Observing Vessel: Observations, thoughts and general incoherent ramblings of a nutter.

Bill Shorten's climate change dilemma

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He sat with his blue double chin buried in his breast, his mouth pursed up tightly, a red scowl all over his face, his quick, little, angry, suspicious eyes peeping cornerwise, now this way, now that, not knowing how to take what seemed to him like a deliberate conspiracy to roast him for the entertainment of the company, who followed the concluding verse with a universal roaring chorus, which went off into a storm of laughter, in which Father Roach made an absurd attempt to join. Loftus sang nothing about a goat, though kid is not a bad thing: Have you never eaten them, either preserved or candied — a — why I— a — I happen to have a receipt — a — and if you permit me, Sir — a capital receipt.

When I was a boy, I made some once at home, Sir; and, by Jupiter, my brother, Sam, eat of them till he was quite sick — I remember, so sick, by Jupiter, my poor mother and old Dorcas had to sit up all night with him — a — and — I was going to say, if you will allow me, Sir, I shall be very happy to send the receipt to your housekeeper. Loftus has, I think, a still better way. Loftus had by this time climbed to the savage lair of his garret, overstrewn with tattered papers and books; and Father Roach, in the sanctuary of his little parlour, was growling over the bones of a devilled-turkey, and about to soothe his fretted soul in a generous libation of hot whiskey punch.

Indeed, he was of an appeasable nature, and on the whole a very good fellow. Those who had heard the same story from the mischievous merry little doctor before, were I dare say, amused at the grand and complimentary turn he gave it now. And now that I know the allusion which the pugnacious lieutenant apprehended, I cannot but admire the fatality with which, without the smallest design, a very serious misunderstanding was brought about. Little Nutter, though grave and generally taciturn, had a spirit of his own, and no notion whatever of knocking under to a bully.

His mahogany features darkened for a moment to logwood, and his eyes showed their whites fiercely. For the moment an affair of this sort presented itself, all concerned therein became reserved and official, and the representatives merely of a ceremonious etiquette and a minutely-regulated ordeal of battle. So, as I said, Puddock bowed grandly and sublimely to Nutter, and then magnificently to the company, and made his exit. There was a sort of a stun and a lull for several seconds.

Something very decisive and serious had occurred. One or two countenances wore that stern and mysterious smile, which implies no hilarity, but a kind of reaction in presence of the astounding and the slightly horrible. There was a silence; the gentlemen kept their attitudes too, for some moments, and all eyes were directed toward the door. Then some turned to Charles Nutter, and then the momentary spell dissolved itself. Nearly a dozen gentlemen broke out at once into voluble speech. Just — a — just think for a minute.

I never saw so-mere a Teague; and the most cross-grained devil of a cat-a-mountain. In the open street, under the sly old moon, red little Dr. Toole and Lieutenant Devereux — I— I— dear me! Just as this demonstration subsided, the hall door opened wide — and indeed was left so — while our friend Loftus, in a wonderful tattered old silk coat, that looked quite indescribable by moonlight, the torn linings hanging down in loops inside the skirts, pale and discoloured, like the shreds of banners in a cathedral; his shirt loose at the neck, his breeches unbuttoned at the knees, and a gigantic, misshapen, and mouldy pair of slippers clinging and clattering about his feet, came down the steps, his light, round little eyes and queer, quiet face peering at them into the shade, and a smokified volume of divinity tucked under his arm, with his finger between the leaves to keep the place.

When Devereux saw him approaching, the whole thing — mission, service, man, and all — struck him in so absurd a point of view, that he burst out into an explosion of laughter, which only grew more vehement and uproarious the more earnestly and imploringly Toole tried to quiet him, pointing up with both hands, and all his fingers extended, to the windows of the sleeping townsfolk, and making horrible grimaces, shrugs, and ogles.

But the young gentleman was not in the habit of denying himself innocent indulgences, and shaking himself loose of Toole, he walked down the dark side of the street in peals of laughter, making, ever and anon, little breathless remarks to himself, which his colleague could not hear, but which seemed to have the effect of setting him off again into new hemi-demi-semiquavers and roars of laughter, and left the doctor to himself, to conduct the negociation with Loftus. Sir, if you could not keep grave for five minutes, you ought not to have come at all.

But what need I care? Did you ever see such a fish? Docthur dear, he was the first of them down, and was carried out to his coach insensible jist when Mr. And Devereux, followed by Toole, entered the front parlour again. But without their help, the matter was arranging itself, and a second, of whom they knew nothing, was about to emerge. Toole grumbled at his disappointment, he was not at all aware how nearly his interview with Loftus had knocked the entire affair on the head. But Loftus remained under the glimpses of the moon in perturbation and sore perplexity.

It was so late he scarcely dared disturb Dr. Walsingham or General Chattesworth. But there came the half-stifled cadence of a song — not bacchanalian, but sentimental — something about Daphne and a swain — struggling through the window-shutters next the green hall-door close by, and Dan instantly bethought himself of Father Roach. So knocking stoutly at the window, he caused the melody to subside and the shutter to open. When the priest, looking out, saw Dan Loftus in his deshabille, I believe he thought for a moment it was something from the neighbouring churchyard.

But Dan resisted, and told his tale in an earnest whisper in the hall. The priest made his mouth into a round queer little O, through which he sucked a long breath, elevating his brows, and rolling his eyes slowly about. A low whistle from his reverence. I wish you saw them at an election time. And so, av coorse, do I, my dear.

Well, then, wait a bit, now — we must have our eyes open. I defy it to come to anything. Jest be said be me, Dan Loftus, and let sleeping dogs lie. I know I might, through ignorance, do a mischief. And so they bid a mutual good-night, and Loftus scaled his garret stair and snuffed his candle, and plunged again into the business of two thousand years ago. Mahony, standing up like a warrior, and laying the pipe of peace upon the chimney. Nutter; and just say you came from my house, where you — a — pooh! Loftus, do ye mind, there was a difficulty in finding a friend to — a — strive to make up matters between thim.

By this time they stood upon the door-steps; and Mr. Mahony was already under weigh, at a brisk stride, and with a keen relish for the business. Pat Mahony saw occasion for playing the gentleman, he certainly did come out remarkably strong in the part. It was done in a noble, florid, glowing style, according to his private ideal of the complete fine gentleman.

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Such bows, such pointing of the toes, such graceful flourishes of the three-cocked hat — such immensely engaging smiles and wonderful by-play, such an apparition, in short, of perfect elegance-valour, and courtesy, were never seen before in the front parlour of the Phoenix.

Nutter seemed relieved, too, and advanced to be presented to the man who, instinct told him, was to be his friend. Cluffe, a man of fashion of the military school, eyed the elegant stranger with undisguised disgust and wonder, and Devereux with that sub-acid smile with which men will sometimes quietly relish absurdity. The consequence was a certain gorgeous haziness and bewilderment, which made the task of translating his harangues rather troublesome and conjectural.

