“Black boys rape our young girls"

... but virgins go without”

I can't find a black enough boy with which to illustrate this menemonic, but the title is in Cooper Black so that'll have to do you.

I don't know about racism - too busy admiring the clever memory aid - but this is one shit-hot mnemonic for the colour code for wiring electronic resistors:

black, brown, red, orange, yellow,
green, blue, violet, grey, white.

Brilliant.

I came across the article over morning coffee as my mother was at church. I cursed and spat on the idiot excesses of correctitude and read on. No use to me, not being a wiring colour coder.

Reached the end of the news section and turned to the business page and, just as a test, repeated it verbatim sans problème.

Finished the paper, strolled over to Holy Trinity and, as I did, found myself repeating spot on that darkie yoofs abuse the nation's young gels. No hesitation, repetition, regal stutters, no nothin'.

This evening as I cleared the dinner plates, again it leapt to my lips.

Usually, I need at least a dozen repetitions for anything to sink in.

So, fucking good aide-memoire and bravo and thank you James Hersey.

If I was publisher, I'd think about putting out a handy book of racist mnemonics or acronyms. Can you imagine the veritable tsunami of ingenious reminders once the appeal went out?

Breaking news: my good friend Jim Demetre out of Seattle posts a comment in one of my Facebook foto albums that reads exactly like a mnemonic one would remember forever - in the same way that I remember to this day the street layout of my belovèd Seattle.

Anyway, listen to Jim's brill comment:

WE HAVE PORTLY GREEK MEN WHO SING IN SEATTLE

By the mnemonic of Nicarthides! Is that not now engraved in your mind forever?

My Spitfire had the unconscious habit of making mental notes wherever we went. Par exemple, I'd promise to take her shopping for fripperies but first to Safeways to stock the larder.

Much to-do over drawing up a list and numbering them in order - and then leaving it on the dining room table.

"Back home to get the list. More valuable time wasted."

"Dad! I know what we need to buy: Wine, Honey, Potatoes, Garlic, Marmalade, Washing-up liquid, Spaghetti, and Shampoo."

"Good God, child, that's exactly what I wrote down ... but ... how ..."

"Easy, dad - I used the Demetre formula, ya know? Fat guys singing?"

That's what she'd do - and long may the skill be with her. Of course, being a young chickadee she'd have her own tricks.

For instance, suppose she needed to remember that I needed

1. Inkjet printer ribbon
2. Lettuce
3. Ham
4. chicken Wings ('Yayy - dad! cool!')
5. Gas (petrol for us Brits)
6. Milk

Anna would recall it instantly with:

I Like Hope We Get to the Mall

Fascinating topic - salutations once again to the hapless James Hersey and fuck the dullards who cost him his job.

And here's a nice link I came across while bulking up to join the Seattle Men's Chorus.