If a Reuters photographer can get away with it, then I might as well give it a go too
(via LGF)

Reuters has sacked a 'freelance' Lebanese photographer for manipulating photographs that were submitted as factual records of events. Say it ain't so, Joe?
The number of times that you can look at some photos portraying 'murder' or 'genocide' in the Middle East and think something isn't right are too many to name (the Jenin 'massacre' anyone?).
This twit, one Adnan Hajj, has the photoshopping skills of a ten year old.
I take that back, a five year old. What was his motive? Reuters (his employer) has stated that he was removing 'dust smudges' when adding to the above photo (Godzilla was put in by someone else). Crap.
This guy was doing PR for a pack of terrorist wankers, and got caught.
On the other hand, the photoshopping above is totally believeable, and I for one, welcome my mutant lizardiod masters, and hope that they will remember that someone will need to pick the human remains from their teeth, (tooth decay being something rarely covered in monster films).

Disclaimer: In case this photo isn't real, I was just going to infiltrate their organisation and work from the inside, honest.

How I became an outlaw in Peru, a short story
Chapter two (continued):
My relentless search for Carlos the Janitor

The First Mate, (who was hired in Papua New Guinea and was most probably a headhunter), after having the procedure explained to him in gestures, cast us off and we were underway. I must admit to having had some trepidation at the sight of a Papuan Highlander, complete with bow, penis gourd and bone through his nose being our chief navigator. Of course, I had not heard of the proud seafaring tradition of his people, living in landlocked high mountain ranges as they did, but when I questioned him, his shaking of his bow and lewd gestures with the penis gourd left me in no doubt that he was a sailor.
I was also worried by the attentions of Boris the Bosun, who I felt, seemed to show an unusually intense interest in my welfare, to the point that he even offered to share his bunk. I had no intention of being 'press ganged' to wake up beside a hirsute Russian sailor, wearing a wedding dress with no recollection of the night before. Deciding that audacity might save my honour (amongst other things), I came up with a plan. Life with the nuns had given me a deep insight into the human psyche, not to mention a propensity for violence.
Knowing the Russian love of authority, I beat him senseless with my walking stick.
"Down you cur" I said in a deadly voice. Boris, true to my expectation, submitted to the violence, and made no further advances upon me, although I would occasionally find him looking wistfully at my firm young body. But I belonged to only one person, and she was but a memory, my Sister Marie.
We sailed the long way around the Cape of Good Hope, because the Captain said that he "didn't trust those Hawaian savages." This struck me as a lie.
One of the seamen hinted darkly that it probably had more to do with his buying the North Island of New Zealand for the princely sum of several bottles of rum and some beads. Apparently no-one had told the Maori about this, and there were rumours of several fleets of large tattooed men in dugout canoes eager to discuss the sale. Perhaps he should have questioned the validity of buying the place from a drunken Scotsman named McGillicutty (lately deceased apparently).
Several days into our voyage I was drawn to our cargo, thousands of small statues of the Virgin Mary, reminding me so much of my saintly Sister Marie.
Taking one up, I realised that the head of the statue unscrewed, and the pungent scent of 'Old Gutripper Rum' filled the air. "So," I thought, "not so much a reminder of Sister Marie, but definately a reminder of Mother Superior after Vespers on a Saturday night".
The smell filled me with a sad nostalgia for my carefree childhood in the Convent, the cold porridge, the cold baths, the regular spankings at the hands of my firm, yet fair, beloved.

