Adam Piggott

Gentleman adventurer

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Sunday lifting thread – A new year of pain.

I haven’t done a lifting thread for a while, so the new year is a good time to put out another one. This is the time of year when gyms are besieged with newbies, the vast majority of whom will be gone within three weeks. I’ve seen a few messages around saying that we need to treat these newbies, who will get in our way and don’t have a clue about gym etiquette, with patience and understanding.

That’s nice and all, but another viewpoint would be to crush newbie gym goers, see them driven before us and hear the lamentations of their women. Just a thought.

Anyway, at my local gym they have a large chalkboard wall where members can write what their goals are for the year. I have never written on the board because I am not a moron. But I was there the other day when a staff member rubbed it clean and fresh. There it was in all its terrifying blankness. Who would be the first one to write on the board? Everyone pretended that the blank board wasn’t there.

So I thought, fuck it. I’ll write on the board. And I actually had something semi-decent to write, at least I thought so anyway.

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A spontaneous display of dedication to the cause, comrades.

The sky was a severe grey and black, its undersides lit with the red glow from the heaving fiery monstrosity that we had been chasing for hours in our little convoy. Young Dylan was sitting next to me, his bum fluff beard a sad testimony to his child like state. He was on edge, jittering around on his seat like some crazed teenage lunatic at a boy band concert. He was even holding up his mobile phone to record the event as well. It all fit. The entire thing. The play. The scandal. We would have him where we wanted him. Teach that bastard to win an election that was never his to win in the first place.

Scott “Fatty” Morrison. Oh, we’d have the bastard now. Here he was after scurrying home from his ill-fated holiday, prancing around the fire swept country like the demented and hypocritical climate denier that he is. Oh yes, we had him big time.

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Friday hawt chicks & links – The just say yes edition.

Welcome one and all to the very first hawt chicks & links for the new year, the last year of the second decade of the 21st century for those that can count to 10. Your not so humble host is trying to recover from the next door neighbor popping around yesterday afternoon with an outstanding bottle of white Burgundy which we drank in its entirety and proceeded on from there. My esteemed guest delighted in my vintage turntable which is about all I need to declare someone a best buddy for life. Awesome French plonk and you love my stereo? Take the keys to the Merc, dear boy.

My neighbor is in his 60s and very successful. He recounted to me his younger days starting off in his chosen profession. By dint of some luck and blagging on his part, his career took off quite early. He gave me examples of numerous times where by all accounts he should have said no to what was being asked of him as he didn’t actually have the required knowledge or experience. But every time he accepted without hesitation and worked it out from there. Just say yes and then roll up your sleeves and problem solve, was his attitude. This is exactly what I did myself, as I recounted in my first book, grab a copy now, yours for the bargain price of 2 for the price of 3.

There’s a lesson or two in there for you young chaps.

Right! On with the show for the new year. Links and hawtness awaits all with the courage to enter here.

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Green terrorists caused the Australian bushfires.

As a result of the ongoing bushfires, Australia is on everyone’s lips all around the world. This presents a conundrum for Australia, as on the one hand we don’t want our country to go up in smoke, but on the other hand the Australian media and political class are so slavish as to any attention from the rest of the world that they just won’t want this to end.

I mean, the last time that the world took any notice of Australia was when Sydney hosted the 2000 Olympics, and two decades is a long time to go between bouts of having the captain of the football team even notice that you exist.

The world is noticing Australia at the moment because of climate change. Because that’s the answer for everything nowadays. I reckon school must be pretty easy for the kids now. Final high school science exam? Piss easy, mate. Just stick climate change on every blank space after a question mark and you’re golden. Full points for you, cobber. The Guardian has breathlessly got into the act, like the school slut who’s just emerged from behind the woodwork sheds after blowing the chess team for a bottle of prosecco.

Australian bushfire crisis: global figures and media react to ‘climate emergency’.

In other words, nobody with a clue about anything.

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The new year and some answers to reader questions.

A happy new year to you all. The celebration of the new year ceased to be of amusement to me some years ago. Owning my own nightclub in the high alpine passes of Italy finally cured me of the habit of going out and spending oodles of money to “see in the new year”. So last night I stayed home in Leiden, also known as Mogadishu on this one night of the year.

The Dutch are very restrained all year round; very Calvinistic as it were. But they bottle up all of that emotional energy for one glorious outburst that is the last day of the year, when they each blow thousands of euros on fireworks and turn the landscape back to what 1944 must have sounded like.

