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25 Apr 2016 - 27 Feb 2021
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Helen Ikua
If you read it here and it makes you sulk, by all means sulk to heart's content.

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Helen Ikua
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Kent Crispin: Pensive :-)
Helen Ikua: Usually. :-D
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Helen Ikua
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11h
Step by step guide to eye-makeup for an evening out, in case anyone's ever wondered how the experts do it.
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Helen Ikua
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3w
Mwalimu's lasting legacy.

On a continent where founding fathers are sadly best remembered for living behind them an enduring and fractious legacy of tribalism, also known as the gift that keeps on giving, Julius Kambarage Nyerere, who was often referred to by the simple honorific, Mwalimu, or Swahili for teacher, set himself apart from many of his continental contemporaries by refusing to show favouritism or to grant boons to those close to Tanzania's seat of power. Indeed, such was his fastidiousness against shady dealings, that Mwalimu wouldn't even be persuaded to prioritize and skew a newly independent Tanzania's development agenda in order to establish better infrastructure in his own hometown ahead of the rest of Tanzania. And though he was not the most astute man when it came to managing Tanzania's economy, Mwalimu's cohesive legacy of nationhood is probably the reason why one hardly ever hears of electoral or even post election violence following any one of Tanzania's elections. And whilst other founding fathers on the continent were busy lining their pockets with the fledgling fruits of capitalism and grabbing vast tracts of land for themselves as well as for the benefit of their offspring, Mwalimu took a different tack on the road that now sees history describe him as a dedicated pan-africanist, who, for instance, put his money where his mouth was in as far as the ANC's struggle against apartheid was concerned, that, in addition to being a dear and close friend of Nelson Mandela's as well as being a supporter of many freedom movements on the continent. And if Mwalimu expected frugality of others, it was only because unlike many of his contemporaries he himself did not form the discomfiting habit of speaking out of both ends at once. And for men like Mobutu, Mugabe, Iddi Amin, and countless others of similar ilk, an emerging jaw dropping opulence that was best juxtaposed against their own people's spiralling poverty, soon became the familiar calling card of Africa's post colonial politics.
Helen Ikua: +Kent Crispin I don't know what he would make of that, he was not big on aggrandisement, self or otherwise, modesty was his lifelong modus operandi.
Kent Crispin: Wikipedia says that there are people working to have him beatified...
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Helen Ikua
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3w
Trump and Arpaio, a tale of like minds.

And before you judge Trump too harshly for recently giving Arpaio a free pass on jail, always remember that it took plenty many vacuous minds to install a sinisterly lawless thug into office so he could extend dubious favours to equally sinister lawless characters. And not that Arpaio was ever trying to be tastelessly showy or anything, but what a lawman he was, at one point even taking to dressing his prisoners in pink underwear just to remind them of the comforts of home. But sadly for this taskmaster who served Maricopa county with nothing if not pharisaical zeal, the tent city that he'd erected as a monument to stupidity, and which had become a sinkhole that sucked down the taxpayer's dime faster than you could say erosion of common sense, shall unfortunately now no longer be serving as the three ring circus that it was always meant to be. And when it came to reprising past follies within the criminal justice system, no one could do chain gangs like this pernicious relic of an ex-lawman who clearly harks back to civil war days if not to slavery days, and, who found a way of justifying the mistreatment of prisoners by putting them to work mowing the lawns of the senescent retirees who kept voting him back into office season after ceaseless season. And since dim minds should always coalesce around more than just periodic witch hunts like the birther movement, or even the racially motivated subterranean evil of criminalising immigrants for a litany of flimsy if blatantly unlawful reasons, maybe Trump will give Arpaio a job after all, perhaps a rumbustious but suitably homely post and a post from which General Kelly won't eventually have to fire Arpaio's trifling arse.
Birther Friends Forever: Why Trump and Joe Arpaio Are BFFs
nymag.com
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Helen Ikua
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5w
Antifa or no Antifa, no one can do worse than Nazis.

