Tax? Pay More Rich Folks!

 "Warren Buffett has called for Congress to make him and his 'mega-rich friends' pay more income tax. (BBC)

The billionaire investor and philanthropist said; "We filthy rich folks should pick up our fair share of the tab... do more to help plug the deficit." Warming to his theme of, "give it away you fist tight graspers," he continued.
"Those earning more than $1m (£600,000), and a higher rate for those on over $10m." Mr Buffett demanded of the many housed, off shore tax shy fraternity. "I pay tax at a lesser rate than my office gals. Bazaar or what! It's just not rational and hardly acceptable." What of the arguments made by Republicans, Mr Buffett? "If I was a cow poke in cattle country, I'd explain like a well brought up Texan that some of the GOP should stop taking like a  hosse's ass."

Spies, Pakistan And Chinese Plunder!

"ISTAN'S intelligence service probably let Chinese military engineers examine the wreckage of a super-secret US stealth helicopter that crashed during the May raid on Osama bin Laden's compound in Abbottabad." (SunHearld.com)

But surely everything has it's price, my Mandarin friends?

An unnamed official from PR Pakis, familiar with the usual double-dyed behaviour of the US's non compliant ally ,took it personally. "My friends, on behave of our nation, I'm deeply hurt." began Mr A from the Ministry of Double Speak, "my friends, he repeated; how can you think such things? I don't even own a camera and only once have I seen what you describe as a helicopter? We are your comrades in battle as steady as the moving desert sands; we chaps of Pakistan stand shoulder-to-shoulder with our dear American blood brothers, and by the Scimitar of Saladin we surely can't be trusted one decimal place. As to the the matter of your sneek-past-us Black Hawk; there is no truth in rumours that sensitive information has wafted towards Beijing. I sware on the waterlogged bones of one recently martyred; personally I've no knowledge of bamboo shoots or birds in the nest soup. I will spit on the graves of these soon to be deceased tall tale tellers. The oriental gentlemen some of you press persistently reference, were only in our country to open a chain of honorable Peking Shootin' Duck take-outs." He fingered his worry beads slowly, a swift brow moping then some major grooming of the horse hair of a moustache that occupied the mantelpiece atop his lip. "And now my friends of the western media; before the public holiday of traitor hanging, I shall take one more of your probing no-holds-barred questions.Yes Nick?" "Er, thanks. Nicky Naive, New York Times. "You really are on our side, aren't you...?
A Mexican wave of amusement rippled around the press room and out into the warm, still evening air. (Photo: AFP).

Brit Of The Long Tongue.

Not quite ready for that Julie Andrew's number.

"British student has tongue lengthened to speak Korean." (Telegraph, UK)

 Rhiannon Brooksbank–Jones loves The Vapors  track 'Turning Japanese' which she sings along to in short tongue Korean. Rhianno currently studies at a nearby university in the county of Robin the Hood and dreams of speaking in tongues; which is handy when imaging countries she can't be sure exist except perhaps in pixels. She struggles with shopping trolleys, folding maps back into their designated creases but it's the pronunciation of certain Zulu vowels and the Korean for; 'he's one fit fella,' that triggers tongue malfunction. "Being a short arse - which moi isn't- well that's one thing; but having a tongue that's totally useless for certain French smooching maneuvers is not cool." She ran out of paper but continued writing on my T shirt, "I'm not thick, but that friggin' lingual frenulum is! As things stand, I can't be the voice of Korea's speaking clock or the bingo caller at my local." Her parents nodded their agreement. "It's got to be the15 minute lingual frenectomy op for number one daughter, followed by lashings of her fav ice cream."
A couple of weeks later Rhiannon said tentatively, "Sore or what. Such aggers at first, but tonguey is now about 1cm longer and I'll soon be Rosetta Stoning the crap out of all in my immediate vicinity!" Little won-soong-ee.   (Photo: Paul Tonge)

Enter... The Super Mouse!

 "Super mouse evolves resistance to most poisons." (BBC) 

Call me Jerry once more and I will crap in your cornflakes.

