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Georgië, die Grensoorlog, en die Modus Operandi van Kommunisme

Toe Rusland onlangs Georgië inval het ek aanvanklik nie geweet wat om te dink nie. Dis waar dat Rusland miskien oorreageer het, het ek gedink, maar was dit nie waar dat Georgië probeer het om die Ossetiërs, 'n etniese minderheid, uit te roei nie? Volgens die Georgiërs het die Suid-Ossetiese Seperatiste eerste geskiet, maar dit kon nie bewys word nie. Volgens die Russe het die Georgiërs duisende Suid-Ossetiërs wat ook Russiese burgers is, uitgeroei, maar dit kon ook nie bewys word nie. Al wat kon bewys word, is dat die Russe Georgië inval. Wat moet 'n mens nou hiervan dink? Dit lyk maar taamlik asof ons propaganda van alby kante af kry. Watter kant het reg? Het enige kant reg? Die hele matriks van moontlikhede is soos 'n massiewe Rubikskubus: hoe langer jy die raaisel probeer oplos, hoe moeliker word hy. En ek kon nog nooit 'n Rubikskubus oplos nie.

Maar dan het ons mos die modus operandi van die kommunistiese lande gedurende die Koue Oorlog. Hulle sê mos graag dat ons "fasiste" primitief is om in Koue Oorlog-terme te dink, maar ek's nie so seker nie. Met Putin, 'n man van die KGB, agter die stuur, glo ek ongelukkig nie aan Perestroika nie.

Hier's die geskiedenis agter ons Grensoorlog. 'n Mens hoor nie deesdae soveel hiervan nie, maar dit het gebeur. Dit was blykbaar die grootste hoeveelheid Russiese soldate en militêre hardeware buite Rusland sedert die Tweede Wêreldoorlog wat in die jare Sestig hier op ons drumpel kom parkeer het. Hulle en hulle Kubaanse kamerade was hoofsaaklik agter Suid-Afrikaanse goud en Angolese olie aan; vandaar die Grensoorlog. Ons het hulle lelik op hulle kollektiewe neus laat kyk en hulle imperialistiese planne in Afrika in die wiele gery. Op die ou end was die Grensoorlog so duur dat hulle koffers leeg was en hulle nie verder die Koue Oorlogspeletjie met ons kon speel nie; vandaar die sogenaamde "dood van kommunisme" ("The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated!").

Maar wag net 'n oomblik! Ons was daai tyd mos nog onder die taamlik nasionaal-sosialistiese NP-regering. Ek is seker geen patriotiese Suid-Afrikaner hunker terug na daai dae nie, ten minste nie as hy by sy volle positiewe is nie. Het die Russe dan nie dalk reg nie? Beveg hulle nie dalk regtig wêreldwye fasisme en red hulle kamerade (van alle nasionaliteite) nie?

Hokaai! Wat ons dan eers moet aanneem, is dat die mense wat gehelp word, reeds met die Russe geaffilieerd is. Hulle boender mos nie agter elke klein oorloggie aan nie, hulle help eers as hulle kamerade in gevaar is. En hier is die belangrike punt: die ANC was nie altyd kommunisties nie. Die kommunistiese element in die party was aanvanklik maar swak. (Ek weet, want my eie familie was in die vroeë geskiedenis van die ANC betrokke; een van my familielede was selfs die leermeester van Sol Plaatjie.) Maar toe die kommuniste sien dat daar tweestryd in Suid-Afrika is, kies hulle mos kant. Hulle lei die militante ANC-lede in Rusland op. Ons huidige President, Mnr. Mbeki, so gaaf soos wat hy is, het sy militêre opleiding in 'n basis buite Moskou ontvang.

Nou maak dit skielik sin. Só loop die plannetjie van die gewese Sowjet-Unie: hulle vind broeiende onrus in 'n deel van die wêreld waar daar nuttige hulpbronne vir die uitbreiding van Moskou-gesentreerde kommusisme is. Hulle blaas die verloorkant se gedagtes aan totdat die konflik ontvlam (kommunistiese sametrekkings, gewelddadige teenstand, die uitdeel van paspoorte, de lot). Daarna help hulle hulle nuutgevonde kamerade. Selfs as hulle verloor (soos hier aanvanklik die geval was), het hulle steeds die lojaliteit van een helfte van die konflik wat deur hulle geskep is; op een of ander stadium kan hulle weer terugkom (bv. in Suid-Afrika, waar ons tans 'n ekonomiese ooreenkoms rakende goud en diamante en dalk ook steenkool-olie met die Russe het).

Presies dieselfde ding het nou in Georgië gebeur. Gazprom, die Russiese energiemaatskappy, probeer om sy houvas oor Sentraal-Asië en Oos-Europa te versterk deur die kraantjies toe te draai as lande wat deur hom van olie voorsien word, nie sy arbitrêre prysverhogings aanvaar nie. Die oliemaatskappy self is van sy wettige eienaar, 'n Russiese besigheidsman, afgevat en genasionaliseer, omdat dit nie sin maak vir 'n private maatskappy om al sy kliënte na die kompetiese toe te jaag deur die pryse te verhoog en die kliënte te probeer afpers nie. Toe Rusland (d.m.v. 'n genasionaliseerde Gazprom) daai triek probeer, begin Gazprom-kliënte om pype na Georgië aan te lê. Die Russe het toe reeds 'n vuil vingertjie in die Georgiese krisis. Terwyl hulle Sjinese kamerade die wêreld besig hou met 'n o-so-vriendelike Olimpiese openingsseremonie, val die Suid-Ossetiese Seperatiste Georgiese dorpe aan; Gerogië moet reageer; en ons weet almal wat gebeur het.

Waaraan ek nou eers dink: Kameraad Zuma, wat so alewig die geregtigheid van die Suid-Afrikaanse howe ontduik (so ewe asof hy vir sy eie mense bang is, nie waar nie?), is mos nie 'n slim mens nie. Hy sê elke week of wat iets anders. Want hy is dom. Klink dit bekend? Is daar nie nog 'n soortgelyke internasionale figuur nie? Ek gee jou sommer die antwoord: Dmitrij Medvedev.

"Wanneer olifante in 'n tweestryd gewikkel is, is dit die gras wat moet deurloop."



===== English version =====

Georgia, the Border War, and the Modus Operandi of Communism

When Russia invaded Georgia recently, I did not know what to think. It's true that Russia may have overreacted, I thought, but wasn't it true that Georgia tried to kill off the Ossetians, an ethnic minority? According to the Georgians, the South Ossetian Seperatists shot first, but it could not be proven. According to the Russians, the Georgians killed thousands of South Ossetians who were also Russian citizens, but that could not be proven either. The only thing that could be proven was that the Russians were invading Georgia. It looks as if we're getting propaganda from both sides. Which side is right? Is any side right? This whole matrix of possibilities is like a massive Rubik's Cube: the longer you try to solve the puzzle, the harder it gets. And I never could solve a Rubik's Cube.

But then we have to consider the modus operandi of the communist countries during the Cold War. They like saying that we "fascists" are primitive to think in Cold War terms, but I'm not so sure. With Putin, a KGB man, behind the wheel, I unfortunately do not believe in Perestroika.

Here is the history of our Border War. One doesn't hear of it so often these days, but it happened. It was apparently the greatest amount of Russian soldiers and military hardware outside of Russia since the Second World War which parked on our doorstep in the Sixties. They and their Cuban comrades were mainly after South African gold and Angolan oil; hence the Border War. We kicked their collective behind and halted their imperialist plans in Africa. Eventually the Border War was so expensive that their coffers were empty and they could no longer play the Cold War game with us; hence the so-called "death of communism" ("The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated!").

But wait just a moment! At that time we were still under the quite nasional-socialist NP government. I'm sure no patriotic South African wants to return to those days! Are the Russians then right, perhaps? Are they not perhaps really fighting worldwide fascism, saving their comrades (of all nationalities)?

Hold it! What we must first assume is that those who are helped are already affiliated with the Russians. I mean, they won't just interfere with every little war, they only help if their comrades are in danger. And here is the important point: the ANC was not always communist. The communist element was originally very weak. (I know this, because my own family was involved in the early history of the ANC; one of my relatives was even the mentor of Sol Plaatjie.) But when the communists saw that there was a conflict situation brewing in South Africa, they seized the opportunity and picked sides. They trained the militant ANC members in Russia. Our current President, Mr Mbeki, as kind as he is, got his military education in a base outside Moscow.

