We should be worried….


The private bankers and insurance companies are at it again. Tell me again, who runs the world? Why, the private bankers of course. They own and operate ‘our elected officials’ that own and operate us. Okay, so Goldman Sacs is taking over Europe, and their elections may differ from America… still, getting screwed is getting screwed no matter whose flag is flying. The people, Worldwide, need to band together and do something, lest these bankers own us all.  And let us not forget our friends at the Federal Reserve, and the IMF, that keep us all in debt, and taxed through the wazoo, as we compare who’s behind the world’s financial woes.

Read on……..

In September 2008, Henry Paulson, former CEO of Goldman Sachs, managed to extort a $700 billion bank bailout from Congress. But to pull it off, he had to fall on his knees and threaten the collapse…

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Like cats and Bones

It was a lazy sunday yesterday. Mom was upstairs, Jess was asleep on the sofa, Alf was on the windowsill guarding the house, me and dad were watching football on tv, I was getting my ear scratched so everything was good in the world. Alf yawned and turned to look at me, he obviously remembered that he hadn’t teased me for a while so he said, “How long has it been since you went upstairs to see Raffles?” I thought about it for a minute and replied that I wasn’t sure and enquired why he was asking. “Lost your bottle then?” Lost my bottle? Huh, don’t think so, I told him that I didn’t go up there because the gate at the bottom of the stairs was always shut and I couldn’t get past. “Not shut now” he grinned. ” Well why don’t you go up there then?” I asked, throwing it back at him. He sighed and rolled over onto his back, “I’m not the one who was barking about what I’d do to the cat in a fight, you were; but, if you’re scared….”

I started walking towards the bottom of the stairs, absolutely bristling with rage. Jess had woken up and heard the last part of the conversation and she told me not to be stupid, and grumbled at Alf for winding me up. Alf was laughing until I got to the stairs and went up a couple of steps, he said “come on Bones, I was just pulling your tail.” I wasn’t listening, I just wanted to show him that I wasn’t scared. Dad was oblivious to all this as he watched the match, I was sort of hoping that he’d tell me to come back down but he was engrossed. Ah well, I’ve started now, best paw forward as they say.

I climbed to the last but one step and looked around the landing, I could hear mom in one of the rooms moving about but apart from that all was quiet. I climbed the last step and listened again – nothing. I could smell cat in the air but there was no sign of them. I walked into a bedroom and looked to see if they were there but I couldn’t see them, perhaps they were asleep somewhere. I decided to have a wander round the bed and into the bathroom, then go back to their bowls and eat their food; there’s no way Alf could call me scared then, I’d show him.

I got to the other side of the bed and saw no sign of the cats although I could smell them even stronger now; as it turns out, if I’d looked up I would have seen two pairs of eyes looking down on me from the bed. As I reached the bathroom and walked in I heard a soft thump behind me, I jumped and spun around. It was the skinny cat Milly, she was sat down with her tail swishing behind her, just regarding me curiously like I was a museum piece. “Curiosity killed the cat,” I said mockingly. Just then a shadow fell over both of us and with a much louder thump, he stood before me, big and menacing. I’d been ambushed and my escape route was blocked, now I was a little scared.

Raffles’ green eyes glinted with evil triumph, he had me cornered again, like he did when I was a puppy. The thing is I’m not a puppy anymore, I’m almost as big as him now, my muscles hard, my body hewn from rock, polished in mock battle with the dogs downstairs and my friends over the fields. Raffles thought he was in for an easy afternoon, a quick and decisive knockout… Raffles was in for one hell of a shock.

