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Work In Progress: Flags For Nilxis’ Islands, Rflong7/13’s Islands And Prof Plumbob’s Coconut Island

20 August, 2018

Lisen801 at Mod The Sims made a great default custom flag changer for Sims 3.

With this I’ve been making some custom flags for various Sims 3 maps, including all of the islands made by Nilxis, along with Ziwa Bonde. The white splodge on the right side is because these are pictures of the templates.

If you see two or more for the same map, that’s because I’m not sure which one I like best yet.

The unifier is the Nilxis’ world logo design to all.

Most of them work around a base blue colour similar to the neutral Nilxis flag (sort of a United Nilxis Nations idea).

Ziwa Bonde had a shield logo already with the publicity pictures for it, that was easy enough. One idea I toyed with was as well as there being the two tribes, there would also be a group of left over colonialists with their own non-Pan African colours (or rather Pan-Simharia based on the concept of the Sims world from the map by Hazzaplumbob), thus three flags.

Hylewood has the Hyle triangle added to the back of the Nilxis world logo. As it is a forever autumn island, the colours reflected this. Saaquatoq has a Scandinavian theme and so the Norse cross design.

Copacabana and Sinangein take theirs from the most obvious landmarks.

Pinewood Island is a combination of an obvious pine symbol plus a topographical rendition of the island on the horizon.

Sa Pineda means ‘the pines’, so it gets the pine tree.

Isla Kalooni has a crescent moon shape to go with the lunar name, again an obvious choice. With the Islamic connotations of Kalooni, I see the island as being somewhere north west of Morocco on Hazzaplumbob’s map.

These two are for islands made by Rflong7-13. The unifying logo I’ve chosen for her is a pink flamingo on a plumbob. She’s been around the Simming community since the start, and the pink flamingo and plumbob are often used by her for her avatars, so I’ve decided to use this as a central motif to any flags I create.

Again based on the promotional pictures Prof Plumbob made for his series of islands of the same name.

R.I.P. Aretha Franklin

16 August, 2018

Had a dreadful feeling her shows last year was a big mistake, she was not up to it from the start and looked gaunt and awful. But she still had that voice, and probably the knowledge she wasn’t going to be around for much longer made her decide ‘ah, the heck with it, let’s go.’

But now I knew how those Queen fans must have felt all those years ago after Freddie Mercury died and the ‘These Are The Days Of Our Lives’ posthumous single video – shot four months before his death – came out and saw the state he’d been reduced to.

Her last major UK hit was her cover of ‘A Deeper Love’ in 1994 (No.5 in the UK), but she’ll be best remembered over here for her duet with George Michael ‘I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me)’ (ironic that she outlasted him, and the title somewhat ironic in itself), ‘Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves’ with The Tourists Eurythmics (Annie Lennox’ All Men Are Bastards number after Dave Stewart dumped her for one of the Bananarama bimbos) and of course for  ‘R – E -S – P – E – C – T’.

Me? I’ll remember her most of all for that appearence in The Blues Brothers movie (which I may have watched a few million times) as the matriarch of the Soul Food Cafe selling ‘the best damned chicken in the state!’ – unless you were after her husband and staff as band members, whereupon you could get the hell out, ‘without your dry white toast, without your four fried chickens, and without Matt Guitar Murphy!’ before belting out the showstopper ‘Think!’

All you wannabe R ‘n’ B divas who don’t know jack shit what R and B originally stands for – this is real talent. No computerised voice gimmickry. No freaking bullshit. Learned the hard way of solid graft belting out in the gospel halls where so much fantastic music from America originated.

We shall not see her like again.

There’s No Such Thing As A ‘Decent’ Racial Nationalist

13 August, 2018

[Don’t worry, this is the last ‘political’ one I’ll be doing for a while now I’ve got my ‘gaming’ laptop back!]

