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The Drowning Rats

Two incen­di­ary devices planted by anim­al rights extrem­ists were found at an Oxford col­lege yes­ter­day.
More than 100 staff and stu­dents at Tem­pleton Col­lege were evac­u­ated as Army bomb dis­pos­al experts dealt with the fire­bombs.

They were found under a Por­takabin fol­low­ing claims on an anim­al rights web­site that act­iv­ists had planted them more than a week ago. They had not det­on­ated.
Bite­Back, an American-based group which details the activ­it­ies of pro­test­ers, stated: “On the night of Sunday Feb­ru­ary 18 the ALF [Anim­al Lib­er­a­tion Front] car­ried out an arson attack on the Por­takabin offices of Tem­pleton Col­lege at Ken­ning­ton, on the out­skirts of Oxford.
This latest action is part of an ongo­ing fight again­st the Uni­ver­sity of Oxford and its con­tin­ued reign of ter­ror over the unseen vic­tims inside its anim­al labs.”BiteBack, an American-based group which details the activ­it­ies of pro­test­ers, stated: “On the night of Sunday Feb­ru­ary 18 the ALF [Anim­al Lib­er­a­tion Front] car­ried out an arson attack on the Por­takabin offices of Tem­pleton Col­lege at Ken­ning­ton, on the out­skirts of Oxford.

The bombs were described as small, but police would not spec­u­late on wheth­er they would have caused loss of life or sub­stan­tial dam­age, had they det­on­ated.

Daily Tele­graph Online

Whil­st it’s a great pity the devices did not det­on­ate, at least some fun was had with these scum. Tony — For I am become Death, The Des­troy­er of Worlds * — Blair will undoubtedly label the act­ors as ter­ror­ists, and prob­ably urge the Brit­ish Secur­ity Forces to devote more and more resources to coun­ter­ing Anim­al Lib­er­a­tion­ists, as so often before…

Yet who so fond of real ter­ror­ists as this vain immor­al pos­eur, who, hav­ing a his­tory as an incon­tin­ent war­mon­ger, sur­passed his pre­vi­ous efforts by abet­ting Amerika in cre­at­ing the most futile war of mod­ern times in order to fol­low the pre­ced­ent of the wor­st Prime Min­ister Great Bri­tain ever had, and make money by tour­ing the USA dur­ing his retire­ment lec­tur­ing and build­ing up a Found­a­tion ?

( Lady Thatch­er her­self is appar­ently now devot­ing her­self to her hob­bies of sit­ting in a chair and drib­bling, and for­get­ting what any­one said ten minutes earli­er. No mat­ter, for recall­ing her years in office, if rein­stalled in power, there would be little dif­fer­ence per­cept­ible between her hand­ling of issues then or now. )

As part of his desire to go into his­tory as The Man Who Ended the North­ern Ire­land Prob­lem, not only has he cozied up to the sickly depraved scum whose weak-minded desire for a united Ire­land led them to such hero­ic acts as the murder of Jean McCon­ville, and given them a free hand in the areas those gan­glords con­trol ( in con­junc­tion with their ex-opposites on the prot­est­ant gangs in their areas ), but…

Pro­sec­u­tions of IRA fugit­ives and mem­bers of the secur­ity forces accused of col­lu­sion are to be dropped in the ‘pub­lic interest’, it was claimed last night.

The UK’s Dir­ect­or of Pub­lic Pro­sec­u­tions and the Attor­ney Gen­er­al are to be asked to shelve cases again­st on-the-run repub­lic­ans as part of a final deal between Sinn Féin and Down­ing Street.

Guard­i­an

Kind of wraps up the loose ends, doesn’t it ?

The only decent action of the Thatch’s entire, oth­er­wise futile, premi­er­ship was not to give in to the demands of a piece of human waste ( ie: an mem­ber of the PIRA ) Bobby Sands, through the black­mail of hunger-strike: unfor­tu­nately she blew even that by later sign­ing the Act which gave joint sov­er­eignty over North­ern Ire­land to the poor old Irish Repub­lic, which rules it’s own coun­try with the same ineptitude as do the Brit­ish their own, only with extra-added depres­sion…

As to the mis­for­tu­nate lack of pos­it­ive action dir­ec­te at Oxford, with it’s cen­tur­ies old his­tory of anim­al tor­ture now with the addi­tion of the New Prim­ate Labor­at­ory, unless some strong action is taken, vital research for sav­ing human life such as this will con­tin­ue…

Accord­ing to the U.S. Depart­ment of Agriculture’s web­site, POM made a com­mit­ment through June 2007 to an exper­i­ment that involves for­cing eld­erly rats to bal­ance on a spin­ning rod and find a hid­den plat­form in a water maze in order to try not to drown.