Now it suddenly makes sense. This is how the plan of the former Soviet Union goes: they find unrest breeding in some corner of the world where there are useful resources for the expansion of Moscow-centered communism. They fire the thoughts of the losing side until the conflict reaches the point of combustion (communist rallies, violent resistance, distribution of passports, the works). Thereafter they help their newfound comrades. Even if they lose (as was the case here, initially), they still have the loyalty of one half of the conflict that they created; at some or other stage they can return (e.g. in South Africa, where we currently have an economic partnership with the Russians concerning gold and diamonds and perhaps also coal-oil).

Exactly the same thing has now happened in Georgia. Gazprom, the Russian energy company, tried to strengthen its hold over Central Asia and Eastern Europe by closing the taps if countries which were being supplied with Russian oil did not want to pay their arbitrary price increases. The oil company itself was taken from its lawful owner, a Russian businessman, and was nationalised, because it does not make sense for a private company to chase all its customers to the competition by increasing its prices and trying to control the market. When Russia tried that tactic (by way of a nationalised Gazprom), Gazprom clients started building pipelines to Georgia. The Russians already had a dirty little finger in the Georgian pie. While their Chinese comrades distracted the world with an oh-so-friendly Olympic opening ceremony, the South Ossetian seperatists attacked Georgian towns; Georgia had to react; and we all know what happened.

Something occurs to me at this point: Comrade Zuma, who is continually running from the justice of South African courts (almost as if he were afraid of his own people, not so?), is not a clever person. Every week he says something different. Because he is stupid. Does that sound familiar? Is there not a similar international figure? I will give you the answer: Dmitry Medvedev.

"When two elephants struggle, it is the grass that suffers."

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Kollektiewe skuldvrae en skuldgevoelens lê aan die kern van die denkpatrone van die moderne Suid-Afrikaner. ‘n Mens kan sien hoedat daar in deesdae se politieke milieu alewig na kollektiewe skuld verwys word wanneer een of ander ongeregtigheid ter sprake kom. Die Afrikaner is skuldig aan apartheid, die Engelsman aan kolonialisme, die swart man aan korrupsie en nepotisme (en dalk selfs die moorddadige aanvalle op onwettige immigrante). Vingers word gewys, humeure ontvlam, beskuldigings word heen en weer geslinger. Suid-Afrikaners sal weet waarvan ek praat.

Dis dié dat ons sulke eienaardige verskeinsels moet aanskou soos ouers wat weier om met hulle kinders Afrikaans te praat, of wit jongmense wat ewe druipstert die voete van ‘n “voorheen benadeelde” was. Dis daarom dat die retoriek van Swart Ekonomiese Bemagtiging so maklik en onophoudelik vloei. Dis die rede hoekom talle Afrikaners onder die wanindruk van aktiewe, agressiewe kulturele bedreiging verkeer. Dis dalk selfs een van die redes hoekom die skuldige wit massas so emigreer.

En dan is daar natuurlik die teenreaksie: die draer van kollektiewe skuld wat beweer dat hý die een is wat hier verontreg en verkeerd voorgestel word. Daar het jy onder andere die trotse ou Engelse omie wat, veilig in sy onskuld aan apartheid, hewig sal ontken dat die Britte se gedrag in die Tweede Vryheidsoorlog verkeerd was, en selfs die storie van “glas in die kos” sal probeer belaglik maak; daar het jy die Afrikaner wat vas daarvan oortuig is dat die vorige bedeling eintlik tot voordeel van almal was, of dat dit hoofsaaklik deur die Britte onder die Unie geïmplementeer was; daar het jy die Zulu wat speel dat hy nog nooit van die Mfecane gehoor het nie.

En tog... is dit nie ‘n natuurlike reaksie nie? Is dit nie te verwagte dat ‘n mens homself só sal verdedig nie? Hy word mos nou van iets beskuldig waarin hy geen rol gespeel het nie. Is dit nie vanselfsprekend dat hy sy skuld sal probeer ontken nie? Sy lidmaatskap aan die skuldige groep kan hy tog nie ontken sonder om sy eie volk, of taal, of rassegroep te bedrieg nie. Veel eerder sal hy homself en sy “groep” (wat dit ook al mag wees) totaal onskuldig probeer hou.

Party mense doen dinge effens anders: hulle skep vir hulself ‘n nuwe klassifikasie. Onder Afrikaners, soos ek uit my eie ondervinding weet, neem dit in die algemeen die vorm van liberalisme aan. ‘Nee, nie ons nie,’ sê die moderne “Afrikaanses”, ‘dis daai slegte lot regses se skuld, daai Orania klomp met hulle snorre en hulle gewere. Ons is mooi polities korrek en liberaal, ons gaan maak aspres met swartmense vriende. Ons was nou ons hande in onskuld.’ Die liberalisme is nou hulle wit mantel.

Myns insiens lê die probleem egter nie in die kwessie van aan watter groep jy behoort nie. Ek dink dat die swaartepunt van die hele saak nie by die lidmaatskap aan ‘n groep lê nie, maar by die toerekening van kollektiewe skuld in die eerste plek. Dit klink miskien ekstreem; laat my toe om verder te verduidelik.

In die wetlike sin is skuld slegs persoonlik. As iemand self ‘n wandaad begaan het, is hy skuldig en moet hy gestraf word. As hy nie self ‘n rol gespeel het nie, is hy onskuldig. Óf die een, óf die ander. As hy self skuldig is en hy weet dit, is sy gedrag definitief strafbaar. In die konteks van apartheidskuld moet die vraag van persoonlike skuld aan die regsproses - of so nie, aan die gewete van die indiwidu - oorgelaat word.

Maar die kollektiewe skuld werk heeltemaal anders: ‘n mens se lidmaatskap aan ‘n skuldige groep maak hóm skuldig, selfs al is hy in die wetlike sin onskuldig. As hy ‘n middelklas Afrikaner is, kan skuldgevoelens hom op alle fronte aanval. Elke keer as hy lekker eet, elke keer as hy warm water uit sy geyser gebruik, elke keer as hy die outomatiese sekuriteitshek van sy gemaklike woning agter hom toeskiet, elke keer as hy geld spandeer op iets wat nie noodsaaklik is nie, tref daardie dowwe skuldpyn sy diepste binneste. Hy vind dit dalk selfs moelik om ‘n swart man in die oë te kyk wanneer hy hom op straat ontmoet; hy kan maar net ongemaklik glimlag en verbystorm. En wat hy ookal mag doen, is daar geen uitweg uit hierdie kollektiewe skuld uit nie.

Waar lê nou die oplossing? Dis tog nie moontlik om te ontken dat daar groot misdade in die naam van die Afrikaner gepleeg is nie. Dis nie moontlik om daardie kollektiewe skuld te ontken nie. Ja, apartheid lê nou al meer as ‘n dekade in die verlede, maar mense leef en onthou langer terug as dit. Gevolge, persoonlik sowel as sosioekonomies, hou langer as dit.

En juis hier lê die belangrike punt: as iemand kollektief skuldig is, moet hy mos immers iets doen om die gevolge te versag, om die ongeregtighede reg te maak. En juis dit is wat ‘n vae gevoel van kollektiewe skuld nie kan uitrig nie. Teen so ‘n onversoenbare skuldgevoel is die mens hulpeloos; hy kan homself nie daaruit red nie, altans, nie sonder om sy identiteit te verloën nie. Die skuld slaan elke dag aan hom, en hy laat dit maar gebeur. Hy dink dan dat hy dit verdien. In sy eie oë is hy skuldig; hy moet nou minste ook skuldig voel.

Maar so ‘n skuldgevoel is nutteloos. Dit help hom nie, en dit help die mense aan wie hy verskuldig is nog minder. Niemand trek daaruit voordeel nie. En as ‘n Afrikaner nou miskien die voete van ‘n swart man was, wat help dit? Die swart man het nou nat voete en die mens wat sy voete gewas het, se gewete is vir ‘n rukkie gepaai. Maar niks het werklik verander nie. Die simboliek is miskien reg, maar dit is van geen praktiese nut nie.

My oplossing is dít: dat die konsep van die kollektiewe skuld eerder met die konsep van kollektiewe verantwoordelikheid vervang word. Die mens wat homself skuldig ag, is in sy eie oë minderwaardig, en dink hy verdien enige slegte dinge wat met hom gebeur. Hy is passief. En as hy dit regkry om deur leë simboliese gebare van sy skuldgevoel ontslae te raak, ag hy dit onnodig om die verlede se ongeregtighede reg te stel.

