Two Amigos: The Middle…Retitled.


All you two wanted of me was to shore-up the good opinion you have of yourselves and when I couldn’t ratify that, the ganged nastiness on a well-meaning and thoughtful chap started and continues to cause immeasurable hurt. Wilde’s previously oblique assertion of the dire consequences of performing good deeds for ignorant knuckleheads now stood out like dog balls. I compared your churlish act to that of two beggars pleading a meal and then abusing the host for an over seasoned fish.

During the course of your re-initiated email exchange, I titled a missive Jabberwocky hoping to arouse a comment on the clever, but flawed paedophile author of nonsense who immortalized the word. None came from you but your obedient yes-boy googled the Fed. Stat. page to score points after I used arbitrary numbers to make a cynical point on their biased and advantageous use. I can only guess at this nasty boys’ pleasures, but I’m sure his brain-decaying nocturnal delights of turning tricks in the Valley would better reward him than a subservient role to a jumped-up pretender.

The greatest challenge to any thinker is stating the problem in a way that will allow its understanding by the dim, and is most likely why I fail miserably with you and your contemporaries to whom I mistakenly attribute an inflated Peter’s Level. A gaping-mouthed, stunned Homer Simpson could replace the star under the ensign at the next flag-changing push. That move would also double-up as accepting all things American.

The infamous, “D’oh” is fast becoming the symbol of a dumbed-down society promulgated by you, multiplied by how many millions? And what’s the result? A huge simmering puddle of pus, and begs the question why Governments blanket the whole community at huge advertising cost to remind and reassure the populace of its enduring crass stupidity. The never-ending television reminders that analogue ends anon is a case in point. As I see it, if a pie-eater tunes to his Bugs Bunny one morning and it isn’t there, it might eventually occur to him that he’s had three years in which to defray $40 from the pokies to waste on the cheapest set-top box.

There are many minute, or toy sites like yours which collectively, would make their obtuse followers the audience Governments professes to reach. With your considerable persuasive powers and spiv pals within spin Departments, some of those advertising dollars could enhance your sites sale prospects.

While my one-off pseudonym was the sire of Pan, it was paedo. related, but didn’t evoke comment from you. Ennui reigns in youth as in age. Many people would sooner die than think, in fact they do so. Thinking is beyond most people, as is drafting thoughts into words. It took my Devil’s Advocate stance on Andrew Bolt to get the result I wished in November, 2008 when I noted in a communication how our corresponding benefited neither participant and I severed the connection. I think Christmas and email lists need severe culling or even destruction prior the event.

A few apt clichés get bandied about here to usher-in my take on your own unique way of getting square with an obdurate relative. Like father, like son, is too easy but it fits in this anecdote of your father’s interest in Philip Adams. In late July, 2008, after a yarn with him in which I made known my knowledge of Adam’s radio spot, I advised him that an earlier interest in Adams had waned, although any impromptu appearances on T.V. would get my attention. Having a Doctorate in the mind-game industry, and given his decades of unobtrusively ridiculing dissenters while appearing a nice, caring guy, your father reckoned it was time to give me a going over, Christian style.

This is where one of his oft-used and objectionable tools of his trade kicks in. The mind game. Were you to receive four emails on successive days as reminders of a static, recurring event which you had already stated wasn’t of any interest, might you not take it as granted that the sender was also sending you another, not so covert message? It would take a totally brain-stuffed incompetent to forget even the first verbal mention of a coming event, let alone four subsequent visual nudges.

Your bias would view this persuasion as a bubbling, keen enthusiasm skewing his judgement. He was about to turn 66, had he forgotten who he was dealing with? Ha-ha! Let us remind Les of his cretinous background and put him down. How could an old Antichrist like him possibly remember which path to take on his morning walk to get the paper, let alone a late night radio talk? Your father demonstrates his love and interest of individuals by implying a stupidity. Be of interest to know the ratio of suicides to successes after he’s finished with them. Look at his August 4, 2008 email in which he dismisses his harassment after I asked him, quite politely, to lay-off.

Your retribution on me rival those of a 50 years old incident in which an other era control freak leaving Quilpie to return to the shearing shed, was pissed-off at being over-taken on the town’s flat outskirt by an unrelated motorist. “Took me 80 miles out of me way,” he boasted to whoever he could, “but I eventually passed the bastard.” ‘Nuff sed!

Although I likened elsewhere the poles-apart opposite of intelligence and education, it remains difficult for me to understand the pointed denial of your inheritance by rejecting all sources of information. Knowing too well your carers and the prejudices you would have been subject to, I fully understand why a dogged party cadre puts aside independent thought for fear of family conflict. Mummy and Daddy’s insistence that tidbits will be well-cooked and heavily sugar-iced. The few recollections I offered might remain intact under another umbrella. A faithful recorder of events needs to note events as he remembers them. What a grave folly it would be to lie, but why lie? I did with a fluffy rendition of near relatives and their courtship which pricked me even as I put it down, and is now set for a penetrating and truthful revision. Time’s winged chariot calls unexpectedly, and I fear a disturbed spirit unless the truth is out.

Your father appeases his neap Billy Graham brain by screaming foul when confronted by factual statements. Les hates Ian, he supposedly and confidently got your ear. You got a distorted message. Put it down to an outside noise like an unkempt diesel. I don’t fancy using the hate word, and in spite of recalling incidents from a baby age, my relating of those long-ago happenings are for their novelty value. Blindly following such bias augers shithouse for your future clients that fate has condemned and they don’t know it.

To the well versed law practitioner you are, your daddies subtly implanted vitriol can’t be questioned. He is your typical, by the book public servant, protecting his rear and to hell with rationality. He wouldn’t have read in his life more conspiratorial stuff than a sauce bottle label but acts on instinct to discredit potential opponents and applies the convenient paranoia tag. An illiterate Christian has few options. These false accusations don’t ever just blow over. They might though, if they weren’t frequently added to and stirred.

I don’t hate anyone any more or less than I do you or any other offensive object. His disapproval of free thought manifests as a distaste of yours truly, a rush to judgement and garbling of the truth. His own proud prejudices would have psychiatrically and professionally destroyed many unfortunate kids who were compelled to debase themselves to his hollowness and homilies. What a glorious God-fearing member of the establishment is he. Cranmer also, the obedient sycophant fried his master’s opponents and was similarly rewarded.

The unremarkable denouement gasps with bated breath.

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