stanislav, a young polish plumber said... LATE NEWS

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

LATE NEWS

On his fund-raising tour of the Middle East, UK prime minister Gordon ben Brown addressed the Knesset. From The Jerusalem Herald and the Tel Aviv Daily Mirror.(ed. Toilets Maguirestein)

"My fellow Hebes and motherfuckers, as a son of the Scotch synagogue I say to you Shalom and thank you all for inviting me to preach in your parliament and borrow some money.

You have always been most accommodating in this area, especially in the Twelfth century back home in York, although I believe there was a bit of a communication difficulty in the easy repayments plan.

If Labour had been in charge then I would of course have taken the Hebe moneylenders into public ownership and only driven them into the sea as a very last resort - or if they refused a reasonable offer of work, down at the job centre, as we are now proposing to do in our own Final Solution.

The poor and the workshy deny lebensraum to the very hard-working and relatively poorly-paid wealth creators in the banks, the Party and the non tax-paying Russian underworld.

It is my policy, which I am sure you will all support, that we have eine Reich, eine Volk in which the poor, if they can no longer work for the rich or pay taxes, become worthless, so into the sea they must go; it is what we in the Party call compassionate Nazism. A bit like you with the neighbours up in Lebanon.

Y'know, when I was a wee boy my father was a Scotch Rabbi and so I am very much a Hebe motherfucker myself. And proud of it, only not in Palestine of course. Or South America. And I scarcely mention it with Frau Merkel. Not that I have anything to do with Germans.

In Scotland we didn't have the windows broken and the Swastika daubed on the walls thing but apart from that it was all quite Yiddish. Only we call it Presbyterianish. And instead of chicken soup our mommas made us nutritious and tasty chocolate bars fried in batter, a bit like Gefelte Fish. Only quite different

There is no God but God and Mohammed is his prophet, as our Muslim friends say, not that we have any Muslim friends making oil in Saudi Arabia. And yes, my fellow Hebe motherfuckers, I do solemnly commit my armed forces to going in there in Iran or wherever, in their rusty old LandRovers; I mean, of course, trusty old LandRovers just as soon as a) you give me some money, only not through Mr Abrahams this time and b) we borrow some ammunition off Uncle Sam.

This offer of course depends on enough of them surviving the best efforts of the schwartzer goyim untermenschen in Afghanistan and them all not coming home in tastefully flag-draped coffins and sombre music to Brize Norton and giving me an arseache in the fucking coroner's office.

As a way of recognising my own Hebeness and the very great debt we shall all owe you once you give me the money I propose to bring into government, alongside Obedience minister, Mr Jack Torture, the right honourable member for Tel Aviv, Mr Gerald Boys-Kauffman and the noble Lord Janner-Holocaust.

And if it moves the deal along a bit we could have a Holocaust Day not just once a year but once a week, maybe sing: On the Twelve Holocaust Days of Christmas, my true love (Ed) sent to me.....etc or even hold it daily, along with the citizenship obedience prayer.

In fact I could re-name the whole fucking country Holocast Island, make everybody wear skullcaps and eat anchovy sandwiches on that shit famine bread you like so much.

It is the run up to the Olympic Games, just now, and people all over the world ask me about the security implications, might terrorists take hostages and even kill them? Right load of bollocks is what I say, such a thing would never happen. It's like saying there will be a return to Tory boom and bust which there won't be even though there is. And in England, anyway, we can rely upon the Chinese Secret Service, who have allowed me to put them in charge of the Metropolitan police, under, of course, our magnificently uniformed Commissionaire, Sir Iain Bendover and our security minister, Admiral Lord Liberace-West and. Just for once, lets never mind what it says in the Good Book about sodomites and fire and fucking brimstone; if you fucking please, some, even most, perhaps all of my best friends are arse burglars.(Ed)

The former Chief Rabbi of the Northern Ireland Hebes, Archbishop Professor the Right Reverend Lord ben Paisley of Shankill Road ButchersRus, has recently resigned his office; with his many doctorates - all of them properly purchased and invoiced from the University of eBay - and his own private synagogue, his most sticky-fingered Reverence Doctor Iain and his son, Dr Iain the Second, have shown the Ulster Hebes how to do business in a modern plutocracy and we shall not look on his like again, Oi vay, although his fellow architect of Peace Through Torture, Mr Martin Kneecaps does have an engaging twinkle in his roguish eye and I am sure a few of us here wouldn't mind getting tied-up with him.

My prudent stewardship of the UK economy - burning all the money- has set us fair for weathering the shitstorm which I have created. I have instructed the British people to both borrow and spend like there's no tomorrow and to, at the same time. save every penny because there is an all too real tomorrow in which they will all have no pensions, not from the state, because I have aforementionedly, Mr Deputy Rabbi, burned all the money and not from the private sector because the directors have used all that money to pay themselves bonuses in order to attract the right kind of people.

A simple, prudent strategy, inflate the only asset which people have, encourage them to borrow and spend it in the High Street creating a false boom and when the artificially high value of the asset deflates, everybody gets fucked up the Khyber. It's called my no more boom and bust strategy and it has woked very well. Up until now.

My prudence will also have the effect of stimulating the pawnbroking sector of the economy, probably the only sector I have not single-handedly abolished.

What about the future, people ask. Well, my Hebe motherfucking brethren in Christ, as a way of burning any future money that people don't yet have their hands on. I have prudently written massive sums of future PFI debt down in the back of my rough book, where no-one can see them. This means that they won't have to be paid back until long after I am dead and up in Heaven with my father and all the other Rabbis.

It just goes to show that we in the UK have worked out how to deal not only with the economy, which is why I am here with the begging bowl, but also with with the terrorist threat, you just let 'em all out of jail and put them in government, whilst simultaneously prudently burning all the money.

You can still learn a lot from us, even though you have bought the Labour Party outright, just think how much better and more inclusive it would have been if instead of executing Mr Eichmann you had made him deputy prime minister, like we do. Murdering psychobastards can make surprisingly effective political campaigners. As I don't need to remind you.

I look forward to a positive response to our loan application and assure you that your money, like ours, will soon go up in smoke and you will never be troubled by seeing it again. But then you're used to that.

I will close now, my fellow Hebe motherfuckers, with an old Yiddish song we used to sing at Highland Bar Mitvahs:

Al-laaahhh Akhbar, Al-laaahhh Akhbar, Bismillah, No we will not let them go, not for forty-two days, No no no no no no no, All the lassies say Och, Aye, Donald where's yer foreskin ?

Thank you, thank you, no business like showbusiness. Cheques or cash will do. But preferably cash. Thank you. Shalom! Heil Hitler! And have a negilah day."

(Silence.)

July 22, 2008 4:06 PM

stanislav, a young polish plumber said... Do you have, Ms Harman, a last request ?

Guy Fawkes' blog of parliamentary plots, rumours and conspiracy: Jump on the Harriet Bandwagon

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Dear Mr Scott Redding

You are absolutely right, these are vile and sexist remarks; they don't, however, on a scale of bad behaviour, come anywhere near having one of Mr Hoon's Democratic Fragmentation munitions land in yourlocal infants school and eviscerate your children; they do not compare with being held hooded, naked and being sexually assaulted by GI Joan and her Alsatians; they are not in the same league as six years illegal detention and torture by CIA psychobastard momma's boys down in sunny Cuba and they breach fewer common law and constitutional provisions than do any number of fascistic measures enacted by Harman's party; these remarks, to which you object, in short, do not result in mass murder, gang rape, illegal detention and torture, all of which are the hallmarks of the achingly politically correct gang of parasites in which Harman and Partner are so prominent.

The Blair/Brown government, aside from its chronic mishandling of the economy and public sector reform has allied us to a vicious, reactionary gangster cabal in Washington and imported to the United Kingdom a similar politics - one of suborned, complicit media, massive bribes, money-laundering and blackmail, all applied in concert with the trampling of rights far outside their parliamentary remit. How, pray, do you suggest we address and refer to people such as these, the tyrant Harman et al?

My own preference and I am sure that of many - aside, of course, from those still convinced of the imminent discovery of Iraqi weapons of mass destruction - would be for an occasion on which to deploy a simple phrase: Do you have, Ms Harman, a last request ?


love from stanislav

July 9, 2008 2:34 PM

stanislav said... Here is the Stabbing Round-up

Guy Fawkes' blog of parliamentary plots, rumours and conspiracy: Marr Gets All Aggressive

stanislav said...

Here is the Stabbing Round-up

FROM THE OFFICE OF SOCRATES JOHNSON-SINGH, MAYOR OF LONDON:

Well it is a jolly rum do, all this knife crime thingy. But I jolly well dunno what they expect me to do about it. I'm not really Socrates, just enjoy a kebab now and again, after a skinful. Maybe I should appoint some more mouthy, bent, black perverts. As a token thingy. Gone now, anyway; line in the old sand, learn valuable lessons, move forward. Enquiry cancelled.

Instead of stabbing each other, can't these people just rampage through the town in evening dress, smash the place up, frighten the locals and get Daddy to pay the bill, like we used to; go to coke parties with their old university chums, y'know, do a spot of insider dealing, try-out some other cove's bitch; engage in a bout of the old flagrante delicto in the back of the Bentley, what ? It's not as though we don't set them a good example. Cocaine? Never touched it.

IN THE HOUSE the shadow leader of the Tory party, Kid Hague, is on his feet:

Ay ay ay funny thing happened to me on the way to the house, Madam Deputy Spunker (cheers) but then, perhaps, perhaps Madam Deputy Spanker, honourable and right members will forgive me if I keep that little apercu for my paying customers (groans of disappointment from all sides.)

As, Madam Deputy Splasher, for these truly dreadful events, whatever they are, I was only saying to Lord Sebastian in the shower this morning, all this stabbing, y'know, it'll have to stop, but he wouldn't be told, naughty boy. It's not as though we, in this place, don't set people a good example

FOR THE GOVERNMENT, Stabbing Minister, Tony McNutter said; I will be responding to people's very real, very real, um, things, Mr Spunker, as ever, by passing new freedoms legislation which the government has already voted on and we will, therefore, not need to detain members who can just get on with their property portfolios, their shopping trips to Mr Lewis's and, as the right honourable member for Richmond has just indicated, their boyfriends.

The thrust of the legislation - The Do As You're Fucking Told, Citizen, (Temporary but Permanent powers) Act - is a return to the founding principles of both my own party and, indeed, all political parties.

As of now, Mr Spunker, any voter who doesn't do as they are told by anyone acting on my behalf will be shot, their assets forfeit to the Exchequer and their family sent for re-education. (Cheers, waving of papers.)

ON BBC's THIS WEEK PROGRAMME Andy Slaphead Jock, Murdoch multi-millionaire and pretend journalist, sits shoulders hunched-up, like a Hibernian hobgoblin, informally tieless, if not wigless, holding his postcards, smirking, as well he might:

Diane, you know some poor black people, don't you, do they smell frightfully bad ? I mean, aren't poor people dreadful ? Whats your take (1960s slang = opinion) on this ?

