Why Stupid Is Infectious

You Should Surely Recall Yesteryon

When we made much mockery of the Sovereign Citizen movement, those people who want to have their cake, eat it and then have another slice, all for free.  Unfortunately for them,  they inevitably come off worse when the real world brings them to a screeching halt, and end up paying fines or with jail time, or both if they annoy the judge too much.  Judges have had to deal with these numpties for over a decade and have suffered a collective shortening of temper when a defendant asks "Is this an Admiralty court?"  Because, to a Sov Cit, any court they end up in is an Admiralty court, and thus not competent to try them.  Art!

   Members of the Great Bampot Movement believe - an important word since there are no facts or evidence to support them - that they don't need a driving licence or insurance, because they are not 'driving', they are 'travelling'.  As you can see from the licence plate above, they don't pay attention to the laws of grammar, either.

     These are not beliefs that can be safely nodded at and ignored with a pitying smile, most especially in South Canada, where the GBM people like to carry guns and use them.  There was a recent case there where a SovCit was stopped for having a number plate as above, for not having insurance or a driving licence.  Things rapidly escalated, he attempted to pull a gun and was shot dead.

     Meanwhile in Australia - a bampot is pulled over by the Victoria police and begins spouting the usual SovCit drivel.  Art!

     That's the officer in question.  He tried to get Bampot Driver to take a breathalyser test, being fobbed off with rhetoric about how no crime had been committed, how he was a living man, he didn't need to take a breathalyser test, which went on for 17 minutes before a less patient cop arrested BD.  No guns involved.

     Moving further along the road from tragedy to farce, there was a pithy little tale on Youtube posted by the manager of a restaurant.  Said restaurant was legally required by the state to have staff and customers wear a mask.  One of the staff chased down OP to say a man had arrived, wasn't wearing a mask, refused to put one on and wanted to speak to the manager.  Art!

<sighs>

     True to testimony, there's the smug customer, loitering at the hostess' stand, maskless and refusing to put one on.  There is a bit of back and forth until the GBM member outs himself by stating: "I am a sovereign citizen and I don't abide by any law or mandates set by any government.  You hold no authority over me or my person.  You are required to serve me as I am."

     OP is mentally cursing the loomwaffle*, but comes back with a response of pure genius.  "I am also a sovereign citizen, and you are currently in a sovereign restaurant.  You are on sovereign ground and are subject to my requirements.  I require that you leave immediately."

     GBM member huffs and puffs a bit about how he'll spend his money elsewhere, there are lots of other restaurants, yark yark.  He storms out, yelling: "This is discrimination!  You'll be hearing from my lawyer!"

     OP twists the knife in the wound by replying: "As a sovereign citizen like yourself, I neither recognise nor am under the authority of any court of law!"

     GBM member replies with a vulgarism I won't put here.

The stupid, it deflagrates

     Funny how someone not bound by any laws has instant recourse to a lawyer, isn't it?  Howlingly ironic, in fact.

"The Way Of The Gun'

Good lord aloft, this film is 20 years old.  I re-watched it again yesterday and it still bears up.  There's a Director's Commentary so I guess I'll have to watch it yet again and take notes.

     One thing that struck me is that Parker and Lombaugh, the main protagonists, are very handy indeed with guns: pistols, shotguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles.  Conrad suspects a military background, though it's not made explicit.

     ANYWAY I did notice a trend in the credits.  It was written and directed by Chris McQuarrie, the now verrrrry successful screenwriter and director, as something of a Proof Of Concept to show what he could do.  Art!

Rocking the George Lucas look

     What this in the credits?  "Stunts: Doug McQuarrie"

"Tech/Weapons Adviser: Doug McQuarrie"

"Set Massage Therapist: Kevin McQuarrie"

     They probably worked for nachos and beer.

Dig Doug

The Hair-Splitting Pedant Strikes Again!

Okay, here's a still from one of those 'Jurassic' films, which seemed doomed to success for the next twenty years.  Dog Buns, Michael Crichton, do you see what you've done!  Art?

What can possibly go wrong?

     We all know by now how the original dinosaur inhabitants of the theme park were created, thanks to sampling of DNA from prehistoric mosquitoes trapped in amber.

     Where does the DNA for the marine dinosaurs come from?  Hmmmm?  I don't care enough to bother watching any of these films to find out.  Just so we're clear.

'Hilbre'

Another of those words that float up to the surface in the marshy midden that is my mind.  What or who or where is it?  There was a faint hint of recognition about it.  A Continental radio station, perhaps, broadcasting European pop and disco?  Art!

     Sadly, no.  Hilbre turns out to be a geographical object that the blog covered a few years ago, when we were doing a series on tidal islands around the UK.  Conrad is unsure why we did this, except they can be cool.  Art!

High tide

     Hilbre is one of 44  tidal islands that can be reached on foot without resort to a bridge.  It is located at the mouth of the River Dee in Wirral and can be reached on foot when the tide is out, the journey taking about an hour.  Art!

Low tide

"The Sea Of Sand"

Our perspective has now jumped back to Earth, and the gallant survivors at Mersa Martuba.

Because, crawling like a vile bloated beetle, another of the bio-vore’s tanks came on in pursuit.   Sarah noticed that this one had two barrels in the turret, one the familiar big-bored stun gun, the other a narrower weapon.  Too fast to register properly, a series of missiles came from the narrower barrel, throwing up a line of spurts in the sand next to the racing camel.  The creature swerved away, only for another sudden spray of sand to fly up and send it back on the original course.

Playing!  They’re toying with it! seethed Sarah to herself.  Her anger increased when she realised the bundled cloth on the animal concealed at least one person.  Doretti realised much the same and muttered imprecations.

Roger had been watching from behind Davey and Tam’s emplacement.  He felt pity for the suffering Arabs, but all the same hoped they wouldn’t draw the bio-vores any nearer.

‘Fat chance!’ he grumbled. 

Tam and Davey both looked at him.  Dominione, standing in concealment behind a mud hut, shrugged in resignation.  They were going to be discovered whether they opened fire or not.

The camel loped awkwardly straight for the depot, leading on the black tank.  Roger crossed the roadway in a crouch, getting under the camo netting that concealed the A13 and climbed in by the turret hatch.  The interior felt stifling after being outside, made even worse by the layers of camouflage netting that seemed to make the air staler than ever.  Sweat stood out on his skin, not entirely the product of temperature.

     An Oh Dear moment.

Finally -

I got some dill last night when shopping, the fresh stuff that grows in a little pot of it's own, so now we have the last ingredient needed for a Ukrainian Olivier Salad.  I may make this later in the afternoon, wish me luck.  Dobre Poyitsy**!

*  Like a loonwaffle but worse.

**  Ukrainian for 'Good eating!"