I have not the faintest notion why he wants to kill me; but being reduced to this situation, I hold myself obliged, if I can, to rid the town of him finally. I was to dance the first minuet, and the first country dance, with that beautiful creature, Miss Rose Cox. I was scalded in half a crack from a fut above my knees down to the last joint of my two big toes; and I raly thought my sinses were leving me.

I lost the ball by it. Do you hear me, Kokang Modate! I never fought a jewel yet, Puddock, my friend — and this will be the ninth — without cause. Will I call him back and give him his desarts, will I, Puddock! It was he was the cause of my jewel with my cousin, Art Considine, and I wanting to be the very pink of politeness to him. By Jove, Thir, what a wig that man would make for Cato! He clapped his hand upon his bare skull, and made an agitated pluck at that article, but missed, and disappeared, with an imprecation in Irish, behind the bed curtains. Puddock understood it, and restored the treasure.

Old Sally always attended her young mistress while she prepared for bed — not that Lilias required help, for she had the spirit of neatness and a joyous, gentle alacrity, and only troubled the good old creature enough to prevent her thinking herself grown old and useless. Old Sally was telling her young mistress, who sometimes listened with a smile, and sometimes lost a good five minutes together of her gentle prattle, how the young gentleman, Mr. It stood by a lonely bend of the narrow road.

Lilias had often looked upon the short, straight, grass-grown avenue with an awful curiosity at the old house which she had learned in childhood to fear as the abode of shadowy tenants and unearthly dangers. Mervyn; but if he be not, he must be very brave, or very good, indeed. Stir the fire, my old darling. So good old Sally, whose faith in such matters was a religion, went off over the well-known ground in a gentle little amble — sometimes subsiding into a walk as she approached some special horror, and pulling up altogether — that is to say, suspending her knitting, and looking with a mysterious nod at her young mistress in the four-poster, or lowering her voice to a sort of whisper when the crisis came.

So she told her how when the neighbours hired the orchard that ran up to the windows at the back of the house, the dogs they kept there used to howl so wildly and wolfishly all night among the trees, and prowl under the walls of the house so dejectedly, that they were fain to open the door and let them in at last; and, indeed, small need was there for dogs; for no one, young or old, dared go near the orchard after night-fall.

No, the burnished golden pippins that peeped through the leaves in the western rays of evening, and made the mouths of the Ballyfermot school-boys water, glowed undisturbed in the morning sunbeams, and secure in the mysterious tutelage of the night smiled coyly on their predatory longings.

And this was no fanciful reserve and avoidance. Mick Daly, when he had the orchard, used to sleep in the loft over the kitchen; and he swore that within five or six weeks, while he lodged there, he twice saw the same thing, and that was a lady in a hood and a loose dress, her head drooping, and her finger on her lip, walking in silence among the crooked stems, with a little child by the hand, who ran smiling and skipping beside her. And the Widow Cresswell once met them at night-fall, on the path through the orchard to the back-door, and she did not know what it was until she saw the men looking at one another as she told it.

See how well she remembers! It was only on very dark nights when there was no moon. They used to hear all on a sudden, the whimpering and scraping of dogs at the hall door, and the sound of the whistle, and the light stroke across the window with the lash of the whip, just like as if the earl himself — may his poor soul find rest — was there. Old Oliver was bad with the rheumatiz. Still it was not quite for nothing that the house was held to be haunted. Miss Rebecca Chattesworth, in a letter dated late in the autumn of , gives a minute and curious relation of occurrences in the Tiled House, which, it is plain, although at starting she protests against all such fooleries, she has heard with a peculiar sort of interest, and relates it certainly with an awful sort of particularity.

I was for printing the entire letter, which is really very singular as well as characteristic. But my publisher meets me with his veto ; and I believe he is right. That year, and somewhere about the 24th October, there broke out a strange dispute between Mr. This Alderman Harper had agreed for a lease of the house for his daughter, who was married to a gentleman named Prosser. He furnished it, and put up hangings, and otherwise went to considerable expense. Prosser came there sometime in June, and after having parted with a good many servants in the interval, she made up her mind that she could not live in the house, and her father waited on Lord Castlemallard, and told him plainly that he would not take out the lease because the house was subjected to annoyances which he could not explain.

Lord Castlemallard filed a bill in the Equity side of the Exchequer to compel Mr. Alderman Harper to perform his contract, by taking out the lease. But the Alderman drew an answer, supported by no less than seven long affidavits, copies of all which were furnished to his lordship, and with the desired effect; for rather than compel him to place them upon the file of the court, his lordship struck, and consented to release him.

I am sorry the cause did not proceed at least far enough to place upon the files of the court the very authentic and unaccountable story which Miss Rebecca relates. The annoyances described did not begin till the end of August, when, one evening, Mrs. Prosser, quite alone, was sitting in the twilight at the back parlour window, which was open, looking out into the orchard, and plainly saw a hand stealthily placed upon the stone window-sill outside, as if by some one beneath the window, at her right side, intending to climb up. There was nothing but the hand, which was rather short but handsomely formed, and white and plump, laid on the edge of the window-sill; and it was not a very young hand, but one aged, somewhere about forty, as she conjectured.

It was only a few weeks before that the horrible robbery at Clondalkin had taken place, and the lady fancied that the hand was that of one of the miscreants who was now about to scale the windows of the Tiled House. She uttered a loud scream and an ejaculation of terror, and at the same moment the hand was quietly withdrawn. The same night there came a hasty tapping, every now and then, at the window of the kitchen. The women grew frightened, and the servant-man, taking firearms with him, opened the back-door, but discovered nothing.

She cried out, and said something like a prayer on seeing it. But it was not withdrawn for several seconds after. After this, for a great many nights, there came at first a low, and afterwards an angry rapping, as it seemed with a set of clenched knuckles at the back-door. And the servant-man would not open it, but called to know who was there; and there came no answer, only a sound as if the palm of the hand was placed against it, and drawn slowly from side to side with a sort of soft, groping motion.

All this time, sitting in the back parlour, which, for the time, they used as a drawing-room, Mr. Prosser were disturbed by rappings at the window, sometimes very low and furtive, like a clandestine signal, and at others sudden, and so loud as to threaten the breaking of the pane. This was all at the back of the house, which looked upon the orchard as you know.

But on a Tuesday night, at about half-past nine, there came precisely the same rapping at the hall-door, and went on, to the great annoyance of the master and terror of his wife, at intervals, for nearly two hours. After this, for several days and nights, they had no annoyance whatsoever, and began to think that nuisance had expended itself. He was privately of opinion that the whole affair was a practical joke or a fraud, and waited an opportunity of catching the rogue flagrante delicto. He did not long keep this theory to himself, but let it out by degrees with no stint of oaths and threats, believing that some domestic traitor held the thread of the conspiracy.

