A blog of Flanders

Hehe

2007-11-08T12:50:00.000+01:00

I thought there was way too little Flemish triumphalism after the successful vote on BHV yesterday, so here is my personal little Flemish message to all you francophones and francophone lovers:

400

2007-09-27T14:45:00.000+02:00

The unions have always opposed the independence of Flanders. The reasons aren't hard to figure out.

For the Walloon unions it's a matter of money. They need Flanders to keep paying for the French regime that turned Wallonia into a red welfare heaven, a pool of inescapable misère filled with union members and general redness.

For the Flemish unions it's a matter of muscle. The Flemish unions have to deal with a tough crowd of Flemings, of whom most actually enjoy their work and aren't therefore what you'd call "strike material". So they need the Walloon unions, who've got their ranks filled with hardcore, semi-commie syndicate mongs who aren't afraid to lay down work, form a picket, roll in the kegs and fire up the BBQ to stand up for their co-workers right to, eeeeeuuuh….. I dunno, get toilet paper with more then three layers?

Anyhow, it didn't come as a surprise when the unions started a petition against separation. To get some extra media attention and, who knows, maybe ome Flemish signatures, the unions announced that 400 "bekende Belgen" (known Belgians) had already signed the petition.

Today I visited the petition website. I must admit I was kind of curious to find out who these brave known Belgians were, these heroic 400 who stand tall in the pass of Brussels to face a barbaric horde of 6 million raving, fascist Flemings who are about to trample the poor, defenceless Walloons by stopping to send blank cheques. I needed to know.

I clicked on the list of known Belgians, looked at it and thought…

WHO THE FUCK ARE THESE PEOPLE?

Thank God they put the job description with some of them, so I can kinda recognise maybe 5%. And who knew that union people, who represent a shitload of the names on the list, are such popular icons nowadays? Do your kids have a poster of, mmmmm….. let's see, Joost Dierick, hoofddelegee ACV- metaal Bekaert Zwevegem, hanging in their rooms? And wasn't Hugo Claus senile the last few years? Wim "bring back my Palm" Opbrouck? Vital"tettekeruis"ski?

Jesus tittyfucking Christ. Are we supposed to take this seriously?

Vlaams Belang, the Belgian parasite

2007-09-25T13:32:00.000+02:00

One of the things that I hate most in this country is the fact that when a Flemish person opens his mouth to defend the Flemish point of view, the francophones immediately accuse him of being a member of the fascist organisation called Vlaams Belang. Sometimes this argument is used as a malign strategy: demonise your opponent as a fascist so you don't have to listen to what he says. But most of the time the francophones who use this argument, genuinely believe it. This is quite ironic, given the fact that the rise of Vlaams Belang is largely due to the francophones and that Vlaams Belang would immediately implode if Flanders would decide to secede. Allow me to explain.

Although the underlying motivation differs, the Flemish are in a certain sense very comparable to the citizens of the United States, in so far as they both deeply distrust their federal government. The Flemish motivation for this almost genetic aversion for all central authority lies in the fact that the Flemish have always been ruled by foreign nations, making each central government looked at as a strange, annoying and interfering thing that has absolutely nothing to do with looking after the welfare of the people. This is the source for the Flemish proverb "Wat we zelf doen, doen we beter" (we do better what we do ourselves) and to the Flemish habit of mainly identifying yourself with the city you're from.

This Flemish sentiment did not change after the start of Belgium. On the contrary, the Flemish were now a second class people in a French dominated state, in which all important private and government positions where kept out of Flemish hands. The Flemish have always regarded Belgium as a French State, in which they were barely allowed to participate. "La Belgique" existed, "België" never did. The last few decades, the Flemish have made a surge, both economically, politically and culturally. Nevertheless, certain public sectors (like justice and foreign affairs) still remain firmly in French hands. Needless to say that the Flemish grudge against the French establishment was and is very strong.

In light of the above, it is only natural to assume that after the decline of the classical pillar like structure of Belgian society (with a socialist, a liberal and a catholic pillar) an anti-establishment party would score quite well with the Flemish. Problem was that the anti-establishment vote was tapped by Vlaams Belang, one of the most destructive parties ever to exist in Flanders, whose main strategy consist of looking for pain points in society and then squeezing them. This squeezing provokes a scream of agony in the patient that translates itself in votes for a party that never managed to come up with any solution for the problems it so eagerly lays bare. Is this a racist vote, as the francophones as all too eagerly willing to believe and say? Nah, the Flemish aren't racist, they're one of the most tolerant people in the world, just look at their very liberal viewpoints on a matter like homosexuality. The Flemish are just anti-establishment and Vlaams Belang gives 'em what they need to kick some establishment ass.

Why can't Vlaams Belang come up with any decent solutions? Because there is no one Vlaams Belang. The political personnel of Vlaams Belang consist of a large base of what we'll call "filler". They are basically voting machines that do as the party big shots decide. The big shots of the party do not all share the same political philosophy, they are an amalgam of three very different groups with one common objective: the immediate separation of Flanders.

The first group consists of ultra liberals (in the European sense of the word), genre Hugo Coveliers, dark blue conservatives who want to get rid of Wallonia because it is a socialist shithole. Then we have the ultra Flemish nationalist group, who want the immediate and unilateral separation of Flanders (contrary to the nationalists in NVA, who want a soft divorce). Last but not least there are the neo-fascists, who want to separate from Wallonia because of some bullshit Blood and Soil nazi belief.

Anyway, even though Vlaams Belang more or less succeeded in keeping a unified front, you can imagine it to be kind of hard to formulate decent and coherent solutions to the nations problems with a motley crew like that.

If Flanders would ever secede, the main force that binds the different factions within the party HQ would be gone, making the party instantly fragment into different niche parties that not a Fleming would give a shit about. Vlaams Belang would be dead in a minute and the Flemish would finally be governed by those who have the most interest in their welfare, the Flemish themselves, taking away the very manure that made the Vlaams Belang parasitic flower blossom so abundantly.

With Vlaams Belang out of the way, the socialists could once again pick up their classic role of the democratic anti-establishment party in a mainly conservative country, in so far as there will be an anti-establishment vote left in an independent Flanders.

Belgian Democracy

2007-09-14T14:07:00.000+02:00

Two or three weeks ago I read an interview with Gérard Deprez, MR hang around and successor of Hugo Schiltz' presidency of the R.G.O.O.F.W.D.H. ("Royal Guild Of Old Farts With Dyed Hair"), in "De Morgen", the only newspaper in Belgium where the economic news is a one page appendix of the sports section.

Anyhow, Deprez said something interesting in that interview. He tried to shed some light on the inner workings of francophone reasoning. He explained that, while Flanders has the financial means and the political know how to successfully manage newly delegated federal powers, the majority of the francophones do not have the same faith in their own political leaders to do so. Therefore, a delegation of power that seems perfectly rational from the Flemish point of view, might sound like a very bad idea to a Walloon who thinks it to be wiser to just keep that power on the federal level, where it has a better chance of getting some decent management.

This is one of the most disgusting arguments I have ever heard.

Deprez is trying to get the argument across that the Walloon people are the helpless victim of the evil PS, which we all despise, and as a Fleming you should understand that it's not wise to give those red dickweeds any more power.

Uuhhhh… sure, and who was it again that helped these PS assholes into office? Right, the Walloons. And when it was clear to everybody that the PS was heftily ass-raping Wallonia for all its worth, did the Walloons, like, stop voting for them? Nope…

So what Deprez is actually saying here, and Gérard can correct me if I'm wrong, is that francophones deliberately vote for shitty, corrupt, good for nothing political leaders and then try to keep those scumbags away from real power by placing it on a federal level, where they have to share it with Flemish politicians. That's how you create a situation where you can count on your local feudal PS lord to get you a job at the community as chief ass-scratcher, to arrange for a place for your granny in the retirement home and to give your chronically unemployed nephew ("he has a bad knee!") some nice social housing, all in exchange for your vote. But to pay for it all, the country's economy has to, like, run decently. You can't count on those Walloon douchebag politicians you voted for, so we better leave the running of the country to the federal level where there are, you know, Flemish people who seem to have some weird and boring fixation on organising shit the right way. That way, your own incompetent, Walloon excuses for politicians can keep on bribing and pampering you to keep in power while the Flemish guy works his ass off to keep the country running in a more or less orderly fashion. Pretty sweet, huh!

In a democracy, power lies with the people. Power implies responsibility. In a democracy, responsibility means that if the people choose bad leaders, they will have to suffer the consequences of their choice. In a democracy, the people deserve their leaders.

Problem is, Belgium ain't no democracy. In Belgium you can vote whatever the hell you want, as long as your neighbours are rich enough to pay for you mistakes. And if those rich assholes start complaining, hell, they'll just have to understand that it's not your fault, it's the fault of your leader.

The aristocrats

2007-06-14T13:16:00.000+02:00

The filthiest joke in the world, cartman version:

Finally, a rational voice in the climate debate

2007-06-14T11:24:00.000+02:00

Vlaams Belang gaat terug naar de roots

2007-03-02T13:59:00.000+01:00

Gisteren kondigde Vlaams Belang aan dat het gedaan ging zijn met de 'softe' aanpak. De partij gaat weer voor de harde lijn en grijpt voor de verkiezingen resoluut terug naar de partijstandpunten die haar groot hebben gemaakt, zoals daar zijn:

- Charismatisch leiderschap:

- Goede arbeidsvoorwaarden:

- Een efficiënt openbaar vervoer:

- Een betere begeleiding van allochtonen:

- De jeugd op school terug laten kennismaken met de klassiekers van de literatuur:

- Een betere bescherming van bepaalde dieren:

- Meer buurtfeestjes tegen linkse verzuring organiseren:

- Meer politie op straat voor een knusser en veiliger gevoel:

Screw you Proximus, screw you very much

2007-02-27T10:18:00.000+01:00

Belgian advertising has hit a new low with the Proximus "Family Calls" campaign. It's an add about some new Proximus money making scam, but that's not the point. Point is that bouletten, peas and mashed potatoes have never been portrayed in a more disgusting, vomit-inducing, utterly revolting way.

This commercial is usually aired right before dinner, making my favourite time of day just that little bit less agreeable. So to all you women out there who would like their BMI to reach Nicole Richie-like lows, enjoy:

Gatverdamme!

2007-01-15T16:48:00.000+01:00

Rembo & Rembo remain the undisputed kings of the finest form of comedy known to man: turd jokes...

Those mullahs aren't that bad!

2007-01-07T16:21:00.000+01:00

They're actually pretty reasonable if you just give 'em a chance to really explain the true word of allah:

NOT

The God Delusion

2006-12-31T02:55:00.000+01:00

Richard Dawkins is the Main Man. Buy and read his latest book, "The God Delusion". Now available in Dutch under the title "God als misvatting". It's the Bible for all you atheists out there. It's beautiful, eloquently written and it confirms everything you ever knew but could never quite put your finger on concerning the bullest shit ever conceived by humankind: religion.

For all you illiterate and lazy bums out there, here's the TV documentary (all 2 episodes):

1. The God Delusion:

2. The Virus of Faith:

Sex machine, HUH!

2006-12-26T03:03:00.000+01:00

This evening, on Christmas day of all days, I overheard Jan Becaus state the words "sex machine" on the news. Which was nice.

James, your death was not in vain. Respek!

Walloons abandoning Wallonia to boldly mooch where no others have mooched before

2006-12-18T13:32:00.000+01:00

Belgo – Shocker today in Belgium as the Walloon Minister President Elio Di Rupo announced that al Walloons will be leaving Belgium in the following weeks.

"It's been a good ride", Di Rupo said, "we've been mooching of the Flemish for a good 150 years now. Which is the longest mooching session we've ever been able to pull of in our entire history as a people."

With this shocking news, it became clear that the Walloons did not originate from Wallonia, but have in fact always been a nomadic tribe, wandering from State to State, living of the land and local social benefit laws.

Di Rupo: "Yup, and Belgium was a pretty decent spot to set up camp, I'll tell you that. We're still a bit shaken by the huge things we've been able to pull off here, it's the stuff of legends! I mean, convincing those schmucks to abandon the Netherlands on itself is an achievement of epic proportions. But the Flemish eventually got on to us, finally, after one-hundred-and-fifty-fucking-years! (laughs hysterically to the point where he has to change pants)

Those guys were never very quick, I'll tell ya."

Apparently, the mock RTBF newsflash about Flemish separation was the agreed collective signal for the departure of all Walloons.

Di Rupo: We got it all figured out, now we can go to France and collectively seek asylum for protection against the "evil Flemish separatist hordes". After that fake broadcast, they'll take us in like it ain't no thang. I predict some serious mooch action going on down in good ol' France! Huhuhuhuhuhuhuuuuuuu!"

Reaction from the Flemish Minister President Leterme concerning the massive evacuation of Walloons to France:

Question remains what the Flemish will do with the abandoned Walloon Provinces.

High ranking civil servant: "Problem is they never really constructed anything of value down there, they didn't invest in anything they couldn't move on their back or on a pushing cart. A few wild pigs, some used up coal mines, an adventure parcours in Durbuy and an abundance of uninhabitable social housing, that's about all we have to build up a new economy. We're seriously thinking about making it into a kind of wildlife preserve, maybe catching some stray Walloons and putting them there so our kids can still see 'em in controlled circumstances, you know, for educational purposes."

Artistic rendering of Walloon specimens in wildlife preserve.

To be continued.

Prima föhntje hoor!

2006-12-05T14:04:00.000+01:00

Unlucky Alf

2006-11-20T16:50:00.000+01:00

Look at this little Fast Show gem I found on youtube:

Bugger!

DVD tip: Battlestar Galactica remake

2006-11-17T13:32:00.000+01:00

Go out and buy/rent/steal/loan/eeeuuh.../let 'fall off the camion" the remake of Battlestar Galactica. I bought the first series dirt cheap in "den Fnac". One of the most intelligent and exciting programs I've seen in a while. Apparently the original '70s show was kinda lame, but the remake is a beauty. Must see!

The hitchhiker's guide to Wallonië, part 1: Van Cau

2006-11-16T17:15:00.000+01:00

My dear friends, since long I felt the need amongst you for a reliable guide through the Walloon provinces. I myself have never felt much for disaster tourism and frankly, I am a bit shocked by your incessant and slightly immoral thirst for hearing of the barren, desolate, syphilis-ridden, potable water lacking, no governing skills having, socialist infested, economy-repelling, manure shovelling welfare black hole that is Wallonia.

But who am I to judge? The only thing I can do is to provide you with a reliable guide so that you may complete your journey in relative safety. In the guide I will be tackling some of Wallonia's more extraordinary sights and fauna specimens, starting with monsieur Van Cauwenberghe,

Most of you will not be surprised that Van Cau is the undisputed Guinness World Record holder for corruption since Mobutu Sese Seko blew his prostate. Just look at the guy, corruption literally oozes out of his every pore in his head, from his receding hairline to his fake 'hey-look-you-guys-I'm-from –may-'68-even-though-I-make-shitloads-of-money-and-don't-give-a-
rat's-ass-about-the-working-class' unshaven beardlike facial growth. Move your head to the left and the right, see how his beady little eyes seem to follow you, silently asking you 'where's my money, bitch?' while putting on the fakest smile since our monkey forefathers first learned how to curve their lips upward in sight of a banana or a bonobo female?