The next day we were approached by another ship, and as I looked over the rail, I realised that something was wrong.
I saw the flag at the top of the vessel unfurl as they pulled alongside, it resembled the skull and crossbones, although the skull appeared to be wearing a turban.
It was the dreaded Pirates of the Indian Ocean, screaming at us in their rough lingo "Goodness gracious me, please be heaving to or we will be forced to be shooting you very much Sahib".
The vicious, if polite, scoundrels.
After stealing our cargo, the pirates decided that we should be made to 'walk the plank'. As the youngest, I was chosen to be the first."Be brave", I thought to myself, "you must get out of this and avenge Sister Marie". Suddenly, as the sitars started to play, a plan formed in my mind. I remembered my time with the 'Great Pacozoni' and one scam, er, show we had performed.
I also happened to remember that the coat I was wearing was his 'show' coat, and that a small dove was still concealled within the right sleeve. How that small, brave creature had survived the voyage I had no idea, I could only think that perhaps it snuck out at night and stole food from the galley, before returning to the only home it had ever known. Now I would have to rely on this brave little bird to save our skins.
Wailing like a banshee, I leapt into the air in front of the first pirate, and flung the dove into his face. His reaction was slightly unexpected, instead of trying to gut me with his ceremonial dakashar sword, he dropped to his knees. Suddenly, silence filled the air as all of the pirates knelt, then started chanting in a strange dialect.
I appeared that they belonged to a rare Thugee sect which revered the 'Sacred Dove' and that some few of their holy men spend their lives trying to make them appear from their sleeves.
We were saved!
As a holy man, the pirates generously offered to take me back to their temple palace, to live out my days surrounded by beautiful women, my every need catered for, to share my enlightenment. I explained that sadly, I could not, as I was on a quest to find another 'Sacred Dove'. Little did they know that this dove was a dangerously incompetent Latin American handyman. The pirates mournfully agreed, returned our cargo and allowed us to proceed on our voyage, although they did raise some questions as to the whereabouts of several of their crew, who appeared to be missing.
Although I had noticed that the First Mate was continually burping and picking his teeth with a bone toothpick which I could have sworn he didn't have earlier, I said nothing, and we parted company.
Now we sailed onwards to South America, and my destiny.

To be continued........................................................

The Lebanese Army Womens Reserve has vowed to fight to the last, er, woman?

Just in case anyone thought I was too pro Israel, (see post below), this post is dedicated to those fine examples of Lebanese womanhood who serve their country, er, their people, um, okay Hezbollah.
Just look at this saucy little minx, face and arms uncovered, and compare it to the post below.
Enough said.

'Am Yisrael Chai'

Disclaimer: Yes, I know it is the American actor Jamie Farr, but he will always be Klinger the Lebanese cross dresser to me.

"I will never tell you where the Katyushas are hidden, never.......Um, but since you asked so nicely"

Okay, that's it, I am now joining the Hezbollah, and I demand the Israeli Embassy immediately dispatch this crack team of IDF interrogators to find out what I know.
Please?
I think I am starting to understand why all of those Palestinian youths are constantly getting themselves arrested.

Disclaimer: I actually believe the picture above gives me one more reason to support Israel.

The 'Persuasive Percussion Method' - how to change someone's mind without resorting to logic

I have recently re-discovered an ancient method of changing people's minds, known as the 'Persuasive Percussion' method. This method has been out of vogue with our tolerant, caring society for some time, however I believe that the time to resurrect it has finally come.
'Persuasive Percussion' has been used in this country since the first people occupied it, for example:
"Eh, Mungawoy, I told you not to lose that boomerang, it was my best one!"
Mungawoy "Uh?"
(sound of Nulla - Nulla striking skull)
"Do it again and I'll spear you, understand?"
Mungawoy "Yep, gotcha"

This method has served mankind well in it's history, and in these troubled times it should not be overlooked as a solution to our problems. Take a look at the UN, for example. How much faster would it be to solve the world's problems if, instead of interminable speeches, meetings, etc, the US envoy (Mr Chuck Norris) could just walk up and roundhouse kick the North Korean representative.
After the North Koreans (and others) had lost a few representatives, a sense of self preservation would ensue. And if it didn't, at least it would be fun to watch.
The method does have some drawbacks, being a regrettable expenditure of energy on behalf of the 'Hitter' (aggrieved party), but this is counterbalanced by the chance to finally get through to the 'Hittee' (culprit), and helping them to change their minds.
Mark my words, this could be the new 'Doctrine of Pre-emption'.
Well, I hope so.
Now, if you will excuse me, there is a certain oriental gentleman whose local takeaway gave me food poisoning, and thus is about to be my first test case of the method.