The Cockney Translater!

Morning merciful metadata mercenaries,

Howz ya bum fa lovebites?

Now we all know everyone is watching the birdies,

We also know no ones watchin us...

Well, apart from the Feds and so on,

I don’t care about them, they are about to get their comeuppance.

Bent fuckers, thieves and pants sniffers... all in the name of the queen.

The ever so magical miserable Theresa Dismay wants access to your data.

Blanket access,

Like the experimental American experiment, preceded by the Egyptian experiment, they know most are gonna wear it well.

Uprisings aside,

She will get it in on the terrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrorrrrrrrrrrerrrrrrrrrrrerererrr!!!

When posed questions about civil liberty and individual privacy.

She will say “yes but look at the terrrrrrrrrrererererererereorrrrrrrrrr!!!”

We have had terror a long time, funny enough.

We have blown to bits at Christmas, flown thru the air at Ramadan.

Died in Diwali, you get the point.

I wonder how many people have actually died of a terror plot, you know the number, from around the world.

Then say one recent war?

I wonder when the rest of us will decide that just standing there watching it all, cos you just go work, or do your thang, you’re not religious, you know politics is scam, no one in your family is connected so it’s just ya life then ya die... when are those people gonna say summink, after all they are the biggest group of all.

They practice peace more than anyone, but never get a moment of it.

Anyway back to looking at you, all the time.

She will bring out the old gun, dust it off, point it in your face and...

"If you have nothing to hide, why worry"

POP ya brain is switched off by a propaganda hypno-bullet of bullshit.

No Theresa you opportunistic old cow, that ain’t gonna wash...

I have a sneaking feeling you’re going to get your arse handed to you on that one, after us all seeing that the Americans will wear it, because they are compiled in the rhetoric. I’m wondering if just enough of the angels will stir from slumber, we will see... put a pin it...

But she is gonna vary the gambit...

lay it out brutal, all stops will be pulled.

Corbyn (the new Michael Foot) is going to open the flood gates to everything except nimbys,

Tax you to death, all because labour have no clue how to deal with the city, they get spit roasted every time, after all the conservatives in the blue corner and the city are one in the same.

But worst of all, he's gonna put you straight back in Europe (nimby) I can see all the floating gin palaces on the Thames in Henley now, their fat red-faced captains for the weekend and their leather tanned mauls, drowning in their own self pity... accompanied by a Vera Lynn and philharmonic, slice of lime, two cubes dear, two cubes, don’t make suffer more...

What’s worse, Jezzer will go cap in hand, by that time...

Worse way to come back, ‘Oh sorry guys, we went a bit mad there. Can we come back and play? I got a bottle of coke and a mini fun-size pack of choccies (are we allowed those in Europa?)’

Yeah well, he is a total and utter idiot that looks like he combs his hair wiv a fuckin balloon.

DisMay she knows it, same hairdresser, different static.

She will make you choose between the conservative horror story of Margaret Thatcher’s legacy, New Labour, or, right wing sterile Utopia where the signs know your destination before you do...

You will be able to book your route and pay the road toll before you leave. Also if you don’t want to be delayed cos you’re an important cunt, then you will be able to pay for the Bentley lane, where you can travel at high speed cos you got a chauffeur with the right licence to go fast.

Keep the riff raff out the way eh!

Cos that is where surveillance will lead, in just ten years, if you let them.

Because rich can do no wrong that’s for poor people, in the eye of the law.

Sure, she will bring it in on the horror stories, swear blind no one is looking at you,

Then a little box on the new form that comes about summink or other will need ticking..

There will be a smaller argument about that box being ticked, one you won’t be noticing so much cos ya metadata minders will have stopped that uncleaned news from the pesky web.

Then aunty (BBC) will drown it with a saints and sinners propaganda campaign presented by a government payroled hobbit (Hello Dom, you class system cap docking lacky) because like so many other backroom boys n girls they will know eventually they will be getting their licence fee again, cos they will be allowed thru a court judgement to look up your electronic arse crack... to see if you got any plastic money, if you have real cash, then you’re nicked already cos cash means you’re a criminal.