Van Cau rules Charleroi. Period. If you drive down a road in Charleroi, it's builders paid a kickback to Van Cau to get the contract. If you drink a beer in a Charleroi bar, the owner paid Van Cau to get a liquor license. If you take a leak in Charleroi, Van Cau is standing next to you with a paper cup to claim his 5%. If you go to an upper class confituur party in Charleroi, Van Cau gets his own private inflatable kiddie pool. He's the Capo di tutti Sossen in Charleroi and in Wallonia that means 'you the man'.

Charleroi itself is a shitty city, really. It's real easy to find it on google earth, just go to Belgium and point at the shitty brownish black spot. That's Charleroi. The brown is coal residue flying through the air, making Charleroi about the unhealthiest place to live after Tsjernobyl and China. That coal residue and the obvious brain damage it causes with the 'Carolos' by the way is about the only plausible scientific cause we can come up with to explain why Van Cau keeps getting elected in this town. That and the fact that he personally hands over about every single welfare check in his town/ gives away about every key to a social residence in his town/ picks out every one to get a cushy job at the city's civil service. That's why they love him, and that's why the Carolos would literally go through fire for Van Cau. And we all hope that one day they will.

Conclusion: If your drivin' through Wallonia and you see your surroundings turn into a brownish black colour, head back if you can, because you are to enter Van Caunty. If you have to continue, go full speed, keep the windows and the airco closed and if you see an unshaven fat guy on the road holding a paper cup, by all means…

Allah B-gone

2006-11-13T22:51:00.000+01:00

I read this is "De Standaard" this morning and it pisses me off big time:

"Recht op een school met hoofddoek
De overheid moet garanderen dat je binnen de 20km een school vindt waar de hoofddoek mag.

Meyrem Almaci lanceerde het voorstel in het onderwijsdebat tijdens de Vrouwendag, afgelopen zaterdag in de Antwerpse gemeente Berchem. Ze doet aan de VUB en KU Leuven onderzoek naar allochtonen en onderwijs.

Volgens haar kunnen in bepaalde regio's moslimmeisjes met een hoofddoek nergens op school terecht. ,,Daarom zou de overheid moeten garanderen dat iedereen in zijn regio een school kan vinden waar de hoofddoek is toegelaten, bijvoorbeeld in een straal van twintig kilometer. Want meisjes hebben het recht om een hoofddoek te dragen, maar als ze nergens op school terechtkunnen, heeft dat niet veel zin.''

Almaci, die ook woordvoerster is van Jong Groen!, stelt vast dat er vaak een domino-effect is. Als één school de hoofddoek verbiedt, dan volgen de andere in de regio snel. ,,En zo blijft geen enkele school voor moslimmeisjes met hoofddoek meer over. Het gevolg daarvan is dat ze niet meer naar school gaan.''

Daarom moet de overheid volgens de onderzoekster haar verantwoordelijkheid nemen, en maken dat deze meisjes minstens in één school terechtkunnen. Daarmee trekt Almaci een parallel met de vrijekeuzescholen.

Dat zijn de scholen die garanderen dat ouders voor hun kinderen de keuze hebben tussen verschillende levensbeschouwingen. Als er in de regio bijvoorbeeld alleen een katholieke school is, moet er ook een gemeenschapsschool komen als ouders daarom vragen.

Almaci betreurt ook dat er vanuit de overheid en onderwijskoepels geen duidelijke standpunten over de hoofddoek in het onderwijs zijn. De Vlaamse overheid laat het aan de koepels over, en die laten het op hun beurt aan de individuele vrijheid van de scholen over."

Look, miss Almaci. I'm an atheist, and a proud one for that. I don't need to give any reasons for my atheism because, hey, I'm not the one claiming there's an almighty creature who governs everything and who is invisible, except in the smile of a little child or in the barbecue smell of a freshly bombed subway station.

Anyhow, I kind of like the fact that religion doesn't play a major role in Europe anymore. I appreciate the enormous struggle my forefathers had to make to rid themselves of the constant moral and physical oppression of catholic theocracy and I believe that even most Catholics feel just like me. There exists a European consensus that religion is a private matter that should that should stay out of public life. Even ‘the Jesus’ himself agreed on that point: "Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's". How's that for a clear point on the separation of church and State (unlucky enough for us, it took the Church some centuries before they grasped that concept (or maybe they just never got around to reading that part of the Bible))?

In light of the above, miss Almaci, I truly believe that religion should never be taught in public schools (if you want to privately organise a Koran/Bible class after normal school hours, hey, by my guest, as long as you don’t use my tax Euro for it), except as a part of the history classes. It'll be hard not to mention Islam in our history classes anyway, since the Islamic Jihadists have constantly raided, plundered and raped the Christian mainland throughout the Middle Ages (Poitiers, anyone?, Spain?, Sicily?, Vienna?, Malta?, etc…). Islam was without a doubt the biggest threat to Western civilization in that era, as most objective historians will agree. We finally succeeded in fighting them off, but it was a very close call. And I'm glad we did, because you see, (traditional) Islam isn't just another religion. It is, at heart, a theocracy. It cannot help itself, it's just part of its nature. Maybe one day an enlightened version of Islam will emerge, but right now that's just not the case. Islam and democracy don't mix and the constant Islamic struggle to nudge in religious symbols back into public life is a grave reminder of that fact

That's why I shudder when Muslims suddenly demand the right to wear religious symbols at public schools or in public office (as civil servants). First I shudder, and then I get mad. Children of a democratic State should learn that religion and State are and must always be separated. That sometimes you have to lay down whatever religious conviction you may have in order to participate in certain aspects of public life. That this applies to everybody, Muslims, Christians (Christians shouldn't be allowed to wear crosses in school either) and dead-chicken swirling voodoo priests alike. Once you assume a public role, you lay down your religious symbols, period. This is something you learn at school, period. So no religious symbols at school or public service, period.

I am not willing to reinstate religion in its former glory, especially if it’s a religion alien to our civilisation that has the theocratic urge deeply engrained into its every fibre. A religion that throughout history has constantly posed the greatest danger to our western civilisation and shows no sign of presenting us the same religious tolerance and courtesy in its Muslim homelands. Reciprocity has its rights. Our history has its rights. Democracy has its rights.

Let’s draw the line.

The art of not getting any tonight

2006-10-13T13:02:00.000+02:00

Just take a look at this little pearl of an islamic educational video.

Move over, Barbara and Allan Pease! We've got a new kid in the already unhygienically overcrowded town of dipshit specialist in gender issues!

Make sure to notice how this guy manages to weasel in an insult to all hindoes in his drawings by discreetly hinting at them having bad breath!

Eat your heart out, Comedy fucking Casino!

2006-07-07T23:18:00.000+02:00

Zaligheid

2006-07-03T13:17:00.000+02:00

Gerolf's vragenuurtje: "jeannet"

2006-06-20T17:08:00.000+02:00

A Blog of Flanders kreeg de volgende vraag doorgestuurd van het neefje van sarjarunkkaaja, de Voorpost van Vlaams Belang in Finland. Hij vroeg ons om ze voor te leggen aan Gerolf Annemans in……. "Gerolf's vragenuurtje".

"Hallo grote meneer met de dikke baard,

Mijn mama is Senior Account Executive bij Saatchie&Saatchie en ze heeft een nettosalaris van 3500€/maand.

Mijn papa werkt voor allerhande vzw's zoals Trefpunt, Centrum voor Racismebestrijding en Amnesty International. Hij doet dit vrijwillig opdat dat hem de kans geeft het werk te doen dat hij wil doen en dan heeft hij ook nog tijd voor zijn kunstwerken.

Mijn mama ziet daar geen enkel probleem in, maar de buren lachen mijn papa soms uit en zeggen dat hij een jeannet is. Is mijn papa een jeannet?

Dank je wel,

Kevin"

Gerolf: Ho, rustig Kevin! Dat zijn een boel onderwerpen die je hier aansnijdt, jij flinke Vlaamse kapoen!

Eerste en vooral, "jeannet" is geen erg mooi word, Kevin. Het is namelijk een Waals woord en Marc Dutroux was een Waal, dus dan kunnen dat soort woorden toch moeilijk in de mond nemen, hé Kevin? De correcte Vlaamse term voor een "jeannet" is een "homosexueel", ook wel "flikker", "bruinridder", "pervert" of "pedofiel" genoemd. Ze betekenen allemaal hetzelfde dus je mag ze gerust door mekaar gebruiken.

Je papa heeft jou alleszins op de wereld gezet, maar dat is ongeveer het enige wat in zijn voordeel pleit. Al de rest wijst er op dat je pappie bekeerd is of binnenkort bekeerd zal zijn tot de Orde van het Slappe Handje: je mammie die gaat werken, zijn vrijwilligers"werk" voor allerhande obscure extreem-linkse organisaties, "kunst"…. Elk van die symptomen zal ik later nog wel eens apart behandelen in mijn vragenuurtje.

Het is dus kantje-boordje, Kevin. Je pappie valt misschien nog te redden, maar in afwachting van zou ik 's nachts toch voor alle zekerheid mijn kamerdeurtje goed afsluiten! Het kan ook geen kwaad als je je zou inschrijven voor onze Vlaams Belang Jeugdkampen, zodat je zeker in de vakantie veilig bent in een gezonde atmosfeer van echte mannelijkheid. Inschrijvingen kunnen op: B&H_bootcamp@vlaamsbelang.org.

Gerolf's vragenuurtje: de vakbond

2006-06-14T12:16:00.000+02:00

Gerolf Annemans, die we allemaal kennen als de grote intellectueel en de partij-ideoloog bij uitstek van het VB, beantwoord in deze rubriek prangende vragen uit het dagelijks leven van de gewone VB militant. Vandaag beantwoord hij de volgende vraag van Purdy (13j) uit Mechelen:

Beste Gerolf,
Mijn papa en al zijn maten van in de fabriek zitten bij de vakbond. Mag dat?
Liefs,
Purdy

Gerolf: Natuurlijk mag je vader bij de vakbond zitten, jij schalkse Vlaamse meid! Het Vlaams Belang is namenlijk dé partij bij uitstek van de gewone, kleine Vlaamse arbeider. Wij hebben dus niets tegen een vakbond an sich.

Er is echter wel een probleempje, Purdy. Zie je, de vakbonden zijn al lang gekaapt door de Stalinisten (dat is een grotemensenwoord voor zij die niet voor onze partij stemmen), die er alleen op uit zijn om luie werkloze Walen en illegalen zoveel mogelijk Vlaams geld te geven om niks te doen, onze vrouwen lastig te vallen en zich te weinig te wassen. En daar zijn we natuurlijk wél tegen, Purdy!

Wat jouw Leiders van het Vlaams belang liever zouden zien, Purdy, is dat we die Stalinisten terugsjotten naar hun thuisland Wallonië en dat er één grote vakbond komt voor iedereen, in plaats van al die kleinere vakbonden. Want samen staan we toch sterker, hé Purdy?

Maar wacht eens, zou het niet nog beter zijn om ook de fabrieksbazen mee in de vakbond op te nemen? Dan kan het bestuur van de vakbond voor de helft bestaan uit arbeiders en voor de andere helft uit hun bazen die hun het werk en inkomen verschaffen waar hun volledig gezin afhankelijk van is. Het is immers toch fijner als iedereen samenwerkt in plaats van tegen mekaar te zagen over meer loon en meer veiligheid op het werk en hoe kan dat beter door gezellig samen de vakbond te besturen?

En zou het niet nog beter zijn als al die arbeiders en patrons in het bestuur vakbond ook een partijkaart van het VB hebben? Wij zijn toch dé partij van de kleine man, dus onze leden zijn toch wel het beste geschikt om de vakbond te runnen, vind je ook niet Purdy? En het spreekt voor zich dat alle beslissingen van de vakbond nog eens even de goedkeuring moeten krijgen van de Grote Voorman van Vlaanderen, nietwaar?

Dus, lieve Purdy, je pappie en zijn vriendjes mogen gerust in de vakbond zitten, kleine meid! Kan je me wél een pleziertje doen? Mail de gegevens van je pappie, zijn vakbondsvriendjes en eventuele andere familieleden die in de vakbond zitten even door naar: kosmos@vlaamsbelang.org. Doén!

Gerolf's vragenuurtje: Kebab

2006-06-12T13:48:00.000+02:00

Vanaf vandaag zal telt A Blog of Flanders een nieuwe rubriek: Gerolf's vragenuurtje. Gerolf Annemans, die we allemaal kennen als de grote intellectueel en de partij-ideoloog bij uitstek van het VB, beantwoord in deze rubriek prangende vragen uit het dagelijks leven van de gewone VB militant. Vandaag beantwoord hij de volgende vraag van Kevin (10j) uit Antwerpen:

Beste Gerolf,
Ik heb mijn papa twee dagen geleden een kebab zien eten. Mag dat?
Kevin

Gerolf: Natuurlijk mag je vader af en toe eens een kebab eten, Kevin, dat is geen enkel probleem. Maar ik begrijp dat je een beetje in de war kan zijn, jij frisse Vlaamse knaap!

Zie je, die verzuurde communisten (dat is een grotemensenwoord voor zij die niet voor onze partij stemmen) beschuldigen ons altijd van racisme en dus nemen ze aan dat wij ook geen kebab zouden eten. Niets is minder waar, Kevin! Wij zijn helemaal geen racisten. Wat wij geloven is dat elk ras, net als elke mens, zijn eigen specifieke genetisch bepaalde "talenten" heeft meegekregen. Zo zien we dat het ene ras goed is in organisatie en leiding geven, het andere in hardlopen of voetballen en nog een ander in reepjes schaap snijden van een ronddraaiende vleesbal. Op die manier heeft ieder volk en ieder ras zijn plaatsje in wat wij de "hiërarchie der volkeren en rassen" noemen. Maar oeps, dat is weer een grotemensenwoord, Kevin!

Je mag dus gerust een kebab eten als je op vakantie in Turkije bent, Kevin. Dat moedigt de inboorlingen trouwens aan om ter plaatse hun exotische spijzen aan te bieden in plaats van naar Vlaanderen te komen en daar iedere straathoek te ontsieren met opgewarmd slachtafval. Je moet er echter wel rekening mee houden dat sommige volkeren, die je kan herkennen aan hun vieze donkere kleur, weinig of geen hygiëne kennen. Hou daar rekening mee en kom achteraf niet bij ons klagen als je nog eens een kebab van bij de Ali Baba om de hoek hebt gegeten om daarna een hele nacht de schijterij te hebben, Kevin!

Ik zal je een tip geven: als je dan toch echt een kebab wil eten in België (maar waarom zou je dat willen doen als je een curryworst spécial kan krijgen?), koop hem dan bij een betrouwbare autochtone Vlaamse snackbar, liefst één waarvan de uitbater een Vlaamse stamboon van tenminste 10 generaties terug kan voorleggen. Op die manier ben je tenminste zeker van de propereteit. En vraag er ook geen looksaus bij, want je wil je vriendinnetje toch niet laten denken dat ze een Marokkaan aan het kussen is, hé Kevin? Hahahahahaha!