DIANE LARD, pretend MP (from inside a billowing black tent.) Well, Andrew (waving arms around) I blame the parents; as you know, I was so conscientious a parent that I sent my precious little baby to an expensive, fee-paying, radical socialist school, in order, purely, you understand, to keep him from harm's way, out of reach of my constituents' grubby children and not to give him any advantage in later life, like when he inherits my seat.

So my conscience on this matter, as in all others, is clear. As for the trash and riff-raff in my constituency, well if they can't be bothered to get the very best for their children well, why should I care, not as though I'm paid to represent them or anything. It's not as though I don't set them a good example.

(turning, smiling acidly) Michael, you should know, does Barack Obama have a big one ?

DAME MICHAEL PORTILLO, MURDOCH EMPLOYEE AND FAMOUS COWARD: Indeed, and you make my point, Diane, some of these black chaps have whoppers, as Ron Davies often remarked, when he was Badgers Secretary; it beats me why we can't find jobs for some of them, lots of them, down at the House; why, even some of the female members might find use for a well-developed young ree-surch assistant, although my instinct tells me that they'd be gobbled up, so to speak, by the gentlemen members. You might try one yourself, Andrew, if you ever tire of totty young enough to be your granddaughter. Are we going to be singing Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a Man After Midnight again this week, Andrew, I do hope so.

JOCK NEIL: No, we're not, and that's enough of poor people, let them stab each other to death if they want, now it's time for that giant of political commentary, Peter Stringfellow and HIS take of the week.

And don't go away because later on we have some other facetious, self-aggrandising, celebrity fuckwit I met at a do the other night, I think it's that bald, angry bloke, the pretend soldier, Kemp, another chum of my friend, but not yours, Rupert. Ross will be telling us how they deal with knife crime in the SAS. Which he isn't in.

But don't blame us at This Week for all these stabbings, it's not as though we don't set a good example.

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE CROWN PROSECUTOR, SIR KEN McFREEMASON:

In view of the appalling number of poor people stabbing one another to death, we rich lawyers have decided that it would be a waste of scarce resources to prosecute our worshipful brethren in the houses of parliament, the police, the civil service, the BMA and elsewhere, not that we do.

I have decided, therefore, to amend the Misrepresentation of The People Act, so that henceforth, it is in the public interest that no members, past or present, of these groups may be prosecuted for anything whatsoever, up to and including procuring, prostitution, racketeering, blackmail, money-laundering, extortion, murder and war crimes. Even though they have all done them.

This step merely formalises the existing custom and I feel that it will meet with wide approval. Among those, at any rate, who gave me my job and will give me my retirement peerage, pensions and QUANGO posts.

This fair and even-handed, fearless application of the legal process is bound to restore confidence among those who thought that laws they had made against other people might be unfairly used against themselves.

Now that politicians are free once more to carry on regardless of the law I am confident that all this knife business will just go away, not that anyone important cares about it; rather useful actually, never too young to be an Enemy Within.

It is in this exemplary and impartial execution of my duties that I demonstrate to poor people that I am doing my best to set them a good example.

More stabbing news on the hour, here on Sky with Kay Hatchet. For updates to your mobile, text STAB to news@sky.com

July 7, 2008 12:26 PM

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...The anonymati, eh, what are they like ?

Guy Fawkes' blog of parliamentary plots, rumours and conspiracy: Troughing Ministers, Troughing Tory MPs

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Dear Mr Goodnight Vienna

The anonymati, eh, what are they like ?

Mind you, was a bloke here, the other night, some kinda internet welfare worker, said he was "interested in discussing things with intelligent and non-racist readers of this blog" MixTogether, he called himself.

Wouldn't claim to have either of the necessary qualities to a relationship with this person, being just a plumber and all but I was interested in telling him to go and join the football team banging his mother on a block booking, she'd be able to find room for him.

It's the pretension you see, the assumptions, both of them stupid and racist, that if you say intelligent and non-racist it means that you are both of these things and able to detect them in others and that you can form a group together and sit around being those things and hey, fuck me, before you know it, whole fucking world, by osmosis, is them, too, intelligent and non-racist, these are the sort of people who carry the Guardian in public, but the fact is that anybody who would utter such tripe is obviously both of these things himself, or maybe herself.

See, Mr or Ms MoxTogether, if you only talk to people whom you think agree with you, you might just as well stick your head way down between your legs and whistle up your arse.

This observation, of course, on the democratic necessity of the collision of opposing ideas should not be in any way taken as approval of Mr Fucking Delicious, our in-house mutant.

ps It is an axiom worth remembering that - given the tyranny and bestiality which is, increasingly, ever abroad - it is better, unquestionably, to have a gun and not need one, than need one and not have one. Innit?


July 4, 2008 6:42 PM

stanislav said...State of the Limey Nation Address.

Guy Fawkes' blog of parliamentary plots, rumours and conspiracy: Troughing Ministers, Troughing Tory MPs

stanislav said...

From CBS, NBC, CNN, ABC and that cunt Murdoch's pretend news channel.

State of the Limey Nation Address.

"Mah Fellow Motherfuckers

President Codger McCain here tonight to shoot the fat a little, chew the breeze, right here, fronta the fire with m'dog, Obama, just like my illustrious predecessor in this great office, president whoosis, used to do, y'all know who I mean, the little fat fuck who took over when the other one croaked, the one in the hat, the one who nuked the Nips to Hell and back, slimy little yellow bastards, President Codger McCain'd a bombed every last fucking one of them grunting little monkeys, and their fucking Emperor Horseshit, right back to their rice-munching, head-chopping fucking ancestors, glassed the whole fucking place right over.

All got way too many teeth, ever notice that, mah fellow motherfuckers, how them slopes all got a few too many teeth ? No, I guess not but it's the kinda thing a Commander in Chief needs to know about before he has some sonsa fuckin' bitches blown into next fuckin' week. It's frankly unfuckingAmerican, number a teeth them little bastards got. No wonder they can't talk right., like decent white Christian folks. Eat with fuckin' twigs, they do, probably can't get a knife and fork past all them fuckin' teeth. Obama! get yer fuckin' nose outa that woman's ass, I told ya before, next time I'll take you out on the White House lawn and blow yer Goddamned head off; got m'gun, right here in my pants, next to my catheter. Sorry about that folks, now, where in the Hell was I ?

Yeah right. Foreign policy stuff. No easy way to say this, what with the special relationship and everything, but the Limey President, he's an honest ta fucking Jesus shit-fer-brains fruitcake, a twenty-four fuckin' carat psycho and I am not, mah fellow motherfuckers, bullshittin' yer asses, man's madder'n a grizzly with his dick caught in a trap, running around all over the woods, biting hisself. Been over there in London England myself, met him right up close and I have to tell y'all that that's one mad Limey. And his breath, sonofa fuckin bitch, it smells like the fucking aircon went off down at the morgue, go in a room with the Limey President's like sticking yer head up Satan's asshole. He leaves the meeting every five minutes to go an jerk himself off, y'know, no I'm not shitting ya, comes back in squirming and stuttering, his lower jaw jerking up and down like a fiddler's fuckin' elbow; guy over there, Polack plumber, got a whole new terminology for it.

Y'know, on the tee-vee, everytime I see that Goddamned jaw manouevre, that gulping, I swear to Goda-fuckingMighty that that dude 's got somebody's fist up his Goddamn asshole; right there, on the fuckin' tee-vee, there's someone, under the fuckin' table, behind the fuckin' chair, got their Goddamned fist up the Limey President's asshole.

Goes on the tee-vee, right there plumb in the middlea the Limey Congress, sits there eatin' snot right out a his fucking nose, like a four year old. Right there on the Goddamned tee-vee. I ever see that fuckin' heathen ass-fistin', snot-eatin', jerk-off sonofabitch here in my Oval Office take him right out there on the White House lawn and blow his fuckin' head off, see what he makes a them values; got m'gun, right here in my pants, next my catheter.

Y'know, he came down offa that reservation up at the top of England Britain where they keep the drunks and mental patient folks, all the transwotsanames, the dwarves, all those kinda freaks, web-foots, six-finger, inbred, albino, ginger bastard motherfucking mutant sonsafuckinbitches; got 'em all behind a big wall up there and just throw some money over the top now and again, let 'em elect their own mutant in chief, just like regular people, only these mothers are all a million fucking years and a good few evolutionary developments offa being regular; live in fuckin' caves, mosta them, eat porridge with their fingers, worse than fuckin' Nips, seen it with my own eyes, it's like Limey Mexico, and he came down with that other pansy, the one with the freakshow wife, Jesus H fucking Christ, d'ya ever see a kisser like that ? Park a fucking Humvee in there. Imelda her name is, seems like Uncle Sam is buying her a new house every fucking goddamned fucking week, ugly bitch got more palaces than Saddam fucking Hussein.

Anyway, they all come down off the reservation and take over the Limey Communist Party. Get some oily fag cocksucker off the tee-vee, Mandelstein, or something, a walking sperm bank, sucking everybody's dick, they're all coked-up faggots in the BBC Limey media, the ones that ain't kiddy-fiddlers, and next thing you know the pansy and Imelda are in Buckingham House running the whole fucking joint, selling off seats in the Limey Senate like they was hamburgers and this joker, the one-eyed freak, is at the Limey Treasury burning all the country's fucking money in a great big bonfire.

The Limey Congress is full a dingleberries, see, never done a day's fucking work in their Goddamned communiist lives, Ree-Surchers, mostly, attorneys some of them, even fuckin' worse, and every commie sonofabitch is dancing round the money bonfire cheering their fuckin' heads off as the whole fuckin' country goes up in smoke.

Anyhow, after ten fuckin' years the pansy realises he's been rumbled and heads off to be a Cardinal for ole Pope Nazi while Imelda is gangbanging her way around the world for money, like she was Jackie fucking Onassis, banging like an Iowa shithouse door in a gale, and up steps the current guy, Gordon, off the Reservation.

And it was all shit, he says, on the street outside 10 Buckingham House, holding hands with his Bearded Lady, everything we done this past ten years, all shit, all of it, shit. I'm going in here right now and let the work of change begin, change all that shit into wine, like he was Charlton fuckin' Heston talking to the fuckin' Israelites. There's no need to elect me, he said, my daddy said I should be Limey President, and that should be enough. I'm going in here now and work night and fucking day and change everything about again. Just as soon as folks see how clever I am, they all gonna want me for Life President's what he says, but first I just gotta make sure all the money gets burnt to fuckin' soot and ashes.


Now, my fellow motherfuckers, Limeyland is one weird joint. Here in the US of A, if you if you go a thousand miles from home and go out to a swingers party, y'know, watch some other dude porkstick yer old lady, and leave yer kids all alone in the dark to be carried away by the raggle taggle gypsies-O or some other kinda bestial ethnic minority groupa worthless un American bastards, you might expect to spend some time on the County Farm, gettin' yer ass kicked but over there in Limeyland they pay off yer fuckin' mortgage for ya and open ya up a huge fuckin' bank account and put your brother in charge of it and the Limey government gives you a spokesman of your own. Get to go on the teevee every day just like a regular motherfucker, instead a gettin' fuckin' stones thrown at ya, like you should.