The main difference between Jihadists, Nazis, most Christians, and most liberals, is that Jihadists and Nazis know exactly who they are and know exactly what they believe, and often are quite prepared to kill or be killed for their cause. And since opinions tend to turn on a dime, and none more so than the fickle angst-riven hand-wringing of liberals at any sight of blood, it's imperative to track the conversation that's beginning to take place around Antifa, especially ever since the peculiar events of Charlottesville that saw a deranged Nazi mow down an unarmed protester. And the story goes, or at least the new Breitbart narrative is being constructed as such, that Antifa are anarchists and insurrectionists who supposedly trace their undemocratic genealogy of illiberality back to the 60s, where it is said that such groups were very vocal in the anti-Vietnam war protests of the day. Indeed, some even trace back the history of Antifa-like anarchists to their vigorous opposition of men like Hitler and Mussolini, or even farther back than that to as long as there've been systems of government and those who oppose them. And it could very well be that Antifa are the most hardened of extreme anarchists, who knows, but in the current climate of chaos that's been deliberately and not inadvertently engendered by a sitting president, it's kind'a hard to tell the difference between the anarchist who clashed with a Nazi at Charlottesville but ostensibly for no good reason, and the Nazi who enjoys the president's full backing because he'd taken great pains to obtain a licence to protest the removal of monuments that hark back to the dastardly ignominy of the KKK legacy. And clearly, nothing would be more satisfactory to and for those who oppose democracy in its truest sense, than for them to begin to lay down a narrative that positions the idea that anarchist forces are out to paint Donald Trump as a fascist, as if he's not. And whenever some liberal bleeding heart, wracked with conscience and out to promote the idea that even Nazis have mothers too, begins to buy into the idea that inhibiting Nazi voices is equivalent to restricting the conservative voice, as if white middle aged men form the vast acreage of the oppressed voiceless in America, then one can see immediately why the liberal is often cited as the liberal's own worst enemy, and also one can see why wishy washy Democrats might not have it as swimmingly as one might presuppose against an easy target like Donald Trump come 2020. And as for those hug-a-Nazi-today, extremely liberal types who would try to becalm any genuine debate around the vileness of Nazis, and who've begun to imbibe the idiotic notion which posits that if only Antifa hadn't been present at Charlottesville then no violence would have occurred there, perhaps they've forgotten that the synonym of Nazi is not Antifa, and that the two might actually have no ideologically correlative symbiosis whatsoever. And obviously there are still a great many obfuscators of genuine democracy and not a few hug-a-Nazi-today liberals, who constantly need to be reminded that the Nazi agenda does not exist off of opposition to Antifa, but out of odious racist ethos that are the complete antithesis of every human value known to man. And something tells me that if you were De' Andre Harris [pictured] who was set upon by Nazis at their unite the right rally in Charlottesville, then perhaps the sight of some Antifa anarchists [pictured] rushing to your aid would not have been such an unwelcome sight after all.
30/08/2017
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Helen Ikua
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8w
Thus sayeth the spirit [of Robert Jeffress] to Donald Trump,"Ye shall rain down bombs on the already traumatized and impoverished population of North Korea, for this is your divinely appointed mission according to Romans 13."

Why Kim Jong-un thinks that it's a good idea to taunt an emotionally incontinent man-child, who [together with his Russian handler Putin] has got well over 90% of the world's nuclear arsenal at his disposal, well that's a question that only Kim Jong-un is in a ready position to answer. And if Kim the kindergarten kiddie weren't too busy playing at tin soldiers somewhere out in the backyard where he tests his shiny new missiles, perhaps he might know better than to trifle with a Donald Trump who's recently acquired himself some Romans 13 authority to kick the devil right in his posterior end, that is to say the same Romans chapter number 13, which explicitly states,"Render therefore to all their due, taxes to whom taxes are due," but which scripture chapter then goes on to add a considerate addendum just for the benefit of Donald JTrump to let him know that unlike other American citizens, he, Donald J Trump is divinely exempt from the lawfully necessary citizen's requirement of submitting one's tax returns in a voluntary and timely fashion. And since Donald J Trump frolicks in the numerous company of evangelical sororities like the one headed by Robert Jeffress, that is to say Robert Jeffress the Texan shepherd of the flock who reckons that Donald J Trump is a latter day Nehemiah who's been divinely anointed to build the Great Wall of America just to keep out any and all invading Mongols, Sanballats, Geshems, Tobiahs, and Mexicans of course, well then one can see why Americans ought to go to bed with a warm glow each night, especially at the happy contemplation of the idea that hungry and oppressed North Koreans might get themsleves reduced to smithereens of rabble, and just because Donald Trump doesn't know how to, or can't, or won't ignore the taunts of the rotund prankster who rules North Korea. And unlike Barack Obama who was known to titillate America's enemies with imaginary red lines in the sand which he then cautiously skirted around like he was afraid of his own shadow, Robert Jeffress reckons that with Donald J Trump, a threat to bomb the poor and hungry of North Korea whilst Kim Jong-un himself, the presumed target of Donald Trump's rain of bombs avoids danger by taking shelter in a heavily fortified bunker, is exactly the kind of unmistakable bluster that should let every American who voted for Mr Trump know that they're getting their money's worth. In between times of course, before Donny gives the Robert Jeffress crowd something to really pop the champagne cork about, Kim Jong-un has countered Donny's off the cuff tirade with an unhinged tirade of his own, and has even promised to carefully consider and perhaps move up plans to attack Guam just as soon as humanly possible.
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Helen Ikua
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8w
Operation sovereign borders and Christmas Island not so Christmasy.