Exclusief: Philippe Dewinter huwt Marrokaanse!

2006-06-11T02:59:00.000+02:00

Gisteren kwam ons ter ore dat VB voorman Philippe Dewinter onlangs in alle stilte gescheiden is van zijn vrouw om twee weken daarna opnieuw het huwelijksbootje te betreden met een andere jongedame. Pikant detail: de kersverse bruid is Marokkaanse! A Blog of Flanders belde een gelukkige Dewinter op in zijn honeymoonsuite in Beieren voor een korte reactie.

Dewinter: “Hoe weet u dat? (verveeld) Nu ja, de geruchten zijn wel degelijk waar. Ik ben inderdaad juist getrouwd met een Marokkanse, ja. En nee, dat gaat niet in tegen mijn principes of die van de partij. (tegen zijn vrouw) Aïsha, ha je nu oast e kè stil zien, hodverdomme? Kziek ik ier een interview ant afnemen, zie je da nie miskienst? Troks ho j’één up je mulle èn wei!

Ziet u, ik heb ons Lutgarde buitengesmeten omdat ze te brutaal werd. Te brutaal ja. Dat heb je met die Vlaamse wijven van tegenwoordig. Dat heeft een diploma en dat denkt dan direct dat ze te goed zijn om nog achter het gasvuur te staan. Dat hing om de duur mijn kloten uit. Fameus mijn kloten, meneer! Noem ons ouderwets, maar volgens de partij – en volgens mezelf! - heeft een goede Vlaamse vrouw twee taken in het leven: kinderen en slaag krijgen en haar muil houden. Je zou denken dat Lutgarde als vrouw van een toppoliticus als mezelve zich zou schikken naar die traditionele Vlaamse normen en waarden die ik en mijn partij uitdragen, maar nee, dat was dan weer te veel gevraagd. Kapsones krijgen, ja! Een hoger huishoudbudget vragen, ja! Alsof ge met 25 euro niet kunt rondkomen in de week?! Geslachtelijke betrekkingen weigeren aan haar echtgenoot op den eerste zondag van de maand, ja! Alsof ge met een blauw oog nie kunt sexen?! Soit…euhh…enfin….eeeuuh…nu ja, het werd hoog tijd om maatregelen te nemen. Dat is een kwestie van vasthouden aan mijn waarden en aan die van de partij. Vlaamse waarden kunnen we wel zeggen, en we mogen daar best trots op zijn, dat mag ook eens gezegd worden.

Nu, ik heb ze dus buitengesmeten maar toen zat ik dus met een ferm logistiek probleem, dat kan je je wel voorstellen. Het huishouden viel stil en mijne kleine Speer kreeg ineens zijne maandelijkse 2 minuten gymnastiek niet meer (lacht)! Nu kan ik daar mee lachen, maar op de moment zelf was het toch minder hoor.

Toen kwam ineens de Gerolf met een geweldig idee: waarom pakt ge u niet zo’n bruine? Nu, eerste dacht ik dat het om te lachen was, maar toen heeft Gerolf de voordelen eens opgesomd en ik moet zeggen, hij had een punt. Die Arabische vrouwmensen kennen tenminste nog hun plaats. Ze zwijgen, doen het huishouden, ze zijn gewend van af en toe ne keer op hun muil te krijgen en als ze hunne moustache afscheren, dan zijn ze nog neukbaar ook! Daarbij, het moeten niet altijd die Ali Babas zijn die ons ras komen degenereren door onze vrouwen te verkrachten, hé. Allez, ik bedoel dat dus niet racistisch uiteraard. Maar toch, omgekeerd mag ook wel eens, nietwaar? Ze zouden content moeten zijn dat er wat goeie Vlaamse genen in hun bloed terecht komen. Maar ik bedoel dat dus niet racistisch, hé, kwestie dat het duidelijk is.

En zo ben ik dus bij ons Aïsha terechtgekomen. Dat klikte meteen, kan ik wel zeggen. Toen ik haar de eerste keer zag ben ik direct tegen haar beginnen praten over mezelf, je weet wel, mijn standaard gepatenteerd Dewinterpraatje voor de vrouwtjes (lacht). En in die vier uur heeft ze hare mond niet opengedaan! Als dat geen goed begin was! Haar familie vormde ook geen probleem. Ik heb ze gewoon gezegd dat ons mannen van het VMO haren broer zijn kebabzaak gingen overslaan als ze nog een keer een molotovavondje organiseren, en dat was dik in de sacosj (lacht).

Maar bon…eeeuuh…goed, als ge mij nu met rust kunt laten, het wordt tijd dat die van ons hare huwelijkse plicht eens gaat vervullen. Ik weet het, ik weet het, het nog niet den eerste zondag van de maand, maar het is mijn huwelijksreis voor iets niewaar (vettige lach)?”

Joe and the unnamed fear

2006-04-24T17:06:00.001+02:00

Every law enforcement professional will be able to tell you stories far worse then the murder of Joe. The fact is that these types of crime aren't really that uncommon. Every day murder, mutilation and rape occur on a scale that is far greater then most people would suspect.

The question we then have to pose is why this murder, the murder on Joe, has such an effect on our community. Why does Joe's death bring forth a rally of 80.000 and why don't we see the same effect with all those other victims?

Let's see…

How many of us own an iPod? Quite a few.
How many of us walk through a train station on a daily basis? Quite a few.
How many of us have ever walked through Central Station in Brussel whilst listening to an iPod? Quite a few, I now I have.
How many of us feared for their life while they were doing so? Not a lot, until now that is.

Central Station is our turf. It is the territory of the peaceful citizen who is on his way to work or who wants to spend a little leisure time in the beautiful heart of Brussels. It is the last place on earth where you would expect to get stabbed over an iPod, certainly not during rush hour.

And that's what it's all about.

The mourning of Joe is a sublimed fear. Fear for our own little ass.

It's a fear of something we can't quite put our finger on. An unnamed fear. You could see that in the reactions of the interviewed participants of the march: "Now it's the job of the politicians to make sure something happens ('…pour que ça bouge')."

Pour que ça bouge? Bouge what exactly? What do you actually expect from your politicians? What is there to be done against a crazy ass knife-wielding madman? All you can do is hunt him down. You can't prevent shit like that, it is impossible. This is not a question of bad policy, for which politicians can be held responsible.

But alas, that will not prevent the people from demanding that something be done to prevent all this in the future. Anything to combat the fear of that which has no name. And, also alas, some are already willing to exploit that fear.

Already it's like the police is holding an all out no holds barred campaign for the use of cameras in public places. Every day they feed a new, juicy piece of footage to the image hungry media. Just think about what will happen if this footage actually leads to the arrest of the perpetrators. Nothing 'll stand in the way of a general use of the camera, taping every minute of your public life on a bad grain cassette or disc, flushing our last remaining piece of privacy through the shitter, all in the memory of poor ol' Joe.

Let's remain vigilant instead of scared.

The 2006 Teflon Award

2006-03-12T15:10:00.000+01:00

Hi everybody and welcome to the 2006 Teflon awards!

The Teflon award is a yearly event, organised by myself, whereby we honour those political individuals who keep on hanging to their mandate, no matter what scandal may arise, and in so doing flush anything that remains honourable and worth respecting in our national institutions, down the shitter.

But it takes more than just pathetically clinging on to your job to get the Teflon award. It takes a very special quality, a certain je-ne-sais-quoi best expressed by the word Teflon itself. The politicians who are in the running for this award are the kind of people shit doesn’t stick on. You know? They walk through the park, they get shit on by a pigeon and the shit just slides off without leaving a trace? That’s the sort of quality we’re looking for here. You throw shit at ‘em and it just slides off.

This is the first time the Teflon award goes public. Usually the award ceremony is held by myself, in my study, attended by a select elite crowd, comprised of myself, a martini and an olive. Tuxedo is mandatory.

Last year’s award went to André Flahaut, and a fine winner it was, people. I mean, Teflon as a product was discovered when a scientist sat on a plastic chair that a sweaty Flahaut had just used. The scientist slipped off, breaking his neck, thus dying on the spot. Luckily, his colleague scientist witnessed the unfortunate accident and went on investigating the cause. Teflon was discovered and the dead scientist was buried. His colleague still thinks about him sometimes, nibbling distractedly at his martini olive whilst staring at the Caribbean coastline from the poop deck of his private Teflon funded yacht. But not to the point that he feels unhappy about it.

Anyway, this year I decided it was time to go public with the awards because, hell, you gotta give something to the plebs, right? The jury, consisting as usual of myself, a martini and an olive, has decided in its infinite wisdom that the award will be held now instead of at the end of the year because, let’s face it, it’s not likely that anyone is going to top the winners we’ve chosen any time soon. That’s right, the winners, because for the first time in the history of the awards we got a tie on our hands, people!

And here they are:

Congratulations to the both of you. I think I speak for all of us when I say that rarely anyone has ever so truly deserved an award as you two do now.

The art of being a real man, lesson 10: facehittitis

2006-02-07T22:15:00.000+01:00

Being a real man has its drawbacks. Although in the past I have set you on the course of real Manhood, I feel the time has arrived to tell you of the terrible condition that burdens the broad shoulders of every real Man: facehittitis. And before you complete your journey to real Manhood, you should seriously consider the information I am about to share with you and meditate on the effect this condition will have on your life, should you consider becoming a full fledged real Man.

When you look up facehittitis in a medical handbook, you’ll see it defined as a nervous condition, caused by long lasting exposure to massive amounts of testosterone, whereby an extra nerve runs directly from your brain’s visual centre to your left or right arm. An apparent symptom of facehittitis is unvoluntary violent spasms of the patients arm when the visual centre of the brain is stimulated by certain depictions of human faces, which in real life poses a significant physical danger to the owner of the face which in casu provides for the visual stimulation. In short: a reflex that causes the patient to bitch slap certain faces.

At this time science hasn’t yet figured out what it is exactly that makes certain faces a trigger for facehittitis. Right now medical science is composing a database of so-called “trigger-faces”. These faces are recognised as universal facehittis triggers.

Let’s do an interesting test. Please observe the following faces:

Now we have three possibilities:

a. Your pc screen is on the floor because you bitch slapped it. Congratulations, you are a real man.

b. You didn’t hit the pc screen but you felt a slight tingle in one of your arms. Congratulations, you are on the way of achieving real Manhood.

c. You didn’t do or feel shit and probably told a few gay jokes while doing the test. Congratulations, you are a pussy.

The Pride of the Nation: Herwig van Hove

2005-12-28T19:01:00.000+01:00

Flanders has brought forth many a great men. Janssens, Pater Damiaan, Eddy Merckx, Hugo Coveliers,… they all put Flanders on the map as a nation to be reckoned with.

This proud tradition continues and so it is with great pride and personal pleasure I introduce to you today a man who easily equals all the aforementioned but, oh grave injustice, does not yet enjoy the international recognition he so truly deserves: Professor Herwig Van Hove.

Herwig Van Hove is a renowned chemistry professor and a famous television cook. Although this seems a weird combination, it is not since, according to Van Hove himself, only a chemist is qualified to completely understand the delicate processes food undergoes whilst being prepared. This accidentally makes him, also according to Van Hove, the only qualified chef in Belgium, nay, the only qualified chef in the world.

After a while, the professor decided it was unfair not to share his profound cuisine skills with the rest of the planet, so he decided to demonstrate his wisdom in a televised cooking program. It was called “1000 seconds” and the concept was as simple as it was brilliant: the chef, Herwig, had 1000 seconds to prepare a complete meal with the aid of a would-be Italian poofter named Felice. The sidekick had to be gay because Herwig believes, and he has a chemically sound theory for it, that all gay jokes are timeless classics, and so the show would benefit from a universally understood comical note.

The show was a success, not really because of the food, but because of the sick and depraved nature of the television viewing audience.

You see, being a man of science, Herwig Van Hove didn’t realise that decent cooking isn’t so much based on science as it is on feeling, say cooking talent. Herwig had the science, but alas, lacked the talent. And so he became known in Flanders as the man who ass raped the hard earned Belgian culinary reputation in Europe.

In his show he managed to completely and utterly ruin every ingredient known to mankind in under three TV seasons. Nearly everything he made was either burned or undercooked. His specialty, known in Flanders as the “préparation à la Van Hove”, was to burn one side of the meat or fish while leaving the other side in a solid frozen state. He did this with lobster, steak, duck, sea bass, … you name it. The beauty of it all was that at the end of the show he served the food to a fine selection of Flemish B-list TV personalities. He did this in his own Van Hove style: with a pokerface, a glass of unfortunately selected wine in his right hand and his massive embonpoint menacingly thrusted forward. The TV personalities didn’t stand a chance. They were forced to consume the meal with a face striken with the kind of calm terror seen in the face of a subway traveller the moment he hears a faint ticking sound coming out of the bag of a brown, sweating, heavily bearded fellow who nervously mutters allah akhbar.

In short: it was beautiful.

Alas, The Belgian cuisine mafia was outraged and put a contract on Herwig’s head. He was looking for a way out of the country when again an opportunity rose for him to use his skills for the good of the country.

The Belgian military was at that time preparing to embark for a mission in Afghanistan to secure the Kabul airport. Van Hove was contacted to come along as an “interrogation” specialist. With great success. Until this day, Al Quaeda suspects are flown in from all over the world to be interrogated by Van Hove in a secret prison camp just outside of Kabul. Van Hoves method comprises of preparing the suspects favourite food in front of the suspect and serving it, in his own Van Hove style. Besides some fierce ethical questions raised by numerous human rights organisations and a pending trail at the The Hague Court, the method has proved to be quite successful.

And so this great man, Professor Herwig Van Hove, rightly deserves a place amidst the great men of this proud nation. We salute you, Professor. Keep up the good work.

Hitler was a fuckin' nigga!

2005-12-15T18:22:00.000+01:00

Support violence in video games!

2005-12-07T13:39:00.000+01:00

OK people, things are about to get serious here in Belgium. That bitch of a Laurette Onkelinx (Minister of Justice, Walloon socialist (what else?)) is planning on banning all violent video games.

(Photo of Laurette Onkelinx and her favourite charitable cause)

Reason for this is the video game "Bully" and the complaints she's been hearing about it in parliament. These complaints came from Tony Van Parys, former Minister of Justice, christian-democrat (tsjeef).

Now I don't know about you, but I've been playing video games since I was twelve years old. Ever since Wolfenstein, I've developed a special taste for first person shooters. It's still my main hobby and it's still the main reason I spend insane amounts of cash updating my computer rig.

I've have killed thousands in the virtual world and I keep on doing it, enjoying every casualty I make with a certain rush of adrenalin, after which I go searching for the next victim. In real life, I have no crime record, I've succesfully finished law school, I have a girlfriend (nice rack included) and a steady job.

As a grown man, I like to decide for myself what games I want to play, without interference from some corrupt red PS bitch telling me what my psyche can or cannot handle!

In order to stop this Nazi bullshit, I ask all of you gamers and democracy supporters to go to this website:

http://www.gamers4games.be/

It contains a petition. Please sign it so virtual violence never becomes a real life crime. You don't want your little son to grow up like a sissy, do you now?