Daarteenoor stel ek iemand wat homself onskuldig maar verantwoordelik ag. Hierdie (hipotetiese) mens is nie daarin geïnterresseerd om homself te verontskuldig nie; hy is nie geïnterresseerd in leë, nuttelose gebare nie. Hy het die moed om die verontregde in die oë te kyk, die vryheid om met hom eerlik te wees, en om sy gelyke en sy vriend te kan wees. Hy besef dat hy in (en volgens) sy kapasiteit die negatiewe situasies waarvoor hy kollektief verantwoordelik is, moet beredder - maar juis omdat dit die regte ding is om te doen, nie omdat hy homself van skuld wil vryspreek nie. Hy hoef nie deur skuldgevoelens daartoe gedwing te word nie; hy doen dit vrywillig en met ‘n goeie gesindheid.

Dít, dink ek, is die geheim wat sal werk. Laat die skuld lê; neem die verantwoordelikheid op. Vergeet van selfbejammering; neem aksie. Hou op om ‘n slagoffer te wees; wees eerder ‘n selfstandige en verantwoordelike burger. As ons só kan handel en só kan saamstaan, dan is ons eers waarlik vry.

Nkosi sikelel’ i-Afrika!



----- English -----

Questions and feelings of collective guilt are central to the thinking of the modern South African. One can see how the concept of collective guilt is continually being referred to in today’s political climate. The Afrikaner is guilty of apartheid, the Englishman of colonialism, the black man of corruption and nepotism (and perhaps even the so-called xenophobic attacks on illegal immigrants). Fingers point, tempers explode, accusations are flung back and forth.

That’s why we have to behold such strage phenomena as parents that refuse to speak Afrikaans to their children, or white youths guiltily washing the feet of someone who was “previously disadvantaged”. That’s why the rhetoric of Black Economic Empowerment flows so easily and ceaselessly. That’s why so many Afrikaners are under the mistaken impression that their culture is under immediate, and actively hostile, threat. It may even be a contributing factor to why the guilty white masses are emigrating in droves.

And then, of course, we have the counter-reaction: the person who is collectively guilty but who says that he is himself the one being misrepresented. For example, you’ll have the proud old English gent who, secure in his innocence regarding apartheid, will vehemently deny that the British were in the wrong in the Anglo-Boer War, and will even deny that those infamous shards of glass were put into the food of the concentration camp inmates; you’ll find Afrikaners who will try to argue that apartheid was for the benefit of all, or was primarily implemented by the British under the Union; you’ll find the Zulu who pretends never to have heard of the Mfecane.

And yet... is this not a natural reaction? Isn’t it to be expected that someone would defend himself in this way? After all, he is being accused of something in which he played no role. Doesn’t it go without saying that he will try to deny his guilt? He cannot deny his membership to a guilty group without betraying his own nation, or language, or “race”, as the case may be. He’d much rather try to consider his “group” innocent.

Others do things slightly differently: they create a new classification for themselves. Among Afrikaners, as I can attest from my own experience, this often takes the form of liberalism. ‘No, not us,’ say the modern “Afrikaanses”, ‘it’s that lot of conservatives who are at fault. That Orania crowd with their moustaches and their guns. We, on the other hand, are politically correct and liberal, we go out of our way to make friends with black people. We wash our hands in innocence.’ Liberalism has become their white robe of innocence.

But as I see it, the problem does not lie in which group you happen to belong to. I think that the crux of the whole matter does not lie in membership of a group, but with the assignment of collective guilt in the first place. That may sound extreme; allow me to explain further.

In the lawful sense, guilt is strictly personal. If someone did a misdeed, he is guilty and must be punished. If he played no role, he is innocent. Either the one or the other. He cannot be held guilty (and punishable) for the actions of another. On the other hand, if he is personally guilty, then he is definitely to be punished. In the context of guilt pertaining to the apartheid system, this question lies in the domain of judicial prcedures, or otherwise with personal conscience.

But collective guilt works differently: a person’s membership in a collectively guilty demographic renders him personally guilty, even if he is not personally guilty in the lawful sense. If he is a middle class Afrikaner, he is beset by guilt from all directions. Every time he has a good meal, every time he uses hot water from his geyser, every time he closes the automatic security gate behind him, every time he spends money on something which is not strictly essential, a pang of guilt assaults him. He may even find it difficult to look a black man in the eyes when he meets him along the road; he can only smile uncomfortably and hurry past. And, whatever he does, there is no way out of this collective guilt.

Where lies the solution? It is, after all, not possible to deny that great crimes were committed in the name of the Afrikaner. It is not possible to deny that collective guilt as long as you play by its rules. Granted, apartheid lies more than a decade in the past, but people live longer than that, and remember farther back than that. Consequences, personal as well as socioeconomic, remain longer than that.

And exactly here lies the important point: if someone is collectively guilty, mustn’t he do something to mitigate the consequences, to end and repair the injustices? And that is exactly what a feeling of collective guilt cannot accomplish. Against such an irredeemable feeling of guilt the human creature is helpless; he cannot save himself from it, or at least not without denying and betraying his own identity. He is attacked by guilt every day, and he lets it happen. He thinks that he deserves it. In his own eyes he is guilty; the least he can do is to feel guilty.

But this feeling of guilt is practically useless. It does not help him, and it helps the person he is guilty towards even less. Nobody can benefit from it. And if an Afrikaner now decides to wash the feet of a black man, of what use is that? The black man now has wet feet and the man who washed his feet has appeased his own conscience for a while. But nothing has really changed. The symbolism may be correct, but it has not been of any practical use whatsoever.

My solution is this: that the concept of collective guilt rather be replaced by the concept of collective responsibility. The person who considers himself guilty is inferior in his own eyes, and thinks that he deserves any misfortune that crosses his path. He is passive. And if he manages to rid himself of the feeling of guilt through empty symbolic gestures, he no longer considers it necessary to correct the past’s injustices.

In contrast I propose someone who considers himself innocent, yet responsible. This (hypothetical) person is not interested in excusing himself from guilt; he is not interested in empty, useless posturing. He has the courage to look the formerly wronged in the eye, he has the freedom to be honest with them, and he has the capacity to be their equal and their friend. He realises that he can, in and according to his capacity, help to negate the negative situations for which he is responsible - but because it is the right thing to do, not because he is trying to save himself from guilt. He does not need to be forced by means of a guilty conscience; he lends a hand freely and with clear intentions.

In my opinion, this is the secret that will work. Let guilt lie; take up responsibility. Forget self-pity; take action. Stop being a victim; instead, be an independent and responsible citizen. If we can can act and stand together in this manner, only then can we be truly free.

Nkosi sikelel’ i-Afrika!

Why Political Correctness does more harm than anything else:

Political correctness confuses language and bars debate. When terms and concepts become prohibited, it is difficult if not impossible to articulate a viewpoint that has been deemed politically incorrect. The effect is that no debate on these issues is possible. Concepts are decreed "incorrect" and must forever remain that way. As soon as ideas are prohibited, there can be no further useful discussion on the affected topic, because debate becomes impossible. Communication becomes fraught with problems.

Political correctness obscures problems. As soon as language becomes obscured and concepts forbidden, certain problems can no longer be understood because they cannot be conveyed in a politically correct manner.

Political correctness hampers problem-solving. Obviously, as soon as problems become difficult to understand, solving those problems becomes increasingly difficult. Instead of problems being solved, their very existence is merely denied.

Political correctness is already creating concrete problems. For instance, political correctness forbids discrimination between individuals in any sphere of life, including education. In our (South African) universities, for example, many (but not all) black students are permitted to enter courses on a quota basis. The reason is obvious: if they were evaluated on an identical basis to white students, much fewer of them would be admitted (why else institute a quota system?), creating a perceived "racial bias". One is not allowed to say this, however. The implications, too, are obvious: quota-admitted black students are now being admitted to courses they are not qualified for. One is not allowed to say this, however. Therefore, racial-quota students need extra courses, perhaps even an extra year, to bring them up to standard, since they are behind their merit-admitted peers. One is not allowed to say this, however. The effect is that quota-admitted black students struggle through university paying more than they need to, since they need to continually retake courses. One is not allowed to point out this problem, however, since it would require the latter forbidden chain of reasoning.

