South Pacific paradise becomes hell


Australians even suspected of having Covid are locked up in government internment camps that are surrounded by barbed wire fences and patrolled by guards.

Inmates are fined $5,000 if they cross a yellow line in the ‘detention centers’ — aka, Nazi concentration camps.

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Aussie Police Arrest Teen ‘Fugitives’ Who Escaped From Covid Internment Camp

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Dispatch from the slaughterhouse

The Age of Tyranny

Covid-crazed fascism, cancel culture, out-of-control crime, politicians who don’t give a rat’s ass except to cover their own asses, the filthier-than-ever rich preaching climate control while polluting the air with their private jets, Big Pharma raking in obscene billions from lies and fear while abandoned men, women and children die in the filthy streets of cold-hearted cities.

And presiding over all the dehumanizing fear and hate and anarchy, smirking on the corporate news, a demented president and cackling vice president, and of course, the ever present egomaniacal, holier-than-thou, self-righteous Devil incarnate himself, Dr. Faustus Fauci.

In Australia, where once the beach and beer were life’s priorities, the covid gestapo are locking up the unvaxxed in detention camps, aka, concentration camps. In towns around the world, the unvaxxed are denied housing and being evicted by scared-shitless landlords. Lockdown protesters are being shot in the back.

People who speak out against the tyranny are censored, their voices silenced by social media Nazi nerds who have crowned themselves the gods of so-called ‘truth,’ while peddling godless lies.

The Great Global Brainwash is in full swing. Hapless, helpless people are being corralled into submission by madmen and dictators.

It is the Age of Tyranny and the Era of Insanity. A time in history that calls for the courage to assert individualism and independence. That is our right. And this is our fight.

Header art by Ralph Steadman

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Flying lightly through life

In lieu of family, all of whom having been killed off by that most sadistic of life writers, Almighty Whatever, and in lieu of friends, who have been written out of the script by that fickle collaborator, River of Time, I have found new family and friends in the neighborhood birds.

For any Brits reading this I do not refer to young women of the comely variety, but to the actual offspring of Mother Nature, bona fide birds, the real McCoy.

In the backyard, outside the kitchen window, I have created a holy place for birds by placing seven small stones in a circle — seven representing completeness, wholeness, perfection — about three feet in diameter, in the center of which I scatter bird seed of a most beneficial variety.

The birds come flying in, if not from Chicago and L.A., then certainly from the branches of the many tall trees that surround my lowly bungalow.

I look out the window as I make my morning coffee and watch their comings and goings. Birds of many kinds and wonderful colors, with individual personalities. Blue jays are bullies, morning doves affable, grackles cheeky. They all travel light, no baggage, my kind of flyers.

In all my trips flying to Australia over the years, crossing that dark ocean two dozen times, usually going for a month or longer, I never took anything more than a carry-on.

I traveled light, like the birds that fly into my backyard these many years later, me an old man now, not the cavalier fellow flying Down Under, putting the make on pretty women sitting near me in the 747, sweet romance under a Qantas blanket at 30,000 feet, all behind me now as I hear the kettle boiling and make my coffee and watch the birds in a solitary place of completeness.

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