It's become quite apparent over the years that nothing sets an Australian prime minister's heart pounding and skipping a beat in fullness of trepidation, much like the awe-inspiring sight of refugee boats bobbing over the horizon and headed for Australia's shores, and with a full intent on the part of such wandering refugees to eat Australians out of house, home, roos, koalas, and not forgetting juicy wild berries. And this phobia for all things foreign-refugee that seems to flow so effortlessly natural out of the Australian body politic, is a phobia that could very well have kicked off sometimes back in the mid 70s when a handful of Vietnamese fled the rhubarb of a proxy war, you know, just before they'd made straight for the vast plains of the Great Outback where they hoped to put down stakes so they could peacefully flick off pesky flies from their knotted brows for the rest of their mortal days. But alas, it wasn't but a full minute after these war weary souls had disembarked from their rickety refugee boats and had planted both feet firmly on Australian soil, that a certain base element within the Australian political class, soon set about stirring the rabble by telling them how these handful of Vietnamese refugees were liable to whisk away Australian jobs, Australian brumbies, Australian jellyfish, not to mention Australian Great White sharks to boot. And so, given such incohesive national dynamics brought ashore under the guise of refugees packed like sardines on crowded boats, then how could any full-blooded Cherokee Aussie I ask ya, now be expected to tolerate these ingrate foreigners whose sole aim in life appeared to be one of hogging Aussie homegrown treasures for themselves, and with a nary care in the world for every authentically blue-eyed Australian who traces his lineage all the way back to the first convicts who'd settled Australia. And by 1992, and with sternly pursed lips that brooked no argument from such driftwood as bore along with it any drifting boat refugees, the government of Australia now had in hand a nifty piece of legislation that allowed for asylum seekers from places as far away as Afghanistan, to promptly if not summarily be detained upon arrival on Australia's shores, at least until such a time as these unwelcome asylum seekers could be furnished with residency papers or could be persuaded to row or indeed to swim back to the havens of peace that they'd fled in pursuit of frivolous holidaymaking in any one of Australia's five star immigration detention centres, perhaps such detention centres as the sprawling facility of joie de vivre and amitié that's to be found nestled snugly amongst the phosphate mines of Christmas Island. And while Australians can now sleep peacefully at night, secure in the knowledge that any errant Afghan refugee children are safely stowed away behind the high meshed wire of an Australian immigration detention centre, Australia's prime minister just the same wanted to make doubly certain that Donald Trump would not be reneging on America's long standing tradition of taking Australia's boat refugees off Australia's hands for good. And even though Malcolm Turnbull shall not soon be experiencing any glitches when it comes to palming off his boat refugees on America's formerly friendly shores, and even though Australia's "stop the boats" policy should easily have found a natural ally in Donald Trump's famously xenophobic personality, still, the recent awkward telephone conversation that took place between Donald Trump and Malcolm Turnbull so they could haggle and bargain about the going rate for refugees these days, remains as a conversation that couldn't have come at a worse time for Donald Trump, who as you know is already gearing for his 2020 presidential bid, and is therefore in no mood to upset all those "build that wall" diehard patriots who form the central plank of his voting bloc.
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Helen Ikua
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9w
People say the darndest things, don't they?