So it's no surprise to this old warrior that the Communist Limey press corp bought right in to that change shit, off Assman, the Scotch Limey, the idea was that this certifiable fuckin lunatic with voices in his head and hands up his ass who burnt all the fuckin' money should be put in charge of the entire sorry-assed, pussy-whipped country, without so much as an election, but just a promise that the fistin' screwball was gonna pay even closer attention to the spirit messages he received from his late old man, some kind of a Reservation Jehovah's fuckin' Witness, had his own church and everything. and that's just exactly what happened.

Anybody says, Hold on a Goddamn fucking minute, why are you burning all the money and giving the gold away and Assman just says some shit about right long-term decisions for hard-working Limey families and Bob's yer fuckin' uncle. And, my fellow motherfuckers, it is this loser's handling of the Limey money -Prudently Burning all the fuckin' Money and giving away all the gold down there in PoundLand - that caused this whole fuck-up in the subprime market here at home in the US. Messages from the fuckin' dead. That and selling Limeyland into a Communist Federation with a load of fucking European thieves, faggots, cocksuckers and opera-loving, shit-eating motherfuckers.


The whole place is fucked. Limeyland, birthpace of the Pilgrim Fathers, fucked by sodomitin' Scotch lunatics.

The Gay Truckers Association is blockading Assman right there in Buckingham House, even now, those faggots got blood in their eyes and fried egg down their vests, want free gas and all those toilets put back in the highway laybys, is what they want. The Limey Congressmen're makin' it legal for themselves to rob the store until t's fuckin' empty. Back up on the reservation his own tribesmen hate his sorry fisted guts and he daren't even go back there without a full regiment of secret service to protect his ass. Got a dwarf in charge up there, on the reservation, keeps his old lady's corpse in the attic an' drinks his own piss. The communist labour unions won't give him another nickel. The Limey cops hate him, the teachers hate him , the nurses hate him, nothing works, the economy's fucked, the weather's fucked, the roads are fucked, you can't go in a Limey hospital without catching some Goddamned filthy disease because the thieving bastard Limey doctors are all too far up their own asses to wash their fuckin' hands, the schools are fucked, the little bastards running arund stabbing each other; come Fall and all the old Limeys're set to freeze to fucking death, or starve or both, if the little bastards don't get 'em first. The police'll plug ya fulla holes soon as fucking look at you; they got cameras in everybody's fucking house, they can just hoist ya off the street and toss yer ass in the slammer and everything you care to mention is shit. If waht thy're doin' is against the law they just gor ight ahead and make up some new laws, just like that, Y'all can go and kiss my ass, Mr Voter, that's what them Limey cocksuckng Congressmen say. Assman couldn't win a fucking election in his own front room if he was the only candidate. The Leader of the Limey Republicans is a two-faced, two-bit card-sharping shit-fer-brains Momma's boy; Archbishop Canterburg, the Limey Pope, is a fucking nutcase, couldn't find the hole in his own ass, next King of LimeyLand thinks he's a fucking sanitary towel, most of the Limey Congress is under investigation for fraud, Limey currency soon won't be worth no more'n a Zimbabwe dollar, and the whole shithole is under fuckin' water most of the time.

Snotman's up to his neck in shit and every five fuckin' minutes seems like a turd as big as USS New Jersey comes steaming over the horizon. Just as well they only got a few payclerks and gravediggers hiding in the airport, out there in Eyerack. Wouldn't want the crazy fag Limey cocksucking premier giving orders to proper military.

Talkin' a which, mah fellow motherfuckers, here is my solemn promise to y'all - I find any man in my army sticking his dick up another soldiers's asshole an I'll shoot 'em both, right here on the White House lawn. Ain't fuckin' natural. No more'n that lesbian tennis they're all watching over there in Winbletown. Those dykes come in here, gruntin' and sweatin' and carpet-munchin' all over my West Wing an' I'll fuckin' shoot them, too. Take 'em right out on the White House lawn, blow their fuckin' heads off. Got m'gun, right here in my pants, right next my catheter.

You know, best part of a hundred years we been fightng the Limey's wars for 'em, equipping their pansy army so's the faggot generals and admirals and all them other Ruperts can all mince about in gold fucking braid and fancy pants writin' poetry and gettin' spanked by their Goddamned batmen and what have they done in return? Invented communism and ass-fistin, that's what. Invented right there in London, both of 'em was. Seeni with mah own eyes. London England is now run by a womanising Greek sonofabitch surrounds himself with crooked clergymen and Goddamned perverts just like the last motherfucker, the one who ta;ks through his fucking nose, the one with the frogs and more wives'n'children than a fucking Mormon.

Time we sent the Seventh cavalry over there and rescue them decent Limey folks, while three still is a Limeyland, punish these fuckin' money-burnin' savages and put 'em all back on the reservation they come offa. Gonna lead the regiment mahself. Got m'gun, right here in my pants, next my catheter......She wore, she wore, she wore a yellow ribbon........

It's been real fine talking to you, mah fellow motherfuckers.

Rally round the flag, y'all, only not that blue communist one with the yellow faggot stars.


July 4, 2008 1:48 PM

BBC.. Bolshevik Broadcasting Corporation.

Anonymous said...

Pi** off to America if you don't like Europe.

Some people on this blog say they "want their country back" and think this will happen by selling the BBC to foreign investors, effectively replacing it with Foxnews.

You think you can install a kind of "silicon" business culture in Britain, by removing from the British system anything that is not present in Silicon valley, and hey presto!

Newsflash: Britain is NOT America. And it cannot be, ever, no matter how much you wish it were. America was created in direct opposition to Britain and all that she represents: nobility, monarchy, the class system, support for the underdog, political and religious cleavages, the make up of cities and their architecture, and the negative scepticism of the British people are all things that mean, even if you destroy the system that currently regulates our society, even if you impose a foreign, american system from above, it won't work in the same way in Britain as it does in America. The outcomes will STILL be different.

Britain will end up with all the disadvantages of America and all the disadvantages of a rain sodden european island put together.

You forget that there are many positive things about Britain that are not American, including the BBC. You have been brainwashed by the american neo liberal ideology into hating your own country and all that it stands for. All the positive things you ascribe to your country are actually american: free markets and democracy: the British empire was protectionist and undemocratic, and Britain still has an undemocratic monarchy. As Britons, you even hate free-market europe, forgetting that your country is european. You are intellectually confused and compromised by your foreign ideology.

You act in the interests of a foreign power to destroy your own British culture: you hate any of your countrymen who seek to protect their culture through the BBC.

You are a third column. you are traitors. Move to America. Under your criteria it is a better country.

July 2, 2008 1:26 PM

bob said...

Surprisingly anonymous cunt @ July 2, 2008 1:26 PM.

How funny, and we thought it was the cultural marxists of the BBC destroying the country.

Well I never.

As for the US and Britain, there's more between us than differentiates us, unlike the French and Germans for example.

You might like the idea of the Chinese or Indians ruling the world, I'll stick with the Amrecicans thanks.

The nation that has kept Europe from a major war for the last 60 years, unlike the EU which can't even stop a little Balkan genocide, fucking pathetic.

July 2, 2008 1:38 PM

Anonymous said...

Bob:

So you would choose subservience to America based on events that took place 60 years ago. What a lack of imagination. Your lack of ambtion betrays a typically British "can't do" attitude. Good luck in Silicon valley!

Of course we share many things. But there are many things that seperate Britain from America too, and these are precisely the things you wish to destroy. Why is that?

You think we are closer to america than to europe. But this is impossible. We ARE Europe. The european story could not be told without England. Americans certainly think so! The Queen of England epitomises european history and culture. There are also many things that we share with France and Germany. Why do you dislike these things so much? They are at the essence of our culture. Why is this difficult for you to accept?

The answer to the above questions: You have been brainwashed by American neo-liberal thinking. The country you say you love is in fact America, you got the names mixed up. Your are a colonised subject of the american empire.

July 2, 2008 2:00 PM

45govt said...

unsurprisingly anonymous cunt (I would be too) @ 1.26.

Are you for real you mong? - the BBC is one of the worst aspects of a failing nation - it was worth something once, but no longer. The strongest argument here today for it total erasure from the face of the earth, is the revelation that it (ie YOU) pays trolls to spend the licence fee combatting anti BBC discourse. Remind you of anywhere, you tosser?

For all the sneering you - as you would, you know-nothing cunt - offer for the US, it is a far better champion of the underdog than Britain, as bob (now clearly sober, and angry!) points out above.

And then you have the effrontery to blow this smoke, you gobshite:-

"You act in the interests of a foreign power to destroy your own British culture: you hate any of your countrymen who seek to protect their culture through the BBC."

Wotta nutter cunt you truly are - it is the Bliar Bollox Cunts like you together with the fascist ZaNuLab govt that are doing, and have done exactly that, by flooding the country with unassimilable aliens, and selling us off for their places at the EUSSR trough.

Why don't you take your nasty statist, know-better-than-the serfs attitude and stuff it up your arse, you haemorrhoid - just fuck off back to somewhere they might have an interest in the shite you have to offer.

BTW - not only the BBC pays to have trolls patrolling - the govt had three paid trolls on shift work on the Tel blogs up to the end of the local elections - now it's down to two part-timers, but they are fucked.

July 2, 2008 2:10 PM

radio 4 listener said...

I like the BBC, for all that it is a bit of a leftist propaganda machine; I simply ignore that bit.

They have, however, commissioned shows like The Thick of It and lots of nice things about art and classical music, which I like because I'm middle-class. And radio 4. You wouldn't get any of that on a commercial station as anything even remotely 'edgy' would be avoided so as not to upset the advertisers, and anything that didn't appeal to the lowest common denominator wouldn't be popular enough. Many people have said it but look at ITV. That's what happens.

In fact, the more I think about it, the BBC - and the Arts Council - is practically the only way in which the rest of the country subsidises things that I, and people like me, enjoy, which considering that we spend the rest of the time subsidising things that we don't give a shit about and don't use seems fair enough to me.

July 2, 2008 2:14 PM

thick as thieves said...

what fun we are going to have with these pompous bbc cunts!

anon 2pm,
and what party are you associated with?
or are you to ashamed to say?
I bet he runs away.

July 2, 2008 2:16 PM

45govt said...

So you're back with this BS:-

"So you would choose subservience to America based on events that took place 60 years ago. What a lack of imagination."

Remember Kososvo - Europe's shining hour? What a lack of memory. The US, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, but in your case I guess not, is still the last bastion of individual freedoms, just - unlike our European chums who are, surely with the wholehearted support of a useful idiot like you, have now decided to implement a rejected constitution anyway, as it turns out democracy is no longer a requrement. Cui bono?
They do the troughing bastards.

WTF are you on?

July 2, 2008 2:17 PM

Anonymous said...

Anonymous - July 2, 2008 1:26 PM

"Britain will end up with all the disadvantages of . . . . a rain sodden european island"

...You act in the interests of a foreign power to destroy your own British culture: you hate any of your countrymen who seek to protect their culture through the BBC.

You sneering BBC troll.

The BBC does not protect our culture. It is deliberately trying to abolish English society and any English identity.

We are not European. We are English. Like it or piss off back to Brussels.

July 2, 2008 2:18 PM

Bob said...

Anonymous cheeky fucker @ July 2, 2008 2:00 PM.

You cheeky fucker, you deserve a ‘fisking’.

