Now I have a picture in my head of a row of dancing orcs in tutus, smiling brightly as they sing a happy tune. I got to throw up any second now. Here’s what caused this odd string of thoughts (and I use the word ‘thoughts’ quite loosely): Continue reading Thrakbog goes to Hollywood. Or maybe not.
The title holds true in so many ways. As in:
- Don’ think that I’m gone. I was just enjoying the sunny weather around here.
- Don’t think you could trust the human whose home you’ve occupied. It’s a difficult relationship to say the least.
- Don’t think at all. Makes a lot of things a lot easier. But that is something humans tend to forget. Which is somewhat confusing.
Anyway, I came to tell you about something that has struck my mind recently (which is in itself an occurrance of almost divine proportions):
It seems humans try to betray each other, which is one of their more admirable traits. In order to do so, they created something they call ‘secret service’. As is appears, they have lots of those.
Some of them are in fact so secret, that people seem to forget they exist at all. Different tribes have different services for secret purposes (the sausage people call theirs BND, others – which I have not met yet – call it NSA, she-human tells me there are a lot more). These services spy on each other, on other people in general, basically they collect data about everthing and everyone. She-human says it’s the sole purpose of these services.
This caused some kerfuffle (I really like that word).
The question is, why.
Leader of tribe kraut says it’s not nice to be spied upon by friends.
Next thing: kraut service did know about the spying and did it too.
Let me remind you of the sole purpose of these services. (Look it up above, I’m not repeating it here)
What’s the fuss all about? They did what they were supposed to do. Had the leader of krauts forgotten about it? Possibly. As I said, humans seem to forget a lot because they attempt to think so much. It’s overstraining the brain. The one real trick to effectively disable these services is very orcish indeed: don’t think. If you do not think anything, what is there to spy on? Surely these services have no interest in the stuff I do. If I am wrong and they do indeed spy on me, I say hi! Here’s what I do these days, in case you secret spy-humans care to know:
- hunt a cat and have a lengthy discussion about it with my human. Again.
- do some research on orc poo. Lengthy discussion etc, see above
- write on my scientific paper on the history of orcs
- yell at the device called telly
- blogging (even the least secret of all services should have found out about that, right?)
- tweeting (I’ve negletcted my little blue bird recently, though)
- being altogether annyoing and a real pain in the arse for my human (I have a reputation, you know!)
- reading orc erotica online (will blog about that soon)
Anything that is of interest to you spy-humans? Feel free to be secretive or servicable about it or whatever it is you usually do with the data you gather. But be aware that you alone have to deal with the damage these images do to your brains. Brings me back to the beginning: Don’t think.
I think I might run a campaign to become the next chancellor of the people of the sausage tribe. Why shouldn’t I, right?
They had their ‘Frauenquote’, now it’s about time they get the ‘Orkquote’ which would be the logical next step in human stupidity, called political correctness.
But to be honest I can envison myself, quite cheerfully accepting a bunch of flowers after elections, eating them or throwing them in the face of some surprised human. Yes, that would be fun, wouldn’t it?
First I would make sure I get all the campaign contributions, meaning tax money will be thrown my way and I don’t have to visit The Agency. So instead of sucking all the money out of one human, a whole country would then pay for my living. Excellent.
Next, I would get myself lots of campaign advisers, consultants and coordinators, just in case something went wrong. I could yell at them, throw things at them, kick them out and have a really good time while doing so.
And if nothing goes wrong I will become chancellor and then I can do whatever I want anyway. Not that I don’t do that right now already. But there’s a difference in quality, I’m sure. There has to be.
I would travel around sausage land in several forms of tin, perhaps a metal band would accompany me, which would make my campaign appearances much more entertaining. Drinking contests, bar brawls, mayhem in strip clubs, all of this would further my reputation as a really good sport.
People will love or hate me, either way they would vote for me. If they don’t I start an uprising of the stupid masses.
I know a lot about that, trust me. Most of the time I am a stupid mass and I raise myself up almost every morning. Consider me qualified.
So, Chancellor Thrakbog. How does that sound? Lame, actually. Emperor would be so much better. But it’s a start. In the end it might have a ring to it that says Evil Overlord.
And now I’m gonna muse about all the things I would change as soon as I am in charge. Free beer for all sausage people. They have a high tolerance for alcohol I was told. Could be fun then to play ‘last man standing’. In the end it would probably be a she-human, only because they insist on their bloody Frauenquote.
Kraut-land is odd, very odd indeed. Not only do they indulge in something called politics – which not even inlcudes huge axes and hammers – but they do it with such an amount of correctness that makes it practically disgusting.
Gird your loins, folk and gather round, I tell you what disturbs me:
Tomorrow is called ‘women’s day’, apparently. To give the female folk one day of the year to do as they please, that’s okay, I could live with that.
But here in kraut-land the professional politicians (which is basically a nice way to say ‘sissy’) have come up with such a strange idea that leaves me rather confused.
In order to make sure that more women are enabled to enter powerful positions in companies there will be a guaranteed percentage of 30% of females on every supervisory board.
It’s as if someone would say to me: “You can have ten wives, Thrakbog, but three of them must be male.” I mean, WTF?
I don’t get it. Seriously. She-human tried to explain it to me. So, women suffer from discrimination in this world. Well, of course they do! That’s the whole point of being male, is it not? Running this world as if it belonged to us. And so it does. How stupid must a male be to give up his supremacy? 30%! Honestly, I do not even know how much that is. But I do know, it is far too much anyway. As orcs are superior to humans, so are the males to the females. Anyone not agreeing with me is invited to debate it with an axe. That’s the material point. I use an axe to make my opinion clear. She-human says that we must overcome that. Talk about things. The question is: why? As long as I have my axe…
There is something else that troubles me. Today I learned that females with a larger butt give birth to smarter childen. That shows the orcish dilemma in a nutshell.
Here’s what I mean:
Male orcs must eat. A lot. That leaves the females sometimes hungry. But the skinny females give birth to stupid children. Meaning, the father is never outsmarted by his children. Which is good. We can’t have that, can we. I am the perfect example of it.
On the other hand, females try and grab as much food as possible while the men are still on the battelfield, stuffing it down their throats before the males come home. That way they get fat and sexy, which makes it more likely that males will produce more offspring which then is cleverer than the father. Not good. Life expectancy is shortened. It is the ultimate dilemma for every male orc. Perhaps a guaranteed percentage of fat wives and smart children is in order…