Political correctness, to me, is like a child hiding by covering its eyes. Being wilfully ignorant of a problem will not, and cannot, produce a solution. And the very essence of political correctness, that of forbidding the expression of these and many other ideas, will worsen any and all affected problems.

...with thunderous applause, LJ has now stated that "[they]'ve decided to expand this [definition of Hate Speech] slightly so that it also applies to content which advocates the violence/harm of others. [They] feel that such expression goes beyond being merely offensive, and in practice leads to the harm of others, which [they] do not condone in any way."
Now as I'm aware, this is a democratic process, and I could be a candidate if I wanted. But I can move to googlepages at any time and I've got a lot of stuff on my plate already, so for the moment I'll limit my role to just wondering what's going on, in my capacity as a non-paying, relatively uninvolved user.

What I'm interested to know is, how do they define "harm"? Obviously this does not consist merely of physical harm, otherwise they would use only the word "violence". What if I state my position that I consider homosexual behaviour, for example, to be sinful (though I do not advocate violence towards people, and consider them valid recipients of God's grace and lovingkindness just like me)? Am I causing "harm" by making those within what I consider to be a deviant lifestyle "feel unwanted/undervalued/etc."? It would not be my intention to harm anyone at all, but could my opinion be classified as being "harmful"?

At the same time, I note that limitations around depictions of nudity are being relaxed. I would consider that to be causing spiritual harm to viewers. Is that a valid concern, or would I be accused of censorship? And if so, on what grounds?



This policy revision seems to be rather vague, couched in terms of "we feel" this or that. Does that mean that we as the users are now under the whims of (in the words of Anakin Skywalker) "someone wise", and how they "feel", rather than a rigidly-defined code? It sure seems that way, from here.

I sincerely hope I'm wrong.

"The Star-Spangled Banner" in Afrikaans


Toe ek vir die soveelste keer na Bok van Blerk se “De La Rey” luister, en toe ek daarna ook boonop die Vrystaatse Volkslied se lirieke van ingeb.org gaan aflaai, val dit my uit die bloute by dat dit interresant behoort te wees om die eerste vers van “The Star-Spangled Banner” in Afrikaans te probeer vertaal. Toe ek dit klaar gedoen het, was ek so meegevoer dat ek die res maar ook vertaal het. Ek kon hier en daar nie anders nie as om maar te parafraseer; dis moeliker as wat mens dink om die rym, metrum, en betekenis te behou wanneer mens vertaal.

Wat vir my interresant is, is dat dit omtrent dieselfde logiese progressie as die Transvaalse volkslied volg. Laasgenoemde begin met ‘n stryd vir vryheid, verwys na wapperende vlae, en verklaar dat die volk se lyding verby is. Die derde vers verwys dan na God se genade oor die volk. Hierdie progressie is ook in “The Star-Spangled Banner” te sien, alhoewel daar nou nie juis na die natuurskoon van die land verwys word nie.

Wat vir my lekker was om raak te lees was waar die derde vers van die Amerikaanse volkslied verwys na die Britte se “foul footstep’s pollution”. Ha ha, “take that, Pommies!” :)

In elk geval, hier is die oorspronlike, gevolg deur die vertaling. Sê my asseblief as julle beter idees het: ek het die indruk dat die vertaling (veral in die eerste vers) ‘n bietjie te “Engels” klink…


OORSPRONKLIKE WEERGAWE:

1. O say can you see,
By the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd
At the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars,
Thro' the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd,
Were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare,
The bombs bursting in air
Gave proof thro' the night
That our flag was still there.

O say, does that star-spangled
Banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free
And the home of the brave?


2. On the shore, dimly seen
Thro' the mist of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host
In dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze,
O'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows,
Half conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam
Of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected
Now shines in the stream.

Tis the star-spangled banner
O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free
And the home of the brave.


3. And where is the band
Who so vauntingly swore,
'Mid the havoc of war
And the battle’s confusion,
A home and a country
They'd leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out
Their foul footstep's pollution.

No refuge could save
The hireling and slave
From the terror of flight
Or the gloom of the grave;

And the star-spangled banner
In triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free
And the home of the brave.


4. O thus be it ever,
When free men shall stand
Between their loved homes
And the war's desolation;
Blest with vict'ry and peace,
May the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made
And preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must,
When our cause it is just,
And this be our motto,
"In God is our trust!"

And the star-spangled banner
In triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free
And the home of the brave.


AFRIKAANSE WEERGAWE:

1. Sê tog of jy kan sien,
In die vroeë oggendlig,
Wat ons (in’t) skemerings glim
Trots gehys, ingewy het?
Breë streep’ en wit ster’,
Waarop oë gerig
Tydens bitt’re gestreef
Altyddeur trou gebly het?

Elke vuurpyl se gloed
Elke bom wat daar woed
Het aan almal bewys:
Ja, ons vlag hou nog moed!

O sê tog of die Vaandel,
Met sterre besaai,
Steeds oor’t land van die vrye
En die moedige waai?


2. Aan die kus, skaars te sien
Deur die digte miswolk,
Waar die vyand se leër
So stillê soos die dood,
Wat is dit wat die bries
Oor die kransende kop,
Soos deur wolkbanke heen
Half verberg, half ontbloot?

Kyk! Daar skyn nou ‘n straal
Vir ‘n elkele maal
En verlig met sy glorie
Dit wat swiep aan die paal:

Dis die Vaandel, ja die Vaandel
Met sterre besaai
Wat oor die land van die vrye
En die moedige waai!


3. En waar is nou die mag
Wat gedreig en beloof,
Deur die oorlogs gewoel
En verwarrende krete,
Om van huis en van goed
En van land te beroof?
Hulle bloed moet vergeld
Vir hul besoed’lende treë!

Ja, die dood het gestraf
Elke huurling en slaaf
Elke een het geval
En beërf slegs die graf;

Triomf vir die Vaandel
Met sterre besaai,
Wat oor die land van die vrye
En die moedige waai!


4. So sal dit altyd wees
Waar die vrye man staan
Voor sy huis en sy haard
Teen verwoestende magte;
Met oorwinning geseën,
Mag ons in hierdie land
Hom prys wat ons geskep het
En behoed met Sy kragte!

Dan verslaan ons elk’ leër
As ons doel Hom vereer,
En so lees ons slagspreuk:
“Ons vertou op die Heer!”

En dan sal die Vaandel
Met sterre besaai,
Altyd oor die vrye land
Van die moediges waai!

An old Tails cartoon I read today contained a strong gun control message. The last 3 pages looked like so (linked because of large image size):

http://pics.livejournal.com/wolfieinu/pic/0000h60y/g38


So I just had to repair it:

http://pics.livejournal.com/wolfieinu/pic/0000k96w/g38

Just couldn't resist :)

OK. So a year or so ago we got a new used computer. Everything was fine, everything worked, but it came with Win2K and it had a small hard drive. I didn't really care, at that; I kept Win2K and bought a new hard drive from "Intelligent Computing", one of those hard drives that are theoretically 500GB but actually 465 or something. I also got an antivirus program called BitDefender as recommended to me by that same company (great program BTW). But then strange things started happening: the computer would freeze for no reason, would refuse to boot, etc.

So I bought WinXP, installed it on the large new hard drive, transferred my data, and thought no more about it.

But then it started happening again. The whole filesystem would corrupt for no reason, and every third time or so I booted the PC I'd have to repair the filesystem. Which gets tiring. Then it slowed to a crawl performance-wise as well.

So I lugged it off to "Intelligent Computing". They seemed like they knew what to do, the only other guy I could reach sounded asleep while on the phone, with a baby squalling in the background. And he just wanted to sell me a new computer, which I can't afford. But "Intelligent Computing" looked like professionals.

I gave them the computer and said, "It's either something with the power supply (it sounds like a tractor), or it's the hard drive." A while later they call me and say, "No, it's the motherboard. You're looking at a new CPU, new RAM, probably a new hard drive since yours are both IDE, a new..." I said, "Look dude, I don't have enough money for a pie/Pepsi combo at the campus shop and you want me to buy a new computer?!" He says, smugly, "Yes, you should." I say, angrily, "The hell I will, find me an old model motherboard." I back up my data and tell him he's licensed to format.

He does so. R700 later, I get the computer back, formatted hard drive, new motherboard. It works, OK great.