Bob:

Mr Fucking Bob to you.

So you would choose subservience to America based on events that took place 60 years ago. What a lack of imagination. Your lack of ambtion betrays a typically British "can't do" attitude. Good luck in Silicon valley!

1. I don’t choose anything I merely make the observation that the Russians, Chinese or Indians would be far worse if, heaven forbid they become the world super power.

2. What the fuck have I said about Silicon Valley. Though I will have you know that it was the Labour fucking Govt that destroyed British computing companies when it nationalised them all and made ICL, subsequently sold to Fujitsu, twat.

Of course we share many things. But there are many things that seperate Britain from America too, and these are precisely the things you wish to destroy. Why is that?

Is this based on anything I said. I don’t think so. If you want to call me a cunt, just do it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s a true pol for you, you cunt.

You think we are closer to america than to europe. But this is impossible. We ARE Europe. The european story could not be told without England. Americans certainly think so! The Queen of England epitomises european history and culture. There are also many things that we share with France and Germany. Why do you dislike these things so much? They are at the essence of our culture. Why is this difficult for you to accept?

1. Politically we are closer to America than ‘Europe’ (To be clear, and we all know the difference between Europe and Continental Europe) this is indisputable

2. 'Why do I dislike these things so much’. You are rambling man, make a point that can be answered in less than a day. However, If you don’t understand the difference between the continental Napoleonic code and English Common law, it’s because you are a fucking idiot.

The answer to the above questions: You have been brainwashed by American neo-liberal thinking. The country you say you love is in fact America, you got the names mixed up. Your are a colonised subject of the american empire.

In answer to your poorly composed and spelt drivel, see above.

July 2, 2008 2:25 PM

thick as thieves said...

'protect their culture'
you must be on acid you cunt.
funny how these wankers sound like communists, but are creaming it off like good ol' fashion capitalists.
if old women don't pay the bbc levy they get locked up. just so these cunts can live the high-life.
they are moral inverting motherfuckers.
let's get these fuckers up against the wall.
note to bbc trolls: don't make a fuss or I will be unable to get a clean shot.

July 2, 2008 2:31 PM

Anonymous said...

How amusing. All this bile and hatred directed against Britain, its television, it's institutions, its position in Europe, and thus ultimately yourselves: since it is this country, and this continent that made you who you are.

You are like left wing americans who hate everything their country stands for and want it to be just like Sweden, when it never can be. Of course America wouldn't be America without their rantings. You are their european alter egos. You are what makes Europe Europe.

As Europeans you represent the very worst of what europe is capable of producing: facism.

The average American would have difficulty understanding what planet you are on.

July 2, 2008 2:32 PM

Anonymous said...

Guido,

I hate these fucking BBC mongs.

You can't say shit on their websites or blogs but they come over here, abusing your free speech with their stalinist bullshit.

Off with their fucking heads.

Come on you fuckers, we are allowed to show you up for the cunts you are.

You got an argument, let's hear it.

July 2, 2008 2:34 PM

bob said...

Guido,

Look at these communist 'disinformation' producing bastards:

"How amusing. All this bile and hatred directed against Britain, its television, it's institutions,"

One institution motherfucker.

Pravda, Al-Beeb, the fifth column.

That's you that is.

July 2, 2008 2:37 PM

Anonymous said...

What seperates your views from those Of Jorge Heider, Jean Marie Le Pen or the Valms Blok ?

Very little, you're all european extremists.

How dare you tarnish America's good name by attempting to associate your european prejudices with her ideals ?

July 2, 2008 2:38 PM

thick as thieves said...

anon 2.32,
no no, 'tis you who hates this country, not us.
you dissembling cunt.
now, chickenshit, answer my question, what political party are you affiliated to?
if you do not answer this time, you will have to be prescribed a fuck off tablet.
I BET HE BOTTLES IT AGAIN!
what a slimy cunt!
hold on, keith vaz, is that you?

July 2, 2008 2:38 PM

bob said...

Look at what this cunt writes:

"As Europeans you represent the very worst of what europe is capable of producing: facism."

Now I don't have a history degree but if my memory serves me right, England is the least likely country to vote for either nationalists or fascists.

You must really hate your country. Although I honestly doubt an Englishman would write such slanderous shit.

(I have just realised that by the spelling and ludicrous positions this mong has taken that he/she is in fact DES, I will now cease to rise, for the moment) .

July 2, 2008 2:43 PM

45govt said...

Another (quelle surprise) anonycunt this one @ 2.32 and doubtless on the BBC's (our) time:-

"this continent that made you who you are....As Europeans you represent the very worst of what europe is capable of producing: facism."

The typical fascist accusation of yours is the big lie, repeated so often you have come to believe it yourself. We stand for freedom - individual freedom, which is anathema to the EUSSR ruling classes.
Made us what we are? You deluded cunt we led the world, and it is fifth-columnists like you who are determined that we become sheep.

July 2, 2008 2:46 PM

Anonymous said...

In any case your pernicious views are an irrelevence.

Britain is America's slave. America set up the EU. And Britain's future is in Europe because that is where America wants her.

Every new organisation creates itself in the hearts and minds of the people through opposition.

The more you euro extremists like Goldsmith and Le Pen protest, the stronger the EU will get.

You are nothing more than cogs in Monet's conveyor belt.

As a pro European, I thankyou, little Eurofascists.

July 2, 2008 2:47 PM

45govt said...

No bob- DES would have given himself away by his iliteracy by now - this is a semi-educated gobshite cunt.

July 2, 2008 2:47 PM

thick as thieves said...

we fought hitler to defeat fascism and now we are fighting the fascist nature of the EU and fascist countries like Italy, and historically germany, spain and let's not forget the fascist rollover-cowards, france.
so you are quite right bob, anyone who calls the Btitish or English such names must be an agitator-retard.
and probably works at the bbc.

July 2, 2008 2:49 PM

Anonymous said...

PS-

I would call you CUNTS, but I feel that cunts deserve more respect than that.

July 2, 2008 2:51 PM

Anonymous said...

Have a wonderful afternoon.

July 2, 2008 2:52 PM

thick as thieves said...

cunt 2.51,
no, you don't deserve any respect at all.
all you deserve is the rope.

July 2, 2008 2:53 PM

Elby the Beserk said...

@Fascism, national socialism, communism are all European inventions said...

sigh
Surprisingly anonymous cunt @ July 2, 2008 1:26 PM.
Lets have a close look at your beloved Europe, & the rich cultural / political institutions it has "given" the British:
National Socialism
Communism
Fascism

....& now the worst of all
three combined - the EU.

America has never attacked Great Britain & nor has it killed Britons anywhere near on the scale of your beloved Europe.
//

Sonny boy, the good old US of A would have got to fascism, no problem, given a history as old as Yurp's. Indeed, many see President Cokehead Alkie Bush as a precursor to Fascism, in his contempt for your constitution.

You'll get there, don't worry, and indeed, have made huge strides in the past 8 years.

July 2, 2008 5:15 PM

Anonymous said...

Anon 10:41...Look at the American Health Service - millions of people are outside it, it rolls far too many pills and extracts vast sums for directors' profits.

A more effective public sector could do a great deal.
---------------------------
What socialist/proto-communist claptrap. The US life expectancy is better, cancer survival and heart disease survivaland the access to drugs for most is better, 6500 people didn't die last year from MRSA complicating surgery or the near 10,000 from C diff due to tractor prodcution targetry in the NHS.
Arent you ashamed that you kill people to maintain that throughput?
NHS a world leader...yes in killing people to keep politicians arses out of the fire! Glad you believe all that propaganda about the best in the world. As its the only one there's no competition. Even CHINA charges!

LOL from Planet Mad!

July 2, 2008 7:07 PM

stanislav said... Gerry and Cilla McCann... and hedges.

stanislav said...

Gerry and Cilla McCann, both doctors, should be in Government, surely. Only trouble is they wouldn't answer any questions put to them on the grounds that they were worthless cunts, the pair of them.

Got all the right attributes for politics - both doctors, vain, useless, cliche-spouting, selfish, fucking bastards who get some dumb fucks in the public to pay-off their mortgages. Seats in the Lords for Gerry and Cilla, both doctors. War on Portugal. Boycott Mateus Rose.

Mustn't be cynical. It is Gerry and Cilla, after all, who are the real victims here, innit.

Philomena Fishwife-McCann, people love her, don't they, she could be Gordon's PR machine. All she has to say is this is unhelpful at this time, anybody who knows Gordon knows he is a wonderful prime minister, he only slipped out for a quick blowjob, like any normal parent has done countless times and when he came back all the country's fucking money had fucking disappeared into thin fucking air, his friends saw somebody running off with it all under his arm, only they forgot to mention it until it looked like Gordon was going to jail and then Oh! Fuck me, there was loads of them, carrying all the country's money away, yes, I saw them, Me, too, didn't think it was inportant at the time.

The money was both locked-up securely and not locked-up at all, whichever. And anyway the big denomination notes were all quite capable of looking after the small denomination notes should they wake up frightened, or choking.

Gordon wants everyone in the world to go out and look in their sheds, and see if someone has put the money in thereerry and Cilla McCann, both doctors, should be in Government, surely. Only trouble is they wouldn't answer any questios put to them on the groubds that they were worthless cunts, the pair of them.

Got all the right attributes for politics - both doctors, vain, useless, cliche-spouting, selfish, fucking bastards who get some dumb fucks in the public to pay-off their mortgages. Seats in the Lords for Gerry and Cilla, both doctors. War on Portugal. Boycott Mateus Rose.

Mustn't be cynical. It is Gerry and Cilla, after all, who are the real victims here, innit.

Philomena Fishwife-McCann, people love her, don't they, she could be Gordon's PR machine. All she has to say is this is unhelpful at this time, anybody who knows Gordon knows he is a wonderful prime minister, he only slipped out for a quick blowjob, like any normal parent has done countless times and when he came back all the country's fucking money had fucking disappeared into thin fucking air, his friends saw somebody running off with it all under his arm, only they forgot to mention it until it looked like Gordon was going to jail and then Oh! Fuck me, there was loads of them, carrying all the country's money away, yes, I saw them, Me, too, didn't think it was inpoertant at the time.

The money was both locked-up securely and not locked-up at all, whichever. And anyway the big denomination notes were all quite capable of looking after the small denomination notes should they wake up frightened, or choking.

Gordon wants everyone in the world to go out and look in their sheds and see if someone has put the money in there -it is vital that w efind this money - but he can't look himself because he has to go on tv right now and look important.

It is quite a normal thing for busy professional people to leave the country's money lying around, alone, in the dark and unprotected we have all done it and so its three cheers all around for Gordon for losing us all our money, and not having to go to jail, like people who aren't dictors have to, Hip-hip Hooray....

July 1, 2008 7:20 PM

Tuscan Tony said...

I see stan is bladdered again.

July 1, 2008 7:40 PM

stanislav said...

Dear Mr Tony Tuscan

No Meditating on clipping a hundred metre hedge in this fucking Scottish rain between posting. No booze, chop my fucking leg off, else, Gremlins in the machine. Must need more olive oil pouring in.

love from stanislav

July 1, 2008 8:34 PM

Tuscan Tony said...

