Wednesday, 28 May 2008
Ray Mears - friend of terrorists, or not?
Was watching 'Ray Mears Goes Walkabout', today.
I enjoy his programmes - he is the real deal rather than Bear Grylls.
As you know, The Merkin doesn't do bombs. Simple.
Last year, I told you of my attempts as a youngster to manufacture a viable device. Succeeded, sort of.
Since then I have mainly kept my chilling and shocking secret from The World.
So, it was nice to see Ray Mears using the same materials I used in making my fuse.
Mr Mears also showed us how to make an incendiary device using Potassium Permanganate and another substance which I could not possibly name on pain of death (but which Mr Mears clearly identifies by name - Glycerin).
Reading an article on Stef's blog yesterday, I realised what a dangerous position I am in.
I click so many boxes in the Government profile of a potential suicidal Jihadist that even I am scared to speak to myself unless bollock naked in a wide open public space.
Take the test yourself.
1. Did you watch 9/11 footage repeatedly? It was on CNN 24/7
2. Do you use the Internet a lot? GeeksAre Us
3. Do you frequent a Muslim operated convenience store? Only for hallal meat.
4. Do you keep yourself to yourself? No girls in the village, honest, Minister.
5. Do you travel by bus at all? Buses, in a rural area?
6. Do you possess unreasonable quantities of aluminium foil? Yes, my family bought in bulk, honest.
7. Have you broken up with a girlfriend in the last five years? Is Dawkins an Atheist?
8. Do you fall outside of the existing domestic Muslim terrorist stereotype established by the mainstream media? Hehehe.
9. Do you speak with dark skinned people? I live on an ex-Yankee base.
10. Do you have doubts about the official 7/7 and 9/11 narratives? I feel faint.
SOCA and Stealth are you listening?
What's more, I have potentially lethal essential oils in my possession dating back to a girl I split up with who was an aromatherapist.
Chilling and shocking.
The Telegraph told us of a new kind of bomb 'never seen in Britain' using an essential oil, not named.
My dearly departed mother swore by Potassium Permanganate as a treatment for athlete's foot - a few crystals in a footbath works wonders.
She was, amongst other things, a Chiropodist and knew her bunions.
What else she knew about this amazing chemical she took with her to the grave.
Today, I live in fear - even though I know the prospects of My Mother and Ray Mears conducting a sustained campaign of terror against the West are as low as the chances of The Clunking Fist being outed on the Paul O'Grady Show.
Still, when next you see a survival expert with a bush hat accompanied by a boldscot trying to maneuver a coffin into the toilets of your local coffee bar, denounce them at once - they are obviously the enemies of Fre'em and Moxy.
I don't care - it won't be me - despite the secret stash of Contact Lens Cleaner my sister handed me in a brown paper bag.
Oh shit, I forgot all the nail varnish remover, on special offer, lapping round my ankles as I write.
Maybe, next time.