TV jerks, part 1: the little fat guy from Kris and Yves

2005-11-09T14:24:00.000+01:00

In Flanders we have a TV show called "Man Bijt hond" (Man Bites Dog). It's a light hearted, daily show based on the days events. Not that bad really, except for one part of it: Kris and Yves.

I never remember which guy is Kris and which one is Yves but anyway, as you probably derived from the pictures, Kris and Yves are two mentally challenged guys, retards if you will, who are sent around the country to interview celebrities and common folks. The result is somewhat like that crappy Cosby TV show with kids, you know, "Kids say the darndest things", only with retards and they keep moving the retards in stead of keeping 'em in a studio.

It's crappy TV because, let's not call each other Liesbeth, they're retards and therefore the interviews they take suck ass. It's just plain fucking logic. What do you excpect, two mongols doing a razor sharp in depth interview with Willy Claes? So the interviews, we all can agree, suck ass by definition, so why do they air them?

Because a lot of people, even people I personally know, think it's funny or cute to watch two slightly retarded guys ask questions to normal people.

I mean, goddamn, how sick is that? Worst of all, a lot of people seem to believe it's a dignified way of portraying the mentally challenged as people that can still function normally in society. Yeah sure, that's why you're watching the show. Just like you participated in the integration of bearded women when you visited that circus freak show last year.

But, even when we make abstraction of the sick nature of the Kris and Yves part of the show, there is something else that bugs me. Namely the fact that the little fat guy, I don't know if he's Kris or Yves, is a fucking jerk. He is, really! He always thinks he's right, he keeps dominating the other retarded guy, he wants all the camera attention for himself and every chance he sees, he tries to do a "tetteke ruis" (free translation: 'coincidental' titty rub) with the women he's interviewing. He's a first rate asshole who would probably vote Vlaams Belang if he wasn't considered to be a minor by the law and you know what: he's getting away with it too!

You know why? Because he's retarded and therefore,apparently, it's like socially unacceptable to say he's a jerk. I dare you, try saying at the next family dinner party: "that little fat guy from Kris and Yves is a jerk". You will be a social outcast, stricken from grandma's will.

That's why I'm saying it here, loud and proud, for all you people out there who've always thought it but kept it for yourselves in fear of social outcastism: "KRIS AND YVES" SUCKS ASS AND THE LITTLE FAT GUY IS A FUCKING JERK.

Lazy ageing hipsters of the all countries unite!

2005-11-07T17:10:00.000+01:00

Lots a union activity goin' on lately: one train strike that paralysed the entire country and one grand manifestation in Brussels with over 100 000 participants. Funny thing is, nobody really knows why! It looks ike most of the strikers do it because they don't want to risk having to work a measly two years extra. That's right, they may have to work a little longer to keep funding our social security system.

Maybe two years. Max.

I mean, Jesus tittyfucking Christ, since when do you go on strike for that? It's not like the government is asking you to sacrifice your firstborn son or anything like that.

We all thank it to these two guys, the union leaders:

Just take a look at them from a phrenological point of view. I mean really, do any of these two look like they know what the fuck they're doing? Me do not think so.

Do you know what they look like? They look like they got a hand up their ass. It's the collective hand of their syndicalist base. And it's not a big, hairy, heavy drinkin', wife beatin', dock workin', coal shovelin', shag rollin' proletarian hand, no sirree. It's the pale, feminine, delicately purple veined teachers' hand, the hand of the cushy-part-time-working-I'm-takin-the-rest-of-my-sick-leave-when-I'm-done
-with-my-time-credit society leeches.

These strikes are no longer the workingman's fist against blood sucking patrons, like in the good ol' days when socialism still meant something. It's a collective orgy of self-indulgence of an entire generation of ageing may '68 hipsters who turned into lazy bourgeois greedy fucks, livin' large at the expense of future generations. If they don't get what they want, they just put on the green and red garbage bags, roll in the beer kegs, fire up the BBQ and may the strike commence!

Sociaal profetariaat ja!

It has to be stopped. Now.

But how do we do that, you ask? How do we break the back of the hipster syndicate hordes? Well, what's the answer to any big question in life?

Damn right, motherfucker.

Hugo Coveliers will be the end of all things red, green and blue garbagebaggish. How? By going undercover:

As you all know, any organisation Coveman joins will, by law of nature, disintegrate within a period of five years. He finished of the Volksunie single-handedly and almost completely destroyed the Liberal Party if they hadn't kicked him out just in time.

Why not use this wonderful talent, one of his many I might add, to realise our noble cause, that is: breaking down the union structures and rebuilding the syndicate landscape to realise our utopian union dream, that is: limiting the union membership to steel workers, coal miners, dock workers and hairdressers. In short: real men who still know how to use the right to strike in a responsible way.

You are not the big picture

2005-09-18T02:07:00.000+02:00

Last week I talked to a guy who started voting Vlaams Blok because his income was a little bit too high to get a pro bono lawyer for his civil lawsuit (by the way, his income consist of social security pay checks). The fact that our pro bono system helps a lot of underprivileged people to get decent legal representation and the simple fact that the government has to draw a line somewhere concerning income, didn’t change his mind one little bit. HE didn’t get a free lawyer, ERGO the system is corrupt and this is the fault of the politicians, ERGO he votes extreme right. I was on the verge of killing him right on the spot.

Good governance is about numbers. It’s about statistics, about pushing the figure up or bringing it down. It has nothing to do with individual cases, however tragic they may be. Take traffic casualties for instance. If your traffic policy halves the number of casualties related to traffic incidents, you’re doing an OK job. Each remaining casualty is still tragic, but that individual case does not logically allow you to criticize the general policy, which is still a very good one since it resulted in 50% less casualties. It’s the same with criminal offences, like burglaries or car thefts. It’s pretty simple really, but most people don’t seem to grasp that concept.

Nowadays, if anyone gets mugged he blames the government for doing a bad job, even if the muggings in the area have gone down by 30%, and usually starts voting for extreme right as a consequence.

It’s a disease, a disease of the mind causing failure to see the big picture of things which has spread through large parts of our country. It makes people think that their life IS the big picture and if anything goes wrong with it, it’s the governments fault because the government is responsible for the big picture. It’s a disease that makes people who think that the government is way too soft on illegal immigrants, suddenly protest against the extradition of an Iranian family, just because the Iranian kids go to the same school as their own. It’s a disease that makes people protest against a nuclear waste transport while their plasma TV is draining huge quantities of electric power, standing in their non-insulated permanently overheated villa in Knokke, where two weeks before they protested against the windmill park in the sea because it might ruin their balcony panorama.

This disease is caused by years of pampering, telling people they are special, that their opinion really matters, that they shouldn’t put with any shit from nobody, because the people are always right. The voice of the people is God and therefore, each and every one of them must be a God too.

Well, I’m gonna let you proletarian dipshits in on something: you are not special. You’re not a God. If all of humanity would die in a split second, the world will still be turning around the sun, the moon will still be turning around the world and soon every trace of our species would be erased for ever to come. You are truly and utterly insignificant and the thought that the government should be holding your hand and watching your back just because you have enough mental capacity to colour your voting bill is absurd. Your life is no test for government policies. Deal with it: you are not the big picture.

Phrenology: the underestimated science

2005-09-08T13:42:00.000+02:00

Through a link on PDW's blog (click on the bald freak (not batboy) in the link section if you wanna see his blog) I first discovered "The Skeptic's Dictionary". It's a kind of listing of all things absurd, pseudo-scientific and charlatanesque, like Bigfoot, homeopathy and Marc Wilmots. I quite enjoyed going through the dictionary, it is well written and educational. At least, that was my opinion until I noticed something that completely undermined my respect for it: it listed phrenology as a pseudoscience!

Phrenology is, according to the Dictionary, "the study of the structure of the skull to determine a person's character and mental capacity". "The Skeptic's Dictionary" also states that "This pseudoscience (sic!) is based upon the false assumption that mental faculties are located in brain "organs" on the surface of the brain and can be detected by visible inspection of the skull".

Pseudoscience my recently shaven ass! All my life I've been judging people merely by the look of their ugly monkey faces! It is perfectly possible to make an accurate description of a person's mental capabilities just by looking at them.

But hey, don’t believe me, just take a look at the evidence! The hard, cold, clinical facts that prove empirically that phrenology IS pure science. Please be so kind to take the following test. All you have to do is look at a few specimens. All these specimens belong to the same political party. Try to guess which one. Based on the principles of phrenology it should be a fairly easy exercise.

Go ahead, knock yourself out:

Have you guessed it correctly?

Not that hard, is it? I don't really think I have to give you the correct answer, do I?

Anyhoo, these specimens clearly prove beyond any reasonable doubt that phrenology is NOT a pseudoscience. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, "Skeptic's Dictionary"!

For all you Jeroom fans out there

2005-08-11T22:22:00.000+02:00

Nice site with tons of Jeroom cartoons:

(translation: "Daddy, what is a transvestite?" "An intelligent woman.")

Pure.genius.

Buy all his books. Now!

If you don't speak Dutch, learn it. These cartoons alone make the effort worthwhile.

Criminaliteit in Antwerpen: wat doet onze politie?

2005-08-06T01:45:00.000+02:00

Eén van de meest voorkomende vormen van criminaliteit in grote steden is het fenomeen van de auto-inbraken. Het Vlaams Belang stelt vast dat het aantal auto-inbraken in Antwerpen in 2003 nog 18% van de geregistreerde feiten betrof (9515 feiten) en daarmee de meest voorkomende vorm van criminaliteit was. In 2004 steeg het aandeel in de totale geregistreerde criminaliteit zelfs tot 19.9% (9897 feiten). Dit komt neer op gemiddeld 27 auto-inbraken per dag.

Veel van de gepleegde feiten zijn vervat in het zogenaamde “dark-number” omdat de politie er niet eens een proces verbaal van naar het parket stuurt, maar enkel een verkorte registratie bijhoudt. De feiten, vaak gepleegd door minderjarigen, worden vaak afgedaan als “kleine criminaliteit”, terwijl de slachtoffers in de kou blijven staan haast nooit vergoed worden voor de schade. Door gebrek aan juridische middelen en gebrek aan plaats in de gesloten opvangcentra gaan de daders steevast vrijuit.

Dat de normvervaging bij sommige jongeren totaal is bewijst een video-opname die a Blog of Flanders in het bezit kreeg. De video-opname werd door een moegetergde buurtbewoner van de Somerstraat in Antwerpen gemaakt. Op video is onmiskenbaar te zien hoe een figuur die alle frenologische kenmerken van een mentaal achtergestelde psychopaat met penisnijd bezit, bij klaarlichte dag en zonder zich te storen aan voorbijgangers (aan het VDAB kantoor), enkele auto’s vandaliseert en in verschillende auto’s inbreekt. Daags nadat de buurtbewoner de video ook aan de politie had gegeven werden dit individu opgepakt en onmiddellijk terug vrijgelaten.

De week voor deze opnames werd hetzelfde tuig nochtans gefilmd tijdens een overval op de lokale nachtwinkel. De man kon duidelijk herkend worden op de bewakingsvideo omdat hij geen masker droeg. Na zijn arrestatie verklaarde hij tegen de politie dat hij een masker niet nodig achtte, omdat hij er van uitging dat voor die pakistanen alle blanken er hetzelfde uitzien. Ondanks de overweldigende bewijslast werd de dader na nog geen tien minuten verhoor om nog onduidelijke redenen vrijgelaten door de Antwerpse polite.

The art of being a real man, lesson 9: Draining the lizard

2005-07-25T15:45:00.000+02:00

A dick has only 2 real functions, peeing and getting it on, but when one talks about manhood, only the latter is discussed. It's like it doesn't really matter how you pee, because hey, your peeing technique doesn't seem to reflect your manhood, does it?

Wrong. You can tell a lot about a man by judging his peeing technique.

First of all, when unzipping, also open the button. A Real Man pees with both fly and button open. If you wanna take a leak like a pro, you'll need the manoeuvring space. Besides, by wriggling your dick through a fly with an unopened button, you risk cuts (especially with metallic zippers) and if you pack a lot of heat, the cramped space might cut off circulation and free flow, resulting in rather disturbing and painful side effects. And finally, if you don't unbutton, it's like you're trying to hide something. A friend of mine once noticed my technique and just couldn't understand it. His main objection was the fact that if you unbutton your pants, it becomes easier for other people to pull off your pants. Now I don't now what kind of bars he frequents without me, but I never had to deal with people who tried to take off my pants in the men's room. So lets just file this argument in the very drunk paranoia category.

Second, the holding of the penis. Never, ever, use the underhand technique. The underhand technique implies resting the dick on the palm of your hand or two or more fingers, depending on dick size, thus creating the impression of having to lift a piece of beef so enormous, it needs full support of your entire hand. This impression can be reinforced by placing your free hand against the wall, like you're in need for some extra support so you don't fall over when you take out "Godzilla".

Don't ever use this method! It'll expose you as the micro-dicked fraud you are. No dick, not even John Holmes-size, is so heavy it needs support from the underhand technique, except if you're some kind of mutant freak with a schlong so big you pass out every time you have a hard-on. So logically, if you see someone using the underhand technique, especially with a closed button, he's a small dicked little fraud who wants to make everybody believe he's porn star material.

So how does a Real Man hold his dick? Like a good Havana:

The art of being a real man, lesson 8: Reign of Dick

2005-07-02T03:31:00.000+02:00

The world, my friends, is run by dicks. Men will always be paid more and have better jobs then women, but that’s not quite what I’m talking about here. What I mean is that the biggest dick will always have his way. Every fucking time.

Now, in the average male population, there usually can be found quite a substantial number of complete and utter dicks. It’s not like it’s a rare subgroup or anything. Yet most of these dicks never make it to the top. So what is it that makes some dicks more successful then others?

In short, what kind of dick should you strive be in order to achieve Real Manhood?

It’s a question that requires some sociological investigation. Let’s review a couple of real world specimens and see if we can shed some light on the matter at hand.

First dick on the dissection table: Saddam Hussein.

Eey, relax guys, trust me!

Saddam was quite the dick in his time. Rape, murder, torture, poison gas attacks on civvies, killing his sons in law… you name it, he developed it into an art form. In Iraq, he was without a doubt the dick extraordinaire. But it didn’t last because he pissed of a foreign, even bigger dick: George W. Bush.

Bush’s proficiency in the art of dickness has already been described ad nauseam so I’m gonna move straight over to an ever bigger dick:

Kim Il Sung

Good ol’ Kim is a bigger dick than Bush. He gets to do whatever the fuck he wants in his little shithole North Korea and Bush won’t even think about making a move against him. Wanna know why? Because unlike Saddam, Kim actually built nuclear weapons and he never fails to rub it in America’s face. Saddam was a little pussy compared to Kim. Saddam just left it in the middle if he did or did not in fact have WMDs. Kim tells everyone he has. It’s like not only he is a huge dick, he also unzipped whatever zipper that could hide this fact from the world. He’s like, “Hey everybody, look at what an enormous dick I am. What the fuck are you gonna do about it, Hans fucking Blix? Huh? Tell me, you cocksucker!”