Ask the Hendon head hunters with rolled up trouser legs.

No wonder she was a fuckin widow wiv sad fuckin deluded bigots like you for sons. (Not all and I feel sorry for the good ones, very sorry.)

But that will be then, let’s come back to the innocent Mrs. May now.

She is not panicking too much,

she has only has new labour that’s old labour, Corbyn is a godsend, she must of been rubbing her lucky charm, the Iron Lady’s little finger on a key ring, ya know like a rabbits foot but different, Cameron passed it on before legging it in case he gets caught, like tony B, no tony, he ain’t as stupid as you.

He even dodged the charges..

Anyway it worked, she is clear, labour have already fucked up by putting Corbyn’s old booty call upfront...

She is great eh, lol.

She has puked verbal cock-ups all over herself and the party already.

It’s pathetic.

So Dismay will forge ahead,

‘Yes, you will let me look at your data, so a truck don’t run you down.

You will vote for me or you will be going back to Europe and starve with them.’

And Jeremy will be humane to people all over the place, wont that be horrible, nimby, nimby, nimby.

I don't give a fuck about any of this, it’s just a show.

We, WE, WE, WE are supposed to be telling them what to do.


Funny how there is no REAL alternative, isn't it?

Red, blue, yellow if you don't know what to do...

In out shake it all about, oh oh the okey cokey, whoahoh the okey cokey, knees bent arms stretched rah rah

Not one real new party with a clear agenda and a compliment of people trained in the fields needed, with a nepotism clause, not in the whole history of English or any politics, in all those years, no one.........


A quick bit about Alex and TYT's.

Well, Cenk is being very careful not to rock the boat too much. Everyone knows if you tell your audience something they don’t like, they will switch off, of coooooooooooourse, catch phrase, like a comedian.

His millions are rising and he gets to be boss for longer, yay !

He also wants to have a run for ‘presidente’, thru a surrogate, therefore perpetuating the continuing system.

Presumably his running mate will be The Rock, it will be great, yeah, they could have a wrestle-mania, Donny’s been on...

Go Cenk, go Cenk,

Cenk don’t know who to appease first, lol.

Alex, fucking hell what a total mess, trying to spin, trying to say it’s not his fault, the ads are out of control, the ‘sell by’-dates on the potion bottles keep him up at night...


Go home Alex, let Knight take over, he is ten times cooler under fire than you.

Plus he can rub two words together, instead of blithering by on silly voices and ludicrously bad comedy.

(Which ultimately makes it funny, I must admit)

Total Mouth breathers.

(Seriously owen keep your mouth closed when it ain’t your turn to babble, it makes Alex look intelligent. Only joking, mandrops boy, x.)

Enough about nutty political religion.

Back to the first nutty religion.

Where to start.

Who the fuck knows? Every time someone asks me at a meet or a party or summink, I start in a place around the question they kinda asked...

Which is very confuzzling.

I attempted some time ago to do my best in just going for it, but I’m just a mug.

So that didn't work.

It seemed more happened, became coherent to people when we just had a chat.

It’s like the preverbal night out, spontaneous is contagious, planned will be bland.

Now I'm here, looking at the screen.

I could start at the point I fell, with a bump.

We could start where the old stones say.

We could start at the point I turned up here, or there, then or now.

What do you think?

Tell you what, I hate religion and history, they are sooooo borin.

So as with most things, subjects, people and threats, I like to surprise them and come straight thru the front door, to save ‘em lookin for me.

So we should grasp the worst first, get it over and done with...

It’s going to take fuckin ages as well, geeeeeeeeezus.

I’m sure some are looking forward to it, well some ain't as well.

I don’t care about the narrative myself, but if ya gonna do summink.... an all that bollacks.

I’ve been putting it off for years...

Do me a favour, even if you’re a total prick and you hate me.

You’re here!

You’re reading!

