False Prophets

Lunch with a few old friends

I had lunch with a few old friends yesterday. Goodness, old times. We finished lunch about 1:00 AM at a Very Disreputable Speakeasy in Regina.  In the midst of our cups, a Decision Was Made.

We're getting the Band back together.

Reality cares not at all for your dogma.

It seems the citizens of England are again the victims of the Predictable Results of inviting countless Wogs to come and take over one's Capitol City. Having finally pacified the Irish, they have found that Certain Other Races are even More Useless, Less Intelligent, Lazier, and more Criminally Inclined. The latest story is that while cowering under the table of a restaurant as Yet Another Musselman goes Amok, some hopelessly brainwashed Congenital Idiot denied the reality staring him in the face, attempting to slash his throat.

As an acquaintance said recently "During the Blitz, surprisingly few Londoners were skulking around the bomb shelters saying "Fucking idiot, it's not Nazis!"
In illustration I have captioned a daguerreotype with the  sentiment: