PR1NC3

“Money can buy anything,” thought the Prince of Nigeria, “Why can’t I find love?”

He stared blankly at his eHarmoney profile; ‘Prince of Nigeria looking for love and to share his wealth’.
0 hits, several messages though.

[You’re a joke mate] from an Sydney.

The second from Vienna [This is just sad…].

Confused, he refused to open any more.
Placing his face in his palms he remembered the words of his uncle.

‘Expand your horizons nephew, the whole world waits for you’

His worldly uncle could not provide wisdom to the Prince now, he was hiking the Himaylan range bordering India…
hunting Himalayan vultures.

Closing eHarmoney he revealed his web diary and blog ‘In Need of a Princess’.

 

\\ I could fly to Sydney or Vienna in seconds…

 

he wrote.

He calculated that it would actually be 3 hours and 47 minutes in the jet, he continued writing

 

\\ But who would be there for me. The world is not waiting for me.

 

“Argh, what to write next in this self pitying slop?” he wondered.

Closing the blog he decided to indulge in slightly more pleasurable form of self pitying.

A quick click later and [pornhub.com] filled the display.

The Prince glossed his eyes over each scandalising video when for some reason he was attracted to the sidebar.

[Local Sluts NEAR YOU!]

It was like a lighting bolt hit his head. “Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I will compress my horizons uncle!”

He clicked cautiously, but his suspicions were cast aside. A woman was already messaging him.

[Hey Sexy, I live near you at AREA CODE: 3493. I’m lonely…]

“Wow thats my area code. I needn’t travel around the globe, I can tame myself a common women right here”

He entered his name and credit card and began

Pr1nc3 [This is amazing thats where I live]

Candy[What the hell? someone actually replied]

Pr1nc3 [I can’t see a reason how someone could resist ur beauty?]

Candy[Your cute 🙂 um this has never happened before… but do you wanna meet up, we do live nearby]

And just like that he had found his woman.
They were going to meet at a cafe round the corner, he had seen it from his limousine once or twice.

With glee he reopened his blog and finished the post as he went out the door.

 

\\ The world may not be waiting for me, but AREA CODE: 3493 is!

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A Long Awaited Meal

The food arrived on a silver platter covered by a traditional dome cover. The Major lightly tapped the surface with his rings but made no move to begin eating.
So there it stood shining like a reflective beacon in this rusty shelter.

“You are a liar. You are hungry for the journalist as well.”

“Yes, that is my purpose here.”

He didn’t move at all, he seemed to hardly breath.

Succumbing to the silence I continued “I work with the Black Swan Rescue.”

He finally become reanimated with a smile. I could almost see the gears click into place as he analysed this new information.

“Cup of tea? You are English no?” Again he gestured to the boy who left us.

“Scottish”

He erupted from his chair to study a globe in the corner of the room.

“Hungry for knowledge?” I inquired.

Gripping the globe smothering North Pole and Russia with his massive palm, he brought it to my face.

“This is mine” he proclaimed,
“my father gave it to me”

He pointed to Scotland.
“Yes that is it” I nodded.

“I was close enough, and yes I have a hunger for knowledge when I was a boy, I wanted to go to Cambridge.”

The boy returned with tea. I took the cup.

“So you are here for Harrison Tur-lock?”

“His safe return and delivery to his family.”

He went still again and stared at the tea in my hand.

I raised it to my mouth to sip when but nothing but the taste of gasoline filled my mouth.
I spluttered as the fumes filled my sinus.

“Boy!” the Major shouted.
Obediently the lad ran to him only to receive a backhand across the face that flung him to the floor.
The cup was wrenched from my hand.
“You call this a cup of tea?” he splashed the remaining bile into the servants face that was punched by the major’s sharp rings.
“I-I’m sorry sir” He grabbed him by the neck and squeezed “I didn’t meanee-” his words came out in a high pitched wheeze.

“So Ben-jah-mon.” the Major turned to me, “You are here to save a life, because I would very much like to kill that liar Harrison.”

“Stop this Bosco, I’ll have none of these games, I am here to do a job.”

“No games. Your job is to save a life. I have one in my hands.”

“I am here for Harry.”

“I’ll tell you what, you can take this boy right now and hop on your plane.”

“I know this wasn’t an accident.”

He smiled and squeezed tighter I needed to keep him calm.
“That is uncertain, what is certain is I will kill this boy.” The boy squealed like a pig at the realisation.

“Put him down, please…”

“I will if you agree to leave, is his life not equal to another?”

“I’m here for Harrison.”

“This gentlemen’s name is…” he squeezed for an answer. “Georgehhh” he winced.

“George or Harry” he used nickname vindictively, it was what his family called him.
“Time is ticking…”

I took a step towards the major but the butt of a rifle collied into my stomach.
Falling to the floor, I reflected.

I looked up to see the boy having the life strangled out of him, his eyes were turning from terror to a acceptive glassy stare.

Impossible choice, I can’t do this, I am weak. The Click – Click – Click of the fan taunted me with each passing second.

“STOP, I’LL TAKE THE BOY!” I shouted with a crack in my voice.

That devil smiled and dropped the limp body which spasmed as the lad came to.

“A very wise choice, now let us eat.”
The major raised silver dome was raised from the dish and there lay the severed head of Harrison Turlock, a pear shoved in his mouth.

Oh god…” I heard myself groan.

I flinched from the head as it was thrown to my feet.

Bent over I dry retched as the Major put a hand on my shoulder.

“Was that not worth the wait? Or do you not feel like eating now?” he exclaimed with ecstasy.

I shook my head.

“Good… Stay hungry Ben-jah-mon.”

The Global Scam of Charity

 

Local man Bill Shorten here.

I’m 42 like most men my age and I take a great interest in the happenings of the world. It has occurred to me that we are all being afflicted with a terrible disease. This is a disease of the mind and is commonly called charity. Let me explain further; Africans aren’t really human.

Don’t get all uppity, lets be honest with ourselves; they couldn’t be. Sure the more weak minded members of our community might donate a goat or two to Africa, but in reality this is nothing compared to our resources. Large portions of the African continent have been destroyed and damaged by conflict and civil wars and it is clear that the western world has no intention of helping those situations, as one human would help another. They’re not human and I don’t see any other possible scenarios in which the our actions as fellow human beings would be rational. After all what do they expect from me, to sell my Jacuzzi or my third car? I worked hard to be born white, male, straight, and in a first world country. I’m not giving away my piece of the pie so that Timon and Pumba can eat for a week! Yes at Christmas time we decide to donate and then for the rest of the year we feel good about our selves. Its unfortunate that the starving and impoverished can’t fill up their stomachs for the year like the western world’s moral conscious.

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This bugger looks like he’s had a full Christmas roast!

It wasn’t always like this however, this affliction of charity. Somehow the public have been bamboozled by dirty liberals into this ideology. This filthy lie provided by the 1% of poverty sympathizers over the 99% hard honest workers. There’s a name for this situation, where the few rule over the many without any empathy; fascism.

Enough of that trickster Africa though, and to the more urgent threat of “boat people.” I used to watch cartoons on Saturday morning before soccer practise and my favourite show was Transformers or as I called it “car people” . But don’t get these scoundrels mixed up with the Auto-bots (as I did at first, and I was severely disappointed) these Arab buggers are Decepticons through and through! Instead of welcoming them to our beautiful country as our national anthem would suggest (For those who’ve come across the seas // We’ve boundless plains to share ) we put them on Christmas island (Merry fucken’ Islamabombboom to ya) and forget about them. Are we filming some sort of reality tv version of Lord of the Flies except with bombs!? No more half measures Canberra, only full measures can be used in an invasion such as this. How about we bomb the boats, that’ll be a clear message. If they try and sink their own boat or any other dodgy indian trick we’ll shoot them right there and them, save them the trouble of drowning. Man the fuck up Australia.

If Australia had one of these those fucken' indonesians would think twice!

If Australia had one of these those fucken’ indonesians would think twice!

This situation is much bigger than just Australia however, the entire humankind is on the fence.
We can’t have it both ways, being charitable and well off.
It is either one or the other, and I say screw Africa!

Creation is what happens in between freedom and restriction.

A musician has the full spectrum of notes to play, yet he still keeps to a beat. To continue on the music analogy, a band doesn’t allow the guitarist to solo for the full song all though I’m sure it would be very ‘creative and free’ compared to a repetitive riff or baseline. The pleasure of music exists in the contrast and variety of both these two opposites. No matter how freethinking you are it is only the half of process of creating, with restriction being the other half.

Western society has perceived creativity as being a process of freeing your mind, infarct creativity is now used as a word for budding artists. I would argue a carpenter carving a wooden bench is inhibiting as much creativity as a Picasso painting. For sure they are different in their ratio of freedom and restriction but they both serve a purpose and can show just as much efficiency or deficiency in its use.

No object can be utterly absent of either freedom or restriction. A painter can splatter a random collection of colours on a canvas but he is still choosing which colour even if in a random fashion and the distinction between colours is a restriction in its self. A contrast whether between red,yellow or blue is a restriction. The true meaning of creativity of could be applied to anyone and only describes the quality of the creations use. And what does this all mean?

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I don’t know what it means

Sun bitten Shetani

This sun beat down on my forehead, the light had bitten my pale skin raw.

The Major looked me up and down. Smiling, he scoffed at my appearance. A clearly rehearsed performance..

“Your body is not used to Rwanda” he said.