One of the most stupid concepts within the various strands of Britain’s far right is ‘racial nationalism’ – the notion that a nation’s homogeneity is linked to a particular race. The original British National Party of John Bean and Andrew Fontaine started this crap in the 1950s, little more than an attempt to repackage Nazi and Fascist beliefs into a form which those on the ‘patriotic’ wing of the Conservative Party would find acceptable.

Unfettered EU immigration under Tony Blair’s Labour government proved one of this ideology’s biggest chickens coming home to roost. Parts of Britain were swamped in less than ten years with white Eastern Europe immigrants with wildly different attitudes (and often zero English) to the native population, at the expense of the steady flow of non-white immigrants from our former Afro-Caribbean and Asian colonies, most of whom had either spoken English or used English as their language of officialdom and often had shared communal attitudes (especially of right and wrong) on top.

Even the biggest racist learned the hard way that shared cultural mores counted for far more in practice than shared skin pigmentation, and it is no coincidence that from those still pursuing the line of ‘nordic brotherhood’ are regarded from this point onward as on a par with UFOlogists and Flat Earthers.

One by one these idiots unwilling to face the real world are dying off, and it’s no surprise that both the current BNP and NF are jointly mourning another of their number now pushing up the daisies who was behind many of their abortive ‘unity’ attempts.

When Ken Booth was in charge of the National Front of the North East of England, in 2007 he compared Auschwitz to Disneyland and refused to believe the reported death toll figures – a common theme amongst Holocaust deniers.

He later jumped ship to the Griffin led BNP and over to Andrew Brons’ British Democratic Party (another old far-right party name being recycled) when some of the old racists disliked Griffin’s attempts to make them cuddly (and after Griffin’s disastrous performance on BBC’s Question Time saw their electoral fortunes plunge – by contrast Brons gave two polished TV performances in the following weeks).

But perhaps it’s best to let the only newspaper headline he ever attracted in his life speak for itself.

With Booth in Beelzebub’s boudoir, one of the few ‘unity pushers’ left is Richard Edmonds – the loyal sidekick of the evil John Tyndall (Britain’s premier Nazi from about 1972 until his death in 2005) from 1980 when there was an Evil Henchmen vacancy caused by Martin Webster deciding to ditch his old boss Tyndall as a bust flush after he’d single handedly bankrupted the National Front.

There’s a rumour that the old BBC TV show Waterloo Road based their grumpy bigot balding schoolteacher Grantly Budgen character on Edmonds, as he first achieved national notoriety after being sacked as a school teacher in London for his views (one of several jobs he was to lose in his life from his racist hobbies). He achieved even more infamy as the editor of Holocaust denial Holocaust News, and as Deputy Leader of Tyndall’s vanity party (the second incarnation of the BNP) was its passive aggressive mouthpiece to the press and TV, based in the BNP’s 1990s ‘bookshop’ (a reinforced bunker in London’s Brick Lane, deliberately chosen to provoke its large ethnic minority population).

All in all, a thoroughly unpleasant man, but not according to Matthew Collins, dickhead of ‘research’ at Hopeless Not Helping.

‘Eloquent and generous’? What planet are you on? The BNP’s ‘bookshop’ (really the party’s administrative HQ) was strictly appointment only, so Collins stories can be dismissed as bullshit. Sadly for that skeet, it is easy to get from most central reference libraries copies of Tim Hepple’s ‘At War With Society’ account of life inside the BNP’s Brick Lane bunker and what actually went on. A man who lives on an exclusive diet of cheese, bacon and beans is not the ‘eloquent’ type by any stretch of the imagination, not even a ‘racial nationalist’ one!

Collins has been showing concern for his old idol’s health.

Sod off! Edmonds is no A. K. Chesterton, Bill Baillie or John Bean, someone whose views you may not agree with or may even downright abhor, but at least shows signs of decency as a human being and more to the point towards his fellow human beings. Edmonds whole life is centred around hate for hate’s sake.