German and Spanish mice on their hols in North Africa have found the lady mice of the Casbah much to their liking. "The Germans always get here first; swill copious amounts of beer and warfarin and seem none the worst," said the de-frocked priest turned scientist,"it gets them in that thigh slappin' party time mood. Then it's towels on the sun loungers and off they scuttle to find an Arabian princess," What about the Spanish? "They're always much later to arrive. They're all back in Spain engaging in the three hour tapas, a glass or two of red then siesta. Later in the evening more tapas and a nice white then hit the nest around 3.30am. Early next day somehow they're down town pissing off loads of angry bulls which chase them through narrow streets. Already late for an Algerian date by around 1.5 million years, it's not too much of a priority when a well placed horn is about to connect with the smallest butt in Europe." And what of the survivors? "Oh, for lucky furries, it's boats and planes across the Med and some gene leaking in hell hot Algeria."
Now...you may be wondering; will cousin ratie have their lost weekends too? Well, why not. The relatives are having the genetic exchanging time of their lives, so for ratie it'd be a simple equation: Today Algiers, a quick globe trot then it's Black Death 2 time.  Would there be enough Hamelin pipers to go around, working their olde miracle magic before we're all pox and puss? You'd better hope so.
(Photo: BBC)

The 'God Particle' Onwards And Upwards!

Here's mine. So...you've brought some tablet round Jeremy?

Volunteers can now actively help physicists in the search for: head lice, cheap booze or anything you fancy really. The new fundamentals in the world of particles are hard to see, so those with an account at SpecSavers, stay up late and have little or no social life are much in demand. Oh, but if you are going all net-worky to help Cern, you'll perhaps need something very similar to the top pic to give you any hope of being first to Higgs-Boson and a Nobel Prize. "Providing insights into the origin of our Universe, is never as easy as say, finding a new pi" so said the man in charge of all things big at Cern, like the one and only LHC. A freckled faced youth by his elbow stuck out his tongue before announcing, "A pi searcher is a 26 a night Red Bull guy. Nod-offs need not apply." Little Freck, being one of the more genteel names for the newly arrived 15 year old wunderknabe: IQ210 Voice: broke last Tuesday. "But,"and one now detected whinge-creep from the little 'un, "but why can't I find the number deep in philosophical meaning, when I've verified 200 million against the source list?  A--N--D...... I once downed 27 RBs on a pi over-nighter at Wendy's...so there!"

Time to take his Red Bull tinnies away, while older boffins smash on for another 24 hours in search for the God of particles. (Photos: Copyright Control) 

Hey Alf, send that smart ass kid for my KitKat.

Gordon, An Axe And Gin-less.

Craggers: nearly in touchy-feely mode.

"Gordon Ramsay is axed as the face of Gordon's Gin as sales fall" (Mirror, UK) 
Ms Cranberry S, of West End PR reported, "Gordon is taking an never ending sabbatical. I hear that he will be slipping into a very exclusive furniture school in Switzerland to give him that extra finesse (and a mustard mouth-wash won't go amiss)," ventured the newly emboldened Ms Cranberry in her mock drama college whisper. "And...he's not the face front of what our band Gin Wify needs anymore!" butted in Artie Artichok'em (bass). "Craggy as the Jagger, the 3 percent sales slumper is not going to shift us to the next league, or fix us up on a big unplugged spot," Artie continued with a nuance of swaying hip. "What we needs is like a really smooth chops; a 'shaken, not stirred' type bloke. I'd even trash me pig swill look and get suited if we was to land that Quattro-driving DCI Hunt."  'chok'em mused to his 5000 watt Marshall. "Yes quite, intervened a startled fawn resembling Ms C.
Craggy's other enterprises are not reported to be in peek condition either. "F--- 'em. They're space-wasting tossers all!" retorted G form the VIP London lounge, en route to some hoped for resurrection across the pond. (Photo: Splash)

Getting It Wrong, Again...

"Shout down the Sharia myth makers" (JTA) Sounding much like an extra in a Jihadist's B film, Abraham H. Foxman is the kind of guy that, had he been living in Germany, would have said in 1935 that Hitler and the Ruff Bhoys were just a passing faze for disgruntled out of work WW1 losers. That they were temporarily a little misguided, but were really salt of the earth Fatherland lovers who just uniformed-up to march, though perhaps too self indulgent with beer and a sing-song. Abe would have enjoyed a good Schubert melody though it would have been Ludwig that tugged at his wannabe German heart. He would have viewed those who were dispatching their children to Britain as unpatriotic and not much better than paranoid panic merchants. And even as he was being loaded onto a cattle truck he would still have been shouting about always having been a good loyal German.
Abe and his band; ever the apologists for Islam. Left of center intellectuals, singing from the same old "We Can Never Get It Right" sheet music.
If the elephants were heading for high ground as the sea retreated at pace to some distant horizon; the oblivious Abe and Co would still be readying themselves for their beach picnic with a chilled Chardonnay to hand...getting it wrong, again.