Indeed it was time something were done; for not only his servants, but good Mrs. Prosser herself, had grown to look unhappy and anxious. They kept at home from the hour of sunset, and would not venture about the house after night-fall, except in couples. The knocking had ceased for about a week; when one night, Mrs. Prosser being in the nursery, her husband, who was in the parlour, heard it begin very softly at the hall-door.

The air was quite still, which favoured his hearing distinctly. This was the first time there had been any disturbance at that side of the house, and the character of the summons was changed. Prosser, leaving the parlour-door open, it seems, went quietly into the hall. Here he called his man-servant, whom he believed to be honest, and, with a pair of loaded pistols in his own coat-pockets, and giving another pair to him, he went as lightly as he could, followed by the man, and with a stout walking-cane in his hand, forward to the door.

Everything went as Mr. The besieger of his house, so far from taking fright at their approach, grew more impatient; and the sort of patting which had aroused his attention at first assumed the rhythm and emphasis of a series of double-knocks. Prosser, angry, opened the door with his right arm across, cane in hand. Looking, he saw nothing; but his arm was jerked up oddly, as it might be with the hollow of a hand, and something passed under it, with a kind of gentle squeeze. The servant neither saw nor felt anything, and did not know why his master looked back so hastily, cutting with his cane, and shutting the door with so sudden a slam.

From that time Mr. Prosser discontinued his angry talk and swearing about it, and seemed nearly as averse from the subject as the rest of his family. He grew, in fact, very uncomfortable, feeling an inward persuasion that when, in answer to the summons, he had opened the hall-door, he had actually given admission to the besieger. He said nothing to Mrs. He lay awake a good while, it appears; and, as he supposed, about a quarter past twelve he heard the soft palm of a hand patting on the outside of the bed-room door, and then brushed slowly along it. The print of the naked foot in the sea-sand did not frighten Robinson Crusoe half so much.

They were by this time all nervous, and some of them half-crazed, about the hand. Prosser and by the cook. Whoever or whatever the owner of that hand might be, they all felt this subtle demonstration to mean that it was declared he was no longer out of doors, but had established himself in the house. But one night, as Mr. Prosser closed his bed-chamber-door, he was struck somewhat by the utter silence of the room, there being no sound of breathing, which seemed unaccountable to him, as he knew his wife was in bed, and his ears were particularly sharp.

He drew the curtain at the side of the bed, and saw Mrs. Prosser lying, as for a few seconds he mortally feared, dead, her face being motionless, white, and covered with a cold dew; and on the pillow, close beside her head, and just within the curtains, was, as he first thought, a toad — but really the same fattish hand, the wrist resting on the pillow, and the fingers extended towards her temple.

Prosser, with a horrified jerk, pitched the ledger right at the curtains, behind which the owner of the hand might be supposed to stand. The hand was instantaneously and smoothly snatched away, the curtains made a great wave, and Mr. Prosser got round the bed in time to see the closet-door, which was at the other side, pulled to by the same white, puffy hand, as he believed. He drew the door open with a fling, and stared in: But the occurrence which seems to have determined the crisis was the strange sickness of their eldest child, a little boy aged between two and three years.

He lay awake, seemingly in paroxysms of terror, and the doctors who were called in, set down the symptoms to incipient water on the brain. Prosser used to sit up with the nurse by the nursery fire, much troubled in mind about the condition of her child. His bed was placed sideways along the wall, with its head against the door of a press or cupboard, which, however, did not shut quite close. They observed that the little creature was quieter whenever they took it up and held it on their laps. They had just replaced him, as he seemed to have grown quite sleepy and tranquil, but he was not five minutes in his bed when he began to scream in one of his frenzies of terror; at the same moment the nurse, for the first time, detected, and Mrs.

Protruding through the aperture of the press, and shrouded in the shade of the valance, they plainly saw the white fat hand, palm downwards, presented towards the head of the child. Prosser was in bed, shutting the door as they entered; and they had hardly done so, when a gentle tap came to it from the outside. There is a great deal more, but this will suffice. The singularity of the narrative seems to me to be this, that it describes the ghost of a hand, and no more.

The person to whom that hand belonged never once appeared: In the year , at a college breakfast, I met a Mr. I hope the reader will pardon me for loitering so long in the Tiled House, but this sort of lore has always had a charm for me; and people, you know, especially old people, will talk of what most interests themselves, too often forgetting that others may have had more than enough of it. Dangerfield, for three months, he slackened his pace, in the hope of seeing that personage, of whom he had heard great things, take seisin of his tabernacle.

He was disappointed, however; the great man had not arrived, only a sour-faced, fussy old lady, Mrs. Jukes, his housekeeper and a servant-wench and a great lot of boxes and trunks; and so leaving the coachman grumbling and swearing at the lady, who, bitter, shrill, and voluble, was manifestly well able to fight her own battles, he strolled back to the Phoenix, where a new evidence of the impending arrival met his view in an English groom with three horses, which the hostler and he were leading into the inn-yard.

There were others, too, agreeably fidgeted about this arrival. The fair Miss Magnolia, for instance, and her enterprising parent, the agreeable Mrs. The towering hall-door stood half open; and down the broad stairs — his tall, slim figure, showing black against the light of the discoloured lobby-window — his raven hair reaching to his shoulders — Mervyn, the pale, large-eyed genius of that haunted place, came to meet him. He led him into the cedar parlour, the stained and dusty windows of which opened upon that moss-grown orchard, among whose great trunks and arches those strange shapes were said sometimes to have walked at night, like penitents and mourners through cathedral pillars.

It was a reception as stately, but as sombre and as beggarly withal as that of the Master of Ravenswood, for there were but two chairs in the cedar-parlour — one with but three legs, the other without a bottom; so they were fain to stand. But Mervyn could smile without bitterness and his desolation had not the sting of actual poverty, as he begged the rector to excuse his dreary welcome, and hoped that he would find things better the next time. Their little colloquy got on very easily, for Mervyn liked the rector, and felt a confidence in him which was comfortable and almost exhilarating.

The doctor had a cheery, kindly, robust voice, and a good, honest emphasis in his talk; a guileless blue eye; a face furrowed, thoughtful, and benevolent; well formed too. He must have been a handsome curate in his day. Not uncourtly, but honest; the politeness of a gentle and tender heart; very courteous and popular among ladies, although he sometimes forgot that they knew no Latin. So Mervyn drew nigh to him in spirit, and liked him and talked to him rather more freely [though even that was enigmatically enough] than he had done to anybody else for a long time.

It would seem that the young man had formed no very distinct plan of life. He appeared to have some thought of volunteering to serve in America, and some of entering into a foreign service; but his plans were, I suppose, in nubibus. All that was plain was that he was restless and eager for some change — any. It was not a very long visit, you may suppose; and just as Dr. Walsingham rode out of the avenue, Lord Castlemallard was riding leisurely by towards Chapelizod, followed by his groom. He was just going down to the town to see whether Dangerfield had arrived, and slackened his pace to allow the doctor to join him, for he could ride with him more comfortably than with parsons generally, the doctor being well descended, and having married, besides, into a good family.