Then it acts up again. Same symptoms exactly. I take it back. Another techie this time. I tell him the case history. "Did this motherboard burn up too?" He looks at it, says "No." "It can't be the power supply trashing my motherboards then. So what is it? It's either a bad hard drive, or it's a virus that's still working when Windows shuts down, so the filesystem breaks." I probably sound like an idiot; at least, his attitude tells me that. He promises to see what he can do.

The company moves premises, taking my computer along. When I see it again it's got a few extra scratches.

"It was a virus," says the techie airily. "I got it with AVG." He tells me about AVG-Free and asks me what antivirus I have. "BitDefender," I say. He sneers and says condescendingly, "Who told you to get that?" "You did," I tell him. He shuts up and gives me the computer.

I get home, find and read the antivirus program's log file. "No viruses found." Suspicious. I format the hard drives, install XP on the small hard drive and put my data on the large hard drive.

A while ago the same symptoms reappear. I back up my data, format the large hard drive, move my data back. It works for a while, but the symptoms reappear. This time I get rid of a few larger files, transfer everything to the small hard drive, and completely disconnect the large new hard drive.

End of problem.

Like I said from the start, it's the hard drive, but I guess with "Intelligent Computing", the customer is always stupid.

They're not seeing me again, that's for sure.

And here we are again, 1st Semester. But 2nd year this time.

... wow, if I just think back on what I was like this time last year ... incredible ...

I am angry.

Why?

Because.

My cousin just failed his driver's license test. And why, pray tell? Because he didn't look in his side-view mirrors while slacking off to come to a halt.

As if that weren't bad enough, in order to take a driver's test in this country you need to a) schedule an appointment for a learner's license, which takes many phone calls, b) go to a testing centre to confirm the booking, c) pay for it, d) take the test, e) schedule an appointment for a driver's license, which again takes many phone calls, f) go to a testing centre to confirm the booking, g) pay for it, h) take the test, i) pay for your license if you passed, j) wait five months for your license card. Oh, and within a year and a half of receiving your learner's license, it expires, and you have to do everything all over again from point a) if you didn't pass within that period. And when I say "go to a testing centre", this doesn't just mean "go", but "go and wait in line for about six hours, if not more".

Grrrr.

Now on to gun licenses. You need to motivate why you need a gun in order to receive a license. But "self-defense" is not a permitted motive. You must prove, with newspaper clippings and government statistics, that the crime levels in your area are sufficiently high, according to the Powers That Be, to motivate the acquisition of a firearm.

If my application is refused, I am going to buy a gun on the black market.

Oh yes, and your license comes up for review every five years, and the process is repeated. So the govt. can confiscate your firearms any time they please because they can arbitrarily decide to deny your license application.

Heed my words, Americans: do it not. Frustrated South African Student, Chapter 1, verse 1, "If anyone among you should wish to take your firearm from you or require overly complex processes to acquire one, shoot him in the head and rest assured you have rid the world of a social maggot."

Gah.

Yes! At last!

It's called Projekt 42 because I was going to call it "Projekt : something-or-other", but nothing seemed to fit. Then the Ultimate Answer came to mind ... thank you, Douglas Adams :)

So, well, now it's called Projekt 42 (Zwei-und-vierzig). And here it is!

Possibly the world's only German-South African anthro sci-fi pencilled webcomic with movie and historical references, by a "fundy" Christian of German/French/Irish extraction who is a student of geoinformational science and who knows all the words to "Chanson Pour les Petits Enfants" and watches Star Wars at least once a week! Or something.

It's just a plain ugly default page at present, as soon as I can get into Site Admin I'll do something about that. But there are technical difficulties to overcome. Oh well...

(Cool steel drum intro)

Now,

REFRAIN
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know where I'm a-gonna go
When the volcano blow!

Ground, she's movin' under me
Tidal waves out on the sea
Sulphur smoke up in the sky
Pretty soon we learn to fly

REFRAIN

My girl quickly say to me
Mon, you better watch your feet
Lava come down soft and hot
You better lava me now or lava me not

REFRAIN

No time to count what I'm worth
(Cuz) I just left the planet Earth
Where I go I hope there's rum
Not to worry mon, soon come

REFRAIN

But I don't wanna land in New York City,
I don't wanna land in Mexico
Don't wanna land on no Three Mile Island
Don't wanna see my skin a-glow
Don't wanna land a' Comanche Sky Park
Or in Nashville, Tennessee
Don't wanna land a' no San Juan Airport
Or the Yukon Territory
Don't wanna land no San Diego
Don't wanna land in no Buzzard's Bay
Don't wanna land on no Ayatullah
I got nothin' more to say

REFRAIN

Just a one more!

REFRAIN

(Very abrupt end, four guitar strums and that's it. And then I think he starts singing about being stuck on a sandbar or something. Takes all kinds.)

-----

From memory. So I hope it's right. So ja, heck with it, now I've posted something again, at last. For what it's worth.

This was apparently in the Sowetan (a newspaper) on September 11th. Maimane (a fellow student at TUKS) posted it on the student bulletin board.

-----

A certain rich businessman had a beautiful daughter, who fell in Love with a guy who was a cleaner.When the girl's father came to know about their love, he did not Like it at all, and so began to protest about it.Now it happened that the two lovers decided to leave their homes For a happy future. The girl's father started searching for the two lovers but could not find them.At last, he accepted their love and asked them to come back home in A local newspaper. Her father said "If you both come back I will Allow you to marry the guy you love, I accept that you loved each other Truly."So in this way, their love won and they returned home.The couple went to town to shop for the wedding dress. He was Dressed in white shirt that day. While he was crossing the road to the Other Side to get some drinks for his wife, a car came and hit him and he died On the spot. The girl lost her senses. It was only after sometime that she recovered from her shocked. The funeral and cremation was the very Next day because he had died horribly.Two nights later, the girl's mother had a dream in which she saw an Old lady. The old lady asked her mother to wash the blood stains of the Guy from her daughter's dress as soon as possible. But her mother Ignored the dream.The next night her father had the same dream, he also ignored it.Then when the girl had the same dream the next night, she woke up in Fear and told her mother about the dream. Her mother asked her to wash The Clothes which have blood stains immediately.She washed the stains but some remained. Next night she again had The same dream she again washed the stains but some still remained.Next night she again had the same dream and this time the oldlady Gave her a last warning to wash the blood stain, or else something Terrible will happen. This time the girl tried her best to wash the Stains,And the clothes nearly tore, but some stains still remained.She was very tired.In the late evening the same day while she was alone at home,Someone knocked the door. When she opened the door she saw the same old Lady of her dream standing at her door. She got very scared and fainted.The old lady woke her up... and gave her a blue box, which Shocked the girl. She asked "What is this...?"The old lady replied... *"OMO Washing powder with Powerfoam plus*... it will remove all stubborn stains!!!"

-----



So tragic...

Right here. Please note that the Tripartite Alliance consists of a) these disgusting Commies, b) COSATU (the workers' union), and c) the ANC (the guys in charge of the country). Note also the rhetoric here.

Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

"To Pretoria! The Commies are coming!"


...

GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!! GO BOKKE!!!

Shut up, already!

Thanks to a firestorm of rave reviews from my imaginary worshippers, here is part 2:

-----

__Freelancer Part 2__

- Trent walks to where he parked his ship. He sees Lonnigan snooping about.

Trent: Lonnigan? Is that you? I thought you were in Medical, having your pocket picked.

Lonnigan: You think you’re safe, but you’re not!

Trent: Why should I think I’m safe? I don’t think I’m safe. I never said I thought I was safe. Mind your own business!

Lonnigan: What do you think happened on Freeport 7, huh?

Trent: Not the foggiest, mate. But I know you owe me money, so why don’t you just...

Lonnigan: D-oh... easy come, easy go.

Trent: No. No, no, no, no.

Lonnigan: Yes, yes, yes.

Trent: No, no, no.

Lonnigan: Yes, yes, yes.

Trent: No, no, no. We had a deal.

Lonnigan (in an intense voice): A deal that died with the station.

Trent: What's with that strange voice? Are you trying to hypnotize me or something?

Lonnigan: (Continues in normal voice) That all seems so long ago now. (He plays air accordion behind his head.) Doesn’t matter anyway. They want us all dead.

Trent: Who wants us all dead?

Lonnigan: Those guys over there!

- Sinister Guys appear out of nowhere, and shoot Lonnigan.

Trent: This deal's getting worse all the time.