It was true, I was sweating through my shirt and now saturated pants.

His entourage laughed after a brief glance back by their leader, they were obviously not as rehearsed in this performance.

Scratching my itching collar, I looked back to the Major “That’s correct, can we go inside.”

He gestured to the concrete bunker, his hand weighted by jewelled rings that clicked as they collided, “Of course my guest.”

I followed him into his lair, and in a futile attempt tried to count the numerous golden bangles and medals hanging on his chest.
I made a second futile attempt to identify which country his ceremonial military outfit that had its sleeves ripped off; the nation no longer existed.
The garb would like ridiculous on anyone else but he seemed comfortable in the regalia he inspired.

“I’m hungry-” he bared teeth dripping in red pulp, a betel leaf chewing habit, “for food of course, but other things too…”

He glared at the man standing by the doorway who made hastily out of the room.

“Are you hungry, Ben-jah-mon?”
He mouthed my name with a curious humour.

“For food, yes”

The rickety fan moved with an annoying click from side to side as it scanned the room.

A laugh echoed up his thick neck, “And other things?”

“For now just food.”

“This is fortunate that God has given me someone hungry. You know, I am the greatest chef in North Rwanda.”

“I hadn’t heard that about you Major Bosco”

“I have testimony from the Kagazi and the Byumbi people, I brought the them the best food they have ever eaten.” He left his chair and looked out of the concrete slit.

I checked my watch while he stared into the distance. The typical Rwandan twenty minute chat before business was almost over.

“Well I hope we are having the same food as they had”

“Oh no” He grinned flashing his stained teeth, “We are not having old bread” The men around laughed with him.

“And that was the greatest food?” I asked uneasily.

“The Kagazi and Byumbi people had an argument with us, they didn’t want our protection any more. I simply waited and the people eventually came to us. I feed them old bread, it was the first time I had let them eat in 4 days. They fell to my feet and told them of the richness and beauty of that mouldy damp bread.”

I was uncomfortably aware again of who I was dealing with after being lulled by his pleasantries, the man known as Shetani; Satan.

“You see Ben-jah-mon, hunger is the secret ingredient to all food. It is the spice to life.”

The boy finally returned with a tray. He sunk his stained teeth into the the flesh of a pear and wiped the fluid from his chin.

“And I am a very hungry man, Ben-jah-mon.”

The food arrived on a silver platter covered by a traditional dome cover. The Major lightly tapped the surface with his rings but made no move to begin eating.
So there it stood shining like a reflective beacon in this rusty shelter.

“You are a liar. You are hungry for the journalist as well.”

“Yes, that is my purpose here.”

He didn’t move at all, he seemed to hardly breath.

Succumbing to the silence I continued “I work with the Black Swan Rescue.”

He finally become reanimated with a smile. I could almost see the gears click into place as he analysed this new information.

“Cup of tea? You are English no?” Again he gestured to the boy who left us.

“Scottish”

He erupted from his chair to study a globe in the corner of the room.

“Hungry for knowledge?” I inquired.

Gripping the globe smothering North Pole and Russia with his massive palm, he brought it to my face.

“This is mine” he proclaimed,
“my father gave it to me”

He pointed to Scotland.
“Yes and that is it” I nodded.

“I was close enough, and yes I have a hunger for knowledge when I was a boy, I wanted to go to Cambridge.”

The boy returned with tea. I took the cup.

“So you are here for Harrison Tur-lock?”

“His safe return and delivery to his family.”

He went still again and stared at the tea in my hand.

I raised it to my mouth to sip when but nothing but the taste of gasoline filled my mouth.
I spluttered as the fumes filled my sinus.

“Boy!” the Major shouted.
Obediently the lad ran to him only to receive a backhand across the face that flung him to the floor.
The cup was wrenched from my hand.
“You call this a cup of tea?” he splashed the remaining bile into the servants face that was punched by the major’s sharp rings.
“I-I’m sorry sir” He grabbed him by the neck and squeezed “I didn’t meanee-” his words came out in a high pitched wheeze.

“So Ben-jah-mon.” the Major turned to me, “You are here to save a life, because I would very much like to kill that liar Harrison.”

“Stop this Bosco, I’ll have none of these fucking games, I am here to do a job.”

“No games. Your job is to save a life. I have one in my hands.”

“I am here for Harry.”

“I’ll tell you what, you can take this boy right now and hop on your plane.”

“I know this wasn’t an accident.”

He smiled and squeezed tighter I needed to keep him calm.
“That is uncertain, what is certain is I will kill this boy.” The boy squealed like a pig at the realisation.

“Put him down, please…”

“I will if you agree to leave, is his life not equal to another?”

“I’m here for Harrison.”

“This gentlemen’s name is…” he squeezed for an answer. “Georgehhh” he winced.