Observing Vessel: Observations, thoughts and general incoherent ramblings of a nutter.

He stared, as he passed, at the old house listlessly and peevishly. I could not help thinking, at the time, of a pall, somehow. Then there was a pause, during which he kept slapping his boot peevishly with his little riding-whip. I promise you there are more than I who think it. And he has commenced fitting up that vile old house — that vile house, Sir. It is ready to tumble down — upon my life they say so; Nutter says so, and Sturk — Dr.

Sturk, of the Artillery here — an uncommon sensible man, you know, says so too. He heard of breakfast with loathing. And Puddock had up Mrs. You are not to suppose that the volume was slovenly or in anywise unworthy of a gentleman and officer of those days. It was bound in red and gold, had two handsome silver-gilt clasps and red edges, the writing being exquisitely straight and legible, and without a single blot. Those who please to consult old domestic receipt-books of the last century, will find the whole process very exactly described therein.

It was martyrdom; but anything was better than the incapacity which threatened, and certainly, by the end of five minutes, his head was something better. In this satisfactory condition — Jerome being in the back garden brushing his regimentals, and preparing his other properties — he suddenly heard voices close to the door, and gracious powers! Happily the table behind which he stood was one of those old-fashioned toilet affairs, with the back part, which was turned toward the door, sheeted over with wood, so that his ungartered stockings and rascally old slippers, were invisible.

Even so, it was bad enough: In they came, rejoicing, to ask the gallant fireworker it was a different element just now , to make one of a party of pleasure to Leixlip. He saw that his visitors observed those symptoms with some perplexity: In his alacrity to assure her there was no such thing, he actually swallowed one of the bags.

It was well for Judy, that, being of the gentler sex, the wrath of the fireworker could not wreak itself upon her. The oftener he viewed himself in the pier-glass, trying in vain to think he did not look so very badly after all, the more bitter were his feelings. Oh, that villainous old silk morning gown! It was not until Puddock had returned, that the gallant fireworker recollected all on a sudden that he had swallowed one of the bags. At this moment he saw Dr. Sturk passing by, and drummed violently at the window.

The doctor was impressed by the summons; for however queer the apparition, it was plain he was desperately in earnest. Puddock put it before him, and Sturk looked at the back of the volume with a leisurely disdain, but finding no title there, returned to the recipe. They both stared on his face, without breathing, while he conned it over. When he came about half-way, he whistled; and when he arrived at the end, he frowned hard; and squeezed his lips together till the red disappeared altogether, and he looked again at the back of the book, and then turned it round, once more reading the last line over with a severe expression.

Sturk, it was as big as my thumb, and a miracle it did not choke me. He came up to him pale and queer, like a somnambulist, and shook his fingers very cordially with a very cold grasp. And the flowered dressing-gown and ungartered stockings disappeared through the door into the bed-room, from whence they heard a great souse on the bed, and the bedstead gave a dismal groan. Puddock was already at his bedside, shaking his hand hysterically, and tumbling his words out one over the other —.

In due time arrived the antidote. It was enclosed in a gallipot, and was what I believe they called an electuary. Puddock stirred it with the tip of a tea-spoon, and looked into it with inquisitive disgust, and seemed to smell it from a distance, lost for a minute in inward conjecture, and then with a slight bow, pushed it ceremoniously toward his brother in arms.

I insist on your instantly taking that physic. How you may feel, Sir, has nothing to do with it. If you hesitate, I withdraw my sanction to your going to the field, Sir. The clink of a horse-shoe drew Puddock to the window. Sturk riding into town, reined in his generous beast, and called up to the little lieutenant. And Puddock followed that ungracious leech, with a stare of gratitude and admiration, almost with a benediction. And his anxiety relieved, he and his principal prepared forthwith to provide real work for the surgeons.

The chronicles of the small-sword and pistol are pregnant with horrid and absurd illustrations of certain great moral facts. Surely you should have been able to observe this from his public statements and behaviour. Utmost disgraceful piece of disrespect I have come across shame on you, for even writing that! Not that you needed to, because practically all the Maltese who emigrated there were Mintoffians.

The frigging bastard would still be prime minister. Sad very sad that you view history in this way , open your eyes and open your ears and learn that making Malta what it is today had to have a starting point and that starting point was what Dom Mintoff did for Malta , in life some times if you believe in it and see greatness you push as hard as you can to achieve it!

He will rot in hell watching the family that he hated and humiliated all his life enjoying his ill-gotten goods, whilst all he will get will be a bad case of worms. Please I invite you to correct my grammar! That means I will learn something new today! And when other people call you Banji, you think that they have that Maltese problem with vowel sounds. But if you have any going spare, ring and offer them to Franco Debono. You guys never finish to impress, but at least we know with whom we are dealing in , that results how you should be treated after.

I do not harbour such feelings. My mother was not a whore, my father not a cuckold and I am no bastard. Madonna some Maltese words, particularly the swear words are so expressive that I cannot help not bursting in laughter. These words of hate over a deceased person should never come out of the pen of a public figure like you. We celebrated with pink champagne and then burped a big one……ghal wiccu. U hekk hu, kif qal Danton — Alfred Sant ukoll qed jiccelebra l-mewt tat-traditur. Mela mhux daqshekk ghandi dritt nikteb li rrid? Jew irrid bilfors naqbel mieghek?

Int bis serjeta int mentali. Continue doing what you do Daphne. My family amd I are behind you all the way and not us alone, because many other Maltese think so highly of you. And have a good birthday Daph Xxx. Dawk affarijiet ghan-nies bhalek, li jibzghu li l-ohrajn jahsbuhom hamalli jew mhux mittilkless bizzejjed. Hasra li kellu jkun hu li jahfirlek, ghadni qed nistenna li tghidli fuq xhiex kien l-argument jien ghax imbilli jien mir-rahal inhobb nlhaq salib nies bhalek ukoll!

Isthi ja wicc ta liba, mur hudu foxx kemm ghandek. Tuza kliem bhal dawn. Jekk narak wiccek inkissirulek. Issa ghid dan il kliem fuq xi membru fil familja tieghek meta jhallina minn wicc id dinja. Tinsiex habib li l-internet juzawh ukoll it tfal, u malajr jistaw jaqraw dak kollu li ktibt, ikteb li thoss ghax hawn il liberta tal kelma imma jahasra kun nadif fi kliemek, tista tesprimi li thoss bil kelma tajba xorta. Forgot to write it on my previous post Happy Birthday Daphne. I fail to see why some people are surprised at your comments as it is just further proof, not than any was required in my opinion, of what a repulsive bitch you are.

The good point to all this is that every time you come off with crap like this you lose that twat Gonzi more votes! You did not live in Malta at the time this tyrant was in power do you have no right to comment. People rejoiced when Gaddafi died, so what is different now? Ah, a lecture from a former member of an organisation created to persecute the weak, the downtrodden and the underprivileged.

