 comments:
what the cia wants, the cia gets.
yes, indeed, i really must say that our religious establishment is becoming exceedingly progressive these days - and i daresay that permitting dogs to marry in church will, in historical hindsight, be considered the morally courageous single step which ultimately began a sexuo-spiritual journey of a thousand yappy-clappy miles.
lovely rose-garden-snap of the beaming bridegroom cuddling the bride, by-the-way.
who's the tart in the laura ashley frock?
mr ultrapox, you gave me a chuckle! Thank you.
oh dear, what a downfall in artistic discrimination, what a deflating journey in conjugal aesthetics, what a dissipating diminuendo in marital musical taste this must be for highbrow boris: from hans werner henze to err...abba?
Oh dear. The poor woman. As mad as a snake, of course. Although I quite liked the helpless, ingenue hippy look, I don't think that many of us were fooled.
The problem with relentless stupidity in government is that eventually it grinds one down into a worn-out, silent quiescence. Am I sufficiently energetic to refuse the vaccine although a) one magic coronavirus vaccine would be a miracle but nine looks like mockery, b) I don't get symptoms from these infectious icks and therefore I am not much of a risk to anyone else even if I do catch it, and c) it is all such anti-scientific tomfoolery spouted by charlatans and supported by we-know-besters half as clever as my dead cat. Answer: no, mongoose, you lazy git. Greta Teenager has more wisdom in her pigtails than you have in your 40 years of engineering. That gratuitously ugly spook parachuted into politics to obstruct Brexit, and then parachuted out again having failed, is the very model of moral rectitude and commonsense and you should be grateful to be able to lectured and hectored by them both.
Fuck that. I am off to the pub with my covid passport on my phone and my plague mask in my pocket.
Learned helplessness, mr mongoose - we know more now than any previous generation about the political classes, about government, about the data relating to differential advantage, life chances, disease and life expectancy, in consequence of the main stream media and the internet - and, equally, we know that we are helpless to influence change. There is no realisable alternative to the status quo. The Great Latrine of State will continue to flush its waste over the populace. There are more of us than there are of them - which is why, in the absence of the opiate religion, dissent is smothered in a blanket of soap opera, cruelty tv and Naked Attraction. And identity politics - which has done a superlative job in deflecting people from the real inequality in society - the unequal distribution of wealth.
Hope you enjoyed your pint. It's not about the alcohol, though - drinking at home is cheaper and more comfortable than the pub - and the toilets are cleaner. Its about the craic.
It was a metaphorical pub, mrs i. I haven't been in any such since October, and I am not going until I am allowed to stand at the bar and yatter with whoever happens to stand next to me.
The Swiss are an interesting lot, aren't they? Careful and clean. Ready. Witness this. (Which is pretty much what Donald said.) We do seem to have ignored prophylaxis. As we wander about rattling with our vitamin supplements, our statins, our aspirins, our hayfever meds - a couple more might have saved the day for our old folks.
"But we didn't know?" Oh, yes, it seems that we did. I think that something seriously wicked is happening. China is perhaps winning WWIV as we watch it on CNN.
Thanks for the link, mr mongoose - seriously interesting reading. Among much useful information is the table on median age of death from (or with) Covid across many nations. England is not too dissimilar to other European countries - the English median age is 82.
As you say, the significant information to take from the article is the importance of supplementation to prevent infection from Covid. The key trio appear to be vitamin D, budesonide and aspirin. I added daily Vitamin D to my regime on the advice of the Scottish Government to all its citizens as a preventative many months ago, and I get outside whenever weather and work permit. I take budesonide as part of my asthma/hayfever medication. I don't take daily low-dose aspirin - but it's a simple and cheap matter to add it in.
Thanks for your consistently-amusing mash-up of facts, innuendo and rumour, mr ultrapox, delivered in your cynical and debunking style. I've been meaning to ask - when you issue a correction to your texts, do you want me to correct the Comment for you and delete your early drafts so that we have your final, perfected thought, or do you want the authorial self-correcting process to remain in the comment-trail?
thanks for making the offer of a comprehensive correction-service, mrs ishmael, and for providing me with a choice of creative routes to the promised linguistic land of blog-post perfection, but alas i am at the moment, due to reasons of clinical fitness, finding it rather difficult to take such decisions - and this, i suppose, is the fundamental problem which in truth underlies my constant mistakes and consequent need to edit, and then re-edit...