“George or Harry” he used nickname vindictively, it was what his family called him.
“Time is ticking…”

I took a step towards the major but the butt of a rifle collied into my stomach.
Falling to the floor, I reflected.

I looked up to see the boy having the life strangled out of him, his eyes were turning from terror to a acceptive glassy stare.

Impossible choice, I can’t do this, I am weak. The Click – Click – Click of the fan taunted me with each passing second.

“STOP, I’LL TAKE THE BOY!” I shouted with a crack in my voice.

That devil smiled and dropped the limp body which spasmed as the lad came to.

“A very wise choice, now let us eat.”
The major raised silver dome was raised from the dish and there lay the severed head of Harrison Turlock, a pear shoved in his mouth.

Oh god…” I heard myself groan.

I flinched from the head as it was thrown to my feet.

Bent over I dry retched as the Major put a hand on my shoulder.

“Was that not worth the wait? Or do you not feel like eating now?” he exclaimed with ecstasy.

I shook my head.

“Good… Stay hungry Ben-jah-mon.”

E. Snowden recieves eight nominatations for 2014 Nobel Peace Prize

The 21st century has been often been called the Information Age. Humankind’s storage and distribution of information exploded with the advent of computerisation and electronics. In this modern world entire libraries of information can be moved across the world through the internet. This advancement of technology and computerisation has not affected the political state in the western world which is still split between country factions and alliances. This new system of easy to access information on the internet has clashed with the secretive nature of governments as we have seen with the cases of Bradley Manning and Julian Assange both whom are wanted for the leaking of content sensitive documents by the United States of America. America is often seen as the leader of the world, a country dedicated to the freedom. It is no surprise when Edward Snowden made headlines on his whistleblowing on the NSA’s breaches of privacy of American citizens. Many offended American citizens made links to dictatorships where the privacy violation was common especially in the now defunct Soviet Union whom America heavily sided against. Edward Snowden was forced to leave the USA and in an ironic turn of events is now living in Russia in political asylum.
So is Edward Snowden a hero or, as our own PM Tony Abbot put recently; “a traitor who betrayed his country”? Considering that Edward Snowden acted to protect the privacy and well-being of his fellow citizens, did not put any lives in danger, and because a truly democratic country should give its citizens the right to leak, and it is clear that he is a hero and a true patriot.

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The actual information that Snowden leaked is surrounding the NSA warrantless surveillance on American Citizens and also on high profile international politicians. These warrantless wiretaps have been in use since Bush’s presidency in what was then referred to as the terrorist surveillance program part of the broader President’s Surveillance Program. These programs began shortly after the 911 terrorist attacks and continued on even after several reviews of the surveillance measures by congress in 2008 and 2006. With no change in sight Edward Snowden  leaked the details of the scope of the NSA’s surveillance in late 2012 to Guardian reporter Glenn Greenwald.  Although initially hesitant to publish the story because of the cases of Bradley Manning and Julian Assange that showed the consequences of leaking against the US government, he then succumbed because of the very significant content of the leak.

Snowden is completely free from the arguments against Bradley Manning or Julian Assange that their leaking has put America lives at danger. The NSA leak only leaked information that was of interest to those the government has spied on and the only injury the USA sustained was that to its pride.  The government has been caught off guard and embarrassed which is the true reason that they have gone to such length to capture Snowden who is sure himself that if he ever returns to America that “quote”.  Manning is currently serving a sentence of 35 years and the US is still actively seeking to extradite Julian Assange. These breaches of morals that the USA has committed are also breaching the rights of Americans.

America’s Bill of Rights states, “Congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press.” It is clear that the government has made comprises to its own Bill of Rights in persecuting Edward Snowden for exposing other violations the government has made. Whistleblowing will always be a controversial act, with the act often being seen as traitorous. Edward Snowden is not the first to be ostracized by his government for exposing the questionable actions of his government. A recent case that was exposed by whistleblowing is of the Cootes Petroleum Tanker by a Cootes employee that exposed the company of allowing a retired tanker to continue being used which resulted in the death of two motorists in NSW. It is these sorts of events that protection is vital for whistle-blowers from the organisations they are exposing.

The US does have a Whistle-blower Protection Act but however Edward Snowden is not legally protected under this because he would have had to gone to the NSA inspector general and would have had to receive proper security clearances. This point is used often to pose Snowden as a traitor because he isn’t a legally recognised as a whistleblower. However what these critics fail to realise and also those who designed the Whistle-blower Protection Act is that when an agency’s corruption goes right to the top that the whistle-blower has no choice but to go public with his information.

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Edward Snowden will be argued about for the next decade, some will be adamant that he is a traitor and others will see him as a martyr sacrificing his citizenship for the America he believes in.  It is this choice of opinion and information that Snowden was fighting for and without heroes like Snowden we wouldn’t have that freedom.