see url: http://cryptome.org/2015/01/sterling-cia-exhibits.pdf for full documentation on CIA being deceived by Iran.As you can see my Langauge is changing...this is due to a genetic disturbance induced by the Anniversary of the Death of Robert Burns and the thocht of all that whisky and haggis which I will be eating over the next week or two at all those Burns Suppers I will attend. The celebration of this great event happens on Sunday 25th of January.
I dedicate this posting to the CIA and all the other world security and intelligence services...Lang may yer lums reek.
To a Mouse /On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785/ Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous/beastie/, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty not, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murdering/pattle/! I'm truly sorry Man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion An'/fellow-mortal/! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may/thieve/; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!A/daimen-icker/ in a/thrave/ 'S a sma' requet;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, An' never miss't! Thy wee-bit/housie/, too, in ruin! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak/December's win's/ ensuing, Baith snell an' keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary/Winter/ comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel/coulter/ past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the Winter's/sleety dribble/, An'/cranreuch/ cauld! But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving/foresight/ may be in vain:The best-laid schemes o'/Mice/ an'/Men/ Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy! Still thou are blest, compared wi' me! The/present/ only toucheth thee: But Och! I/backward/ cast my e'e, On prospects drear! An'/forward/, tho' I cannot/see/, I/guess/ an'/fear/! Robert Burns Enjoy, ATB Dougie.