however, since you have displayed the unparalleled decency of posing me this six million comma question, it would, i consider, constitute the highest order of obtuse on-line impertinence not to indulge your revisionally inclined charity with the diligence of an answer such as it deserves...
and so, all things weighed carefully in the socio-syntactic scales of sensibility and practicality, i am completely confirmed in my determination that, lest, through your understandable ignorance of its encoded construction, a crucial cyber-link be irretrievably lost to posterity, it should, in all conscience, be incumbent upon myself, and myself alone, to attempt to cobble together a consummate concretion of corrections - or indeed, in this case, de-corrected corrections - in order to personally maintain the perpetual verbal momentum of a forever mutating work-in-progress, and to leave you with only the less technically onerous task of wiping the kitchen-surfaces clean of any comment you might, by dint of sequential supercession, deem to have duly decomposed into a superfluous state of unsightly unwanted off-cuts.
of course, notwithstanding the above editorial exigency - dictated, i am sorry to say, by the uniquely convoluted semantic situation in which, on this particular thread, we at present find ourselves definitively jammed - my general preference would in future actually be to knock out something a shitload more passable as a first draft, mrs ishmael.
It is indeed a splendid find, mrs i, and not my own. Although, as is the way of virtual meanderings, I can now no longer remember where I encountered it first.
What is so Swiss about it is the tidiness of its expression, the lack of repetition, and its concision. It takes a bit of skill and wit to keep something like that up to date. It should be general reading for every jury member at the forthcoming sow trials of our brave leaders.
some say that the johnson-wedding was hastily arranged in order to flush from the news-headlines the recent raft of raspingly anti-government reportage - which has relentlessly gorged upon mr dom bumsting's compound-criticism of the british cabinet, and rudely revealed the blubbering blue incompetence so embarrassingly endemic within the bodge-happy bumbledom of borisonia...
some say that the johnson-wedding was brusquely brought forward due to the impending arrival of another bull-shitting blonde-shagging chipmunk off the old boris-breeze-block...
some say that the johnson-wedding was a surreal sanctified celebration of the true spiritual love existing between two amorous party-political animals in a poke...
but i know for sure what the number ten new-age-nuptials were actually designed to do: bury the very bad news of an award-winning bbc-presenter committing ritual hara-kiri-by-astrazeneca.
i here-above refer, naturally, to the vaccine-related death of bbc-presenter lisa shaw - for whom, "according to a bbc report, newcastle coroner karen dilks has issued an interim fact-of-death certificate which lists a “complication of astrazeneca covid-19 virus vaccination” as a consideration".
in fact, to make matters worse for the peoples hospital, and the cabinet inner circle which claims to run it, the rising radio-star's tragedy-struck family has not only failed to perform the common on-message-courtesy of appearing on telly to toe the neo-colonial line of viral pandemic-terror, but in a signal failure to observe the usual establishment-pleasing patient-pharming protocol, her nuclear kin has even uncharitably omitted to trot out that all-expected rabble-reassuring platitude:
"despite losing our dear, beautiful, and exceptionally healthy daughter, we nevertheless consider it in everyone's best interest to roll the dice-of-death and continue taking the killer-vaccine".
and moreover, it's become increasingly and uncomfortably obvious that, as an incommunicative consequence of her folk's uppity tribal intransigence, the story of lisa shaw's incidental institutional manslaughter has been systematically snuffed, by our obscenely omniscient authorities, at birth.
dear god, if sars elton john, michael caine, and lenny henry - along with all those other manipulative media-whores and sleazy biden-worshipping celebs - fall victim to their own nasty neo-liberal vaccine, then who the fuck will be left in jolly johnsontown to encourage the residual members of our suicide-sweetened congregation to take their politically expedient prick of poison?
(continued in part two below)
(continued from part one above)
well, given the potentially snow-balling coverage of this latest vaccine-related fatality - and the possibility of a long-overdue cull of our national treasures and inestimably valued neo-liberal luvvies - it hardly seems the most opportune moment for nutjob zarjabberjocki to roll out compulsory 'covid-19'-vaccination for all nhs staff, now does it?
what a deep-fried double-deckered dick.
yes, it is currently estimated that 15% of nhs-workers remain obstinately, and rather sensibly, unvaccinated, however ze daily zmellygraf has previously reported zat zer voz ein 24% vaccine-refusal-rate amongst nhs-staff in london - ze majority of ze riff-raff refuseniks most probably being doktors, methinks.
now, do ve really vant to exterminate our top surgeons and consultants?