He hissed at me, the wind ruffling my fur, the smell of fetid fish breath assailing my nostrils, I growled back and bared my teeth, I was ready. He looked a little shocked that I wasn’t cowering, he wasn’t used to anyone standing up to him, but he soon gathered himself and stepped forward. Perhaps expecting me to step back, he was surprised when I lurched at him and snapped; although he swayed out of reach he automatically swung his mighty paw to counter my attack. All I saw was a flash of pure white then stars as this huge paw crashed into the side of my head, knocking me sideways and off balance. He swung his left to finish me but I ducked under it and headbutted his fat, white stomach which was exposed as he sat on his haunches and swung haymakers. He almost tumbled back but regained his balance and, with a speed that belies his size, caught me with a rapid three punch combination, I thought I saw angels dancing above me for a second, wow he hits hard! The cat paused for a second to admire his work before launching a massive right paw in a downward arc that was meant to be the coup de gras, I saw a flash of wicked claw but the momentary pause was all I needed to gather my wits. I weaved to the right and the paw came crashing down next to me, I was aware of a distant rumbling sound as I rose up on my hind legs and brought both my paws down on top of his head in such quick succession it almost sounded simultaneous – booboom. I went to clamp onto his ear, if I had he would have lost it because there was no way I was going to let go; he moved his head at the last second and my mouth landed on the back of his broad shoulders, I tried to sink my teeth into his neck but all I got was a mouthful of thick ginger fur. He swung his head and I lost my grip as I was slammed against the wall.

The rumbling got louder and nearer but I wasn’t thinking about that, I was growling at him and he hissed at me again; I charged, determined to get my teeth into him, but I was met with a blow to the top of my head that was made all the harder by my forward momentum. His claws hit me full on the crown but my fur in wirey and thick and it didn’t pierce the skin thankfully. The punch shook me but the force of the collision must have travelled up through Raffles’ leg because he stepped back. We looked at each other, both breathing hard; this was it, the crunch, the final showdown, only one of us was coming out of this bathroom alive and we both knew it. His eyes narrowed to slits and he seemed to grow as his fur stood on end, his sharp claws dug into the carpet. I tensed, evey sinew and muscle quivering, a growl growing in my throat: ” Let’s dance cat!” The rumbling stopped as mom came into view. The cats scarpered up and over the bed as mom reached down and picked me up, I was twisting and yelling, trying to get her to put me down, “I want to finish it! I want that cat!”

By the time she carried me downstairs my anger was spent. She made sure the gate was properly closed as, still a little shaken, I trotted into the living room. Alf was wide-eyed, “What happened Bones?” He gasped. I shrugged. Jess was a bit upset, “He was a stupid, foolish, reckless little boy is what happened.” I ignored her. Dad was still sitting with his feet up watching football. I jumped up and resumed my previous position next to him my heart still pounding in my chest. His big hand came over and scratched me behind my ear again, “Got it out your system boy?” He asked. “Yeah” I replied, “I think I have.”

We carried on watching the game, Bones and dad, dad and Bones. He looked at me and said “Don’t do that again, ok?” Course not dad…. ; )

Snappy Alf

I haven’t been posting lately and I must start by apologising for that. It has been a weird few days in the house and things have been a bit hectic, I haven’t even got around to answering your comments on my last post, let alone read any of yours. In a couple of days I’ll sit down and go through as many blogs as I can to catch up, just as soon as dad can be peeled away from his precious computer.
Alf has been acting strange and growling a Jess in the past few days, a couple of times he’s nipped her and she gets mad and tries to bite him back. I find it very distressing, I love fighting more than anything, even more than fuss but this is nasty stuff between my big sister and brother and I don’t like it at all. I’ve tried asking Alfie what it’s all about but he won’t talk about it. Dad gets mad at them and sends Alf out of the room, making him sit in the kitchen on his own. As Alf is the instigator I suppose he’s only got himself to blame.
Yesterday as we were walking across the fields for our morning workout, Jess began to get weird, like she was confused or something. She sat down and was looking around and then cocking her head as if she was listening to something. I listened too but I couldn’t hear anything. I trotted over to see if she was ok, “come on Jess, run with me?” Jess looked at me like she didn’t know me. She got up and carried on walking for a few yards then fell. Mom was rushing towards her calling out her name, I tried to get her to stand up, she struggled to her feet then fell again and started shaking like crazy, having a fit again. Luckily, since the last time it happened, 6 months ago, mom always carries a little tub of glucose which she quickly rubbed on Jessie’s gums, Jess bit her finger hard enough to make it bleed, but mom carried on. A minute or two later and Jess was back on her feet looking confused and a bit scared, it just shook her up (no pun intended). Alf was the one who was most shook up though, I mean I was worried but Alf was going crazy; running around her barking at the top of his voice, begging her to get back up. He might be acting a bit mean to her in the house lately but there’s no hiding the fact that he still loves her.