Blog Peta Archives

POM makes pomegranate juice. And oth­er ‘exper­i­ments’ were still worse ( unless, of course, you were one of the drown­ing rats… )

* Vide the latest

Private Eve

They think I’m going mad. Mad ! Mad ! Do you hear me ? Me, the Vicar !

Can you ima­gine any­thing less likely than that I, of all people, should go off his rock­er !

Me, the most suc­cess­ful vicar in the his­tory of Christen­dom, the Saviour of the World, the man who abol­ished slavery, who dis­covered Amer­ica and inven­ted the inter­net ?

Me, the first Brit­ish Time Lord ever to rule over the Galaxy !

Me, the sev­enth Avatar of the great God Zurg, in whom all things are made new !

Me, brighter than a thou­sand suns, from whom Kali cringes. I who have become Death, the Des­troy­er of Worlds !

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Your 15-Year-Old Nephew is Not a Hosting Provider

careers
(Generalia)

Is your nonprofit’s Web site run­ning off a server in your 15-year-old nephew’s closet? Does your Web design­er charge you $150 a month for host­ing when you’ve heard that $15 a month will get you everything you need? Would you like to use a par­tic­u­lar soft­ware pack­age that your host­ing pro­vider just won’t let you install ?

If you answered yes to any of these ques­tions, you may want to con­sider look­ing for a new Web host­ing pro­vider.

While it’s tech­nic­ally pos­sible to host a Web site on any com­puter with a per­man­ent con­nec­tion to the Inter­net, it’s rarely a good idea. Let­ting one of your IT staff, a board mem­ber, or an acquaint­ance host your site from his or her closet or gar­age may seem like a good way to save money, but it’s sel­dom worth the risk. Power out­ages, crashes, hack­ers, and even well-meaning staff can all take your site off­line for hours — or even days.

Occa­sion­ally, the per­son or com­pany who built your Web site will offer to host it for you. While this may sound con­veni­ent, con­sider the option care­fully.

To start, ask your design­er where the actu­al server that hosts your site will reside. Any reput­able design­er will out­source the actu­al Web host­ing to a pro­fes­sion­al pro­vider; under this reseller’s agree­ment, your design­er will rent a chunk of host­ing space, man­age the rela­tion­ship with the vendor, and bill costs to you.

Ideal­ware

Hav­ing recently dis­covered one Roy­al­ist soci­ety I belong to handed their minute web­site over to a design group and is pay­ing nearly $2000 a year for the priv­ilege…

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II">Divine Max II

I think I did it again
I made you believe we're more than just friends
Oh baby
It might seem like a crush
But it doesn't mean that I'm serious
'Cause to lose all my senses
That is just so typically me.

Or typically Max Raabe in rendering the masterwork...

www.palastorchester.de

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Anhungered Regret

crow

When the sum­mer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the fall­ing of the snow,
With the caw­ing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the after­math.

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this har­vest­ing of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowen mixed with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.

Henry Wadsworth Long­fel­low : After­math

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And how can man die better ?

careers
(Correctitude, Other Writ)

Barge, it is feared, was actu­ated more by kindly affec­tion for Hatch­jaw than for any con­cern for his­tor­ic­al accur­acy when he says that the lat­ter was ‘almost unarmed’. Prob­ably no private trav­el­ler has ever gone abroad accom­pan­ied by a more for­mid­able armoury and nowhere out­side a museum has there been assembled a more var­ied or deadly col­lec­tion of leth­al engines. Apart from explos­ive chem­ic­als and the unas­sembled com­pon­ents of sev­er­al bombs, gren­ades and land­mines, he had four army-pattern revolvers, two rook-rifles, angler’s land­ing gear ( ! ), a small machine-gun, sev­er­al minor firing-irons and an unusu­al instru­ment resem­bling at once a pis­tol and a shot­gun, evid­ently made to order by a skilled gun­smith and designed to take ele­phant ball. Wherever he hoped to corner the shad­owy Kraus, it is clear that he inten­ded that the ‘cata­clysm’ should be wide­spread.

Flann O’Brian : The Third Police­man

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Otto

Medal, n. A small metal disk given as a reward for vir­tues, attain­ments or ser­vices more or less authen­tic.
It is related of Bis­mark, who had been awar­ded a medal for gal­lantly res­cuing a drown­ing per­son, that, being asked the mean­ing of the medal, he replied: “I save lives some­times.” And some­times he didn’t.

Ambrose Bier­ce : The Devil’s Dic­tion­ary

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Disdain In Perfection

The King, in his answer, declined to sur­render him­self, his coun­try and his friends. When his answer was ready it was sent to Den­bigh and the oth­er Com­mis­sion­ers sealed up. This they objec­ted to, say­ing it was not fit for them to receive an answer without being acquain­ted with the con­tents.