What ever happened to free speech? Everyone has their own opinion. You are free to say whatever you like, but all the swearing and cursing is very naive. Remember, what is done to you, creates you. That is a basic principle of the universe. Just because he died it doesnt mean you have to lie….. What u thought before is how u should feel now. Prosit Daph, you have balls of steel and i admire you even if i disagreed. Oqod ejdila prosit vera haqqa ee. Xandu xjaqsam il free of speech imbad emm is sens ta rispett ukoll. U hallina u ifthu naqra mohhkom jahasra! Tghixu in a bubble back in Malta u tahsbu li hadd ma jista ghalikom u dak li tghidu huwa kollu tajjeb.

Go abroad, travel, live outside of Malta and learn how other people live, milli ha tibqa with your village mentality. Like keeping Manning imprisoned for over 2 years now. Vera mara bla valuri u bla ebda manjiera. Daphne jalla ssib lil xi hadd mignun aktar minnek u jehles minnek darba ghal dejjem u minn kull min jigi minn demmek,ghax demm ahdar ghandek. By the way, there is a death threat above by someone. I would report it to the police if i was you. Not funny at all. What do you expect?

Dak ghandu halqu l-veru kbir u ilsienu twil ukoll. U minn jigi skumnikat. U ghaliex indifnu hemm? Ghax il-laburist Mintoff beda glieda mal-laburist Isqof Gonzi. Glieda interna taghkom din. Not to mention the kind of security personnel guarding the PN headquarters this lately. Nahseb li kulhadd ghandu xi jxomm taht idejh hux veru? Hatred and violence in this country started much earlier than the mintoff era and YES the mintoff administration was unable to stop it. These islands are stuffed full of idiots. No wonder we got him in the first place. Seriously Daphne, you probably will ridicule my expression, but i have been going through all your replies to these ghastly comments, and low class language, and the only phrase that comes to mind is: And I can answer a few of you as to why she is still living in Malta.

Where else can she go? Every 5 seconds she comes across yet another comical Labour-inspired article to dish out to all her haters who funnily enough engage in reading her blog daily, until early hours of the morning. Values, by the way? Disgusting language used in your comments. Close-minded and horrified comments? Continue enjoying her blog. Let me not keep you any longer. If they raised you like that well to hell with them.

I hope when they die you hear those kind of words! Many Maltese had to emigrate. You can tell what character he was from the friends he kept, namely Gaddafi, The Chinese Communists, the North Koreans, the dictators of the Soviet bloc, Lorry Sant…etc. He became filthy rich through rebuilding under the War Damage programme. He also forced people to bath in rusted water, and buy inferior expired products during his regime.

He was a bastard, and used to make fun of his own supporters during those famous riots or public meetings. He once called the Shipyard workers, his own beloved supporters, men without balls. I was there, observing. U mur itghallem ikteb jaqq u tippostjax aktar fuq l-internet qabel ma tiehu kors u issir literata.

Same reasoning that Jack Kerouac was criticized by those who lacked imagination and creativity, feared change and deluded themselves that following the old rules made them smarter. Min int biex timponi dak li tahseb fuq haddiehor? Naf li dan hu kuncett li inti mhux ha tifhmu, ghax inti wahda minn dawk li ghax xi hadd ma jaqbilx mieghek, allura kontra tieghek.

Have a nice day! As if you can compare his writing to this girl writing on this blog in the same way she would update her facebook status to: Jekk le, forsi kien jigbrok ma xi dejma, jew mal-Pijunieri w jhallsek bis-soldi. U dawk bla xoghol kienu ta xi 12 fil-mija meta l-impjegati ma kienux ilahhqu ,00 ruh. Illum issib xoghol tajjeb, pagi tajbin, nies bla xoghol anqas minn 7 fil-mija, safar bl-addocc, karrozzi godda u z-zejjed, restaurants ippakkjati bil-Maltin, kulljum u kullimkien.

Reality is he brought you freedom. And now that freedom is gone again, as Malta still has to answer to the EU. That is the problem with the nationalist party. They never believed Malta could stand on its own two feet, never believed that its people are capable of running it on their own terms. Its disgraceful to be like that. The highlight of ones career is when he gets a job overseas, as its regarded as you are so good as they employed you overseas!

And yes in america freedom of speech reings supreme, but you cannot go get free medical assistance like you get in Malta.

So god fordbid you ever need it, i hope you have good insurance or they can cure you with a speech. Freedom is not burning The Times and destroying its presses because it did not agree with his policies. Freedom is not shutting down the courts whenever he liked especially when some government case was looking bad.

Freedom is not denying the NP to have a radio and television station and had to transmit from Sicily. Freedom is not barring foreign journalists from reporting about the political scene in Malta. Freedom is not denying or restricting the number of secondary students from entering university. Freedom is not harassing Nationalist supporters when attending meetings even when all permits were issued.

Freedom is not allowing Labour Party thugs to invade and destroy private property. Freedom is not failing to renew an agreement with Britain but sell the country to a fellow dictator by the name of Gaddafi. Good Riddance to that son of a bitch. Now, if Daphne wants to speak about scum, there is a whole list to choose from the US.

These people are scum of the earth too. He went crawling to the scum of the earth Gaddafi begging for money! The sad bit is that you have a vote and you can use it freely, unlike previous elections with bullies at the polling booths intimidating and threatening voters. Enlighten me Daphne please, all of these are the scum of the earth right?! So when your favourite sites mention sons with different names, identities and ages, and get them all confused, what do think, exactly? And when they publish photographs of a dark son and then a blond one, what do you register: I vote to whom I see fit in getting my vote.

By all means continue I find you very entertaining! Daphne, kieku ma ktibt xejn u zammejtu ghalik dan il-kliem li ghedt, tahseb li ma kienx ikun ahjar. Waqqajt ismek daphne, fuq Facebook ippetizzjonawk fuq l elfejn malti li jresquk al gustizzja minn mindu tfajt dan il blog. Tak id dritt li tivvota lilek taf? Qabez ad drittijiet tan nisa ukoll. Issa tipprovax iddawwar id diskors fuq xamillek u x mamillekx. Daw mhux affarijiet li tikteb fuq l internet, opinjonijiet daqsekk hodor zommom alik, ax minn malta kollha inti kont daqsekk mentali li tikteb daw l affarijiet.

Tidru kemm intom nies li qatt ma haristu l-barra mill-villagg taghkom. It is was a known fact that you would not have been in mourning, when Mintoff passed. For some Mintoff was the man that brought them hope when they were desperate, who gave them social services to survive since they were not born into well off families, as not everybody could get education. And for that person that wrote he wanted the catholic schools to close, no that is not what he wanted, he wanted them to still teach, but without a fee. He knew that educating everyone would be the way out of poverty and they way for Malta to flourish.