So you might as well indulge me eh!

Just remember, I was laughing with you thirty years ago.


Not so much.

My first gaze. (big deal meet)

It’s called the Shud.

The Shud

It’s a set of stones.

They are supposed to be a million years old.

There are three inside, behind doors about three-four tons each, there are also three Buried that are fuckin massive, one is in the town which is in the sand not too far from the pyramids, recently "discovered" lol, one is in the Russian green desert Siberia.

I don't know where the third of the large scale ones is. (no one does as far as I know)

They are all still buried, facing down. Over a hundred feet in length.

The "small" ones are supposed to have been fashioned then, no amendments, originals.

They say things, depending on where you look at them.

How you look at them and in what light.

They are arranged by people at certain times of the year.

This is done to "keep the Shud".

I went thru "the Shud"

Are you paying attention Hawk, this is what you always wanted to know, but ya mouth stopped you finding out, (jus teasing you’re a great bloke).

Going through this means a set of meetings, evenings, nights.

They are over three years.

You must not be missed from your life while there, this is checked.

You must be committed.

One miss and you’re gone.

This is very hard to do.

Let alone the thing itself.

The process is an education about the nature of the life.

Where it came from.

Which was of course nothing.

I’m going to try and remember, get it in order, as I went through.

Translated by the superior, foot of the veil.

To the greedy young man.

I’m sure there will be mistakes...

They will be rectified.

We will add an edit, leave the old note.

The Shud.

You enter a hall.

The hall is dark.

Apart from light on a stone.

The stone is large.

Three-four tons.

They are shaped like a teardrop on its side, balancing.

Very thin one end, cylindrical, tapering out, past its balance point then into a huge round.

Some will know what properties these shape stones have, already.

You walk to your spot.

They surround you.

About thirty feet away.

All faces are covered.

But yours.

Total silence.

No noise what so ever.

No traffic from above.

No muttering from those gathered.

Everyone takes honey royal jelly and cloves before they go in.

Your attire is a ceremony in itself (another day)


The superior walks to the first stone, he puts one finger on the stone.

He says something to himself.

Then pushes the stone with that one finger.

It rotates, as it does you see the second stone behind it.

When they become one stone in your perspective the inscriptions start to say something, the superior reads them to you...




..........................You stand still in silence for a long period.


The sound is a tone.

The tone is joined and they descend together.

They rise together.




Rise and decay.

All that will ever be occupied is occupied.

All that will ever happen has happened.

The third and last stone is turned.

All stones point in.

You are now in the centre, with the thin ends all pointing at you directly.

The spaces in between the stones are filled with veiled characters.

The room aluminates slightly above you.

You find yourself standing on a circle.

Either side of you is a pedestal made of a highly finished stone.

On top of the pedestals are circles made of metal.

The metal is slightly gold, slightly copper in its appearance,

The rings are edge on to your torso.

They are level with your wrists (this is prepared)

The rings themselves are about 12" in diameter.

You place both your hands through the rings.

There is a mechanism which cantilevers a bag, in the bag is desert sand.

Two of the superiors step forward and stab the bags.

The speaker then starts to tell you the oath, as he speaks the corn runs out, you must not move until he finishes.

Only then can you move your hands.

They are very sharp, you can’t move a muscle.

It’s difficult to breath.

The pressure is hard to describe.

Its part them all concentrating on you, part the stones are all facing you, targeting you, now joined by this imminent threat to your hands.

Plus they are all stark staring mad and you know it.

It is pressure, I assure you.

The worst bit, it’s all voluntary.

I will leave it there for now.

I’m a bit sweaty, lol.

What they make you swear to next, which will then make it fairly simple segway onto and describe there practises.

I hope.

My superior was a tall man, thin, old.

I later found out he hated me. (my "kind" in his words)

Before I even knew him.

From the man I eventually worked for.

He took his time reading, I got him back for that, later.

They’re nutz, man!

I wanted in, so was I.

I’m betterish now.

Slater, don’t get eaten by a gator.