He would have been jailed and the key lost years ago had not so-called ‘anti-fascists’ deliberately prejudiced his numerous trials (in much the same manner Tommy Robinson tried doing which earned him a well-earned stay behind bars) in order to keep him on the loose and themselves in work. His luck finally ran out in 1993 when he did three months for his part in an assault on a mixed race couple where he flung a beer glass at them and called the girl a ‘n*gg*r lover.’ Anyone who uses violence to pursue their political objectives is scum for which there can be no excuse.

Again, a picture tells what Matthew Collins’ bullshit does not.

There for all the world to see is very much the true nature of this repulsive evil old bigot with his permanent snarl against the world – a complete oxygen thief who has never done a single decent action in his life for Britain or humanity in general, all he can ever do is hate, hate, hate. More’s the pity he didn’t stay over in Russia (where he fled to after his loyal master was sent to hell) with the rest of the wastes of space.

Certainly no one should feel sorry he’s thrown all his money away on pursuing the Nazi daydream and is now living a miserable impoverished existence, all the while still peddling this crap.

A few paragraphs back you claimed that the BNP ‘bookshop’ was responsible for the murder of local blacks and Asians from the hate it encouraged, now you’re saying you would doff your cap to the bastard that ran the place? Ow, my brain hurts – but at least I have a brain to hurt, you freaking skeet!

As anti-racist double-agent John Kingsley Read retorted to John Tyndall in the NF in 1975 (when Read was head of the NF!), ‘a man is known by the company he keeps.’ This also applies to the company one would voluntarily keep, Mr Collins.

Guardian Hypocrites Caught Out Calling Burqas ‘Postboxes’ Years Before Boris Johnson Did!

11 August, 2018

This is priceless!

Well done to Steerpike at The Spectator for unearthing this:

And this:

So it’s okay for you snowflakes to slag off the burqa but if anyone else does it, it’s ‘racist’?

For The Benefit Of Morons Who Think Tommy Robinson Is Some Sort Of Martyr For ‘Freedom Of Speech’

8 August, 2018

Here is what Judge Norton warned the fat tattooed skeet last year.

A major problem British justice has with the far left and far right is the mysterious way they both collude to destroy court trials and due process against any of the people or organisations they profess to oppose.

From handing out emotive leaflets outside of court buildings to breaking regulations about keeping ongoing court matters in camera, it has been pretty obvious to a blind hedgehog they do it on purpose so that defence lawyers can say the case against their client has been so prejudiced they would be unable to get a fair trial, allowing them to claim to their moronic supporters the Establishment is on the side of the criminal and satisfying their own tin hat conspiracy theories.

Robinson was attempting to do exactly this and got what was coming to him. More’s the pity the cell key wasn’t lost for good and the waddling waste of oxygen wasn’t kept at HM pleasure for years.

Nesrine Malik Sees Only Opportunism, Not The Burqa Wearing Elephant In The Room

8 August, 2018

The Guardian has marked the opening of the football season in sporting fashion with another open goal.

Bumbling Boris has shot his mouth off (and as ever his foot in its customary position in his mouth) about burqas.

Nesrine Malik says of it, ‘I have a very nuanced take on the whole thing that I have spent almost my entire adult life thinking about and living, but that I have no interest in expanding upon any more, because it is a futile pursuit. All the burqa now is code, a dogwhistle.’

Which translated from Guardianista bullshit means ‘as my career’s dependent on Uncle Tomming for white western pseudo leftie rags on the “different race, different culture” ticket I’m not going to make the mistake of Ratnering my marketplace!’

Of course, that Boris writes for the ‘Daily Dreadnought’ (the Daily Telegraph – the Guardian‘s archest of arch-enemies – not least of all because this most right wing of newspapers ironically has better left wing columnists and scoops than it) has nothing to do with it. Much.

All conveniently forgetting that she wrote for the same newspaper eight years ago, until they decided they wanted someone who could write better than puff pieces.