Soothing virgin elixir on its way, in spirit of not physically. Not for use in garden machinery unlike Mr. Sid Yobbo nihilist Hitch, - he get no more oil from TT no way jose

July 1, 2008 8:38 PM

Dennis said...

Dear Mr Stanislav Unwin

No need to clip yer hedge twice.

Why clip it anyway? It only grows again. I suggest you set fire to it.

In fact I am surprised that, what with Hedge Rage being all the rage, more hedges are not set fire to. Certain species (resinous ones especially, like X Cupressocyparis leylandii, otherwise known as the Terror of the Suburbs) go up very nicely indeed when ignited with used chip-wrappings. Crush said wrappings into a ball, thrust into hedge, strike match, leg it away to safe distance, watch (a) merry blaze and (b) householders emerging & jumping up and down. If you can get multiple sources of ignition, so much the better -- an excellent use for the Daily Mirror, Independent, & other journals of integrity and note.

What species compose your hedge? In approximate order of flammability, I list some of the more popular hedge-components:

1. Hawthorn (hopeless -- like trying to set wire alight; flammability 0/10)
2. Beech 2/10
3. Hornbeam 3/10
4. Box 5/10
5. Wilson's honeysuckle 7/10
6. Yew 8/10
7. Juniper 9/10
8. Gorse (as favoured in Scotchland) 9/10
9. Leyland's cypress 10/10

I hope this information is thought-provoking and ultimately proves useful.

Your botanical friend

Dennis

July 1, 2008 9:14 PM

fire raiser said...

Dennis - you've missed a couple...

3= Holly 3/10 (All smoke no fire)
7.5 Privet 9/10

July 2, 2008 12:21 AM

stanislav said...

All around here Jock shakes ginger beetle-browed head and says No, cannae grow they hedgerow thingies up here, the noo, in all this wind, ye ken, so best jump back in bed wi' yon wee schoolboy.

So stanislav grow half-mile, more, of thick luxuriant hedge, ten feet high and six feet thick and home to bird and bee and fuck knows what else, is like tropical fucking rain forest round here, get all burnt by winter's bitterbastard wind but come back right as fourpence every spring.

Jock is just idle fucking bastard, why bother with nurture and cultivate and make garden and oxygen and wildlife when best thing is drink giro and headbutt Mrs in chops, and get sent in anger management course off probation oficer; why bother make fucking exercise when hospital is free off English blokes' tax. Jock would have garden if social services come and make one and maintain but otherwise is no fucking chance.

Cannot, therefore, make hedge arson from hedge, matter of Anglo-Polish pride, - some corner of a foreign barbed wire-strung field that is forever England - but will consider possible flammability quotient of Jock, instead, bastard should go up like fucking rocket, innit, all that cheap booze and porridge and amyl nitrate.

Will come and discuss species of hedge in your bell tower, cynical bastards here probably not recover from yesterday's child care lessons. Me neither.

Jock response to noisy kid is, of course, throw down fucking stairs or go out and have quality time piss-up with professional Jock colleagues, leave kid alone and hope for fucking best, innit.

July 2, 2008 12:47 AM

stanislav said... Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn ?

stanislav said...

Just like to say how nice it was to read all the child care stuff yesterday, quite like a proper antique newspaper.

I was wondering if we might look forward to horoscopes, perhaps some gardening, maybe Mrs Dale from next door might write a knittibg column. It's in times like these, when our betters are struggling hard on our behalf that the family needs a proper, decent, Christian newspaper, packed full with interesting stories and useful tips for all the family. Jolly good work Mr Fawkes.

Does anybody here remember Vera Lynn ?

July 1, 2008 5:12 PM

stanislav said... Now, party suicide, that would be a Labour victory worth talking about.

stanislav said...

The Jock Tribesmen's Party can win this one but if he would get his idle, ginger, beetle-browed, cross-dressers down to the polling station in enough numbers, Sheikh Ali bin Salmond must think laterally.

Bearded Lady, Sir Sean Connery, is a busted jock flush, flying-in from Switzerland for a photo-op and some grunting now and again; shrieking old vamp, Annie Lennox, also from the Jock enclave in Switzerland, peddling her axpatriot nationalism may be effective among the odd closet heterosexual in the ranks but Jock wants real men, real men, that's what Jock craves.

It may betoken a shared interest in boys-in-care or in strapping Tommy Arkins - many of him the Jock version- in a chair and torturing him to death but Ali has been cultivating Mr Marty Kneecaps McGuinness of late; Marty, a fellow Patriot Gamester who would've died, y'know, so he would, in Long Kesh, if only he could have, but instead must struggle on with a six-figure salary and pension from English taxpayers, whom he has already cost trillions of hospital-building pounds.

Marty and Ali and some belligerent, sheep-shagging, Bread of Heaven imbecile troglodyte from Wales officially make common cause in order to cause difficulty for the Westminster Parliament - ie the rest of us, all fifty-five million of us.

There's food for thought, eh? The terrorist torturer; the wee, fat, smirking, cross-dresser and the coal-stained sheepshagger, all lavishly paid and pensioned by the taxpayers of England while openly conspiring against them.

Ali bin Salmond, anyway, if he toured Glasgow in an open-topped tartan 'bus with his chum, Marty Kneecaps, smiling his wee Semtex smile, the seat would be his. It would make little difference to the nice Polish and Chinese people who run Glasgow, but the indingenous Zombie neds, shuffling about in vomit-encrusted shellsuits, might be inspired to go down the polling booth, the noo, it doesn't matter that they cannae do that writing shite.

Those clever Alexander people, together with Nutter Brown, have fucked Labour more severely in Scotland than in England, Brown's one appearance at the Dunfermline by election handing it to the Toilets party.

So unnaturally, blood-curdlingly unpleasant, so viscerally repulsive, so nail-scrapingly on blackboard unnerving is this overstretched and overpromoted, cowardly and unpricipled unfortunate freak of nature that he wouldn't win an election in his own front room.

Even the people of Fife will never re-elect him, not even at gunpoint: Awa' and get tae fuck wi' ye, ye mad, snot-eating lunatic, yer no' representing me, awa' noo or I'll call the polis. An' dinnae come back nae more. D'ye hear, g'an, awa' wi ye, ye fucking eejit.

The Iraq occupation and all - via Jack Torture, Jackie Snotbuns, Blind Boy Blunkett, Lord Reid of Kabul and those sourgaced Ulster presbyterian cocksuckers - that has flowed from it, remain huge in Scotland's admirable, high-minded, dissident consciousness. Dawn raids, child internment, rendition flights, waterboarding, illegal munitions transport and Trident - all part of Brown's human rights agenda, rankle here ia way that they don't South. Labour is fucked in Scotland. Absolutely fucked.

And while, for many in Scotland, voting for the Jock Tribesmen is an act as uncivilised and abominable as keeping dogshit in the 'fridge, times are hard and Labour is rightly sees as public enemy number one.

The JockBeeb has its own rentagob psephologist, light entertainer and pretend professor, John Curtice, and these things are probably best left to people like him, withour proper jobs to go to. We might, however, consider. for ourselves that even those generationally affixed to the Labour Party are sickened to their stomachs by the Mandelson-Brown-Blair coup and the serried, suited ranks of thieving, degenerate ponces it has engendered on all sides of the house of commons.

Maybe Glasgow's Labout voters will, in fact, accomplish the overdue, necessary act from which Gordon - sick, mad, bad, spiteful, bilious, paranoid, fucked-up, rotten and filthy, floundering and hopeless - shrinks.


Maybe, even amid the pigmy tumult of Salmond's ignorant and fascistic Jock horde, it will be Brown's own countrymen, of his own party, who will persuade him, by their lack of support, that it really is time to Come out Gordon. Come out and fuck off. Now, party suicide, that would be a Labour victory worth talking about.

July 1, 2008 1:53 PM

stanislav said... ...sanctimonious prats, the brothers Dimb

Anonymous said...

There must be some dirt on those sanctimonious prats the Dimblebey brothers. J was amanuensis for Chaz Windsor. D former member of Bullers and he is a patronising sod and very anti Tory. They are both serious shaggers.

June 30, 2008 3:10 PM

Stanislav said...

Dear Mr Anonymous

...sanctimonious prats, the brothers Dimb

Oh please, God, send us some of that Dimbleby shit. I'll become a Mick, go to confession and everything; right in there with the noncing monsignors. A Hebie, even, change my name to MoshePlumbcheap4U and live on fucking anchovies and that fucking miserable bastard faminebread that's like sweepings-up from the floor of the Digestive biscuit factory, mixed with piss and dried in the airing cupboard. Grow a beard and live in Golders Green.

There's already something, innit, about those two and their respective Mrs Dimblebys.. Something aside from their wholly improper, hereditary lifelong domination of current affairs at the Beeb, that is.

Was Johnno there when Charlie went round to see Major Parker-Bowles ? Come to roger your old woman, don't mind do you. Not at all, Sir, not at all. Not on the rags is she, wouldn't want to be slipping her one in the servants entrance, eh, although come to think about, might make a change. Slip off now Parker-Wotsit and amuse yourself while I dip the royal wick in your wife, the mother of your children. Diana ? No idea, probably chomping on some wog doctor's cock, there must be a few she hasn't blown. Mad cunt. Threw herself down the stairs the other night, just like that. Anyway, all officers and gentlemen here, Mum's the word and there's a colonelcy in it for you. A brigade, maybe. Him ? One of those Dimbleby oiks. Dunno, old bean, just hangs around, grovelling; he can come and help me on and off with the old rubber johnny, eh, make himself useful. Won't be long old chap. Come and give her one yourself when I'm done, if you like. She's your Mrs.. Tally Ho! Dieu et mon droit, what?

June 30, 2008 4:31 PM

stanislav said... From the Jocksman, one of the many British newspapers driven into the ground by MrJock Neil of the BBC.

stanislav said...

From the Jocksman, one of the many British newspapers driven into the ground by MrJock Neil of the BBC.

Scotland's McBaath party was celebrating in the streets yesterday after the beheading of it's sworn enemy, Wendy al Halibut, leader of the bin Alexander tribe; haggises were discharged into the air as grown men, sort of, wept for joy, their hands up each others' kilts, tongues down each others throats, in traditional McBaath fashion.

Vengeful, melancholy, embittered morons stormed the message boards of the Jock press, sat at home in their high-rise blocks, in the biggest council estate in England, eating lard pies, swigging Scotsmac and Irn Bru, the mad wee fantasists, probably wearing their skirts and their wee plaid socks, bless, leapt on any who declined the poisoned Nationalist chalice.

Ranting of the coming one-party McBaath state, these poor semi-literate, peasant tribesmen, the al-See-You-Jimmys, cutting and pasting the Infidels' comments and adding That's shite that is, you labour twat, - much too dumb to paraphrase or summarise, much less originate - gave a fair impersonation of 1930s Berlin or 1990s Baghdad, heedless that this is what poor Jock - like Fritz and Abdul - always does, follows some Messiahanic, jumped-up, cheesy sound-biting would-be Princeling into poverty and ignominy and while he often escapes to Europe, Jock doesn't.