- Sinister Guys walk up to Trent.

Trent (to Sinister Guys): Ya know, that guy owed me money! What do you think you're doing? How did you just materialize at the critical moment like that? What’s going on? What are today's lottery numbers? Who are you?

Sinister Guy: I wouldn't care even if that guy owed you a _star system_. We won't tell you what we're doing, it's a secret. We can materialise like that because we're made of polygons. What is going on does not concern you. Today's lottery numbers are 2-5-14-8-5-1-12-4-19. We’re waffles ... I mean, we’re the police.

Trent: Let’s see some ID.

Sinister Guy (knocks Trent out): ...boring conversation, anyway.


- A while later. Juni throws a bucket of ice water over Trent’s head.

Trent: Hey!

King: You look terrible.

Trent: You’re no oil painting, yourself.

Juni: What happened?

Trent: Two Sinister Guys. They jumped me. Oh... my chest... (clutches at chest)

King: That’s not very convincing. What you mean to say is, you have a massive hangover from one Liberty Ale too many.

Trent: What are you talking about? _One_ Liberty Ale is one Liberty Ale too many. Give me a Sidewinder Fang any day. By the way, where's Lonnigan?

Juni: Lonnigan? Who's Lonnigan?

Trent: They must have taken him.

Juni: Trent, pull yourself together. Remember Ashcroft, and the mission!

Trent: Yeah...

King: You'll be fine. (Hits Trent unconscious.) Oops.

Juni: Good work. Quick, before he wakes up, get him in his fighter and launch. We don't need any more delays.

- Camera angle shifts. A Mean-Looking Dude surveys the scene while Trent (who is still unconscious) and King launch. The Mean-Looking Dude takes a miniature purple waffle iron out of his pocket and looks at it for a while. JPEG artifacts are visibly floating about in the air near the waffle iron. Then he lights a cigarette, and takes a deep pull.

Mean-Looking Dude: Yuck, ewww, _sick_! What brand is _this_?! (Throws whole cigarette away, and leaves in disgust.)

Cop (sees cigarette): Hey, you! Mean-Looking Dude! No littering!

Mean-Looking Dude: Uh, oh. (Runs away, with cop following.)


- In space above Planet Manhattan. Trent and King leave the docking ring.

Trent (wakes up): Where am I? What's going on? Aaaarrgghh! I'm in _space_!

King (changes the subject): So what was going on down there? Who's Lonnigan?

Trent: I met him on Freeport 7. We'd just signed a deal when the station was attacked. He was injured, and has been in Medical ever since, with a corrupt surgeon stealing all his loose change. I've been waiting for him to be released to get my money back.

King: And? What did he say?

Trent: Nothing about the money. He said that some Sinister Guys were after him. I thought he'd lost it, ...

King: Lost what? The money? The Sinister Guys? His mind?

Trent: The latter... but then these two Sinister Guys appeared - literally - and shot him. Looks like he wasn't just paranoid. Ahh, I'm never getting paid. Goodbye, million credits.

King: Hold on, we're almost at the trade lane.

- They go through two trade lanes and reach a jump gate. A battleship is waiting for them.

Battleship: This is jump gate control on Battleship Unity. Please identify yourselfs.

King: Don't you mean 'yourselves'?

Battleship: Yes.

King: This is patrol Gamma Six on special LSF assignment.

Battleship: Oh, yes. Your name's on the list. Go on in.

- The jump gate opens, and King and Trent dock with it.

Battleship: Hey, wait! You didn't sign on the dotted...

- King and Trent jump out of the system.

Battleship (to itself): ...line.


- In the Colorado System.

Trent: Now what?

King: Now we wait for Ashcroft.

- A little while later.

Trent: There he is!

King: Unidentified ship: you are in violation of...

Unidentified Ship: I didn't do it, I didn't do it!

King: Oh, yeah?(Launches missles at Unidentified Ship. They hit and explode.) Take that! And that! And that! And...

Unidentified Ship: All right! All right, already! Are you crazy?

King: Shaun Ascroft, you are under arrest!

Unidentified Ship: I'm not Ashcroft, you jarhead! I'm really gonna have your butt!

King: What?

Unidentified Ship: I said: 'I'm not Ashcroft, you jarhead! I'm really gonna have your butt!'

King: Oh, didn't hear you the first time. Thanks.

Juni (over the comm): Oopsie. Bad information, sorry. Ashcroft isn't here, he's at Pueblo Station.

Unidentified Ship: The name is Cosmo...

King: I didn't ask for your opinion. You will speak when spoken to.

Unidentified Ship: You haven't heard the last of this...

King: I'm sorry to have to end this eminently stimulating conversation, but...

- King and Trent enter the trade lane to Pueblo Station. They travel for a while, and then leave the trade lane at Pueblo. It is surrounded by a few pirates.

King: Deer god.

Trent: Oh, so you're Native American?

King: Comanche. Anyway, let's kill the pirates.

- They shoot around at nothing in particular. The pirates kill themselves in shock and horror.

Pueblo: There's more pirates off in the David Copper Field. We've tagged one of them. Are you picking up a signal?

King: Strong and clear. Thank you, Pueblo. They will pay for this. (Trent and King fly off.)

Pueblo (to itself): 'Strong and clear?' Who says _that_? Everyone knows it’s 'loud and clear!'

- King and Trent fly to Ashcroft.

King (to Trent): OK, you know what to do.

Trent: Shoot everything that moves?

King: Right on.

- So this is what they do. Ashcroft tries to get away but is eventually captured.

King: Let's go back to Manhattan. Juni's waiting.

Juni (over the comm): Did you get Ashcroft?

King: Yes.

Juni: You didn't bake him with garlic and chives, a drizzle of lemon juice and carrots julienne, did you? I remember last time...

King: Negative. He's in Trent's cargo hold. He desoirves woirse.

Juni: He what?

King: He desoirves woirse.

Juni: I don't know about that. Trent's cargo hold isn't a very nice place to be. He's got all _kinds_ of stuff in there... not all of them hygienic.

Trent: Hey!

King: Granted, but you know what I mean.

Juni: He'll get what he deserves, but not until he's told us everything we want to know.

King: Great! I've always wanted to know how you beat Level 4 of Episode 75 of 'N'...

Juni: Uh... gotta go now, see ya. (Closes comm frequency.)

- Trent and King are near the jump gate to Manhattan.

King: Go ahead and dock, Trent. Juni's waiting.

- They dock, and jump to Manhattan.


- In the Manhattan system.

Battleship: This is jump gate control on Battleship Unity. Please identify yourselfs.

King: I told you, you have to say 'yourselves'...

Battleship: That is not a valid response. Please listen carefully as the instructions are repeated. This is jump gate control on Battleship Unity. Please identify yourselfs. If you are an independent merchant, please press or say '1'. If you are a Bounty Hunter, please press or say '2'. If you are an LSF patrol, please press or say '3'. ...

King: Three.

Battleship: That is not a valid response. Please listen carefully as the instructions are repeated. This is jump gate control on Battleship Unity. Please identify yourselfs...

King: Three.

Battleship: That is not a valid response. Please listen carefully as the instructions are repeated. This is jump gate control on Battleship Unity...

King: Aaaaaaarrgghh!

Battleship: That is not a valid response. Please listen carefully...

- King and Trent, screaming with terror and frustration, dock with the trade lane to Fort Bush and fly away as quickly as possible.

Battleship (to itself): ...who says government jobs don't have perks?!


- Near Fort Bush. King and Trent exit the trade lane from the Colorado jump gate.

King: Okay, now all we need to do is to deliver Ashcroft to the Battleship Missouri. One more trade lane...

Trent: Shut up, idiot, you'll jinx it!

- Pirates suddenly appear and start shooting.

Trent: Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.

- The pirates, predictably, explode all by themselves.

Trent: OK, let's get to the Missouri.

King: Yeah. Juni's waiting.

- They enter the last trade lane. After a while, they arrive at the Missouri.

King: Go ahead and land, Trent. Juni's waiting.

Trent: Will you stop saying that?!

King: What? Juni's waiting?

Trent: Yes.

King: But she is waiting. It's the truth. Juni's waiting.

- Trent begins to dock with the Battleship Missouri.

King: Juni's waiting. (click) Juni's waiting. (click) Juni's waiting. (click) Juni's waiting...

Trent: I have a baaaad feeling about this...


