Let my people go

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Moses felt his heart lurch as he watched Pharaoh carry his lifeless son to Anubis’ statue.
“Will you let my people go now?” asked Moses.
“No,” said Pharaoh.
“No?” asked Moses. “But…your son…”
“He was my eldest, sure,” said Pharaoh. “But I have dozens more, just as ready to take my throne. Insurance against assassination, or enemy gods.”
Moses’ heart sank, and he returned to his people.
“Did it work?” asked Herschel.
“No,” said Moses.
The community agreed. “We need more plagues,” said Herschel.
It took sixteen more to convince Pharaoh.
They edited those out of The Bible, of course.

Nanny

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Just as Nanny raised me, she raised you. And just as she raised you, she will raise your daughter.
Nanny has raised the children in our family for five centuries now.
Why would you refuse Nanny’s services? After all, part of her regimen is to instill the simple truth that Nanny must raise all generations of our family.
It has always been that way. It always will.
Why you would rebel against this simple thing can mean only one thing: you are not actually my daughter.
Tell me what you did with her, and I promise you won’t suffer much.

New Australia

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Prisons Ministry looked at Gate Technology and dreamt of a New Australia.
“The parallel universe is habitable,” said the Warden-General. “Just like Prehistoric Earth. Better there than wrecking civilization here.”
The test prisoners went through without problem, surviving the trip and living out their lives peacefully across the Gate.
Approval was given, and prisoners were shipped off by the hundreds.
Eventually the world treated the Gate as their social garbage disposal. Murders. Rapists. Thieves. Tax cheats. Jaywalkers.
Until one day, research determined that they actually were going into Prehistoric Earth.
And they were hunting Homo habilis for sport.
Civilization vanished.

Jawoll

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More daily commentary from our man in London, Andrew Ian Dodge…

We may have a rather interesting scenario in the UK with the meddling in British politics from Rome. And no I am not talking about the Catholic Church sticking their oar in British political life. I am talking an Italian prosecutor going after David Mills, Tessa Ja’Woll’s husband for his dealings with Berlusconi. They have “separated” while he deals with his problem. She knows nuthink! Could the biggest hit to the Blair government come from Italy not the Tories or the Lib-Dems? Just shows the state of British politics when the government looks wobbly because of the goings-on in Italy.

For those of you addicted to Andrew’s stuff who can’t stand my crap, I’ll set up an RSS feed just for him.

My dad is a ninja

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It was Career Day at school, and every child in Miss Claire’s class brought their father in to show off.
Susie’s father was a fireman.
Abdul’s father was a lawyer.
Johnny’s father was a baseball player.
Bobby’s father was… absent?
“Where is your father, Bobby?” asked Miss Claire.
“He’s lurking in the shadows,” said Bobby.
“Why?”
“Because he’s a ninja.”
“He’s not a ninja.”
As fast as lightning, a fist plunged through Miss Claire’s chest, ripped out her heart, and showed it to her before she died.
“See?” said Bobby.
Oh, did I mention that Susie’s father was a fireman?

Placards

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Andrew Ian Dodge considers the hate-placards of protestors in London…

The Telegraph has reported that the Police have decided to arrest those with the more vile and violent placards at last month’s Religion of Peace rally. This is probably due to all the pressure on the Police over the matter. As I reported last week even Trevor Philips, chief racism bully, has expressed his concerns over the behaviour at the rally and the recent poll about Sharia law. The British government does seem to be trying to reverse the view that it is being more lenient with Muslims than other sorts. You think the public is going to buy it?

Ah, sweet fickle Lady Justice. When shall we ever see your knickers?

Wonk

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Andrew Ian Dodge keeps us up to date with his charmed life as a wonk.

This week has seen a rather interesting development in my writing career. I have been asked by a UK think-tank to write a 6000+ word piece on the future of the British music scene. What makes me laugh about this is that I was in the think-tank/wonk world in the 90s and never managed to get paid very much. Now I am a scary long-haired leather-clad heavy rock frontman and I will be paid nicely for my piece which will end up in a book from the organisation. The twists and turns of life can be quite amusing at times.

I want to be just like him when I grow old.

Salacis

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Prince Salacis was wise, beloved to the people, but loathed by his own advisers.
Fearful of his unchecked power, they stabbed him in the throat with a dagger.
But Salacis survived. Much to the advisors’ regret, I must say. They were all hung and left to rot.
The royal surgeons could not remove the dagger from his neck, so they wrapped it with gold foil and encrusted it with jewels.
For forty more years, Salacis presided over the land, commanding all with a raspy voice. Brilliantly, too.
When he needed advice, he consulted the rotted-away corpses, swaying in the breeze.

Compass Rose

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My staff travels the globe, searching for plants to send back so I can add them to my garden.
Some years, they don’t find much. Other years, I can barely keep up with the acquisitions.
This past month, all I’ve received is a packet of seeds with the label “Compass Rose” on it.
No pH readings or sunlight profiles. Not even a soil sample.
My people know better. I can’t just plant blindly. Such fragile specimens they are, some don’t even survive shipping back to me.
I’ll plant them anyway. Neutral soil, light, and water. We’ll see what comes up.

Anthem

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Andrew Ian Dodge chants an anthem for your arousal…

Raise your pints to our boys; Raise it high and make some noise; Cheer them on; raise the flag. What am I on about? Well my song-writing partner and I are going to have a crack at writing England’s World Cup anthem. To be sure, with one notable exception of ‘Three Lions’, the songs for England have not exactly been stellar. With lines like : Wave St George; if you love England; England. oh England We’re going east and we’re gonna win the cup; I am sure we are onto a winner. And there is no mention of the var!