I do not like people that write swear words and that loose it while typing a response. But to write that the islands are full of idiots is very disrespectful, to your own countrymen and women. And clearly you are one of them, as if you had some sense you would not have posted this article to create hate, once again! The past is past, maybe you and your lot did not agree with his way of politics, because it interfered with your way of life negatively.

But it was not directed at you, your family or other families in your class, it was directed to lift the people that needed a hand. Most of the things he did was to help Malta and its people to live a proper life where no one had to go without anymore, be it food, education etc. I come from a labourist family.

But my parents worked hard to BUY a plot of land, and build their house. So i do not come from a family of idiots, i come from a family, that thought me integrity, honesty and working hard. A beautiful island, that stood on its own two feet, all because of this man, Dom. Go ahead now and tell me I was brainwashed. I can know make a different decision, as i am an adult and know the history of politics. But I know that Mintoff was so proud of his country that he fought for it.

Its a shame that all this mud keeps being flung on his name. And its a shame no one is fighting for our country anymore, as everything is being sold to foreigners. Just recognise the good things he did. Afterall, those times both parties had a lot to answer for, if I recall, even an amount of guns was found at the PN headquarters.

So, instead of writing about him, why dont you start writing about things that really matter, find a good cause that needs attention in Malta, and make light on it. You know a lot of people read your blog, you know with your writing you can create awareness. Find a cause, and write about it with the same passion as you did about this man and the mintoffjani. Find an injustice, and create the same hype you did with this article. And do not stop until you get a positive change, instead of wasting your time on the past. You can start by inspiring people to love their country and take care of it.

Create something that is of benefit, and not something that bring the worst out of people from both sides. Could not agree more! Prosit for your words. But with Daphne they are wasted. I have have never seen a journalist, whose articles I once recall reading with pleasure, plumb such depths.

Just look at all the evidence laid out here. Not only idiots, but violent, vulgar idiots, the worst sort. Hoooo Daphne, most people curse you, I just thank God you exist! Now that Charlie Sheen is not doing Two and a half man any more, I found the substitute of a great maybe your even better comedian…. Daphne, wow — and here I was, thinking how subdued your article was! You definitely hit a nerve for some people.

This is the kind of hatred and vengeance that many of us had to grow up with in the 70s and 80s. Unlike what she says, this bickering between two tribes is what kept this so far behind. The ones one the right have been doing it from the dawn of civilization. I am re-reading your post and reading the comments it provoked looking for mine too, by the way…not printed yet…..

So tell us ….. You idiots fall for it every time. I say half a word about your bastard idol and you come out in force like a horde of dyslexic savages with your death threats and your vulgarity and your pure and utter stupidity. Your blog was full of hate and it has provoked hate and vulgarity in return. In a way, you are deserving of sincere congratulations. It is not easy to have taken the decision to descend to the lowest common denominator of humanity and then wallow in the sewage there, feeding off insults, name calling and the regurgitation of bitter memory and jaundiced history, especially when you have had the benefits of a good education and enjoy what I understand to be a life not lacking in material comforts, beautiful house and all.

It would be sad, of course, if you ended up speaking the same way different words, different language, but very much the same way! But seriously, and to end on a serious note…….. He was no idol of mine hon, and I never threatened you and never would. We are all being entertained here, and my guess is that the more intelligent of us — you are not in our select group, sadly — are being entertained more than others. It is mildly entertaining, after a while, I suppose, to see a once formidable journalist and columnist lose all credibility and plumb the depths, and then decide to live there.

You may as well leave your house and take up residence in an Armier boathouse hon, playing the bingo. His number is Give him a ring because he seems a bit down right now. May I just ask you to prove this? If you want to waste money ringing me, go right ahead. Actually all these comments are making me sick.

We have him to thank for all these comments, and unfortunately Eddie Fenech Adami who gave a PC and a connection to everyone. But on the way it occurred to me that he had no soul…so I returned at 7. I cannot believe what you have written in your website, how can you call a person who just died bastard, I realy think you should appologise to the family and nation, look in the mirror and ask GOD for forgivness. What difference does it make? We still call Hitler a bastard and many of his faithful still believe he was a god.

Jekk ha tqabel l perit ma Hitler vera mintix tghix f dinja, ma tistax titkellem hekk fuq bniedem mejjet li gab hafna gid lej Malta, sa nka l partit nazzjonalista wera solidarjeta, ghalhekk ahna pajjiz demokratiku. Mur gibkhom l-Amerka mela kemm tidbaqbqu. Live and let live! Dawn il-kummidji u tghijjir. I see you have a lot of these Christian proletariat assholes who still worship Mintoff and follow your blog.

One of them actually thought I am a member of parliament. They just come in through Facebook links. Surely they never had it so good under his totalitarian and oppressive rule. Who knows how eager they are awaiting Joseph to oblige in a similar fashion. In a reasonably blatant and unsophisticated way too. As for Dom, never was a fan of the man when he was alive, but politics sure were interesting when he was. People read the blog for its great information value, superb journalism and of course, a good laugh.

Fl-ahhar issib kappel jigik missek tisthi, thobbu jew le kien l-aqwa Prim Minsitru li kellna Malta wara li kinet falluta tema lil minm kien bil-guh Mintoss u libbes lil min kien gharwien. I ve lived through the eighties myself, and I have my positive and negative opinion on that era.

You lived through hell most of your life and there you will burn for Eternity. Repent or burn at the stakes! You are the fuckin anti Christ!! Daphne, nawguralek ghomor bizzejed li tara il ulidek imutu fidejk u garrab ftit imrar li int tixtiq il haddiehor u il kull min jahsiba bhalek. Jien ghaddejt min li qed issemmi Attard, ghaliex f St. Ghall-inqas kien hemm min beka ghall-mewt tieghu.

Inti min ser jibkik daphne caruana galizia? Calling Daphne a bitch you would be praising Daphne. A bitch gives some pleasure or try to gives some at least. Infact i pity your husband. Issa meta tmut int u taghmlilna pjacir naghmlu l-istess lilek ghad taqla daqqtejn minghand xi hadd u ma tqumx ghal ohra moqrana kollok!!!!!!!!! Lanqas biss imissna naghtu kasa jew nikkalkulaw kelma wahda biss milli tkun kitbet…hemm kieku tinkwieta zgur, ghax ma tkunx gibdet l-attenzjoni fuqa. You are free to right whatever you want that is what you advocate right freedom of expression.

So here is my 6p worth of freedom. Definitely it would have been the first Fundumentalist Cathlic state in the world preachinG christianity and assistance to the poor whit the people straving to death in the streets. U hallina ha nghixu u tghallem irrispetta lil ta madwarek. Just turn on the TV on his funeral and you will figure out how utterly and blatantly wrong you are.

But when I heard of this article I just had to come and read it. I must say, I found you to be rather…. You hate him for his alleged cruelty towards the people, and people hate you for your cruelty too. Feel free to correct mine too, if it makes you feel better about yourself. The man just died for chrissake. Whether you agree to their mourning or not, have some respect. Kieku kellu il- kilba ghal poter li jkun dittatur bhal ma kien Gaddafi seta halla kollox kif kien u jibqa jigverna bis- siggijiet ghall- ghomru.