- Trent gets out of his ship aboard the Missouri. Its interior resembles a French provencal restaurant. Trent goes to the head waiter.

Trent: Sorry, am I in the right place? I'm supposed to deliver a prisoner called Ashcroft.

Head Waiter: And 'oo would you be delivering zis prisoner to, Monsieur?

Trent: LSF Commander Jun'ko Zane.

Head Waiter: Ah, yes. _Juni's waiting_ on Table 7 tonight.

- Trent begins to laugh hysterically. Juni arrives.

Juni (to Head Waiter): Call all the waiters, will you?

Head Waiter: What is zis waiters, Madamoiselle?

Juni: You know, waiters? Male waitrons?

Head Waiter: Ah yes, ze male waitrons. You want 'elp wiz ze prisoner Ashcroft, correct?

Juni (nods): Yes.

Head Waiter: Zen I call ze Chef. 'Ee 'as a most excellent recipe for baked prisoner, wiz garlic and chives, a drizzle of lemon juice and a julienne of carrots...

Juni: Actually... I wanted to question him first.

Head Waiter (shrugs): 'Ave it your way, madamoiselle Zane. (Walks off muttering.)

Trent: Ahem.

Juni: Ahem?

Trent: Money.

Juni: Oh yes. I'm transferring the payment to you neural net, as well as those bonuses I promised you. (Listens) Oh, sorry. I have to go.

Trent: Where are you going?

Juni: Someone at Table 7 wants a napkin. _Again_.

Trent: I thought you were a waitress. Don't you do something else besides carry napkins?

Juni: I take orders too, Trent. (She leaves.)

Trent (leaning back against the wall): And so ends another quirky mission...

TO BE CONTINUED...

I just created an account so I could comment on some other threads... meh, since I've got this page I may as well use it (not like anyone will read it anyhow). So here's something I did at the beginning of the year that my friends thought was funny...


__Freelancer Parody, Part One__

Ghostly Voice: Forty score and seven years ago, our fathers founded in this system a new nation, conceived in cryogenics and dedicated to the proposition that all men are polygons. Now our great nation is soon to be caught up in a great war...

- Somewhere out in space...

Freeport 7 Space Station: Go away, SA-14!

SA-14 Freighter: Acknowledged, Freeport 7. We’ll see you in about two weeks. That is, if you don’t get blown up in the meantime.

Freeport 7 and SA-14: HA HA HA HA HA!!!

Audience: What a pleasant pastoral scene. For space, that is.

F-7: SA-14, we’re picking up unknown contacts on the long-range scanners. Since you’re mysteriously unprotected, we’ll send our last hope of help along with you and leave the station totally defenceless. Have a nice trip!

SA-14: That’s real nice of you...

F-7: Godspeed.

SA-14: If I were that fast, I’d be back already!

F-7: That’s just a saying, SA-14. Go away, I have a headache.

- Suddenly, the Mysterious Blue Things At The Edges Of The Screen (MBTATEOTS) appear.

MBTATEOTS: You _will_!

F-7: Those little blue things you’re launching aren’t missiles, by any chance?

MBTATEOTS: No, not really.

F-7: Oh, good. Just checking.

- Blue missiles hit Freeport 7. It explodes.

F-7: Crud. BOOM.

MBTATEOTS: HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!

- The Universe plays sad music. Trent comes drifting by in an escape pod. How did he get in the escape pod so quickly? Does he live in an escape pod?


- Floating above the surface of Planet Manhattan. A rescue ship lands.

News Reporter’s disembodied voice: Freeport 7 blew up. The Order did it. Meanwhile, in other news...

- The ship lands. Trent gets out.

Trent: I hate Mondays.

- Two medics come running up.

Medic: We’re here from Medical. Is there anyone seriously injured?

Trent: No, people don’t really get hurt or anything when a space station explodes.

Medic: Oh. No, wait... really?

Trent: Just kidding. There _is_ a guy ‘seriously injured’ in there.

Medic: Oh. (Runs off with stretcher)

Trent: Sigh.

- Medics come past with guy on a stretcher.

Trent: That was fast!

Guy On A Stretcher: Moan. Groan. Ughh. Nnnhhh. And all those painful noises, really, I just don’t have time to run through them all.

Trent (to Medic): Make sure he lives. He owes me some credits.

Medic (puts hand into injured man’s pocket): Hey, look! Cash!

Trent: How ethical of you...

Medic: I know. I’m widely considered to be a bastion of incorruptibility.

Trent: Why does that sound familiar?


- In a bar.

Trent (walks up to bar): A Sidewinder Fang.

Bartender: A what?

Trent: A Sidewinder Fang.

Bartender: Excuse me?

Trent: Side. Winder. Fang.

Bartender: Sorry, I didn’t get that.

Trent: Oh, just get me a Liberty Ale.

Bartender: Okay. Why didn’t you say so? (Pours out drink.)

Trent (taking drink): Thanks. (Swallowing) Glop, glop...

Bartender: Parlez-vous Francais?

Trent: No, why?

Bartender: Never read ‘Pif le Chien’?!

Trent: No, why?

Bartender: Never mind... hey, wait! Didn’t I see you on TV?

Trent: Probably.

Bartender: You’re a famous actor! Can I have your autograph?

Trent: Actually, I survived the Freeport 7 disaster. You know, I’m lucky to be alive.

Bartender: Hah... I don’t want your autograph anymore.

- Trent looks in another direction for once.

Bartender (leering): Are you looking at Jun’ko Zane?

Trent: Actually, I’m looking at the pink elephant and the monkey-headed pilot. Do they come here often?

Bartender: You ain’t used ta Liburr-dee Ale, are ya, boy?

Trent: I guess... -hic- …not.

- A while later, after Trent has sobered up a bit.

Trent: Say, uh, bartender!

Bartender: Yeah, what?

Trent: I’m looking for a job.

Bartender: This isn’t an employment agency.

Trent: It isn’t?

Bartender: Well, Jun’ko Zane is over there by the pink elephant. She might have something.

- Trent walks over to Jun’ko Zane.

Man in a Business Suit: Juni, the environment has changed.

Juni: What strange gestures are you making with your hands?

Man in a Business Suit: I dunno. Anyway... what with groups like the Order taking more and more liberties...

Juni: I thought this _was_ Liberty.

Man in a Business Suit: Ha ha ha ha _ha_. As I was saying...

Trent: Buzz off, loser!

Man in a Business Suit: Boo hoo, hoo hoo hoo! (Runs away crying)

Trent: Sorry about that.

Juni: I am forever in your debt! You got rid of the irritating businessman! How can I ever repay you?!

Trent: Give me a job.

Juni: Sure. Whatever you say. I’ll even give you a heap of spare parts... I mean, uh, I’ll give you a ship!

Trent: Thanks! (Walks away)

Juni (quietly, to herself): Yes, as it happens I do need convincing cannon fodder... I mean, I need a good Freelancer...


- In the Equipment Dealer’s

Trent (sees ship): What a piece of junk!

Juni: She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid.

Trent: I think she is a _he_. And I think he is a pile of scrap metal.

Juni: Whatever...


- Out in space above Planet Manhattan. Trent launches. A little ways off there’s another ship. It’s got King in it.

King: Hi. I’m King.

Trent (dipping fighter’s wings): Your Majesty!

King (pained): No, that’s my name. Anyway, here’s the deal: I’m your CO for this mission. You shut up, shoot the enemy, and try not to die. In retoirn, I pay you a pittance.

Trent: In what? Retoirn?

King: Yeah. In retoirn.

Trent: Oh, _in return_…

King: That’s what I said, wasn’t it? Anyway, what do you say to the deal?

Trent: Great! When do we start?

King: Right now. Fly to that poirple diamond over there.

Trent: It came outta nowhere!

King: It’s on your HUD, nebula-head.

- Viewing angle shifts to include enormous ship bearing down on Trent and King.

Trent: Is that a Rheinland cruiser?

King: No, it’s a self-propelled waffle iron called the Donau. It’s here to attend a high-level meeting with President Jacobi.

Trent: My sincerest and deepest sympathy.

King: Watch it. That’s _my_ President you’re talking about, Bretonian. Even if I did vote for Bush.

Trent: Say what? Who?

King: I said, we’ll go to _Fort Bush_ to meet up with the convoy we’re escorting.

Trent: Oh.

- Strange Ships appear from nowhere.

Strange Ships: We’ll blow the Donau to pieces!

Donau: Vhy don’t ve diskuss ziss offer a vaffle?