Now we’re getting real close to Real Manhood dickness, but not quite yet, because we haven’t yet studied the dick of dicks:

Ye truly are the dick of dicks!

André Flahaut, Belgian Minister of defense and dickus inter pares. When the devil invented the PS, he ultimately aimed for the creation of Flahaut.

Let’s just see a random selection of feats of dickness this man has pulled of:

- Belgium once had the finest military clinic in the world for the treatment of burn victims. Had. Until Flahaut decided to promote one of his red little henchmen to managing director of the hospital, ignoring the fact that this man had made several grave medical mistakes in the past. After heavy protest, with no avail, the entire medical staff of the hospital resigned in disgust. Now we have to send home third degree burn victims with a tube of flammazine, thanks to good ol’ Flahaut.

- Before trying to sell some old, worthless used cannons from the Belgian army nobody was interested in, Flahaut decided to grant a multi million dollar contract to a company in his voting district to freshen’ ‘em up a little. Now the worthless old cannons had a nice new paintjob and guess what: still nobody is interested. Luckily, Flahaut found a solution: he opened the bidding for private buyers. Wanna give your kids a nice present for Christmas? Call the Belgian Ministry of Defense and ask for André.

- In order to skimp on the military budget, André decided to cut back on the number of military consulates abroad. For this purpose, he made an objective list of criterions on the base of which was to be decided which consulates did not have to be closed. Here comes the list:
a. In the vicinity of a five star hotel with presidential suite in case the minister decides to visit the consulate.
b. All year round nice weather, in case the minister decides to visit the consulate.
c. No niggers, except when female and member of a topless tribe, in case the minister decides to visit the consulate.
d. Good wine cellar of the local Head of State, in case the minister decides to visit the consulate.
e. High national bribe rate, in case the minister decides to visit the consulate.
f. Consul’s spouse has a nice rack, in case the minister decides to visit the consulate.

The guy is such a huge dick, that when the Dutroux case burst out, first thing he did was to check if he wasn’t the politician who regularized Dutroux’s unlicensed cellar extension. If it was indeed the case, his plan was to declare Dutroux’s house to be a military consulate, thereby immune to any penal investigation.

How does this guy manage to remain in his seat? Simple, by being a blatant dick. If we can deduce one lesson from these fine examples, it is this: never hide the fact that you’re a dick. Be all the dick you can be and make sure people notice it. The more overt you are about being a dick, the less people will stand in your way and eventually, after years of hard work, you just might reach Flahaut-like, pure dick-induced impunity.

The art of being a real man, lesson 7: enjoy the finer things in life

2005-06-17T13:55:00.000+02:00

One of the traits of a Real Man is his capacity to enjoy the good things in life. Don't get me wrong, practically everybody enjoys the good things in life, except maybe the tjeven. But a Real Man enjoys it on a deeper, more meaningful level.

Take tasting wine: every bum can enjoy a fine glass of wine, because it contains alcohol, but only a man who knows his wines can really appreciate it. I'll make it even clearer for you little homos by using sports as an example: you can only truly appreciate a game if you know its rules. If you don't know them, it just doesn't make sense.

The deeper your understanding of things, the more you will be able to truly appreciate them.

So what are these finer things in life a Real Man must appreciate? Well, I could name a few: making love to a woman (a beautiful woman that is), smoking a cigar, savouring liquor, a nice rack, a scrotum massage by an oiled up Balinese masseuse, reading about Karel De Gucht in het Laatste Nieuws,… . The list goes on but one thing should really be mentioned here:

Taking a good crap.

Yes, indeedy. Taking a crap is one of the most underestimated joys in life, appreciated only by the true connoisseur. Nothing gives the same amount of satisfaction, the same sense of achievement, the same feeling of absolute zen-like calmness as taking a good dump. A good, solid, rhino-like crap is an undeniable confirmation of manliness and good health.

Take a good crap and you're ready to crap on the world.

Take me, for example. Just last week I had a meeting at the cabinet of a Belgian federal minister. Because of my job, I have a lot of meetings there, but I never really had the opportunity to "break in" the ministerial crapper. Until last week, that is. I arrived half an hour early and then I saw my chance. I whipped out a magazine from my attaché-case parked my ass on the ministerial shitter. I took a crap and a fine crap it was, people. I made my country proud. Needless to say, I had one hell of a fine meeting afterwards. I blew 'em all away in a perfect state of zen cool.

Now, such a good crap doesn't just come like that. You have to work for it: eating well, lots of hard fibers and regular exercise are essential ingredients to achieve crap nirvana.

When do you know you've reached crap nirvana? Oooooh, you'll know, my friend. But just let me give you a little hint: imagine taking such a huge crap, that you're wondering if you should flush it or raise it. That's crap Nirvana. Enjoy!

Marshall plan revisited: if it worked for the Nazis, it might just work for the Walloons

2005-06-15T13:38:00.000+02:00

Finally! The Walloons have seen the light! After all these years they admit that they were wrong and that the Flemish were right. They admit they fucked up royally and that the Flemish are smarter, better looking and bigger dicked.

Elio Di Rupo, Capo of the PS (the Walloon Socialist Party), said that what the Walloon provinces need is a Marshall plan to reinvigorate the Walloon economy. Talk about a confession! Comparing the Walloon Provinces with the Third Reich!

Nothing new here

I guess that means Di Rupo is comparing himself with Hitler, you know, with him being the sole ruler of the Walloon provinces and all. That guy just keeps on inventing new shit to piss off Vlaams Belang, doesn't he? I'm starting to like that little grease ball manfucker!

Anyway, after such a gesture, we as Flemish can't stay behind. We have to help our little underdeveloped brothers and sisters so they can build up a future outside the horse manure shoveling industry.

So, what can we do? Normally we just whip out the ol' wallet when we see that famine and syphilis are once again ravaging the Walloon wasteland, but now Di Rupo actually said that he didn't need Flemish money to kick start the Walloon economy, just a change in Walloon attitude. And you know what? He's absolutely goddamn right!

As Flemish, we have a vast experience in the field of working ethics. We are the most productive workers in the Union. So it is only natural that we should share our experience with Mister Di Rupo to help construct his Marshall plan for the Walloon working ethos.

'Nough said, Mister Di Rupo, here come the pointers:

- Stop speaking French: as said before, speaking French causes damage to brain tissue. Furthermore, the Geneva Convention explicitly forbids using French against the civilian population. We urge you, Mister Di Rupo, to stop this horror that is being inflicted on our dear Walloon friends.

- Clocks for everyone: buy every Walloon a fuckin' wristwatch. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, a piece of Japanese plastic shit 'll do, as long as it displays the time correctly. I think anyone who ever tried to organize a meeting with Walloon participants on a specific time will agree with me on this one.

- No flexible hours: never give flexible hours for starting and ending the workday to Walloons, they just can't get it, it's beyond their reach. They'll start working as late as possible and they'll leave at the earliest time possible. Any deviation from this will be considered overtime and any attempt to explain the system will be considered as a capitalist pig's assault on hardly fought labor rights, thus provoking union action and then the shit hits the fan. NO FLEXIBLE HOURS. PERIOD. Give 'em nine to five, that's complicated enough to start with.

- No more than 500 words: every Walloon should be prohibited from speaking more then 500 words on a workday. Anything spoken above these 500 words is useless crap by definition. Again, anyone who ever held a meeting with Walloons will agree with me on this one. The average Walloon usually starts his daily monologue by cutting off someone else who is about to make a good point, then enthusiastically starts making a point about something that has absolutely nothing to do with the discussion at hand, but, before coming to this absolutely unrelated point, deviates from his argument to talk about something completely else, usually the homemade garlic salami he produces in his shed back home in Marche-en-Famenne or the new extensions he's digging for his cellar. In short, they're serial bullshitters. 500 words, no more.

- Put a Flemish guy in charge: Always use a Flemish boss. Most Walloon bosses are mentally stuck in 1968, thinking they should run a company like they ran their hippie commune back in the good ol' days. This means no decision is made until everybody is ok with it, thus provoking endless meetings with the workers in which they can indulge in endless orgies of serial bullshitting without ever lifting a finger to ever produce anything. Shit doesn't work this way.

I hope these pointers will turn out useful. I really wanted to do something back for Di Rupo after that excellent translation job he did for us a while back. I invite all Flemish to send in further pointers and I'll be glad to send 'em over to Elio.

Why the Israelis rule

2005-06-08T14:01:00.000+02:00

Some time ago there was a "world day" organized in my hometown Leuven. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure yet, a "world day" is some kind of hippie fest, where left wingers with cushy state subsidized jobs in the non profit sector come together to bitch against money, listen to Indian folk bands from the highlands of Peru and act as natural as possible towards the many colored people who come visit the hippie fest, although as small-dicked whities they're actually a bit afraid of 'em.

Many of the stands on the hippie fest were dedicated against the wall Israel has erected to prevent Palestine terrorist incursions. For a long time now, it has been very "en vogue" for Europeans to shit on Israeli foreign politics, especially against the wall. I disagree with this opinion because it's fucking short sighted and typical for soft skinned NGO turds who've been living in a peaceful little paradise for too long for them to realize that outside fortress Europe, weakness gets you killed.

Israel is a democratic island in a sea of corrupt Muslim dictatorships that want nothing more then to obliterate all Jews from the face of the planet. The Israelis were forced to fight for their existence in the region from the very beginning of the Jewish State. Only through resilience, fighting spirit and pure military genius they were able to stand their ground in the Arab world. The neighboring states have learned their lesson (for now), especially since the Israelis have the bomb, but Arab terrorism in the Israeli state against Jewish civilians has never ceased.

Badass Jew

Let's be absolutely clear, the Palestine militant organizations do not fight for freedom or recognition by Israel. They fight for the destruction of Israel and the removal of all Jews from Arab soil. Hamas is not interested in self-government or a nice stretch of land for their people. They just don't want to see a Jew again, at least not alive. You cannot talk with fanatics like that. You can only kill them. It's the only way because they will never change their mind as a result of a democratic debate. Hey, I know, maybe we can organize a nice little referendum about it?

In such an environment, it doesn't pay to be a pacifist. You have to be a mean son of a bitch or you die. If one of those goat cheese-breath pacifist hippies had to lead Israel, the Jews would be exterminated within six weeks flat. So next time you hear some would-be 'alternative' fuck criticizing another harsh Israeli military response against a terrorist attack, remember, before you judge, that Israel is heavily outnumbered but not outgunned, and that is the only reason Israel is still alive today. They are tough motherfuckers, the only democratic fortress in Arabia, and they should be respected for it.

Cult TV: Rembo & Rembo

2005-06-02T20:51:00.000+02:00

Today I'm starting a new series of posts on the finest TV shows our species has ever produced. And an honorable cause it is, for it will once and for all establish a hierarchy of shows, thus banning all useless chatter and drunken knife fights between products of the lower classes about which show is best.

The selection process includes me and perhaps some people, whose taste for quality I can rely on, an elite if you will, judging the show to be one of the best TV shows ever made, and that's about it. No suggestions should be posted because, you know, let's not call each other Liesbeth, we don't really give a rat's ass about your opinion.

First one up is Rembo & Rembo:

Rembo & Rembo

This show from Holland is without a doubt THE best comedy show ever to be aired in the free world. Strange thing is that back in Holland the show was programmed as a kiddie program, although the jokes are without a doubt very mature and subversive. It could be scheduled in prime time as an adult show without any modifications at all.

Comedy at its finest

All this makes the show a relatively unknown cult object, which is quite a shame, since it represents the finest our civilization will ever produce in comedy. After this, all has been said. After this, it can only go downhill. Rembo & Rembo is the alpha and omega of all things funny.

Now let me give you the most precious link you will ever save in your bookmarks:

Rembo & Rembo

This site contains a selection of Rembo & Rembo episodes that can be viewed for free. Before you ask, yes, it is a site from Holland, hence it being free. My brother, aka "Bassie" or "The Sebster", gave the link to me, which proves that excellence and good taste are hereditary.

The show is in Dutch, so bad luck for all you Walloon dimwits. You can learn the language if you want to understand it. Believe me, it's worth it.

Democracy: the sickest lie in the history of mankind

2005-05-30T13:49:00.000+02:00

When Bush ordered the invasion of Iraq, he did so because he wanted to promote freedom in the Middle East. He wanted to inject some democracy in camel shit county. And why shouldn't he? Democracy is a nice thing, isn't it? Why should those sandniggers not be allowed to enjoy it? We as members of the Western Civilization all have the privileges of living in a democracy, with freedom for all, where the good people as a whole govern the future of their nation. Right?

Wrong. We do not live in a democracy. No one ever has.

Democracy was invented in ancient Athens. Back then it meant that the city was governed by the majority vote of the free Athenians. Free as in not a slave, not a woman and not stinkin' poor. This meant that in reality only a fraction of the population ruled the city through its voting power. Usually these were members of the same influential families. The same system existed in the Roman Empire, until the age of the Caesars. The senate was a kind of representative organ, but only members of rich and influential families were allowed to become a senator.

Nowadays, the same principle largely applies, but the rich families are replaced by political parties who decide for themselves who in their ranks will be allowed to run for office. The actual elections are pretty much routine and it doesn't really matter (except for the political parties) which faction becomes the largest because, in the end, the influence of their policies on society as a whole isn't really that enormous and their policies don't really differ that much from each other. Belgium, for example, is governed by a coalition between liberals (in the European sense of the word: conservative and pro free enterprise and capitalism) and socialists, which is just about the most unbelievable partnership since the 1939 Non-aggression Pact between Hitler and Stalin. In short, membership of a political family now replaces blood a selection criterion for power (intelligence and common sense didn't quite make it as tools for selection, so did good looks). But all this doesn't change the fact that we still live in an oligarchy.

There is one major difference though, and that lies in the elections. The people in our society have been given the power to punish or remove from power political parties whom they believe have not performed well. They've always had that right, but in the past they had to pick up their weapons and fight to remove an under performer from government. Now all they have to do is fill a blank spot on a Sunday morning and even that seems like a huge effort to some. Question is, if this was such a good idea.

The right to vote has made people lazy political consumers. They see politics as a supermarket: if they can't give you what you want, just go to the competition. As a result of this, politicians have become pantshitters. I don't know of any society in history that has produced so many bullshit laws in so little time. Politics has become a game of panic football, riding on the wave of public opinion in fear of being punished.

And if that wasn't enough, people start playing with their right to vote by voting for the fascists. It's like: "Hey, my country is filthy rich and so am I, I'm so fucking bored, what should I do? I know, I'll just vote for the fascists and watch the regular politicians run around in panic like headless chickens! That should be fun and hey, maybe the regular politicians might start giving handouts to prevent me from doing it again! Woohoo! I'm a fucking genius! I wonder what's in Het Laatste Nieuws?"

What was my point again? Oh yeah: democracy doesn't exist and even if it did exist the people are too dumb to handle it. I say shoot 'em all and let God sort 'em out.

The art of being a real man, lesson 6: Music

2005-05-28T17:36:00.000+02:00

Now you’ve had some time to take in the first five lessons. If you’ve practised my teachings until now, congratulations, it means you’ve taken a firm decision to follow the way of the Real Man.

