Au Cochonnet Marin

Why do we have so many angry young men in the Middle East?
Why are they so easily driven to fight or blow themselves to bits?
Are they really battling for a New Caliphate or Sharia Law?
I very much doubt that.

I have my own theory about that.
These young men don’t give a flying fig about the Caliphate; they are just fighting for sex. All their heinous crimes are hormone driven and the results of intense sexual frustration.

In Muslim countries women are sequestered and jealously guarded by their relatives. Hanky-panky is absolutely forbidden and can have deadly consequences.

Unlike most western countries where sex outside marriage is now readily accepted, a young Muslim man must get married in order to have sexual intercourse.
And there lies the conundrum.
They usually cannot get married if they are jobless and penniless, and most of them are.
Therefore intense frustration.

It is the promise of unlimited sex (sex slaves on earth and virgins in Paradise) that drives these hormone driven young men to fight. Delusional victory holds the tantalizing promise of the forbidden fruit.

But many Muslims tired of the constant fighting are seeking their fortunes somewhere else. They flee, leaving most of their possessions behind but taking with them (alas) their antiquated beliefs.

Once out of their repressive, absurdly strait-laced countries, young males are acting like a pack of hungry hyenas. They think that any woman in plain sight is good for the taking. They have absolutely no respect for the other sex.

As proven by recent incidents in Switzerland, Austria, Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Finland, sexual harassment of women by refugees is getting out of control.

“Rafi Ibrahim, a Syrian who has lived in Denmark for years, said new migrants don’t know how to behave around women in Western society.
He said: ‘If they see a girl, they go nuts. They simply can’t handle it.
‘In Syria and many other countries, it is not normal for a strange woman to smile at you.” 

 Well-meaning but misguided Angela Merkel must bear responsibility for opening Europe’s floodgates to a quasi-unlimited number of asylum seekers.

It is time to raise the drawbridges and stop the Muslim influx in the West.
Most of the western countries are slowly starting to understand the danger and starting to close their borders but it might already be too late.

I have very little sympathy for organized religion and absolutely none at all (especially after the Bataclan bloodbath in Paris) for Islam.
Do what you please in your own country, but don’t try to impose your barbarous customs and misogynistic behavior anywhere else.

Batten down the hatches and raise the drawbridges my politically incorrect friends. Don’t let Islam’s Trojan horses inside your walls.

Alain

There is absolutely no denying that my cat’s hearing is vastly superior to mine; as a matter of fact, she can hear a mouse fart and I can’t. BUT in spite of my wife’s perfidious insinuations, I am not as deaf as a doorknob.

Granted, my hearing is not as acute as when I was in my prime, but I still hear perfectly well as long as you articulate, use the correct term, put the stress on the correct syllable (tonic accent) and remain at a hearing distance.

Women I have noticed (and I have known a few biblically) like to communicate from another room, another floor or preferably from a closet.
Even worse, they are often convinced that they already talked to you about something that was absolutely never mentioned before.

“The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place.” George Bernard Shaw

 Mister Shaw said this a long time before I said it.

One of our problems is that we are both foreign-born and that we are trying to communicate in a language that is not inherently ours.
I hail from a French background and she comes from a Slavic country where they speak a language totally devoid of articles.
And this can cause significant problems. “Grandes problemas” as Castro would say.

The absence of an article can make a sentence sound peculiar or even totally incomprehensible to an English speaker.
Without proper grammar, it becomes extremely difficult to communicate properly.

Bad punctuation can have the same effect.
Let’s eat grandma! and Let’s eat, grandma! have quite a different meaning and could significantly perturb a relationship.
Talking about eating grandma is not always something that goes down well. Especially if it is your own grandmother.

The tonic accent (putting the emphasis on a syllable) is also extremely important and trips many foreigners.
In English the stress is usually on the first syllable. In Spanish it is often on the second syllable and In French sometimes there is no emphasis on any syllable.

For instance take the word “comedy”:
In English, the stress is on comedy
In Spanish, comedia (the stress is on me)
In French, comédie (no stress on any syllable).

Fortunately, there is a good way to settle arguments.

You can test your diction with Apple’s Siri (Speech Interpretation and Recognition Interface); she is the impartial, ultimate arbiter.
If lovely Siri doesn’t understand your utterings, don’t blame anybody but yourself; there is obviously something flawed about your speech.

So before “the pot calling the kettle black”, talk to Siri (or any computer for that matter), and when proven speech-deficient, crawl back to me.

I might accept your apologies.

Alain

A husband and wife went to the doctor. [The husband is hard of hearing]
The doctor says to the wife, “You’ve got to do 3 things to keep your husband well.”
“1st you got to keep everything real clean and smooth. You got to iron everything.”
“2nd you got to fix him fresh meals every day from scratch. No left overs, no fast or frozen foods.”
“3rd you got to give him more lovin.”
They get home and the husband asks, “Well what did the doctor say?”
The wife looks at him and responds, “You’re going to die.”

 

January 6 is my birthday, the glorious day when I graced the world with my presence.
You might not know it, but it is no ordinary day. It is also known as the Epiphany and this is no coincidence.
If you look up the dictionary, Epiphany is defined as “a moment of sudden revelation or insight”.
So basically, my birth was a revelation.

In the old (pre–Columbian pre-computer) days, on my B-day I would receive a few well-wishing cards, but on January 6^th 2016 I was deluged with birthday wishes from all my close and far-flung Facebook chums.
I was truly touched and if you didn’t already get my thanks, I want to thank every one of you again for your thoughtfulness.

Despite the naysayers, there is something refreshing about instant cyber communication. Well whishes pouring in instantly from across the world… it is quite amazing and definitely beats snail mail. And you better get used to it because the phonebook and birthdays cards are on their way out. Don’t cry. This is a very practical and sound ecological trend.
Just think of all the spared trees, and the desperately needed oxygen they provide.

My birthday is celebrated worldwide with “La Galette des Rois” a buttery puff pastry filled with almond paste.
It is said that this feast commemorates the visit of the Magi (Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar) who brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to the Other Kid, born by coincidence on the same day as my birthday.

In Christian folklore, “the Epiphany is known as Three Kings’ Day, a Christian feast that celebrates the revelation of God in his Son as human in Jesus Christ.”

What the heck does that mean?

As usual, the truth is much simpler than that.
Eager to become mainstream, the early Christians simply highjacked and recycled an old Greco-Roman tradition into the Christian narrative. And this went well because simple folks are always fond of supernatural.

But back to my story…

As far as I know, nobody sent me any gold (or frankincense or myrrh) but I am still grateful. Even though… gold (or even pot instead of myrrh) would have been very nice…
But it is just the thought that counts… right?

By the way, it is not too late to get a “galette”.
I am pretty sure that “Le Barbu” (my friend Jean-Claude) still has a few of those stashed away.

If you see him, tell him that “the Revelation” sent you.

One more time, “grazie mille” for all your good wishes.

Alain