Here’s a reminder of how she felt about wearing a burqa during her early life in Saudi Arabia – one of the most backward of backward nations when it comes to women’s rights (allowing women to drive cars only this year and expected a round of applause for it):

‘At the age of 18, the thought of covering my body in a shapeless black gown and hiding my face so that only my eyes would show was inconceivable. It was humiliating, violating, dehumanising. Upon donning the headpiece, my body language immediately changed, becoming apologetic, withdrawn and subdued. Wearing it seemed to empower all the men around me and put me firmly in my place as inferior… Over the next three years, however, my opposition gradually eroded.’

Yes, but as any prison warden will tell you, eventually even the toughest prisoner submits – especially in Saudi Arabia. Remember ‘Death Of A Princess’. Bottom line is she’s an apologist for it.

Nesrine Malik has missed the elephant in the room regarding Boris Johnson’s ‘letterbox’ remarks about the burqa however (‘It’s no coincidence Boris Johnson has discovered strong views on the burqa’ – Guardian 6th August 2018) – and that’s the complete and utter lack of outrage to them.

Usually an event like this would at least have been marked by a Socialist Workers Party demo complete with obligatory petition, accompanying requests for donations ‘to build the campaign’ and placards being waved by shouty aggressive trust fund kids cosplaying the working classes.

Yet the silence from the usual suspects looking for the next Rivers of Blood drama is deafening, especially against one of their all-time favourite targets: posh boy Boris – the Conservative Party’s answer to Grawp from Harry Potter. Not even one ironic accusation of ‘opportunism’.

Perhaps it’s the TV success of ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ making many espy uncomfortable parallels within our own society.

Perhaps it’s the sustained spell of unbearable hot weather making many sympathise with the horrendous discomfort anyone would feel under such an unsuitable garment – least of all when most are heat soaking black (even the most diehard Goth swaps out their noir wardrobe in a heatwave). That the burqas wearer’s male counterparts are often to be found by their side (or a few steps ahead of them) in very un-Islamic long shorts and short sleeves only adds to the offence.

For ‘offence’ is the key here. Even the most dyed-in-the-wool male chauvinist pig has a line to cross – Harrow educated John McCririck may be king of the misogynists, but his battles against horse-racing’s treatment of women (especially by the Jockey Club) were for long a voice crying in the wilderness. Is it really any wonder half a century since feminism became mainstream that people of all politics, beliefs and genders find burqas offensive?

Christian and Jewish societies dropped expecting women from veiling themselves in public so they wouldn’t be considered prostitutes from the Enlightenment onwards (some like the Amish are still to catch up). In Islamic countries, practicality caused their generational decline until Iran’s 1979 Islamist revolution made burqas (and the so-called ‘more moderate’ abayas, hijabs and niqabs) ideological weapons against the inevitable crumbling of women’s second class status in society.

There’s a particular macabre irony in blanketing another human being to show their barefaced subjugation – and let’s be clear about this, this is exactly the intent. It’s about women ‘knowing their place’ in relation to men.

It’s beyond belief the same media hipsters hot under the collar about Christian ‘purity rings’ for girls (and rightly so) turn blind eyes to it. Last decade, Tasha Maltby was thrown off a bus and refused entry on another because her boyfriend had her on a dog lead: looking for sympathy (and compensation) for being ‘discriminated against’, they got very short shrift from the public and the media for the message their antics sent out.

For this reason, Johnson is correct lampooning what no gender equality based society should be expected to tolerate. Wrong messenger, almost the right message.

The Guardian Lapses Into Self-Parody – Fair Trade Cocaine!

1 August, 2018

She stayed with me until she moved to Notting Hill
She said it was the place she needs to be
Where the cocaine is fair trade, and frequently displayed
Is the Buena Vista Social Club CD

Half Man Half Biscuit : The Light at the End of the Tunnel (Is the Light of an Oncoming Train)
from the album ‘Cammell Laird Social Club’ (2002)

Just when you think The Guardian newspaper cannot lapse into any greater self parody.

The sooner the plug gets pulled on this joke rag, or at least the delusionalists running it, the better.

They have become such a liability to liberalism and socialism, they’ve got to be a Conservative Party front!