Ma nafx fejn kont tispicca li kieku ktibt artiklu bhal fuq xi gvernatur Ingliz.. Stieh fil-paci Perit u thabillx rasek Alla jaf kemm ghamilt gid u zgur haffirlek xi nuqqasijiet li stajt ghamilt. Mintoff will always be remembered by my family, as his policies were responsible for the death of my dearest and most loving mother at the age of Ja qahba lint …. Grazzi Mintoff — we will never forget you. Ahseb u ara dak li kitbet din il qahba kerha li gejja mill partit taghkom fuq kollox… u hallina minnhek giraffa!!!! You leave such disgusting comments only because you have nothing better to say and you just want to seek some attention.

I have never previously seen any positive comments on your blog only ones that try to put people to shame.. I hope we will celebrate soon your death, you mother fucking ugly bitch. Ilek ma tifa xi platt lir-ragel? I am not going to comment on the passing away of Dom Mintoff, it would be hypocritical of me, but Daphne, how can you allow such vulgar comments on your blog. They are downright indecent. People have a right to agree or disagree with you, but they have no right to stoop so low to express themselves. I leave God to judge Mintoff. Kont perswaz li inti mara bla qalb, hadra u vjolenti; ir-ragel tieghek wiehed li daq il-hdura u l-iskizofrenija ta mohhok.

Mintoff kien dak il-bniedem li lill-klassi l-baxxa gabha fuq saqajha. Insaqsik is-servizzi socjali li dahhal Mintoff inti rrifjutajthom ghax dahhalhom hu, jew dejjem ftaht idejk ghalihom? Il-leave flok zdied naqas. Kull kumpanija li holoq Mintoff biex tkun taghna l-Maltin, il-gvern tieghek bieghha biex ilaqqat ftit tal-flus.

U nixtieq nghid lil dawk li qalu li mitulhom xi qraba taghhom minhabba l-istat hazin tal-isptar fi zmien Mintoff; jien missieri miet Mater Dei u l-professur tieghu Mr Zammit ma setax jikkurah fl-isptar state of the art li niftahru bih ghax ma geddewlux il-kuntratt. Grazzi ja sahhara tal-bidnija li tajtni c-cans nesprimi l-hsibijiet tieghu u tinsiex li l-hajja qisha rota llum jien u ghada int.

Beda hafna u hafna snin qabel. Jien bniedem hekk viljakk insejjahlu. Tidher li ma tistax thares fil mera ghax kieku tista ma tohrogx dil hdura min halqek. It seems that the PL now have an electoral situation on their hands which potential has always been there, but now there has been an historical moment for its expression: Best wishes on your keeping up with the evidently record traffic to your blog. Meanwhile, the Mintoff legacy continues.

Ma hemmx bzonn tkun laburist jew nazzjonalist biex tikundana kliemek u ghemijlek lejn human iehor!. Tahseb li int xi persuna pura u bxi donni?? Hares lejn mera u tinduna li int persuna indannata u ir rabja tizvuga f haddiehor liu qatt ma ghamilek hsara. U purcinell huwa istat jew ma jaqtalekx bicca min ilsienek kif ghamel lil haddiehor.

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Maybe, you can finally put that broken record back in its moldy sleeve and rattle on about something else apart from your incessant hatred or love for Dr. May he and our ears finally rest in peace. Now I understand why you are so hated on this island. If after this horrible article and attitude someone will still publish you, shame on all the intellectuals of this island.

GLORY, GLORY, ALLELLUIAH…

Do you know what a blog is, or are you only here through a Facebook link? Qatta ghejjurin dak li naf! Man of the Century! Kieku mhux bis- sahha tieghu inbaghtu bl-ghaks, taht l- Inglizi ghadna sal- lum il- Gurnata! Fej qatt kont tista tersaq lejn il-Marsa!

Il- Marsa tal- Inglizi kullhadd kien isibha! Mintix ser tinhabb daphne anzi in- nies iktar jimbuttawk u ma jahmlukx ghax wara kollox bniedem bhal- haddiehor u hawnekk ma tidhol l-ebda politika! Strieh fil- Paci Perit! Yuor parents must have got it off a packet of nuts. Jien ma narax differenza bejn hakma arroganti barranija, u hakma arroganti Maltija.

Ejjew nghidu li kien bniedem li ghamel hafna gid, u daqstant iehor ghamel deni. Naf li difficli ghal nies bhalek li jghidu l-a bl-Ingliz, imma forsi jekk taghmel xahrejn tipprattika jirnexxilek. I wish to meet you personally to teach you some of Christ teaching. Life in Malta was full of hatred, lack of freedom, corruption, not to mention full control on imports and all business. Dom Mintoff, me and my family will always be indebted to you. Life has never been so good.

Jien mhux se nkun pastaz bhalek, ghalkemm inti tippretendiha li int wahda mill-puliti tal-high society fir-risposti tieghek urejt kemm int hamalla bhalna l-laburiti!!. Haga wahda nghidlek, meta xi darba inti taghmel xi haga ghal pajjizna bhalma ghamel Mintoff u anke biex inkun ghidt kollox il-politici tal-PN, tkellem. Ghallinqas dawk jistghu jigu mfakkra ghal xi haga li ghamlu ghal-pajjiz, inti ha jiftakruk ghal….

Daphne, interesting to note that your blog is more followed by Labourites than Nationalists…. Unfortunately, he did so much damage to the social structure and mentality in our country that the repercussions will be felt for a long time — as evidenced by the slew of comments posted above by people who are not only functionally illiterate, but display a total disregard for the concept of freedom of speech and association. Ghax ma tmurx tiehdu f ghox kemm ghandek; la tmut int nigi inbul fuq il-qabar tieghek. Inti bid dwejjaq l ghandek zgur li qatt mhu ha ssib il paci.

On both sides hatred has ruled, bitterness is supreme and we are the lesser mortals. But inspite of all this, I can assure you that we daily prayed earnestly, especially at the Eucharist, that in His Infinite Love and Mercy , Jesus would personally assist Dom Mintoff before entering eternity. We have all sinned before God, no exception. Daphne, you are bitter because you have been hurt but you are not the only one, and if you decide to forgive, you will be not only a greater woman, but a serene soul. Forgiveness is a decision, not an emotion and will give you peace.

The greatest battle to win is to win over your will. Well he will always be remembered and will get a state funeral, you however will be forgotten with the passages of time. Ikolli nghid li l-artiklu xxukjani. Imma minn naha l-ohra ma nistax nghid li mhux artiklu onest. Kull wiehed minnha ghandu ghazla kif jghix hajtu…u dik l-ghazla.. Mintoff ghamel ghazliet li affettwaw lili u lilek.. L-istorja turi li hafna minn dawk id-decizjoniet kienu hziena. Dan il-kliem ta hawn fuq jahsbuh hafna nies izda bi prudenza, imma anke minhabba biza, ma jghiduhx.