Strange Ships: We hate waffles. Die! (They launch missiles)

Donau: Oh, looken sie! Schparklers! (The sparklers hit the Donau and it explodes)

Audience: Deja vu!

King: Revenge, revenge! Grrr!

Trent: What do I do?

King: Shoot them, you imbecile!

Trent: Okay. Let’s see... that’d be a red button. No wait, _that_ red button says _eject_...

- Eventually Trent decides to read the user manual. He finds the fire button, and presses it.

King: What are you shooting at?

Trent: The bad guys.

King: They’re dead already!

Trent: Oh. Oh, the _red_ ones were the bad guys. But I like red!

King: Come on, let’s go about our business.

Trent: But I don’t need to go!

King: Okay, if you’re sure. But remember, I’m not getting off the trade lane for a toilet stop if you suddenly decide you need the LBR.

Trent: LBR?

King: Little Boys’ Room.

Trent: All right, all right, I’ll go. (Long pause. Sound of toilet flushing) I’m ready, let’s go.


- They enter the trade lane.

King: This is it, Trent. This is one of the major arteries through Manhattan Space.

Trent: Wheeeeee! This is fun! Look how fast we’re going! Yahoooo!

King: You’re new to this, aren’t you?... Anyway, here we are, this is Fort Bush. We’re escorting these freighters to Pittsburgh.

One of the Freighters: This is the USV Brandt. Pre-launch checks have been completed.

King: In case you haven’t noticed... you’re in space. _You’ve already launched._

USV Brandt: Oh, so we have. I _hadn’t_ noticed. Anyway, let’s go.

- Everyone enters the next trade lane. Nothing happens for a while.

King: Looking good so far.

USV Brandt: Shut up, idiot, you’ll jinx it!

Computer voice: Trade... lane... disrupted.

Trent: Too late.

USV Brandt: Help! Pirates!

- For no apparent reason, the Pirates explode.

Trent: Am I missing something? Why did the pirates just die for no reason?

King: To boost your self-esteem.

Trent: They _died_ just to boost my _self-esteem_?

USV Brandt: Oh no! More pirates!

Trent: This is a problem? Can’t we stay and pick up the salvage?

USV Brandt: Aaargh! They’re looking at me! Help! Help! (Enters re-established trade lane and scuttles like a spooked hamster)

King: Help! Help! We’re being attacked by vicious flying spare parts! SAVE ME!!! (Enters trade lane)

Trent: Oh, well... (Follows everyone else)


- Near Planet Pittsburgh on the other end of the trade lane

USV Brandt: That was close! Thanks for getting us outta there, Gamma Six. I almost spilled my drink!

Trent: Who’s Gamma Six?

King: Us. We sound like ancient mobile artillery. Anyway, thanks for playing the bait, USV Brandt. I’m transferring the payment to your neural net account.

Trent: Why are _you_ paying _them_?

King: Land and I’ll tell you.


- They land on Pittsburgh. It is remarkably unexciting: a lot of smoke, rocks and fire. But what it lacks in class it more than makes up for in cheap script lines.

Trent: What happened back there? Why did you pay them?

King: I’d have thought you could figure that out yourself, you noird! Do yourself a favour and _get a brain_. Try the equipment dealer over there. He always has good deals... By the way, I’ve got another job for you if you’re interested.

Trent: As if I’ve got a choice! Can’t I play off-story for a while?

King: No. You will die. Trust me.

Trent: Okay. But this had better be worth it. Up to this point I feel like I’m watching an occasionally interactive movie, and not playing a game.

King: You are, I assure you. (Walks off.)

Trent: ...I'm what?


- Later, in space off Pittsburgh. King and Trent hover about in their ships.

Trent: What are we doing tonight, King?

King: Same thing we do every night, Trent: try to find the pirate base! These fighters are here to help us.

Prison Ship XT-19: Mayday!

Trent: I thought it was December.

XT-19: Help! Salvage attack!

King: Oh no, not more of _that_.

XT-19: Help, dangit, HELP!

- King, Trent and other fighters fly to XT-19. They blow up a few pirates.

XT-19: More of them are coming! Mommy!

King: Dangit, more pirates.

Trent: Don’t swear.

King: I’ll dang well say anything I _¿%&!$#¡*_ want to!

Trent: Calm down. This is easy. Look...

- Pirates explode for no reason.

Trent: ...see?

XT-19: Oh, thank you, thank you! We kiss your feet! Thank you!

Trent: I'd probably have to wash my feet first...

King: Let’s ditch these other fighters. We’re looking for the pirate base alone.

Trent: Are you trying to get me killed?

King: Yes.

Trent: Hey! That’s not nice!

XT-19: Good luck, Gamma Six. Now scoot.

King: Okay. Trent... let’s go to over _there_.

- Purple diamond appears in space. King and Trent fly off into the sunset... I mean the scrap metal / asteroid field.

Trent: You're not actually going _into_ an asteroid field?

King (with heavy patience): Just press F2. And, it's not asteroids but scrap metal. Like most of this system...

Trent: Why are we flying _there_?

King: There’ll be action over there. Trust me, I’m psychic.

- Sure enough, not one minute later...

Beta 4: Help me! Help me!

Trent: Lame, lame, lame, lame, LAME! Okay, lemme guess. You’re being attacked by salvage.

Beta 4: You’re a prophet!

- Trent and King help Beta 4. The pirates all die.

Beta 4: I found the pirate base by mistake!

King: Okay Trent, let’s go! Chaaaaaaarge!

Trent: Wait, will you just think about this for a minute?

King: We don’t have a minute.

Trent: Just trying to be realistic.

King: No, you’re trying to be _smart_! As usual!

- King charges. Hearing wolves (?) howl in the distance, Trent follows.

Trent: Oh, great! More spontaneously combusting pirates! And this time they’ve got weapons platforms! I wonder which structure the pirate base is.

King: Zat little station must be it. Get zem!

- To make a long story short, they do... by calling in torpedo-bombers.

Audience: Deja vu again!

- Then King and Trent fly back to Pittsburgh.

King: That was some fight, Trent. Not bad for cannon fodder! Anyway, I’m off! Goodbye! (Veers off)

Trent: Oh... uh... goodbye.

Juni (over the comm): King was singing something from _Oklahoma_ over the comm just now. Seems you impressed him.

Trent: What was that about me being cannon fodder?

Juni: No idea. Anyway, you’re on your own for a while now...

Trent: YAY!

Juni: ...so familiarise yourself with the New York system. I’ll be in touch. Juni out.

- Trent sings a little happy song. Suddenly reality kicks in.

Trent: No storyline? What am I gonna _do_!?


- A while later, after Trent has done one or two missions (against suicidal Rogues with ships made of cardboard and baling wire). In the Manhattan bar, Juni and King are talking. Trent comes in...

Trent (singing): Here I am - this is me - I come to this world so wild and free...

Juni: Anything else???

Trent: I am TORGAN.

King: I am King of the Agile Feet. King wants FULL WATER SKIN. King gives in FLINT KNIFE.

Trent: Good hunting. Translation: Take a hike.

Juni: If you’ve quite finished... the LSF has a job for you. Are you interested?

Trent: Why are you smiling like that?

Juni (wipes the smile off her face): Sorry. You need to capture a smuggler, who’s been bringing artifacts into New York through the Colorado Gate.

Trent: What kind of artifacts?

King: JPEG. They’re very old, and fetch a huge price among collectors as high art. Liberty purposely monitors and restricts their trade. But the LSF is about to ban them altogether, under orders of the President.

Trent: But what’ll they replace JPEG with?

King: No idea yet. Looks like we’re back to TIFF, GIF or even BMP until we find a viable alternative.

Juni: Can I finish, please? OK. You’ve got to stop the smuggler, Trent. I’ve had a tip-off. He’s heading west, to Silverton.

King: Bingo!

Trent: Scrabble! Heh, heh, heh...

Juni: Enough _games_. Are you taking the job, or what?

Trent: Is the smuggler flying a Salvage-With-Engines?

Juni: No.

Trent: Oh no! Help me!

Juni: Reward 4500 credits. Bonus: jump gate codes. Scanner and tractor beam.

Trent: Oh. Okay. I accept. - But I already have a scanner and tractor beam...

Juni: Good! Okay, bye. (Leaves hurriedly)

King: Trent, I’ll see you in space. I need the LBR.

- TO BE CONTINUED...