But you’re not there yet, not for a long shot. You’ve just read the first chapter of the bushido of real manhood. The training continues.

Now the time has come to instruct you in the listening of music.

As you all know, the music business is the gay business extraordinaire, right after column-writing. It’s a deceitful gay business too. Many artists who are gay as a doorknob let the world believe that they are heterosexual studs in order not to lose any female fans:

You know who!

A real man does not, of course, fall into this trap. He is naturally drawn to honest heterosexual music. Problem is, you guys didn’t reach full real manhood yet. So, you need a little help from the pros. Since most of you don’t know me personally, you won’t be inclined to follow my choice of music, even though I am a Real Man. I know, it’s nothing personal, but you have to be careful, right?

So, for educational purposes, I’m gonna use the example of two renown Real men.

First one up: Captain Kirk.

The Captain

Ever wondered why the federation star ship uniforms look so gay? It’s simple, actually. To prevent cross-breeding between members of different Federation species who serve together on Federation star ships, the Federation decided to combine the talents of the gayest fashion designer of every species to design the ultimate gay uniform. They did an excellent job at that. Just look at a random star trek show: everyone one on it has serious symptoms of sex deprivation. Everyone except Kirk, that is. Despite having to wear the gayest uniform in the galaxy, he still managed to tap just about every type of alien pussy from here to the Delta Quadrant. Real Manhood erat demonstrandum.

So, what does Kirk listen to when he’s not tapping alien ass? To find out, we have to look at episode 15, scene 6, where Spock asks Kirk what his favourite earth band is:

"Slày-er!"

I knew it (duh)! Slayer! Thé most hippie-repelling band in the world! Raining blood! Ungay!
Isn’t it beautiful?! Captain Kirk naturally picked out an excellent Real Man band! And all this by pure Real Man-instinct, not because he was trying to act non-gay in front of Spock! The man just digs Slayer.

Now we just ask our good pals at Slayer what their favourite band is:

"Frank Sinatrrrrraaaaaa!"

It figures. I knew I heard the Voice’s influence on “Reign in Blood”. Problem is that we can’t continue our little exercise since Frank is, well, dead, although his legacy lives on. But that doesn’t matter ‘cause I think we got the point through. All you have to do know is buy a Slayer or Sinatra album. Listen to it. If you’re a Real Man, you should like it immediately. If you don’t, just give up, it’s not an acquired taste. If you don’t love it straight away, just buy an Elton John album.

CD&V – A brief history of centeredness

2005-05-20T23:15:00.000+02:00

CD&V is the Christian democratic party of Flanders. As you undoubtedly all know, Christian democrats are without a doubt the most excruciatingly boring fraction in any parliamentary democracy. Every Christian democratic party congress has several casualties; besides the odd heart attack now and then most of these deaths are caused by a rare medical phenomenon, known as brainescapiosis, a condition where the brain desperately tries to physically escape the human head because of complete and utter boredom, leading to massive head injury, including the occasional, as the doctors call it, “headsplosion”. This has led to a number of safety precautions, such as limiting speeches by CD&V party members to no longer then three minutes and having a brain-cringing sing-along between speeches.

The reason for this CD&V borenanza lies in the fact that they are without a doubt the most centered party in Flanders. Do the test, take a map of Flanders and locate the geographical center point of the region. You will find that this point lies in a CD&V voting community, in a church, right on the seat where the local CD&V mayor places his Christian ass every Sunday. That’s how centered they are.

The CD&V doesn’t really have a strong opinion on anything. In the good al’ days, their opinion consisted of translating the Vatican letters into a political programme but, with the rapid decline of Catholicism in the region, the CD&V swore off its roots and had to think of a new source of inspiration to form a vision on the future of the Flemish nation. They’re still looking for it. I’m not shitting you. If you have any good ideas you can always contact them.

"Please?"

In the meantime, they go on by never really taking a strong position on anything. They’re no socialists, but no liberals either. They are pro Flanders, but also pro Belgium. They think the Flemish are overtaxed, but they also believe our tax system provides for our little social paradise. They do not agree with the war in Iraq, but they’ll give a free rimjob to any American that crosses their path. They condemn Marc Dutroux, but as a family party they can also understand his fondness of little girls. The list goes on and on… They “won” the last election with one central campaign point: “good governance”. Talk about ambition, talk about vision! Wow, good governance ey, how did no one else ever came up with that? It’s sheer political genius!

The CD&V’s prima donna is Yves Leterme. A man so boring they once used his picture in a medical experiment where they hung it above the bed of kids with a severe form of ADHD. They all fell in a coma like sleep within 10 seconds flat. The experiment was cancelled when some of the kiddies never woke up. It is a well kept secret in CD&V ranks that Yves Leterme is actually an alien from the planet Boretopia, where he goes by the name of Boris “the bore” Borimius, winner of the last four annual Boretopia headsplosion contests.

"You heard me, four!"

Anyhoo, by not taking position on anything until they find one, they managed to hover above the entire political system, supported by the votes of people who vote for them because that’s what they always did in the past and because they can’t really remember the CD&V having said anything they don’t agree with. It’s the party for people who don’t really give a rat’s ass about politics.

B-H-V: French lessons with asskicker and Di Rupo

2005-05-17T22:43:00.000+02:00

While I was getting my but tanned on a Greek beach, I kept in touch with Belgian politics by reading “Het Laatste Nieuws”, a fine Flemish newspaper of outstanding quality and impeccable journalism. Somewhere between the latest Star academy antics, a crime report mentioning the full names, addresses, pictures and the school of the children of the likely suspects and a very interesting article about mothers liking their children even if they are spit ugly, I couldn’t help but noticing a little article about B-H-V. It seems that it didn’t get split after all. As you can guess, I was over-fucking-whelmed by surprise.

Since French imperialism is now the official policy of our nation, I thought it might do some good to brush up our French skills. You know, a couple of phrases that help us get by in our new country. I contacted Mister Elio Di Rupo to help me with the translation.

Always glad to help out his Flemish countrymen

Mister Di Rupo was very enthusiastic and he immediately cleared his agenda to lend me a hand. We should all be grateful for that. Here it goes:

“Yes” = “Je suis honoré de vous présenter mon cul, Monsieur Di Rupo!”.
“No” = “Votre bite est énorme, Monsieur Di Rupo!”.
“Maybe” = “J’ai aussi un frère, Monsieur Di Rupo!”.
“I don’t speak French” = “Flamand? Moi? C’est quoi le Flamand? Ce nom a un air rural.”
“Can you say that in Flemish?” = “Je ne suis qu’un sale paysan Flamand, O cher Maître.”
“My car was stolen” = “Avez-vous vu ma vache, cher Maître?”
“Thank you” = “Je suis votre esclave pour l’éternité!”
“Welcome” = “Je vous prie de coloniser nos communes sans jamais faire l’effort de parler notre langue ou de vous intégrer. Voilà mon cul!”

Remember these simple pointers and you will do just fine in a French ruled Flanders.

I know it's a tragedy, but take it like a real man

2005-05-06T23:56:00.000+02:00

I'll be out of the net for one or two weeks due to my holiday. I'm gonna check out the Greek Islands to further investigate the roots of soccer. I don't know if they got an internet connection down there and, frankly, I'm not planning to go all the way to find out 'cause, you know, they're Greek. Take care and see you soon.

Interesting

Fascism, part III – Numbnut cracker

2005-05-02T03:27:00.000+02:00

In Belgium, Fascism goes by the name of “Vlaams Belang”, a party founded by the numbnut supreme, Karel Dillen, aka “diaper boy”. Since the nineties, Vlaams Belang won election after election, until it became the biggest Flemish party in the last election round. Ever since the beginning of the Fascist’s success, politicians, journalists and practically every non-numbut has been busting his balls over THE question: how do we get rid of ‘em?

There are two big schools of thought:

1. The school of exclusion: this school has set the tone for the behaviour of all democratic parties until now. The theory is that by ignoring the Fascists and refusing any political cooperation with them, the movement will just fade away because the ordinary citizen will eventually realise that a vote for the Fascists is a lost vote. This behaviour of exclusion is called “cordon sanitaire”, after the quarantine circle around farms that are infested with cattle disease. Nice theory, but it didn’t work for shit. The Flemish people have always had a soft spot for underdogs and the cordon sanitaire made Vlaams Belang the biggest underdog since Richard Nixon. The party skyrocketed. This led to the second school of thought.

2. The school of inclusion: this school thinks that if you give the Fascists a chance by letting them participate in government, they’ll soon expose themselves as the incompetent numbnuts they are, thus opening the eyes of the common man who will eventually crawl back to the door of the traditional parties. I’ll give two conclusive arguments against this theory:
- Berlusconi;
- André Flahaut. Incompetence isn’t a Fascist prerogative. Traditional parties are filled to the roof with incompetent dicks and they keep gettin’ elected anyway. So why would it be different for Vlaams Belang?

The debate has been going on forever. Countless sociologist have earned their little vacation retreat in the south of France writing books defending one of these two theories. It has to stop. Now. If I see one more pseudo-intellectual Nachtwacht debate with these dimwits talking next to each others point just to get some free advertising for their latest academic turd, I’m gonna throw up.

Now I see an opening, a solution to end this ongoing Flemish nightmare once and for all. Alas, it takes balls and balls, my friends, are a rare commodity in our little Flemish community. But fuck it, I’ll tell it anyway. It might ease the anger, if only for a few blessed hours.

Last year, the Belgian Supreme Court confirmed the gutsiest verdict the Belgian magistrature ever spoke out. Vlaams Blok was convicted for racism, making Vlaams Blok a criminal organisation and its members criminals. After openly threatening the judges involved, Vlaams Blok reacted by changing its name to Vlaams Belang, thus committing a legal suicide and resurrection in one blow, all to avoid the consequences of the verdict. For Fascism, the day was saved. But then another problem arose: because Vlaams Belang was a new party that hadn’t yet participated in an election, it was technically possible to take away their government subsidies, which would make them lose millions of euros. Vlaams Belang then made the biggest political U-turn in the history of mankind by declaring it wasn’t really a new party, but that it had only changed name. This however meant that they were still the same convicted criminal organisation they were before. Predictably, the pantshittin’ traditional political parties decided not to take away the subsidies, making the Vlaams Belang the only officially government sponsored criminal organisation in the world. After pulling this of, Vlaams Belang threw the most decadent party in the history of Fascism since that one time Hitler invited his closest friends for tea and assorted vegetarian snacks to celebrate the successful invasion of Poland:

"Beer is made of plants, right?"

Now what is the ballsy thing to do? What is the right thing to do?

It’s quite easy, actually. Just uphold the motherfuckin’ law of the motherfuckin’ land. Deal with Vlaams Belang as you would with every other criminally convicted organisation. Roll it up, arrest the heads of the organisation and pursue every last fucking member who didn’t forget to pay his membership fee. The judges stuck their necks out and did everything they could. They shoul be truly proud of what they did for their nation. Now it’s the job of the Federal government to act upon the sentence. Hit ‘em with all you got and hit ‘em hard. Make ‘em bleed and show the world that Flanders is without a doubt a great nation of great people.

“What about the voters?”, you ask. “You’ll start a revolution!”. Yeah, sure, Vlaams Belang voters actually taking on personal responsibility by taking action? That’ll be the day.

I know this post is heavier then the other shit I wrote. That’s because it is a serious subject. We’re fucking up this little paradise at a record pace and for what? Is happiness too hard a burden?

Soccer: truly the queen of sports

2005-05-01T01:31:00.000+02:00

Thanks to my site meter, I’ve discovered that quite a few of those who visit my blog are supporters of Club Brugge, a soccer team from the Flemish pig capital. This set me thinking.

What are sports? What’s it all about? What is the very heart of sports? Let me tell you:
it’s all about men watching other men doing manly shit in a manly fashion.

Now, if you put it like that, it does sound kinda gay. That’s because it is. Sports are gay.

Think about it, why would a real man use up his precious testosterone on a fucking game? Really. Can you picture Coveliers doing sports? Or De Gucht? Why would a real man be interested in the achievements of other men in the field of using up government money for activating jobless physical kinesetherapists? Real men don’t fool themselves into believing they’ve just kicked someone’s ass by doing shit like throwing things through a hoop or running away so fast their opponents can’t catch ‘em. They only kick ass for real. Everything else is just plain sublimation of gay feelings, wrapping an aura of manliness around the act of men feeling up other men and taking communal showers afterwards. In this perspective, soccer really is the queen of sports, as this short but interesting historic analysis will show.

Soccer was invented in 1759 in Italy, girlie man holiday retreat of the world, by a catholic bishop, named Knobtouchiano. The bishop was exceptionally fond of his choir boys, and so he was looking for a way to see his little angels on a more regular basis then just every Sunday in his cathedral dressing room. He started out by making a list of all the requirements this new activity had to have:
- physical activity
- collective showering
- collective undressing
- no girls
- short shorts
- sweating
- occasional mud bath
- scoring
- taking off shirts after scoring
- ball touching
- lots of ball touching
- something with feet ‘cause the bishop had a thing with feet
- bulky black men

After careful deliberation, involving long hard meetings with his enthusiastic collegues of the American Catholic Church, soccer was born:

Ball touching action

It took off like a rocket. Thousands of boys were recruited for soccer in Catholic Schools, as soccer turned out to provide the Catholic seminars with a seemingly unending supply of new candidates who, on their turn, were very, very eager to train new generations of young boys. Catholic missionaries all over the world provided European soccer teams with an abundance of talented, bulky black players and the pope was happy as a monkey.

In the twentieth century, feminization took over, and the lesbo lobby just couldn’t resist copying the favorite hobby of their male counterparts. Thus, women soccer was born.

I hope this brief history of soccer will help to bring this fine sport back to its proud roots and, last but not least, I’d like to thank the Flemish gay community for the warm support it has given to my blog. I really appreciate it.

The art of being a real man, lesson 5: be pussy whipped

2005-04-30T01:35:00.000+02:00

You think I’m pushing it, right? You think there’s no fucking way in hell I could give a reasonable explanation why a Real Man should be his wife’s obedient little bitch.

Look, this isn’t Playboy Magazine or Weekend Knack giving you some lame ass advice on being a man. This is the real thang. I never said it would be pretty. Being a real man isn’t pretty. It wouldn’t be an art if it was, ain’t that right Jan Hoet?

As I showed you in the bald section, testosterone is core of the Real Man. Downside is, testosterone doesn’t come in an unlimited supply, even if your name is Hugo Coveliers. It’s a resource you must use wisely. It must be focused on the right time, in the right place and in the right environment to achieve ultimate male dominating manliness. Compare it to saving up for a porno money shot: don’t blow your wad until the camera is ready.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that your home isn’t really a ‘money shot environment’. What good is it gonna do you burning up precious testosterone on keeping the wife under your thumb? Will it bring you power, money, respect, a neatly ironed shirt? Don’t think so. And let’s be honest, really, when do you even see the bitch? A couple of hours after work? Who cares? Unless you’re both unemployed, which explains the tendency towards household violence in proletarian circles.

Anyhow, just let go. Trust me. Be her good little doggy and save up your manpower for the outside world. And here comes motivation:

Bitch whipped

Motivation, thy name is De Gucht!