Poor Jock cannae see that Kings, Princes and political careerists are just that. It is their own grandeur and conceit which concerns them, their own legacy, which, even should they raze and ruin all about, transcends.



Sitting, though, with his press secretary, Mr Ian Kneepads McWhirter of that ilk, surrounded by a crack regiment of the feared McBaath Revolutionary Guard (Grand Vizier Lady Sir Sean Connery and his Magic Sword, the hermaphrodite ginger singing duo, the al-Proclaimers and Lulu bin Botox ) and toasting events with a chilled glass of his own piss, the McBaath leader, Caliph Sheikh Ali bin Salmond, promised that he would sequester the salary and pension of the late Ms bin Halibut and add it to the three or four he currently received as leader of the Jock Caliphate, from the Infidel Englander taxpayers. As well as the five million dollars from his Local Democracy Secretary, Mr McDonald McTrump. He would do this, give this money to himself, he said, to cheers, for Scotland.

(The daft wee ginger bastards don't see that the bin-Salmond Jock Emirates will be merely a tiny dependent region of the unelected New European Order of Mandelson and Kinnock, Alec a fat, pompous satrap.)

He was now, he thought, smugly, the undisputed leader of the entire Jock Diaspora, which ran through job centres, battered wives refuges, prisons, detoxification units, STD cinics and mortuaries all across the known world. Crack open a barrel of my ain pish, the 2007 vintage, and drink ye your fill, lads, make yourselves worthy of me.

Ye shall be my weapons of mass inebriation, my warriors of idleness. Awa' ye tae Coventry, Birmingham and London, knife folk in the back, head-butt the Infidel when he expects ye not. But dinnae say I told you or we're all fucked.

Sheikh Ali, a pretend economist and a short, balding, oily little chap in built-up shoes had even more reason than usual to be pleased with himself. His octogenarian pretend wife was in a tent at the far side of the camp, tending the camels, McWhirter of The Herald was pleasuring him and he had adoring ginger men in skirts and shiny shoes all around, joyfully complicit in their own great Caravan to Doom.

Alec Ahbar !Alec Ahbar! Alec is Great, went up the cry around the camp as Jock Suicide Drinkers assembled, anxious to enter MacParadise and claim their free seventy-two beating-wives.

Far away, in London, Ali bin Salmond's other sworn enemy, el Sultan al presbyterian Gordon bin Brown was in a most mighty, tumultuous strop, biting other people's fingernails, hurling telephones at his secretaries, dashing every few minutes into the toilet for a fierce bout of dry masturbation, cursing Donald bin Skinflint Dewar and Tony el Miranda Blair with equal venom.

They fucking bastards up there, they'll fucking do for us, they will, give 'em their own fucking bastards parliament and look how the fucking bastards fucking well behave.

Regime change. That's the fucking answer. Send for the fucking army. Whaddayamean the army's no' fucking here, its stuck up some fucking wog mountainside in the arse-fucking-hole of fucking bastard fucking nowhere, where nobody, nobody, not even the whole bastard Red Fucking Army has ever beaten these beardy fucking wog arse bandits. What's it fucking doing there ? What ? John fucking Reid sent it there ? For a nice, wee rest ? The fucking useless, smelly little Weegie gangster, i knew he'd be in on it.

At the Zimbabwe Independent, Yasmin Alibhai Moslem and Jojo Lardboy Hari were quite lost for words. Yabbo hoped that, as Ali bin Salmond's co-religionist, she would be able to make-up some Speaking-as-a-moslem-woman rubbish in advance of the next Question Time; JoJo took some more drugs, inhaling, he hoped, inspiration and not cancer.

Mr stanislav, the former artisan and now prime ministerial spokesplumber reflected ruefully that, having mentioned brother Mugabe's similarities to Mr Brown, the prime minister, at some length yesterday, he seemed to be getting somewhat out of sync with what passes in Britain, for fucking reality and had better have a quick kip in the back of the van before he warped into another dimension, entirely.

June 30, 2008 1:30 PM

stanislav said...The art of politics is looking after numero uno with any good for the voters a fortunate and often accidental side effect.

Seaxe said...

Hmmmm, The good lady Poppinjay, she of the liberality with "favours", smarmy, smug, patronising child of Sunny Jim, worked her way up from the top, fancy school in south London path through every day life smoothed and cleared by Daddy and well connected friends. More socialising than socialist but a force to be reckoned with in the world of nepotism. Merit? Pah! Still, what did we expect? Daddy was a socialist from the working classes, so she would marry a bricklayer and live happily ever after on a nice little housing state in Milton Keynes. Where she brings up three kids who go to a local comp. They scrimp and save and by the time they have been married forty years they retire to a little bungalow near St. Leonards. "Nice 'ere innit?"

The art of politics is looking after numero uno with any good for the voters a fortunate and often accidental side effect.

June 29, 2008 4:59 PM

stanislav said...

Dear Mr Seaxe

Amen, brother, hang 'em high, hallelujah, hang 'em high.

You just forgot that the obnoxious fuckpig Callaghan extended his patronage to son-in law and pretend economist, Peter Smarm, then married to his giant daughter, by appointing him UK Ambassador to the US. Margaret showed her pedigree by banging,as mentioned above, the Washington press corps.

Pete Smarm, having ditched the old slapper, Callaghan-Jay, became, briefly, the most embarrassing Economics editor ever sinecured by the BBC, worse than Fatarse Flanders and twinky Evan Davies combined. The Jay-Callaghans, an entirely rubbish couple, propelled by crooked Labour connections to heights infinitely above their joint or individual merits.

This horrid old outsize boot, sent by Socialist Farmer Jim to an exclusive, fee-paying, ladies' leg-spreading college, has championed state education while, like radical socialist MP, Diane Lard, educating her own spawn privately and expensively.

Jay's only experience of work is, like Gordon Brown's and her former husband's, in sucking cocks up and down the corridors of the BBC, Repulsive old slags, all of them. Baroness my arse, horrible old slapper. Up against the wall, motherfuckers.

June 29, 2008 6:26 PM

Cassandra said...

Stanislav,

A few addenda:

La Jay attended Blackheath High School GPDST which, at the time, was a direct grant school so it is possible that she had a "free place" i.e. was funded by the state as a substantial proportion of the girls would have been at that time. The Direct Grant system enabled many kids from less affluent backgrounds to attend selective academic schools. I forget who abolished it...

La Jay has a full CV. She was appointed as the first Director of the National AIDS Trust in spite of being the daughter of a former PM and the cousin by (ex)marriage of Virginia Bottomley. She was later given a peerage having, through her Ugandan discussions with one of the Government's main AIDS experts, provided a sterling example to yoof.

June 29, 2008 9:09 PM

stanislav said...

Dear Mr Cassandra

stanislav go in direct fucking grant grammar school and not notice any peerage and life of ermine in subsidised bar and restaurant and brothel flowing his fucking way, innit, no job on quango with fifteen grand for half day a fucking month rubberstamping bent doctors. Maybe is because of plumbing heritage and not socialist egaliotarian aristo like Hilary Millionaire Benn, the unspeakable cunt and this poxed-up old bicycle, Jay and no, Mr Beast, you need eye test, can get fix-up off laser eye plumbing service for few hundred of pounds, stanislav can do if hand is steady. Unlike Mr Bob and Mr Guido and Mr Tuscan from Cyber Alcoholics AnonymousRus

Next time you feel like catching clap off Callaghan junior, instead just phone stanislavplumbcheap4u, get good earbashing, go away a sadder and a wiser beastman. Y'know, like wedding guest in Rime off Ancient Plumber, innit.

It is an Ancient plumber and he stoppeth one of three. The guests are met, the table set, now, wherefore stopp'st thou me ? Is mine khazi fuck-ed-up, with turd and condom and sanitary towel and bogroll flowing down mine esteem-ed staircase....etc.

June 29, 2008 11:14 PM

stanislav, a young polish plumber said... Here in HMP UK we have other fish to fry.

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Dear Mr Englishman Abroad at 11.31

Yes, they have us stumbling abiout in a wilderness of mirrors. Yes, what is it with all this Zimbabwe shit ? Who gives a fuck? No, really, who gives such a fuck that it's all over the antique media? Emily Stick Insect and Jon Sopel wetting themselves under the newsreaders' desk; useless, thieving, Kofi Anan lisping himself into a frenzy of helplessness; ArchfuckingBishopfucking Tutu, Peace, Man-ing all over the place, and Reconciliation, wretched meddling grandstanding fucking hobgoblin And Billy the Kid doing his This is ay very serious matter Mr Deputy Spanker ay, might I say, very serious matter ah ah ah Mr Deputy Spunker, so serious that ay paid clown, Mr Deputy Splasher, of the after-dinner variety, such as the right honourable member, myself, should fuck off, not to put ah-ah too fine ay point on it, out of it; that will be fifteen hundred guineas, please....Did I ever tell members and right honourable members of my experience of drinking ay very considerable number, ay-ay-ay very considerable number of pints of coarse alcohol with some rough, muscular, perspiring working-class laddies, well, let me assure members of this place and the other place that I very quickly learned the ah ah ah veracity, Mr Deputy Spunker, of that old popular song, There Ain't Nothing Like Ay Gangbang, indeed there ain't Mr Deputy Spanker, indeed there ain't. There surely ain't, Nothing like ay gangbang. And ay session of sweaty, one-nation Tory man-love in the gym with Lord Sebastian is far more agreeable than being, if I may say so, the gangbangee.

And Nick Suit and Haircut, God fucking help us, the Chief Toileteer, pretending to be a world statesman, worthless, worthless, worthless cunt; Yes, I know it will be difficult for Zimbabweanesians to eat, without money being sent them from the UK but I have thought long and hard about it and, in my opinion, starve they must. There are more important things than living, although not for me, of course, rich people are more valued, after all, born, like myself, to lead. Into the toilets. Am I happy that some brown people may starve? No, of course I'm not, but better them than me and anyway, how else am I to distinguish my own leadership style from that of Field Marshal Ashdown's or my immediate predeceased leader, Mr Ming Whatsit QC, the old Scotch corpse. Am I saying that if I ruled the world everyday would be the first day of Spring? why, yes, I suppose I am. And if you are asking me, or as is more often the case in my interviews, am I asking myself, would every head be held up high, sunshine in everyone's eye then the answer is yes, only not counting the starving Zimbabweanesianites.

Who is this cunt, Clegg ? Who, in Zimbabwe or anywhere the fuck else cares what he thinks? Fucking idiot. Libdems, he said, far from going nowhere in the polls, are taking over the manning of toilets all over the North. Never mind that, what about a referendum on Europe?

Our Chinese friends whip the kidneys out of petty thieves before the bullet has gone through the back of their necks and come out the other side; China is a one-party gerontocratic dictatorship, too, with a dismal approach to human rights and a politics built on mountains of murdered citizens, yet Sir Ian Blair-Bendover allows armed Chinese thugs to roam the streets of London manhandling British citizens; David Millipede, the pretend foreign secretary doesn't say a word about that, horrible, malformed, hereditary fascist, yet he "expects" this, that and the other of Zimbabwe, like he was Lord fucking Nelson. As though anybody in the world gives a fuck what he says, most insignificant foreign secretary in history, good for fuck all, what must people think when they see this creep and the prime minister mincing around, the world, pretending to speak for Britain, looking for babies to purchase, spunkless, anaemic little turd; be better off with a Teletubbie in the FO.