Ghax is-success principali ta MIntoff kien dak li zera il biza fil-poplu. Did you ever expect Daphne to write something in favour of Mintoff? The first thing I did when I got to know that Mintoff died was to check this blog to find someone with the same sense of humour. Most of the people who commented here claim to be so religious with cries of god and forgiveness and mourning and so on…yet…they turn to public swearing… What is your god going to say about YOU?

I admire you really…….. If i had the guts I would have written the same article myself: Oh how I miss those labour thugs who would break into and smash all those PN clubs again and again and again. Was it 19 times that the Mintoffian thugs broke into the Floriana club?! Perhaps someone should touch upon these distressing moments of intollerance of the Mintoff regime!

Daphne, Dont you think its time to stop making money out of your controversial policy. I heard that you had mentioned me in an article can you repeat it to me directly please? Does your children see these writhings?? Remember violence breeds violence. And my guess is that this hatred is the direct result of the hatred Mintoff had for us. My English may not be perfect, my Maltese a tad less, but reading all the above and below I have a pretty good idea where all the hate and foul language is coming from.

It is this hypocrisy which is routinely practiced here and everywhere else which people in the know hate and causes their stomachs to churn and to the point of throwing up. The Archbishop had better measure his words since One TV guru, Illum, l-orizzont and Malta Today will be out in full analysis of his eulogy.

Mintoff never reconciled with his fellow citizens but we hope that he reconciled with his Maker before he was called. The reality is that your comments put you in the same league as those who you hate and despsie so much. You have fallen to the depths of depravity. Methinks you have done it just for fun — which makes it worse. Your arguments about sociopaths, hamalli, uneducated, crass, naff, scum of the earth, vulgarity, pure and utter stupidity etc etc etc can now be clearly directed towards you.

Today you have just provided all of the evidence required for this. Your infamy and gall is unmatched — you must laughing your head off. No wonder so many Maltese women are turning to Fifty Shades of Grey if this is what Maltese men are into.

Daqt jinqatalek in nejk….. Indannata ghax zewgek pufta!! Imissek tisthi ja haga kera titkellem ek, u etlek haga ghax m intijx umana, bla qalb ma tistax tissejjah bniedem. Tant kemm hajtek hi patetika u kullhadd joghbodok li dort kontra d dinja kollha. Ma tridiex li inti xi mara ta klassi hux ja haga kera ax is sahhara tal west isbah minnek. Fuq Dom Mintoff qed tobzoq il valenu li ghandek go fik? Taf x hiex li imnalla kien hu ghalik u ghal xi erba bhalek ghax kiku nemmen li qeda bil bzieq icarcar ma halqek ja mara baxxa. Tmurx tisma l quddies u titqarben ukoll b din il mibgheda li ghandek go fik.

Bniedem ghadu kif halla din id dinja ghall inqas gib rispett lill niesu! We can see it today online with the SJW tags being tossed around. Things like Gamergate and the current Battlefield 5 highly politicised drama over adding women and different uniform cosmetics. They will pick a topic that concerns people, then add a couple of their own slants on things.

Then they keep banging away on those points getting opposing people to react over their slants and the main topic, further alienating some of those that initially were only concerned about the main topic. Sometimes in my view however the nutters are better off not being publicised and engaged with. When you wrestle with the pig in the mud, you just end up dirty and the pig is having fun. Additionally, there is the point, that, for extreme opinions, there is a way of reapeating them, which makes them seem more normal.

And against that, we must show them that they are not allowed to lie whatever they like to lie about without being called out on. Of course you can't reason with that kind of person, but i think oftentimes, people who earnestly don't know any better and are looking for information to rebuff these claims could do well from these debunkings. With somebody like this correcting them only lends credence to them. It makes it look like what they have to say has equal legitimacy to the truth.

Better to just mock them mercilessly and publicly. And bash the fash if you see fit. I think they were saying that they thought you were on the opposite side of trans conversations and they were ready to argue until they saw your post-history and discovered they were mistaken. The rest is just saying they'd like to have a chat because your post-history is quite interesting. Boston tea party was inside job. Perhaps indeed there's no secret cabal of Jewish puppeteers that is simultaneously secret enough for the world not to notice and sloppy enough for me to found out about it without any real research.

Perhaps there are more forces at play and the world is scary and chaotic place, and instead of eternal fight between good and evil there's a constant fight of all kinds of interests and wishes in such a way that no plan ever works correctly and nothing can be predicted or explained as a simple result of works of specific forces. The number of people that I've seen online over the years that admit someone else is correct is pretty small. Even for mundain topics that are easily proven by a simple Google search. That's because you're wrong, the data shows it. It looks like we have to invade Czechslovakia and then Poland This Post - archive.

I am a bot. Save yourself the hassle and simply continue with your life. I would suggest starting with: At this level Wikipedia's fine. When you're trying to argue that the Jews didn't orchestrate WW2, a children's picture book would be an acceptable source. It's generally fine for top-level overviews of subjects. It's improved a lot over the past 10 years or so. It's hilarious he talks about "Jews forcing an election" when the only reason the NSDAP seized power in is precisely because Hitler abused his state powers while being a minority in a coalition government.

Hitler asked for peace Did someone put tariffs on the nazis at some point? I'm struggling to find where this supposedly matches history. Also paul von den Hindenburg was an old nationalist Prussian who I wouldn't expect to be taking hush money from a Jewish cabal. The whole thing is so far removed from reality that there's no where to even begin with deconstructing it.

It's literally just made up nonsense. And on top of that it's so vague and non-specific in regards to all the entities and events mentioned that you can't even determine what he is referring to hint: Who is this Israeli funded leader? Threats of war from what international bodies? Mass starvation occurred where, exactly? You might as well just pick a random fantasy book off a shelf and say that it is the history that led up to World War II, because virtually nothing about it is grounded in reality. The only rebuttal is just to give the entire actual history that led up to the war, because you can't even argue with any facets of his points besides saying that they are entirely incorrect, completely unsubstantiated, and contradicted by the actual historical record.

Seriously though, if someone is shrieking "it was the Jews" right out the gates, they're not going to respond to reason. Every attempt to engage with them will just convince them further that you're a "shill", and I'm sure there are better uses of your time. He also claims that a non-specific jewish historian admitted that the 6 million figure is of religious significance and not historically accurate.

This is some next level anti-Semitic conspiracy bullshit and it reads like nonsense. How do they not even know Israel was founded because of ww2??? It seriously breaks my heart anytime I read shit like this man, why are there all these rampant antisemites around?? Unfortunately, it has been removed for the following reason s:. Your comment is in violation of Rule 1. Your comment directly links to the bad history source. This subreddit is screenshots or archive links only. As such, it has been removed. If you feel this was done in error, or would like better clarification or need further assistance, please don't hesitate to message the moderators.

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