Karel De Gucht is Mireille Schreurs' husband and obedient little bitch. Mireille Schreurs is a well known, hard-ass Flemish police judge that drives a souped-up Ducati to work so she can personally pursue, judge and execute any traffic violator the cops might have missed. They filmed her in action once. It’s now used as an educational movie for Belgian SWAT teams. It’s also one of the more projectile-vomit-inducing contributions to ‘Faces of Death – 17’.

Anyhow, every night Karel comes home, undresses, puts a collar and leash around his dick and starts eating out Mireille. Look at the picture: he’s supporting his head with his hand. He does it on every picture. He says it’s whiplash but everybody knows it’s because Mireille keeps pushing his head down.

So is Karel the next generation’s Richard Simmons? Hell no, the guy is a Real Man and a testosterone management guru. Karel De Gucht is the former president of the VLD, the Belgian liberal party. He is the man responsible for kicking Hugo Coveliers, real man extraordinaire, out of the party. Can you imagine the balls it must take to pull that of? Granted, Coveman forgot to bring his attaché-case, but still! How does one pull that of? Two words: money shot. A build up of testosterone released at the proper time. You think he could have pulled that of if he wasted his man juice on Mireille? Think about it.

Now, after kicking out the Coveman, De Gucht became Minister of Foreign affairs. First thing he did in his new function was to take a government plane to the Congo and plant the Belgian flag in Kinshasa. Then he looked straight into the cameras and reclaimed the former Belgian colony on the ground that French speaking niggers can’t govern for shit.

After personally leading the successful Belgian attack on the Congolese presidential palace and after buying a souvenir for Mireille, he then headed straight for Washington DC to smooth out the USA-Belgian relations that were on an all time low because of Belgium refusal to participate in the war in Iraq. Bush was planning to drive a hard bargain, showing those dipshit Belgian who’s really in motherfuckin’ charge. He wanted to see us crawl. Obviously he never met De Gucht before. Once in the Oval office, De Gucht went straight to the point. He unzipped his pants and put his dick on the Oval Desk, showing what being in charge is all about. Then he ordered everybody out except Bush. Two hours later he left for his plane, leaving behind an empty shell of a man. Nobody knows what exactly went on in there. All we know is that a couple of weeks later Bush came to Belgium, generally smiling a lot and shutting the fuck up, except for saying things like Belgian chocolates were the best, Belgian beer is his beverage of choice and that he would give up presidency any time for a condo in Blankenberge.

Money shot.

The art of being a real man, lesson 4: bald and proud

2005-04-29T00:12:00.000+02:00

Every man fears baldness. From their thirties on, most guys check themselves daily, usually their heads, for hair loss. And once it starts falling out, they think their sex life is over for good. Wrong, wrong, wrong. As I am about to show you, baldness is something you should cherish. It should be as dear to you as your best friend. In case you didn’t know, “best friend" stands for “schlong”. You see, the life force of every Real man is testosterone. And baldness is caused by an overdose of testosterone. Let me prove that by showing how your hair would like if you didn’t have testosterone:

100% oestrogen

Ain’t a pretty sight, is it? So I think we can all agree testosterone is a good thing and that there are worse fates then baldness. Like not being bald. So you should wear your baldness proudly, show it off at every occasion and reap the rewards that come in the form of an abundance of pussy, swooned by your overwhelming aura of Manhood.

Some men do not agree with this. Turned over to the dark side of planetary feminization, they try to play down their baldness by trying to shave of their remaining hair, thus making it seem like their not having hair is a fashion choice and not a natural display of manliness. This “coiffeur”-hairstyle (gay hairdresser style) is commonly witnessed in the classic gay strongholds like coiffeurs, showbiz, journalists, bouncers, steel workers and teamsters. It’s kinda hard to describe this hairstyle to someone who hasn’t seen it before. Let’s put it like this: try to imagine the half-assed shaven ball sack of a gay pornstar whose razor blade became blunt half way through so there are still some stubs left on it. Can you picture it? It looks like this:

Oh no no

It’s just not right and there should be a law against it. Goddamnit.

Okay, so what are we looking for? How should a real man accentuate his baldness to the fullest? Normally I take Coveliers as my guiding beacon in the rich world of real manhood. Alas, the man isn’t quite bald enough to be of use here. That’s because he’s hung like a mule and needs most of his vast testosterone stock to maintain the equipment. How do I know? Well, I’m not the kind of guy who desperately tries to act not gay when he’s participating in the weekly freemason confiture-party in the Brussels red light district. Anyhow, who do we turn to? Who can show us the light? Here he is:

Aaiight

Sean to the rescue again! Just look at how a real man crowns his baldness with a neatly kept garden of full grey hair. Can you do it? Sure you can. How do you know you’re doing it right? Well, take a picture from the top of your head. If it looks like a hairy piece of pussy spread wide open, you are spot on!

B-H-V: Pantshitfest

2005-04-28T13:36:00.000+02:00

Today I'm gonna drop a line about a strange Belgian phenomenon called Brussel-Halle-Vilvoorde or "BHV" in short. As you foreign fucks may or may not know, the kingdom of Belgium consists of two large population groups, the Flemish and the Walloons (we also have some German speaking towns we enslaved after WWII but they don't really count). The Flemish speak Dutch and the Walloons, because of a French experimental weapon test, French. Belgium is a federal state, which implies that normally Flemish people can only vote for Flemish candidates and Walloons only for Walloon candidates. Except in Brussel-Halle-Vilvoorde, a voting district lying partly on Flemish territory, which results in the strange situation that some Walloons who live in Flanders are able to vote for both Flemish and Walloon candidates.

The Flemish aren't to happy with this shit because they've been trying for years to contain those French lab rats and the fact that a significant number of them are living on Flemish soil without having to adapt to the Flemish institutions and voting procedures isn't helping at all.

This crap has been the center of a dispute for twenty fucking years and now, finally, the Supreme Court has decided this discrimination against the Flemish has to be ended. It's clear, it's simple, and it can easily be arranged by splitting the district. But it wont. Not in our lifetime. Wanna know why?

Because of little Flemish tradition called pantshitting.

You see, the Flemish have a proud and long-lasting tradition of shitting their pants. We even have a word for it: "broekschijterij", which can be loosely translated as "pantshittery".

Historians date back this tradition to July 11th 1302, the Guldensporen battle. This was a battle royale between the Flemish rebel peasant army against a fully equipped army of French knights. On this fine summer day in 1302, the two armies faced each other near the town of Kortijk. Upon seeing the awesome French army, the Flemish rebels immediately started collectively shitting their medieval pants. When the French knights saw what was going on, they turned away in disgust, never coming back to Flanders for centuries to come. A nation was born.

Until this day, every town in Flanders celebrates this enormous feat in Flanders' history by organizing a yearly pantshitting contest on July 11th. Contestants must produce as much as possible within ten minutes. Local rules can vary, some towns hang up a picture of a Walloon socialist leader to inspire the contestants and beef up the scores. Others say this practice ruins the purity of the sport. Either way, the tradition is deeply rooted in the Flemish genes and traces of it can even be found in our institutions. Take the first meeting of the parliament after an election. In Flemish we call this meeting the "eerste zitting", which can be translated as the "1st shitting".

Knowing this, I hope you all understand that a decision like splitting BHV, which implies sitting around a table with a Walloon and looking him straight in the albino-red eye, is not gonna happen for a loooong time.

The art of being a real man, lesson 3: iron your shirts personally

2005-04-27T18:54:00.000+02:00

I know this sounds revolutionary, and I mean revolutionary like in "gay Russian discovered in the Siberian tundra" or "Walloon provinces discover efficient governing". I realize most of you will not understand this at first, but take a minute to sit back and take it in: A REAL MAN IRONS HIS OWN SHIRTS.

Then what do you have the biatch for? Simple: everything but ironing your shirts and wiping your ass, and even that last thing is open for debate, you know, if you're into that kind of crap. But anyway, every man should be proficient in the noble art of ironing a shirt, because a real man knows his world and to get (a)head in this world you need a crisply ironed shirt. You just do. Trust me. Or do you really think people will take you seriously if you look like a former East German pole vaulter who's been proudly wearing the shirt he got from the local party leader as the only reward for his fifteen years of back-breaking, hormone-injected sporting achievements for 10 weeks straight?

Take a good look

I didn't think so.

"But why can't my biatch do it, I think I've even put a clause in the ol' prenup just for that?", I hear you think. Because of the same reason she cooks like shit, except when her friends come over for dinner: she just doesn't give a fuck. Did your wife ever actually succeed even once in decently ironing your shirt? Think hard. Nnnnah, don't think so. How come? Think about it, why would she care about you wearing a professionally ironed shirt? So other women wouldn't be able to resist touching you? Where's the motivation? Realize.

So it all comes down to you. I know, most of you still need motivation to do all this and motivation comes from example, so here it goes:

Check out the bow tie

That's right. Bond. SEAN Bond. Not one of those later jerkoffs who tried to fill his shoes, but the real deal from back in the day when you could still legally slap a bitch around for serving a stirred martini. Although most of you didn't notice it, there's actually a lot of ironing action going on in the average Bond flick. As you now, at least once in every Bond movie, Bond gets shot out of a torpedo tube in a fully equipped wetsuit, swims to the coast where, within two minutes flat after reaching the beach, he enters the nearest casino in a tuxedo with perfectly ironed matching tuxedo shirt and an immaculately pressed bow tie.

How does he do it? Does he have some local MI5 pussy waiting for him on the beach with an ironing board? Hell no, we're talking about a REAL MAN here. Seanman doesn't need no stinkin' amateur help! In those two minutes after landing on the beach, Bond gets out the creased shirt and irons it on his dick, which serves as an ironing board, using only the blade of a small Swiss army pocketknife, slightly heated between his hairy Scottish balls, all this while pressing out the creases in his bow tie between his butt cheeks. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, girl-friend!

God – proof He doesn't exist

2005-04-26T14:36:00.000+02:00

With all that new pope Benemydictus shit going on, I feel like it's time to set the record straight once and for all by proving god does not exist.

I've been sitting on this beaut' for quite some time, but I felt like there were more important things to do with my amazing abilities right now, like providing the world with mathematically sounds arguments about blonde women being less hot in bed. Now the latter has been proven, changing the viewpoint of western philosophy on blondes forever, it's time to dust off the ol' god doesn't exist thingy that's been lying on my desk.

Right, here it goes:

Science has proven that free will does not exist.

No no, don't start saying crap like "Hey man, I got free will, I can do whatever the fuck I feel like!", 'cause you'd be as wrong as your Flemish granddaddy, aka "de zwètte", in WWII.

Free will is a myth. Let's take a random free choice situation. Say you were in an ice cream parlor with 100 kinds of ice cream, of all colors and flavors. What would you have? Lemon and vanilla? Strawberry and mango (you bumfucker)? Free choice, right?

Free choice, my hairy ass! Chances are you usually pick the same flavors every time.

See, the flavors you choose aren't the result of your free will, but of a combination of genetics and environmental factors that guide your taste, making you choose or not choose certain specific flavors. If we had enough processor power and all the necessary info about your genes and environment, we'd be able to predict your choices flawlessly. That's free choice for you. You're nothing but a tool, built for survival and perfectly predictable in every way. Deal with it.

Now that's established, let's see what's left of the good ol' Christian faith.

The core of the Christian religion is free will. Without it, sin is impossible, so is the choice for good. This makes heaven and hell a fiction, because without free will, who deserves to go to heaven for being good or to go to hell for acting bad? The card house falls… . It's the same for all those other religious money scams, like Islam and Judaïsm.

"Wait a minute!", I hear you say, "OK, maybe there is no free will and maybe organized religion based on it is bullshit. But that doesn't exclude the presence of a divine being, creator of all that lives, even if these living things have no free will!"

Look here, godboy, why would you want to believe in a god like that? Do you really need a god that doesn't give a fuck whether you pray to him or not? 'Cause if he didn't give you free will, it means he doesn't give a fuck about you or what you do. It wouldn't matter what you do, you'd never be saved. So what's the point? An explanation for things still unknown to man? I'd rather wait a few years before picking up religion, because maybe, just maybe, a little thing called SCIENCE (you know, the job of people who didn't knock up their girlfriend in high school) might find the answer!

Well now, don't you feel a whole lot better now that it's proven? Now you can go out and be the master of your own dull little universe. Have fun, but remember, steer clear of the blondes!

The art of being a real man, lesson 2: never have sex with blondes

2005-04-26T12:16:00.000+02:00

I bet you little wannabe real men didn’t expect that one, did ya? Why the hell shouldn't you try to hump Blondie from next door? I'll tell you why: because blonde women are less horny then other women. Here's the mathematical proof :

Facts:
- Blonde women get more attention from men then other women.
- Blonde women get more unwanted attention from disgusting little freaks that don't wash hands after peeing.
- Blonde women run a bigger risk associating sex with disgusting little freaks that don't wash hands after peeing.
- The more a woman associates sex with disgusting little freaks that don't wash hands after peeing, the more disgusting she will find sex.
- The more disgusting a woman finds sex, the less horny she gets.

Therefore: Blonde women are less horny then other women!

There you have it! Math class finally paid off!

Knowing this, be a real man and stay away from blondes, unless you're in for THE most boring ride in the history of manhood since the knocking up of the virgin Mary.

The art of being a real man, lesson 1: never act like you're not gay

2005-04-25T18:41:00.000+02:00

True manhood is in decline nowadays. Only some of us are still around in this increasingly feminizing world. I already mentioned Hugo Coveliers as one of the last true men. Can't think of anybody else right now, but other names should come up. That's why I have decided to write some posts about the art of being a real man. Free pointers, so to speak, for those of you who think they can be saved even though they drive Japanese import. Enjoy the first lesson.

Lesson 1: never act like you're not gay

We all know him and we all feel kinda weird around him: the type of guy who always takes every occasion to make it absolutely clear that he is not gay.

He's the guy who can't even give his old man a bear hug. Every time you see him, he has another anti-fag joke to tell. He's the guy who dresses like shit deliberately and always has the latest playboy issue lying openly on his coffee table for everybody to see so nobody would ever suspect him of being a knight of the brown table. He's the guy that, when you hit the showers after a football game, is frantically trying NOT to look down, so he doesn't risk seeing another guy's dick, or worse, being seen seeing another guy's dick.

He's the kind of guy you would never turn your bare ass to because, frankly, you suspect him of being gay. Liberace gay.

You see, a real man is so confident about his non-gayness that he doesn't have to make it clear to anybody that he's not gay. He just assumes that everybody sees him as not being gay. The thought of being considered as gay just doesn't even pop in the mind of a real hombre.

Take our good ol' Russian friends for example. Why the Russians? Because there is no such thing as a gay Ruskie. There is no word for gay in Russian. No Russian even has the slightest bit of gay in him. They are the ungayest people on earth. That's why they are the only people on this planet where guys kiss each other on the mouth. Why? Because they can. Take this guy:

Not gay

Let's be honest, you wouldn't leave your wife alone with that guy even is his job consisted of serving drinks and handing out blankets on an airplane. This true example of manhood in its finest form could be standing on a gay parade wagon wearing nothing but crotchless leather pants and still everybody would think: "What's that straight guy doing up there?". This randomly picked Russian is so incredibly not gay that if you caught him, say, sucking Elton John's dick, you would probably think: "Hey, I thought Elton John was gay?".