The year is 2020 and I want to take this moment to be somewhat pedantic on our timescale. 2020 is not the start of the 3rd decade of the 21st century. It is the last year of the 2nd decade. The years go from 1 to 10, not 0 to 9. If this is confusing for you let me explain it another way. You have 10 apples. Do you count your apples from 1 to 10 or do you count them from 0 to 9? By this measure, the year 2000 was the last year of the previous millennia, and 2001 was the first year of this millennia. So from this point on, whenever you see or hear someone saying that this is the 3rd decade or something similar, be comforted with the fact that the individual in question cannot count to 10.

Yesterday I published an article on things for which I am grateful. I received a number of questions that I feel deserve to be answered in full. So below the fold you will find resolution, as such.

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Things for which to be grateful.

I thought about doing an end of year recap on the old website; maybe go through the most popular posts of the year, the most commented upon, stuff like that. But that would require me to troll back through all of the posts, and there are indeed a lot. I’ll let you, my faithful readership do that, if any of you can be bothered. Perhaps tomorrow when you wake with a sore head you can pull yourself together with the thought of going back over almost 350 articles for the year.

Have fun with that.

But for me, I want to focus on what I am grateful for at this time. Even though for me personally it really has been a year to forget, it is still worthwhile and even cathartic to think about how good you have it. So on this countdown to the new year, here are the things that I am grateful for, in no particular order.

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The Greasy Pole podcast – The getting lucky with Miss Kentucky episode.

After a 10 month hiatus The Greasy Pole returns with a great rendering of the fabric of space and time. Join me, The Great One and special guest some guy who has a blog about Capitalism and thinks he’s a nautical captain as we ponder the mysteries of the universe and what a 15 year old has to do in order to get lucky with Miss Kentucky.

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A grim example of a woman killed by feminism and the sexual revolution.

Let me tell you a tale of great tragedy. A tale of a beautiful young woman who believed the lies of the sexual revolution. A young woman who was cast out into the world and fed to the wolves. If she had been born a few decades earlier then she would have been protected from the evils that have befallen her. She would have most probably had a good life, with a loving husband and children, a family to call her own and a home that she would have built up with her efforts.

But feminism destroyed the family and so she too was destroyed. How is it that women can go along with such ideology without realising that they are also part of a family? In fact, healthy families are refuges for mothers and children from the ravages of the world. They are the original safe spaces. Nobody needed safe spaces when there were healthy families. Feminism destroyed families through the back door; by fault free divorce, abortion on demand, the demonisation of men, and the relentless push to make women work.

So let this woman be a warning to others. This is what awaits you in the brave new world of being a strong independent woman. A broken life of loneliness, degradation, humiliation and sickness of the mind and body. I give you the story of former Australian supermodel, Kate Fischer.

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Friday hawt chicks & links – The my head hurts edition.

The Friday hawt chicks & links is slightly hungover. I behaved myself this Christmas until last night when a casual invitation for drinks at 5pm resulted in me staggering down the cold winter street at 2 in the morning. But an excellent night was had, with great company. No politics of any kind was discussed; in fact, if you asked me the political persuasion of anyone who was present, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. There was no talk of progressive issues. The great climate change goblin never once raised its hideous head. Nobody asked me why Australia was burning down or remarked at how remarkable it is that it is hot over there right now in summer. We talked, we laughed, we sang some songs, we told tall tales, we told short tales, and we drank what turned out to be quite an awful amount of alcohol.

At the end, my host and colleague pedaled me down the street towards the train station under a misty rain while I perched on the back of his bicycle, my legs dangling either side. But he wasn’t finished with me yet as on our path was a restaurant owned and run by one of his many friends. The restaurant was not just closing up for the night; it was closing for 2 weeks to give all the workers a much needed break.

Which meant that they were all on the piss and that our entrance was greeted with much goodwill. And by goodwill I mean booze and this is why my head hurts today.

There are not a great deal of links this week as most writers have been doing the holiday thing instead of writing. Such a sorry state of affairs. But I have managed to dredge up a few items of goodness and hawtness for you all to enjoy.

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The In-Your-Face-Chicken-Place.

When I worked as a riverguide in Uganda I liked to convince the locals that I knew voodoo. I did this through repeated threats to take a piece of their hair. Anyone who cast doubt on my voodoo abilities I simply asked if they would like to provide me with some sort of body part so as to demonstrate the strength of their conviction that I was not some sort of sorcerer. Toenail, hair, sawed off limb; whatever they had handy. But for some strange reason everyone backed off at this point.

Ooooohhh, voodoo.

Yeah, I was a bit naughty, but in my defense we were most of the time rather spectacularly bored.

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