Saudi Arabia and all those other eyeball-scoffing, barbarian shitholes chop people's heads and limbs off and stone women to death and yet Big Nancy Brown is over there making an even bigger cunt of himself than he already is; difficult though that is to accomplish, he is doing his very best. No censuring of Sheikh Ali Baba from our principled prime minister.

India throws young women alive into the funeral pyres of their dead old husbands, fucking savages, and considers many of its citizens to be sub-human, no talk from Millipede or Nick Halibut of economic sanctions against the Indian democracy.

And as for a few hundred deaths and some thousands made refugee in Zimbabwe, the UK parliament's support of Dubya's banditry in Eye-rack has killed maybe a million, maimed more and made millions refugee; Uncle Bob Mugabe's crimes are small beer compared with those of our own ZanuLab government and many others with whom we enjoy cordial relations. Why isn't the BBC showing tne ongoing reality of Iraq, four Global oil cartels now forcing, via the US puppet government, thrity year contracts ceding Ieaq's oil to GlobaCorp, without so much as a kiss-my-arse to the people who own it. Don't hear Emily taxing her limited intelligence with that one.


If Mugabe is all that bad and relatively speaking he is not, then its a matter for that idle cunt Tabu M'beki and all those other tinpot, head-shrinking, cannibal tribalists jointly running Africa into the ground, starving its peoples and shoving my money into Swiss bank accounts, let them cut his liver out and eat it before his eyes, like they do, bless, or let them dismember his grandchildren, hack them limb from limb with their charming, traditional machetes and that great sense of rhythm. It's their continent, Let them get on with it. Leave Gordon the JockBeast to his wanking, something he's good at

Here in HMP UK we have other fish to fry; a fascistic hegemony, characterised by the repulsive Mandelson, the swinish Kinnocks and the grinning Blairs, rimming each other around European capitals at my expense, dismantles, before our very eyes, everything good, quirky, different about this funny, imperfect little set of islands and they have the effrontery to tell us that even though they are not elected they know, better than we, the people, what is good for us. This, the destruction of the UK is rather more important than some shithole in Africa which, whoever is in power, will quickly revert to tribal type. That's what happens, that's what they do in Africa. Bob Geldof and his vile pampered degenerate spawn can go all go and fuck themselves with a knobkerrie. And Mr Bono, him too. Cunt.

Talk about bent elections in Africa, we have in the UK a prime minister doubly illegitimate; firstly, he is elected to Westminster by an electorate to which he is not accountable and he should take no part in implementing legislation for England and secondly, at the last general election, Cardinal Blair pledged that he would serve, if that's the word, a full term as prime minister. A bogus MP, Brown and bogus PM.

The very, very least the Labour Party should have done, if it had a shred of honour, the very least Brown should have insisted upon was the calling of an immediate general election to validate his position. Instead this wretched,cowardly, bullying, mis-shapen, ill-tempered and unqualified freak attempts to bamboozle the democratic process with Jock blether about values, the rotten, two-faced, presbyterian hypocrite; instead, this stuttering, gibbering, squirming, shameless snot-eating prick dismantles our rights, our freedoms and pollutes the very temper of our discourse, sewing fear and suspicion among a people who - without the co-operation, mind, of Jean-Jacques and Mario and Sven, all then busy bending over for Fritz - withstood not just a July bombing but a daily blitz of hundreds of tons of hot metal falling on their heads, lasting for years.

Gordon M'Brown, Jacqui M'Smith and Jack M'Torture are a far greater menace to this country and, demonstrably, the world, than is Robert Mugabe. All would imprison their citizens without charge, all, especially M'Torture, would accept as evidence material obtained by barbarism, cruelty and terror; all mock the electoral process, all act as judge and jury in their own cases, all empower politicised police chiefs to gun down law-abiding citizens; all would urge detention without charge, trial with anonymous witnesses, the curtailing and eventual abandonment of jury trials; all support kidnap, torture, rendition, massive embezzlement, fraud and corruption extending even to appointments to the legislature; taxpayers' money funneled to dodgy financiers, books cooked, statitics cooked, graft, incompetence, malfeasance and international banditry; the citizen locked-out of a crooked state propaganda broadcaster; aren't these aspects of modern Britain exactly what so many mean here by the epithet ZanuLabour ?

When we have a referendum or an election, when the thieving bastards in Brussels and Westminster, especially le famille Kinnock, are sacked and jailed, instead of mildly admonished by their own, then it might be time for wall-to-wall bitching about Zimbabwe, but preferably China. In the meantime, Zimbabwe is a useful diversion for those who so mis-serve us and for their pimps in the antique media.

George Steiner wrote that the holocaust happened because the Berlin intelligentsia was too engrossed listening to the string quartet in the salon to hear the cry in the street. We are heading rapidly into a Euro police state and we dally with Zimbabwe at our peril. The phony, aching conscience of Radio Four, the faux reportage of Newsnight, the stagey confrontations of Jock Neil and the bogus liberalism of Rusbridger's Guardian, this ensemble is our string quartet, this is the fifth column, we have our own regiment of Mugabes, gleefully force-feeding each other with public money, pensions, honours and mansions; these and not Zimbabwe should be the focus, these, the fascists of MediaMinster, are the real enemy, the enemy within.

June 29, 2008 2:40 PM

stanislav said...

ps. thanks Guido and others for the sleaze digest. How low are we sunk that such a thing can be so routinely assembled, without there being a national outcry ?

June 29, 2008 2:44 P

Dennis said...

Marshall's daughter -- looks distinctly porcine to me, esp. the uptilt on the nostrils.

Her pater was a Glaswegian bus conductor, just the kind of high-octane talent that has thrust UK plc into the forefront of the world economy. He considered each and every parliamentary vote on its merits and by the exacting demands of his conscience. Not for him the swinish conformity into which lesser MPs are bullied by the whips.

He will be a great loss to the country. His grateful constituents will rightly spurn the opportunist advances of the SNP.

Or not, as the case may be.

June 29, 2008 2:33 PM

stanislav said...

Dear Mr Dennis

I thought we were agreed. Your bit is punctuation, re-hashing Juke Box Jury with Mr Beast; securing the bonnet catches on Triumph Herald variants; issues around having sexual relations with dwarves and mobility challeneges faced by disabled bell-ringers, y'know, old-aged cripple shit. You leave Jock to me; there'll be trouble, else.

love from stanislav

June 29, 2008 5:46 PM

Dennis said...

Stan, fair enough. To you I bequeath any and all surrealist bile encompassing the usual Hibernian suspects, as: Kirsty McWarrrk, Wendy and Doogie, Speaker McMartin of That Trough, Robert McGabe, Archbishop McTutu, Thabo McBeki -- who I found today is an "alumnus" of my own university & with another tinted student gentleman haunted many of the low caffs and pubs frequented by my vanished self, including a restaurant called The Black Cat, on the streetdoor of which, one midday when I required victuals, I was not really astonished to find a sign reading "Closed for Lunch". Said McBeki preceded me there by quite a few years and was enrolled in another School, but still the association is disagreeable and clouds otherwise happily memories, enfumed in cannabis, of obliging middle-class girls freed for the first time from the shackles of home.

June 29, 2008 10:22 PM

stanislav said...A statement prepared by Mr Brown

stanislav said...

A statement prepared by Mr Brown on the event of his friend, lieutenant, and sister of his ADC, Mr Douglas McFerret, Miss Wendy McHalibut, being drummed oot the Gay Gordons. The statement was delivered by Mr Brown's plumber and honorary Jock, Mr stanislav, on the steps of Downing St., all government spokespersons being unavailable.



"I would just like to thank Ms Nessy for her sterling service to the Labour Party up in Scotland, one of the very best parts of England; for her shrewd and considered leadership and mature judgement. I would like to put on record the appreciation of all who believe in equality, social justice and opportunity, tempered, of course, with Obedience, for her exemplary conduct and most of all for the way in which she has harried that bitch, Salmond.

As I said, I would like to make these tributes but this loudmouthed, fish-faced, Jock slapper fuck-up has buggered us completely. We are totally fucked; we were fucked before but now we are so fucked we can't hardly walk, we are fucked in a way that Raymundo Mandelson of Los Tory Rentboys never endured, even when he was being squired by the entire Opposition front bench, William.

Not enough that that bastard Hain is up to his arse in it, not enough that Ed and his bitch are a laughing stock, that the party hasn't a pot to piss in, couldn't fight an election for parish councillor, not enough that CokeFace is running London, that the BNP beat us in Henley and those gravedigging bastards are all set to kick off again and half the country's soon to be in negative equity, shivering and carless, and that's just the tip of the fucking iceberg, comrades; as if this wasn't bad enough that fucking stupid ugly cow puts the cap on it by getting barred rfom that fucking pretend parliament, in Glasgow, or whatever jock shithole it's in. Thanks to this ugly minger we will all be a laughing stock, alright then, a bigger laughing stock.

Wendy Alexander has now completely rubbished, degraded and fucked the national Labour Party and if Sid and Doris, the party members, had any sense they'd throw me out and save what they can but axiomatically, the fact that I'm here at all, stuttering, is proof that they have no sense.

All is not lost though and the people of Britain may yet see me guide them through the global economic turbulence which has not been created either by myself or my friends in the banks but by terrorists at the Meteorolgical office; we may yet all benefit from the right long-term decisions for hard-working gullible, nomeless British families which I and only I can make, decisions like appointing the Alexanders to positions of influence and power.


Douglas Alexander, let us not forget, with His Grace the Earl Kinnock, was way ahead of Brother Mugabe, bringing a touch of ZimbabweDemocracy to the last, rigged, Jock election, even though it didn't quite produce the desired result, but he's only young, and I do love him so.

And Wendy, well, my tribute, and the debt we all owe her cannot be put into words.

We, or I, must not be sidetracked by shame, humiliation, incompetence, dishonesty and wretchdness. Let us not forget that when Brother Bush was at his lowest, in his first term, when people questioned his legitimacy and the result of the election, in his very darkest hour, the Lord sent the terrible events of nine-eleven to assist him. And who would doubt that his subsequent handling of events has made the world a much better place while greatly increasing the bank balances of some prominent Labour politicians and their witchwives.

And so it may prove with me, events, dear boy may deliver us from the abyss, from this black hour, into one deeper and darker yet.

As the great Labour poet, Dr Bob McDylan remarked When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose.

We will now sing the New British Psalm for Hard-working British families: Gordon is my shepherd, I shall not want, He maketh me down to lie, and shit in my face and tax me to death, the quiet waters by.

Thank you ladies and gentlemen. There will be no further comment until the terrorist attack happens."

June 28, 2008 3:30 PM

stanislav said... we never win the election, it is always they who win.

stanislav said...

Eileen Critchley said...
Ok so we win the next election - tell me something I didn’t know!

You don't know about pronouns, sweet thing; we never win the election, it is always they who win.

