Cocoa

I firmly believe that the act that stopped Hitler was the early invasion by the Russians followed by their refusal to lose Stalingrad. Without that early invasion, France could have been knocked out, then Russia in all good time, preserving Hitler’s forces and allowing them to muster against the USA, when it joined in. But then again, I didn’t take History for my A-levels so I may be totally wrong!

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A man accused of trying to hijack a plane flying from Botswana to South Africa was only armed with an asthma inhaler and lip balm, SABC radio says.

Berk.

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I cannot understand why some people are eager to send their children, their friends, their loved ones off to war. For some reason, these few people seem to look upon war as glamorous, dignified, righteous. They claim that “It is sweet and honourable to die for one’s country”.

How wrong they are.

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

~ Owen

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In the Peabody Hotel, USA, there live five ducks. Most of the time they live on the roof in a “Duck Palace”. At 11AM, they are led down the elevator by a “Duckmaster” to the Italian travertine marble fountain in the Peabody Grand Lobby. A red carpet is unrolled and the ducks march through crowds of admiring spectators to the tune of John Philip Sousa’s King Cotton March. The ceremony is reversed at 5 p.m., when the ducks retire for the evening to their palace on the roof of the hotel.

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Darwin awards: August 2006 brings us a winner from Brazil, who tried to disassemble a Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) by driving back and forth over it with a car. This technique was ineffective, so he escalated to pounding the RPG with a sledgehammer. The second try worked–in a sense. The explosion proved fatal to one man, six cars, and the repair shop wherein the efforts took place.

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Have a good one, guys!

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