Funny thing the gospel, ain't it? It being a double-edged sword and all, coz sometimes it might cut you and sometimes it might heal you. Well, what I actually meant to say is that those who come in the name of the Lord, sometimes they might cut you and sometimes they might heal you, but as for the substance of the gospel it remains changelessly consistent, whether yesterday, today, or forever more. And when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti in January of 2010 leaving much destruction in its wake, many were they who trooped off and who swooped down to lend prompt assistance to the displaced, the suffering, as well as to the injured masses of Haiti. And thrown in amongst this helpful horde who'd rushed to Haiti's aid in her hour of direst need, was none other than man of uncommon faith, vocal Republican, perennial broadcasting guru, not to mention lifelong televangelist, the one and only Pat Robertson. And whilst Pat Robertson's 700 club mob were disembarking there in Port-au-Prince, and just before they had started to pass around whatever care packages that they'd brought with them to Haiti, you can rest assured that Pat wasn't about to miss a witnessing opportunity and made sure to remind Haitians that were it not for a certain deal that they'd made with the Devil way back in the 1800s, Haiti would now be a healthy island of peace filled with resorts running all up and down her coastline and with scarce a seismic tremor in sight. Because you see dear reader, in their hasty bid to throw off Napoleon's shackles and in an ill conceived attempt to come out from underneath Napoleon's heel for a well deserved breather, it seems that Haitian slaves had made the catastrophic mistake of gathering by their numbers perhaps to offer up an animal sacrifice, and had then in ritual's course probably dipped their nibs in the beast's blood before taking a grim oath to part French buttons from French shirts wherever Frenchmen might be found wandering about on the island of Haiti. But of course in his Napoleonic revisionism of Haitian history, and in his haste to get to the meaty subject of how one Dutty Boukman had led Haitian slaves in an oathing ceremony whose main aim was to device means by which Haitian slaves might rid themselves of French occupation, Pat Robertson appeared to ever so nonchalantly choose to gloss over the beastly tortures that were routinely meted out on Haitian slaves by their insatiable plantation masters. And though not even the first Napoleon had yet come to power by the time of this slave oathing ceremony in August of 1791, still, that did not stop Pat Roberston from declaring that Dutty Boukman and those poor misguided Devil worshipping slaves were doing their damndest best as of 1791 to come out from underneath the steel tipped heel of Napoleon's nephew's boot. In the event, Dutty Boukman, the slave who'd instigated this Haitian oathing ceremony that was geared at uniting slaves against a dread master, would unfortunately himself be dead by the end of that very same oathing year 1791, and it would not be until 1804 having continually been inspired by the French revolution's ideals of liberté, egalité, and fraternité, and having successfully resisted the French, that Haiti would finally fully declare her freedom from France and become the first independent black majority nation in the world. And whilst it's truly admirable how the likes of Pat Robertson would so desperately love to trace Haiti's present day poverty to a "Devil's deal" that was made way back in the 1800s, perhaps Pat might also desire to mention, in a strictly non-revisionist role of course, how that Haiti got off to a terrible start early on in the years after her independence when the French extorted outrageous sums of money to compensate themselves for sufferings endured due to loss of profitable slave colony. And whilst it's entirely possible that God loves to make sport of Haiti and enjoys nothing more than to take Haiti by the scruff of her neck and to give Haiti a good shaking every now and then, Dr Robertson might also want to explore the possibility that were God to judge nations according to how prominently they feature Devil worship in their highest rungs of leadership, even then, it might not necessarily be Haiti that should rightly bear the greatest brunt of the Lord's towering wrath, poverty, earthquakes, plagues, and all.
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Helen Ikua
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9w
Really, General, Trump's White House? So not a command to be recommended.

Whether as an infantry man, or whether as a weapons tactician, or whether as a seaman, or whether as an administrator, or whether as a commanding officer, or even whilst he was deployed in Iraq, chances are exceedingly good that General Kelly is used to the pristine neatness of chain of command. Which begs the question then, why a guy who's used to doing things a certain way would be so eager to wade swamp deep into the mind-boggling imprecision of Trump's White House, which is to say a White House that's choc criss-crossing with tripwires of unprofessionalism, a place where the next door you open could be your last coz it just might be booby trapped with mines of nepotism, a place filled with hidden snipers lurking in wait for a scoop that's worthy of whispering into the Breitbart grapevine, and most of all a place where the chain of command is totally wrecked since the buck stops with no one not even the commander-in-chief.
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Helen Ikua
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10w
Holy laughter season comes to the White House; America, get ready for revival!