Swearing like a trooper

I think my dad has become a trooper, although I’m not sure what a trooper is or does (I think it’s got something to do with the weather, at least it does on Star Wars), my mom says he swears like one. Sounds like qualification enough for the job. If it pays per swear word then I think my dad will have had a very successful few weeks.

OK, here’s the story – We bought a new washing machine in October online from a major electrical retailer. It was delivered and installed and the old one taken away. Soon after installation the kitchen floor got all wet, dad began swearing at the new machine for the first time. He got it sorted himself saying he didn’t trust them to plumb it properly the second time if they were so completely £*&%ing useless the first.

Not long ago it started making a clunking noise, dad found that one of the plastic ridge things in the drum had snapped off completely and another had come loose; he started swearing at the washing machine for the second time. He rang them and asked if someone could come and look at it, they asked him to extend his warranty; dad’s face started getting a little darker as he hissed into the phone that he didn’t want another 3 years warranty, he wanted it sorting out under his existing warranty. He showed great restraint as the person on the other end told him it was a problem he could fix himself and that they would send him the parts. He came off the phone and swore.

Sure enough a week later a package arrived with spare plastic ridge things for the drum, dad fitted them himself while muttering a few swear words.

Three weeks ago the washing machine began making a squealing sound like a skin who had gone hurdling barbed wire in the nude. Smoke began to billow from it and it made me feel a bit sick. The drum had jammed solid, dad switched it off and opened the door and all the windows to let the smoke out and switched on the extractor fan (I always thought an extractor fan was someone who used to have a particular fondness for tractors!), but thicker than the smoke was the swearing my dad was now rattling off like a badly brought up machine gun. Jessie and Alf left the room but I was laughing behind my paw.

Dad rang the manufacturers and asked if they’d like to send him a drum for the washing machine so he could fit it himself, they hurriedly assured him that this was a job for an engineer,the irony sailing over their heads as if they were expert limbo dancers. Dad arranged an appointment but was told that they wouldn’t get out to us for a week, dad said that would have to do. He replaced the receiver, stared intently at the ceiling for a while as if he was scanning for cobwebs, then looked back at the phone and swore.

The engineer arrived a week later. A tall, greying reed-like man who looked like he was trying to swallow a golf ball. He had a look for a couple of minutes before announcing that the drum had siezed, dad told him he knew that, he’d told the nasal woman on the phone that. The engineer said he would have to order the part and it would take another week for the new part to arrive. “But you knew it was the drum, you knew what make and model it was, I told the woman at your call centre, why didn’t you bring a new drum?” I was in the hall in my playpen but I could envisage my dad’s expression from the low timbre of his voice, I knew the swearing was about to begin in earnest. The engineer made his excuses and left. Dad swore.

Another week went by and my great auntie Marie was letting them use her washing machine, a thirty mile round trip but mom was adamant that we wouldn’t be using a launderette as “we don’t know who used it before us”. A second engineer turned up with a new drum, obviously my dad didn’t make friends with the first one. He was a much jollier man and they exchanged small talk in the kitchen as he worked. Then, the bombshell! “Sorry mate, they’ve sent me out with the wrong part.” The explosion was expected but still shook me. The swearing was thorough and exotic. It wasn’t the jolly man’s fault and dad acknowledged that, but the fact that it would take another week before he could get the correct part was too much for my dad.

That afternoon he tried in vain to complain but was pushed backwards and forwards between the retailer and the manufacturer, niether of whom would admit responsibility. In the end I think he exhausted himself and with a final threat that he was going to insert the washing machine in a certain orifice belonging to the customer service manager. He hung up. He sat for a while in silence looking beaten, he had given everything in this fight for justice but had come up with nothing but an appointment for the following week with the engineer. He swore.