ok of course, we do have millions on the dole who could, at a moment's mandatory notice from the jokecentre, jump straight into the sweaty shoes of these arduously, and expensively, trained medical experts, init?
hmmm...please remember that even for the kool-aid carnage in guyana, there were repeated dry runs and rehearsals - and so maybe this 'covid-19'-vaccination could just be the subtle psychological softener, the loaf-lulling placebo, whereas next time it will be a cruel-and-crisp case of "over the bloody top mate".
no wonder black people are reluctant to be injected with the 'great white hope' of globalist civilization.
does then this phantom-pandemic - in genocidal concert with its bogus-vaccination-programme - simply comprise some kinda radical racial intelligence test...?
and if so, in what colour skin will the last men and women be left standing...?
or do we even care?
mr mongoose, the swiss protocol for 'covid-19'-treatment - to which you have kindly referred - could have helped save many, many lives had the global medical authorities bothered to implement it, instead of maliciously shutting down health-services, then deliberately suppressing the use of cheap re-purposed therapeutic and prophylactic medications - such as ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine - which, in combination with vitamin d and zinc, could easily, and safely, have been administered to 'covid-19'-patients by general practitioners.
in fact, real doctors are absolutely fucking furious about the criminal manner in which our governments have committed an intentional act of clinical sabotage - namely by:
1) releasing a lab-manufactured virus - solely for the purpose of seizing political power.
2) utilizing - what were essentially - fake pcr-tests, fabricated death-statistics, and politically cosmetic lockdowns - in order to create a fear-inducing phantom-pandemic.
3) suppressing early and effective 'covid-19'-treatment.
4) denying vital medical care to those suffering from non-'covid-19'-conditions.
and
5) forcing through a hazardously targeted and ineffective immunization-programme which employed inadequately tested, and dangerous, vaccines.
apparently, whilst continuing to provide standard general health-care, the japanese re-purposed an existing flu-medication for the treatment of 'covid-19'-patients, and as a result of this policy, japan suffered no significant excess-mortality during the so-called global pandemic - see the mortality-graphs to which mrs ishmael refers.
indeed, quite apart from rudely revealing the almost complete absence of pandemic-related excess-mortality in certain nations, these statistics illustrate, in a way which is frankly no less than gob-smacking, the pandemic's sheer historical insignificance in terms of all-cause-mortality.
as mr montaga - in his latest tarantula-feeding-video - so rightly and repeatedly states, an apology by fauci for his clinical crimes-against-humanity just does not cut-the-mustard, for the truth is that - alongside virus-vector gates and a bunch of other pathetically posturing pandemic-promulgators - the wicked white house witch-doctor should be criminally prosecuted for this politically putrid act of genocide.
well, personally, i'd put cia-agent professor foggisum right at the top of my list of public enemies, together with his slithery cia-handler, the vile virus-spreader ammonia spaats - who i believe also to be a chief cheerleader for the eu blood-mineral emporium.
now of course, due to becoming a bit distracted by the demands of his pet tarantulas, mr montaga - linked above - might not appear to express himself at his optimum-level in the latest on-line-offering, nonetheless i can assure you that this street-wise new yorker, and current senatorial candidate, is - in common with fellow black conservative heroes the hodgetwins, bryson gray, and young pharaoh - an exceptionally astute observer of american politics...
and he's no wanky deep-state-democrat-ass-licking blm-supporting lame-brained liberal muppet either...
but rather a true rgb disciple of minister malcolm x and dr martin luther king.
i deem these african-american conservatives to be 2020-maga-"heroes" purely due to the torrential amount of racial abuse which they have been compelled to suffer from democrats - who evidently do not believe that black people should be permitted to vote for the republicans, let alone for donald trump; interestingly, despite deep-rooted democrat-intimidation of african-american-voters, in 2020 donald trump increased his share of the african-american-vote to 12% - from 8% in 2016.
if they truly believe that black people should be denied a choice in voting, why don't democrats - as honest brokers - simply campaign to abolish the right of african-americans to vote altogether?
all i know for sure is that, given the shitload of vicious political persecution levelled against them, black conservatives must bloody well obviously mean what they say.
should you be finding any difficulty in appreciating the positive political purpose of the african-american magamen, and women, i reckon that, like these ethically obstinate freedom-fighters themselves, you really need to retain a dry sense of humour - and just imagine bill desperately trying to bring hillary 'round with smelling-salts following the shock of viewing gun totin' patriot, the bryson gray music-video in which black and white unite in perfect harmony behind their all-american hero: president donald trump.
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