That's just how non-gay this man is and that's what being a real man is all about. You think this guy ever told a fag joke? You think this guy would even blink if he'd have to take a shower with the entire South African Gay Negro Rugby Team? Hell no, motherfucker! He doesn't have to because he is, as we say it, a REAL MAN. So from now on, look up to this man as one of your guiding beacons for reaching true manhood.

Fascism, part II – the numbnut explained

2005-04-23T02:56:00.000+02:00

So who is the fascist numbnut? How come some people, and I use the term loosely, look at fascism as an ideology that deserves to be considered as an alternative, even if some sixty years ago their own granny was forced to suck SS stormtrooper dick in exchange for food coupons?

The matter of fact is that there isn’t just one kind of numbnut. The great numbnut family has many different branches:

1. The white power numbnut

A small, but nevertheless feisty branch of the numbnut collective. The white power numbnut believes that the white race, and more specifically his “volk”, is genetically and morally superior to all other races, especially all coloured races. He or she also believes that mingling with those other races will degenerate the pure blood of his own. Therefore, all specimens of other races should at least be banned or, preferably, be given a one way ticket for a nice ride in the cattle wagon. These numbnuts usually display an above average interest in denying the size of the average black dick:

" ...all night long. And my ass didn't feel sore at all! So you see, it's all just a myth!"

Strangely enough, white power numbnuts usually don’t belong to society’s finest, and that’s one motherfucker of an understatement. Most of their names end with an y, like Kenny, Kimberley, Jody, Tiffany or Kylie (spelling problems are common in numbnut circles). They are, as the French say, “basse classe”. And if you’ve ever met a Frenchie, you’ll know that when they mean “low”, it falls right into the incest-bred-banjo-kid-from-that-movie-Deliverance category.

So there you have it. Since the white power numbnut will never be able to gain self respect out of individual achievement, for a lot of reasons, most of them to do with taking family love a little too far, he or she has no choice but to believe that superiority comes as a birth right. That’s why this strain of the numbnut bacteria is so persistent.

2. The pantshittin’ numbnut

The pantshittin’ numbnut is afraid, very afraid. By the way, that’s why brown is the Nazi colour of choice.

Anyhow, the pantshittin’ numbnut is especially afraid of being mugged or raped by the black man. So what does he do? He goes voting for the Fascists because hey, if anybody can protect us from those bastards who unleashed the R&B terror it’s the fascists right? Sure, dickhead, put your security in the hands of this man:

The original numbnut. Badly in need of a diaper change.

You really want diaper boy here to look after your back? I didn’t think so. Look, if you want something done right, you got to do it yourself. Afraid of the black man trying to steal your purse (you sissy boy)? Follow Covelier’s example and whip out the ol’ attaché-case. If you don’t have one ready, just keep kicking your attacker in the nads until they pop out. Without balls, the immigrant should blend in perfectly with the rest of the Flemish population, thus eradicating the need for investing your taxpayer money in integration lessons for the brownies!

3. The nationalist right wing intellectual numbnut

There’s nothing wrong in se with being a nationalist right wing intellectual. Hell, we can’t all be socialists right? Someone’s gotta pay for all those dipshit social worker pay checks!

So what is the difference between a nationalist right wing intellectual and a nationalist right wing intellectual numbnut? Simple, the numbnut thinks he can use the Fascist rise to power to achieve the realisation of his own dream: an independent Flanders, without those French lab rats called Walloons and without those goddamn socialists. By associating themselves with the Fascists, these numbnuts actually injected some of their pseudo intellectual aura in the Fascist movement, making it more and more acceptable to associate yourself with it.

Thanks to these numbnuts, the following activities are now officially associated with fascist sympathies:
- laughing with socialists
- laughing with Walloons
- laughing with socialist Walloons
- speaking Dutch
- not being Walloon
- not being socialist
- not making a living in the horse manure industry
- efficient governing

Thanks a lot, dickwads.

4. The opportunist numbnut

Without a doubt the most despicable strain of the numbnut bacteria. Seeing that fascism is gaining a wide following, these assholes start thinking about career opportunities. Although they have no real interest in politics, they feel that sucking up to the fascist movement might just be a good investment for their future career as a magistrate, public servant, businessman, etc…

These numbnuts can be encountered in any political party. Not much that can be done about that, except exposing them as the leeches they are. ‘Cause there is only thing they truly fear: being definitely tied to one party alone.

5. The loser numbnut

The loser numbnuts probably form the biggest family in the numbnut collective. The loser numbnut has a dead end job, an ugly biatch wife and wishes he never had kids. He doesn’t wash his hands after peeing and gets a kick out of it. Since he will never do anything even remotely important in this lifetime, he gains a sense of accomplishment by voting for a party that wins every election. Kind of like those type of football supporters who always choose to cheer for whatever team is winning the season. We all know ‘em, we all fucking hate ‘em. These numbnuts can’t be saved and one day we’ll have to figure out a way of adapting our democratic procedures to make sure these losers never truly influence the election process.

So far for my scientific analysis of the numbnut phenomenon. New strains of the numbnut bacteria can off course always pop up their ugly little albino heads. If so, this post will be edited.

Next time, I will be discussing how and if we can fight these nasty crabs on the democratic groin.

Women's right to vote - it all went downhill from there

2005-04-21T19:44:00.000+02:00

This needs no futher argumentation:

Bert.Fucking.Anciaux.

Fascism – the choice for a new generation of numbnuts– part I

2005-04-21T01:23:00.000+02:00

When the ancient Romans finally beat the Carthages after years of gruesome conflict, you know what they did?

They sold the survivors as slaves. Then they pillaged and burned the once proud city of Carthage. What was left of the buildings was manually taken down to its foundations. Finally, as pièce de résistance, they salted the earth. That’s right, they spent a fortune by throwing away precious salt on the Carthagen soil so no living thing would ever grow there again. A weapon of mass destruction, Roman style.

They were mean motherfuckers those Romans, not quite up there with Hugo Coveliers but nevertheless, they knew how to take care of business. Nothing of any importance ever came out of Carthage again.

Now let’s see if we learned any lessons from our proud forefathers.

Sixty years ago we beat the Germans and we beat them good. Serves ‘em right, you know, bratwurst eating fucks with no sense of humour:

Bratwurst eater

Anyway, what did we, the victors, do? Did we rape, pillage and salt the earth in Berlin, wiping out the Nazi menace once and for all? You know, kick ass? Hell no, heaven forbid we might hurt one of the Hun civvies who were lucky enough to survive our carpet bombing induced firestorms. We just split the country, giving one part to the commies. So far so good, I can see the irony there. But what did we do with the western part? We pumped astronomical amounts of money into the RECONSTRUCTION of the Nazi heimat! ‘Cause you know, someone who speaks German can’t be bad, right? Wrong asshole! You should have followed the Romans, grandpa…

Because what happened next? In the course of the following sixty years Fascism was able to survive, breeding in small clubs of surviving SS wannabe’s (if they were the real thing they’d have died in Stalingrad) and nationalist who thought, and this is the good part, that helping an invading Nazi army would actually HELP them achieve independence! I guess waving a flag affects your ability for logic thinking… or maybe they got their education in French. That’s why some of them had to change their name from Philippe to Filip.

Numbnut formerly known as Philippe

Now we got to the phase were Fascism is actually beginning to get a following again. You see, after sixty years of watching the socialist resurgence with envy the brownshirts had an original idea: tapping into the vast proletarian voter reservoir. But they don’t stop there, they’re also gaining a following with frustrated Flemish nationalist intellectuals who are, once again, starting to believe that those Germans might have been on to something every time a Walloon socialist displays his vast array of governing skills. HELLO NUMBNUTS, the Nazi’s were national-SOCIALISTS. Think about it before trying on grandpa’s trusty pair of lederhosen for size!

Anyhoo, next time we take a closer look at fascism in Flanders and what to do about it.

Socialism – death trap for the poor

2005-04-20T22:07:00.000+02:00

Back in the day, socialism truly was the workingman's ideology. Singing the "Internationale" off key, fisting the sky, screwing up the economy with devastating strikes: in some not quite intelligible way it actually helped to improve the social situation of the working class proletarians.

Nowadays, every laborer has become a home owning, home entertainment system watching, Ipod buying, capitalist tit. In other words, they're no longer proletarians and therefore lost all interest in that backward notion of sharing the wealth.

This off course was quite a bummer for socialist politicians who became the man by helping laborers to stick it to the man. And once you're the man, well, you just never want to be the biatch again. A solution was needed and lessons had to be learned from mistakes of the past.

What exactly was the mistake socialism made? It just worked too damn well, which is bad for any political ideology. This was done not only by redistributing wealth but also by civilizing the proletarian mind. Cultural palaces were built to uplift the primitive mind of the worker. Free quality education helped his kids to actually have a future besides collecting horse manure to sell it as natural fertilizer and all round building material. Free the mind and the cash will follow, that sort of thing. Off course, once the cash started rollin' in, the working man got a little more interested in tax law backdoors then in showing solidarity. Hence, socialism was brought to its knees, except in the Walloon provinces, where horse manure stayed a primary source of income for quite some time, just like in French speaking Africa.

A sos

Until, that is, the invention of "steak socialism". Steak socialism is a Belgian invention that starts from the idea that every proletarian should have the chance to eat a steak once in a while. To put it in other words, it's a kind of purely materialist socialism where you redistribute the wealth, without the liberation of the mind.

It sounds easy but it’s not. You have to stop the administration from punishing those unwilling to work, raise the government handouts to the poor once in a while and prevent any political action aimed at combating social leeching. It’s all about finding that delicate balance. You have to make sure those proletarians stay more or less happy without them ever having a chance of finding a good job, becoming wealthy or independent of government support. So you raise the social support, not enough to really help anybody out of their troubles, but enough so they won’t go looking for a minimum wage job or they just might work themselves up and go voting non-socialist. You might also consider things like free bus passes for the poor. It doesn’t really help ‘em, but hey, they’ll worship the ground you walk on!

All this is aimed at one thing: creating a socialist voter base of poor people, who will remain poor generation after generation, hopelessly dependant to what little crumbs you throw at ‘em.

Machiavelli was a dilettante.

French, the secret weapon of the French for world domination

2005-04-20T20:26:00.000+02:00

Have you ever noticed the fact that France is just about the only successful French-speaking country in the world?

Seriously, do the test. Outside of France, French is only spoken in Africa and the Walloon provinces in Belgium. Both regions can without a doubt be considered as "underdeveloped". Malaria, Aids, poverty and a general lack of governing skills have transformed large parts of Africa and all of the Walloon provinces in a barren wasteland of Mad Maxian proportion.

So what's the deal with that? Coincidence? My hairy ass! It is my conviction that the use of the French language physically deteriorates brain tissue. This is all due to the fact that French is a synthetic language, not an abstract one. One word in French can have 25 different meanings, depending on context, making it impossible to use for abstract thought.

To put it simple, French is a girlie language.

Because of this, everybody who is raised in the French language lacks some vitally important mental capabilities, which has resulted in the disastrous humanitarian and economic catastrophes as seen both in Africa and the Walloon provinces.

"Wait a minute", I hear you think, "I dig what you say about the Walloons and the French speaking Africans, but what about the French themselves, they ain't doing all that bad!"

That's right, but only because they stopped using the damn language themselves! Bet you didn't now that one! You see, after the French got their asses royally kicked by the Germans in WW2, they started using German as a mother tongue, realizing the devastating effect the further use of French would have on the future of their nation. After the war, they just never stopped speaking German but, because of tourist concerns, they put on a fancy charade whenever tourists are around.

You want proof? Check out this pic of Der Präsident himself, Jacques Chirac:

Intelligence photo of Chirac speaking German

The French still use the old mother tongue, but now as a secret weapon of mass debilitation. After successful experiments in Africa and all of the Walloon provinces, they now changed their military doctrine, claiming first strike capability on all countries who refuse the import of bidets.

Hugo Coveliers - The definition of cool

2005-04-19T21:28:00.000+02:00

Hugo Coveliers - The definition of cool

Hugo Coveliers, Belgian politician and former member of the liberal party (VLD), embodies the very concept of coolness. You should be seeing his picture next to the word "cool" in the dictionary. Or maybe next to the word "kick-ass"... it's open for debate. Here are the reasons why:

Reason 1: The goatee. I can't even imagine the sheer imagination it takes to design such a masterpiece. No really, just take the time to relax your eyes for a few moments by looking at this glorious ode to MANHOOD. This thing should be recognised by the UN as world heritage. You know, like the pyramids. Also, you have to be a real man to pull that off as a politician. The man actually gets a lot of votes. Mostly from belgian garden gnomes, but hey, it bought him a ticket to the senate. Respect.

Reason 2: Taking it like a man. If any man has ever taken something like a man, it's Hugo "the man" Coveliers. He talks a lot of shit, mostly about his own party members. That's why he got kicked out. That and the goatee, probably. But did the Coveliers start moaning and crying like a little biatch? Did he bend over to pick up the VLD's soap? Hell no, The Cove took it like a man. First he talks some more shit about his former party members and then he starts his own little party, even when statistics prove that 100% of those who tried it before commited suicide. That's how Covy does it.

Reason 3: The goatee, no question about that.

Reason 4: Being a mean motherfucker. One day 2 thugs of Moroccan descent tried to mug the Cove. Big mistake. What did he do? Give 'em the money? Beg for his life? Crawl away in a little corner hoping not to get raped? Nope, Coveman kicked both their asses using his attaché-case while uttering the following legendary words on the rythm of the ass-woopin': "this case contains the papers that will make sure you dipshits never get the right to vote!". Now that's what being a mean motherfucker is all about. After that he made it his sole mission to make life livin' hell for anybody who's got even the slightest hint of a sun tan. This last thing might be considered less cool, but it's certainly the work of a man who takes the meaning of the term "mean motherfucker" to the extreme. Eat your heart out Atilla, move over for the Cove!

Reason 5: The goatee. Really. Take a moment to get up from behind your pc. Take a few steps to the left. Now go over to the right. Did you see it? The goatee FOLLOWS YOU AROUND! An effect displayed only in true works of art, like the Mona Lisa.

Reason 6: The teeth. You can't see it on the picture, but the Coves mouth is compared by some with the oven in a crematorium that's in the middle of its burning cycle. You know, the body has not quite burned to ashes, but has this black and crispy quality about it? That's how The Man's teeth look like. Which is pretty bizarre, knowing that he has been cashing in senate paychecks for years, not to mention that he has a very successful law firm (or did I mention that at reason 4?). In short, Hugo should be able to afford a dental visit, certainly in Belgium where most of the cost is covered by the sickenkast, aka the mutuality. So why don't he? Because he is a man. Let's face it, who could possibly have any problems with his teeth? That's right, his wife. But you know what Cove says to that? "If ya don't like the teeth, just suck the dick." Does his wife listen? Look at the picture... he looks like his wife just listened to him five minutes before they took it. Am I right or what?

Reason 7: ....I could go on but why bother? The point was amply proven once I mentioned the goatee.