There's nothing particularly unusual about presidential occupants of the White House hobnobbing with men and women of the cloth, and hence no one in the United States of America, a place where matters of faith are widely acknowledged to have some bearing upon and to wield considerable influence on prevailing political discourse, no American as such would think it peculiarly strange to hear that a brood of clergymen had descended on the Oval Office in full german mission to lay hands on and to anoint the president with overflowing casks of the oil of wisdom. And quite frankly, I find that there's nothing particularly eyebrow-raising in the news that Donald J Trump continues to keep in touch with the leadership of the mostly white, evangelical, charismatic cabal that bought him his ticket to the White House in the first place. After all, it's entirely to be expected that this ecumenical brood have every intention of keeping tabs on their man in the White House, you know, just to make doubly certain that their man in the White House is still plodding on with such conservative agenda as making sure that rich folk get their tax breaks and poor folk get their healthcare taken away from them just as soon as the GOP can manage that divinely appointed mission. And in times of trouble such as these are, what a humongous help Donald J Trump is proving to be for the evangelical/charismatic fraternity who now no longer have to look to the hills from whence cometh their help, but can reliably look to their man in the White House for his very present and trustworthily partisan help in their day of trouble. And when it comes to religious, social, political, or economic issues that are near and dear to evangelical/charismatic hearts and minds, one can see why the help of their man in the White House is decidedly preferable, to say, the help of an incorruptible God who does not or will not prostrate himself before the cacophonous altar of the religious denominations of men, and as such remains to be a God whose loyalties can't quite be vouched for on the off chance that he might love even Muslims and all other kinds of heathen riff raff who are fast proving to be the irreversible ruination of America's pilgrim roots. But hallelujah! Thank the mega church God who just the other day this July, finally appeared to take it upon himself to dispatch some of his choicest evangelical/charismatic footsoldiers to the Oval Office, from which agreeably plush environs, said footsoldiers then proceeded to anoint Donny with the oil of gladness above all his fellows because Donny has loved righteousness and hated wickedness. And just like Caleb and Joshua scouted the lay of the land back in their day before reporting back to Moses, so too did Paula White, and Rodney Howard Browne, et al, et al, all scout the lay of the Oval Office before reporting back to Facebook and to instagram, that indeed in spite of the giant Russians looming over the White House like the sword of Damocles, the current presidential occupant of the White House continues to revel in unusually high spirits and to be possessed both of sound mind and of remarkably good Muscovite judgement. And as the designated prayer group leader on this auspicious occasion, Rodney Howard Browne, he of the holy laughter movement, a spiritual movement wherein faith devotees break out into spontaneous gales of roaring laughter whilst rolling around on the floor, well, tis' that very same figure of jocular jocundity, guffawing Rodney that is, who appeared to be more excited about the prospects of meeting Donny, than say, old man Simeon must've been giddy with delight when at last the promised day came that the Lord finally allowed him to set eyes on the child who was born Messiah. And following on from the ceremonial sombreness of laying hands on and of praying for Donald J Trump, and judging by his enthused reportage of the event on social media, it almost seemed like Rodney Howard Browne, foremost authority on holy laughter you'll recall, was asking a most rhetorical question of Donny,"Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?" to which rhetorical question Donny replied simply,"Don't you know me Philip?". And never mind that uncontrolled spiritual laughter can sometimes be mixed in with hints of lionized roaring, owlish hooting, not to mention dog-like barking as was observed at the Azusa Street meetings, the fact remains that this kind of supernaturally gregarious hilarity is usually followed by great outpouring of revival, even as curious onlookers lured by their own itching ears, draw near from far and wide to see for themselves what the fuss is all about. Which is why with their duty done as evidenced by signs, miracles, and laughter following, the ecumenical brood who'd come to lay hands on and to pray for Donny, soon left the White House in jolly good spirits and cluck clucking about a coming revival in America. And what a revival it's going to be that's projected to surpass Azusa and every other awakening before that, and what a stirring of the American spirit there's gonna be especially for any Americans who'll have lost their healthcare according to God's perfect will, and you know it that such Americans shall gather joyfully together in their droves and pack huge stadiums all across the nation from where they'll tarry in one accord for the promised outpouring of spontaneously unconstrained gales of holy laughter. And just as a side note for extras, anyone who thinks that barking, roaring, howling, or even levitating humans are a phenomenon that's got anything to do with the Holy Spirit, really ought to re-read the HOLY scriptures once again, and there perchance to encounter the demoniac of Gerasene/Gadarene and also to find out about that time that God turned a hifalutin' Nebuchadnezzar more or less into a mooing cow.
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