Elaboration is required: It has become almost standard practice at Guardianista HQ that whenever they publish a piece likely to make even the most swivel eyed of their readers say ‘hang on a moment…’, it is accompanied by a letter on the same day strangely reaffirming the same columnist or editorial line – you have to hand it to The Guardian, no one promotes the hive mind quite like them, although if you lost 25% of your readers in only a few years you’d pull whatever psychological mind tricks it takes to keep those you have left. Usually their pet left hipster scum Keith Flett is up for this sort of shit.

On the same day the ‘fair trade cocaine’ letter appeared, The Guardian had the above article from Iman Amrani, part of their ‘if you are white and middle class and went to Oxbridge you should be ashamed of yourself (unless you happen to be white, middle class, went to Oxbridge and employ interns at The Guardian)’ series of self-flagellation pieces for their readership.

It pushes the standard narrative that Latin America would be some peaceful utopia were it not for the west’s appetite for drugs. Or oil. Or fruit. Or anything: rather than a thousand years of local tribes run by brutal warlords at almost continual conflict with one another for slaves and resources – not least of all for the coca leaves chewed to relieve the pain of back breaking soul destroying manual toil – exacerbated by the arrival of the Spanish, even more when the conquistadors revolted against their parent state, and once that was all over, there were civil wars in Columbia to pass the time: 1863, 1899–1902, 1948 to 1958, and has suffered localised insurrections from the 1960s onwards – a mere fifty years continuation what they were doing the previous millenia before El Gringos arrived.

The mental gymnastics continues where it is the wealthy’s fault for wanting cocaine, but the lower orders are ‘seduced’ by ‘the lifestyles’ showbiz sherbet represents and thus (it is implied) blameless for selling it or taking it themselves. Similarly the poor benighted peasant serfs of the local drug barons helping to grow the stuff are ‘victims’, rather than those deciding to make a living from it. Such is the rose tinted spectacles for the fetishized working classes and voodoo lily tinted ones for the financially better off that has made many former Guardian readers give up on its descent into perpetual student journalism.

As for cocaine costing £100 a gram – sorry, but in my sojourns to London over the last few years (where there’s always someone trying to offer you one drug or another at some stage) £10 to £20 is the standard. Yes it is cut with flour, powdered laxative, dissolving aspirin and Frith knows what else (always has been, as with any illegal drug), but it is cheap: which is the real reason for the explosion in its use. Same as the heroin boom of the 1990s or cannabis becoming popular again with Millenials, usage rockets when it became cheap and easily available, like any other product in the global market.

Despite the grisly death toll from stabbings in London, I can’t blame the mainly Afro-Caribbean youngsters who are selling it. Those who approached me were a million miles away from the seedy individuals from television documentaries: they were polite, did not try to ‘push’ (if you pardon the pun) and when told thanks but no thanks would smile with a polite farewell of some description and walk away – and that was not only in areas where they had to ensure they weren’t attracting attention from CCTV cameras (if only all salesmen and women were so well behaved, especially those internet and phone network bastards in shopping precincts!).

Far from organised gangs controlling areas (although this occurs to a certain extent), most of the street dealers buy their supplies from a ‘hands off’ trusted contact and what they do with it afterwards is up to them. Some spend all day travelling all over London, selling to whoever and wherever – which has the added advantage of making it far more difficult for the police to identify them and make arrests. When the alternative is unemployment or some grotesque job with pay barely making the obscene rent rates London has to offer, a tax free self-employed job where you can make several thousand a night at minimum real risk needs little recommendation. An underworld is a reflection of the society it exists in.

Tanking over caffinated drinks during the day, taking Charlie to keep themselves going when out having fun with friends has become so normalised in society, a number of football players have got into trouble the last few years for pretending to snort the pitch’s white lines as elaborate goal celebrations become part of the game culture. The days cocaine was a problem caused by the appetites of the celebrities and the rich vanished a long while back. Only those living in a little Guardianista bubble, a moronic Metropolitan Police chief trying to distract attention from their Keystone leadership of London’s Finest, and Class War’s Ian Bone, believe it to be anything else.