The King replied, “What is that to you, who are but to carry what I send ? and if I will send the song of Robin Hood and Little John you must carry it.”

Wine­fride Elwes : The Feild­ing Album

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Vorwarts !

careers
(High Germany, Other Writ, War)

It seemed to me that to have been a Ger­man tank com­mand­er on that first morn­ing, wait­ing on the fra­grant turf, with the larks singing, for the order to advance into the blue dis­tances of Rus­sia, would have been to exper­i­ence true mil­it­ary glory, per­haps for the last time in the his­tory of the world.

Michael Whar­ton ( ‘Peter Sim­ple’ ) :The Miss­ing Will

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Loss of Rationality

For the INTP, love has three dis­tinct phases: fall­ing in, stay­ing in, and get­ting out. These phases relate to their think­ing pref­er­ence and its need for order and sequence. An INTP char­ac­ter­ized fall­ing in love as a stage of com­plete loss of ration­al­ity that may last a year or less. When an INTP falls in love, he or she falls hard — an all or noth­ing phe­nomen­on. At this stage, INT­Ps are likely to be very lively, almost giddy, in their new love. The exper­i­ence rushes over them and car­ries them along. They do not struc­ture or con­trol it but simply enjoy and exper­i­ence it. They do many lov­ing things and they are curi­ous about their loved one and are able to over­look his or her flaws. They may bravely ignore the real­it­ies of dis­tance, weather, and time to be with the loved one. As rela­tion­ships pro­gress to the staying-in-love phase, INT­Ps begin to eval­u­ate their struc­ture and form. They may with­draw at this point because they are mov­ing toward their more cus­tom­ary inward style. Out­ward demon­stra­tions of affec­tion lessen, and the giddy state changes. Inter­ac­tions are more mat­ter of fact, per­haps even imper­son­al. INT­Ps take their com­mit­ments to their part­ner ser­i­ously; how­ever, they may not dis­cuss these com­mit­ments at any length with their part­ner or with oth­er people, because their com­mit­ments seem so obvi­ous to them. Fall­ing out of love, which may not always occur, res­ults from an ana­lys­is of the real expect­a­tions and needs of the rela­tion­ship. Often an undefined line is crossed that neither part­ner knows about ahead of time. How­ever, the INTP knows after the line has been crossed, and then the rela­tion­ship deteri­or­ates or ends.

INTP — The Wiz­ard by Sandra Krebs Hirsch and Jean Kum­merow

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Living Death

Thus, because Chris­ti­an mor­al­ity leaves anim­als out of account …, they are at once out­lawed in philo­soph­ic­al mor­als; they are mere “things”, mere means to any ends what­so­ever. They can there­fore be used for vivi­sec­tion, hunt­ing, cours­ing, bull­fights and horse racing, and can be whipped to death as they struggle along with heavy carts of stone. Shame on such a mor­al­ity that is worthy of pari­ahs, chan­dalas and mlechch­has, and that fails to recog­nize the etern­al essence that exists in every liv­ing thing, and shines forth with inscrut­able sig­ni­fic­ance from all eyes that see the sun !

Arthur Schopen­hauer

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Two by Yeats

careers
(Other Writ, Poetry)

HE REPROVES THE CURLEW

O CURLEW, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your cry­ing brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the cry­ing of wind.

******

THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED

One that is ever kind said yes­ter­day:
“Your well-beloved’s hair has threads of grey,
And little shad­ows come about her eyes;
Time can but make it easi­er to be wise,
Though now it’s hard, till trouble is at an end;
And so be patient, be wise and patient, friend.”
But, heart, there is no com­fort, not a grain;
Time can but make her beau­ty over again,
Because of that great noble­ness of hers;
The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs,
Burns but more clearly. O she had not these ways,
When all the wild sum­mer was in her gaze.
O heart ! O heart ! If she’d but turn her head,
You’d know the folly of being com­for­ted.

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That Pass

We stand on a moun­tain pass in the mid­st of whirl­ing snow and blind­ing mist, through which we get glimpses now and then of paths which may be decept­ive. If we stand still, we shall be frozen to death. If we take the wrong road, we shall be dashed to pieces. We do not cer­tainly know wheth­er there is any right one. What must we do ? Be strong and of a good cour­age. Act for the best, hope for the best, and take what comes. Above all, let us dream no dreams, and tell no lies, but go our way, wherever it may lead, with our eyes open and our heads erect. If death ends all, we can­not meet it bet­ter. If not, let us enter whatever may­be the next scene like hon­est men, with no soph­istry in our mouths and no masks on our faces.

James Fitzjames Steph­en : Liber­ty, Equal­ity, Fra­tern­ity

CFriedrichWanderer

Cas­par Friedrich : Wan­der­er above the Sea of Fog

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