Dave Thing will win, as you put it, just as Jock Three Salaries Salmond scraped-in here in Scotland - enough people were pissed off at his stuttering Lordship, the clown McConnell and his ScotLab municipal gangsters, all bent as nine-bob notes and voted for the Sean Connery Wife-beating Party of Salmond, of the doddering imbecile, Swinney, and the winsome, shitehawk lawyer, Nicola Moustache, now busy spreading C-Diff through Scotland's hospitals, as if they hadn't enough problems acting as pox clinics and drying-out centres for Mr McDelicious's homeless, alcoholic, workshy relations, bless their burdensome, beetle-browed, syphilitic, ginger heads.

This revulsion at Labour has been spun by Porky Alec and the unspeakably stupid Scotch press as a victory for Nationalism, when, in fact, more people voted against the smirking little demagogue, than for him.

Polish plumbers, however, well acquainted, historically, with the toxicity of Nationalist Socialist parties like the SNP, to a man, still voted for that same SNP because the alternative Labour/ToiletsParty coalition was even more worser, as English Literature graduates now say, after ten years of education-education-education, Blair-style.

The same will happen here, Eilleen, should an election be permitted. A few will vote for the shape-shifting, shit-spouting blowhard, Dave oh-so-pretty-vacant Toff and his gang of pinstripe bankers, wankers, chisellers, lawyerbastards, thieves and degenerates; most, though, will vote against the walking dead of the Labour party. And the whole grim pantomime will start up again.

Kiddie pornster and spokesperson of a generation, Mr Pete Nose of the 'oo is quoted here frequently -meet the new boss, same as the old boss...won't get fooled again et cet. And it's right enough. But for those, like Madam Critchley, suggesting that a game of musical chairs down Westminster is a victory for us, we Poles would suggest the words of the great Warsaw satirist, the late Mr Bill Hickski: Whoever you vote for the government always gets in. They win, we lose. We are the outsiders, peering in at matters too grave for our feeble minds, down on our knees, respect in our hearts, shit on our faces.

June 27, 2008 12:33 PM

stanislav said... A statement issued on her behalf by Ms Alexander's plumber on the occasion of her resignation, this morning.

stanislav said...

A statement issued on her behalf by Ms Alexander's plumber on the occasion of her resignation, this morning.

"See youse, youse on the standards committee, youse is just a buncha sleekit wee basturds an' see the next leader of this great party, we'd just better hope that there's nae fucking aboot wi' all this donations shite, cos otherwise there'll be nay fucker willing tae take on the job, the noo, d'ye ken. An' it's only fucking money after all, Ah'm awa off tae ma brother see if he cannae get me a job in London, wi' all they other jocks.

An' Ah'd just like to say the noo, that Ah'm no' resigning cos ah've done anything wrong, fuck me, no. It's just 'cos we couldnae get any other fucker to take the blame. See that Jackie Baillie, fuckin' shite she is, English bastard. Ah'll be awa' the noo and maybe get a peerage offa that big jessie, Gordon Broon, while he's still wearing his jacket the right way roond. Which willnae be too long Ah'm thinking, before he's wearing one a they ones wi' the arms tied up and all they straps and chains and things doon the side. Fuckin' mad bastard.

Ah'm thinking that Ah've served the Labour Party very well in ma short term as leader; it is, the noo, well and truly fucked, although Ah cannae claim all the credit maself, everybody's done their wee bit but it's thanks tae me, Wendy McFishFace, that we'll nae be bothered wi' power for a very long time.

We'll be passing the hat arroond the noo for ma holiday and we hope ye'll all be makkin large silent donations, as big as you can fucking manage, this time. No fucking aboot wi' all this just under a grand shite."

June 28, 2008 12:38 PM

stanislav, a young polish plumber said... The Plumbers Guild cancelled it's Trannygraph subscription

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Those two trannies in the picture the other day, shuffling along the Embankment. The one at the back, in the stockings, that was Heffer and the one at the front was Janet Moustache, the American lady, the one with the thing for Punishment.

They were being followed by a small troupe of fans led by Mr Simon Coulter from Spain, all wearing tee-shirts bearing statements such as: spot-on as usual, Mr Heffer; spot on as usual Mr Daley, spot on as usual Ms Parris; Way to Go, Mr Littlejohn, one man, straggling at the back, his tee-shirt said I love Jeremy Clarkson, spot-on, as usual, Mr Clarkson and they were all marching into the river.

The Plumbers Guild cancelled it's Trannygraph subscription on the death of honourary plumber, Mr Auberon Waugh, the last great British journalist. The rest of them are cunts, every last fucking one of them, cunts. Utter fucking rubbish, good for fuck all, a fucking pollution; slags, ponces, arseholes.

What kind of a pretend journalism would give house room to Peaches fucking Geldof, for fucks sake; Muriel Gray, Piers Moron, Toilets Maguire, Kneepads White, David Aaronobitch, Yasmin Alibi Muslim and that utterly obnoxious freak of nature, JoBoy Hari, the twittering lardman of the Independent.

What kind of journalism, more importantly, would dance to the tune of the criminal Alistair Campbell, why didn't someone in the ridiculous lobby just punch this prick in the mouth, save a million lives. Or two.

They will, the so-called quality press, all go the way of the Trannygraph and all these slags will be working, officially, for the heirs to the Murdoch pornography empire, not just moonlighting, like Sir Michael.

The voices of the people, connected, skyped, g-mailed and blackberried across all the continents, unfiltered, bypassing the mush and drivel of the BBC are now heard here, in the vast quadrants of cyberspace. Fuck off Heffer, you horrible, sanctimonious, know-it-all, purple-faced degenerate and take your band of braindead groupies with you, useless, idle bastard.

June 28, 2008 8:06 AM

stanislav said... Shame on us, not only did we lose the real war on Terror, we didn't even put up a fight.

stanislav said...

More TV reviews. Newsnight 26th June

Congress in the US is - better late than never and maybe bouyed up by the iminent departure of the Evil Chimp - getting to grips with all this torture shit that Bush has authorised in Cuba.

Newsnight showed tape of some fucking horrible, non-human bastard who is Cheney's Torture Boy in Chief, appearing before a Congressional committee; it was like watching Goering at Nuremberg.

Even for the dumbest redneck asshole in America, this geezer spelled out just how corrupt, arrogant and - most of all - wicked is this Bush-Cheny-Haliburton administration and, by association, how vile it's major ally in the coalition of the warmongers - us, the UK.

The Chairman of the Committe was, rightly, nearly choking, when he read from a CIA instruction book on waterboarding - "it is a matter of perception, whether this is torture or not, the body reacts to this procedure as though it was drowning, even though it is not; if the subject dies it means you have done it wrong" - the Chairman said, in so many words, you're shittin me, right ? waddayamean torture is a matter of perception ? how the fuck did we get here, where the US government is doing this shit to defenceless detainees in our custody ? The witness, confident of his immunity from prosecution, or if that failed his inevitable free pardon, told the chairman and all interlocutors to go fuck themselves.

Our prime minister stands next to the instigator of these six-year long atrocities, squirming and simpering and calls him friend, calls him saviour.

Torture, then, is a point on the presbyterian Brown's moral compass. Torture is one of his values. The use of torture is one of the right long-term decisions which he and his fellow sewer-dwellers are making, on our behalf.

Down there in Hell, with all the other dead presbyterian ministers, Brown senior must be really feeling the heat of that poker up his arse. His freaky, nail-biting, snot-eating, gay son of the manse relishing, as he clearly does, the counsel and the company of torturers, war criminals, gangsters and degenerates, shying away from ordinary, decent people, from whom he knows he would receive scant approval, let alone comfort, from whom he would get short shrift, hear but the one blunt rejoinder, Come out Gordon and Fuck Off.

And now this, even his Democrat chums in Washington and some Republicans, too, crying foul! Even as his own country shames and excoriates him, George Bush becomes Gordon Brown's new best friend.

NewLabourNewTory, the party that -honestly misled by the dipsomaniac depressive, illiterate pornographer, Alistair Campbell - made torture respectable again.

They know no shame, these people, neither Gordon the freak or Dave the worthless shapeshifting phony; Spelman, the bitch Alexander and her ill-featured ratspawn kin; the whole shithouse, filled with rank upon rank of chancers, thieves, ponces and perverts. Shame is not in their grubby repertoire of feigned emotions. But it should be in ours.

Jack Straw, Tony Blair, Geoff Hoon, Michael Howard in particular, but nearly everyone in Westminster, save the toilets party, have endorsed the torturing to death of people captured, more or less at random,pulled off the streets and out of the fields by indiscriminate Pakistani bounty hunters.

The shame is ours, that we have such dirty filthy people in power over us; the shame is ours that we are spun this way and that by mouthy morons who would put their grannies, their children on the game; that innocent, or even guilty people are drugged, hooded, chained, beaten, disorientated, deprived of sleep, assaulted by noise, terrorised by dogs, denied their lawyers, their families, their eligion, threatened with guns, sexually assaulted, humiliated and drowned by crewcut, smirking psychobastard flag-waving mommasboys is our shame, it is our shame, it is our shame. Our fathers hanged Nazis and Nips for this sort of thing.

And this vile clumsy, clodhopping, inept, maladroit oaf, Gordon, stands before us, his lies evident from his uncontrollable twitching, his liar's jig, his body twisting, contorting against its own untruths, cudgelling us with tales of imminent Terror, as though Terror, thanks to him and his stooges, had not already successfully colonised, taken root and driven out our freedoms. Shame on us, not only did we lose the real war on Terror, we didn't even put up a fight.

June 27, 2008 3:14 AM

rt. hon. mr jack torture, minister for obedience said...

rt. hon. mr jack torture, minister for obedience said...

It is an honour to follow the honourable member for plumbers who is always pungent in his remarks to this place, I fear, however, that in this instance he wanders a little from his own discipline into that of others more qualified. I refer, of course, to the vexed question of criminal justice which is a rather more demanding subject than, shall we say, the replacement of a u-bend 'neath one's sink. Other ladies and gentlemen members of a more practical bent may have become aware, in their ownership of several properties, that such matters as these are easily remedied by the widely available white plastic plumbing fittings which require little skill in assembly although one must, to do justice to the traditions of this place, claim for the highest quality specialist professional services even if one cleared one's blocked sink with a bent coathanger. In this way is democracy served and the artisan thwarted. Too much, ladies and gentlemen, to my mind, is made of these dubious so-called practical skills of the lower orders and too little of the selfless profesionalism so freely deployed to the public good by right honourable and learned members, such as myself.

But to move to the main thrust, Madam Deputy Spunker, of my remarks, I would like to propose that the experiment with rights, and let's face it, that is all it has been, has been a signal failure. It doesn't matter how many laws we enact - and God knows, we do try to keep 'em coming, so to speak, Madam Deputy Spanker - people simply keep on doing things against which we in this house have no legislative protection.

No matter how many laws, how many emergecny provisions are passed - many only after much heart-searching by our rebel friends on the Labour back benches, rightly anxious of their peerages - it seems that we sinply cannot, by passing laws, contain, the criminality of the average voter.

So serious has this situation become that not only are voters acting in ways which we have not yet made illegal but they are impudently attempting to use against US laws which we passed against THEM.

I propose a simple solution which I am sure will find favour among all honourable and right honourable members. As I have mentioned, no matter how hard we try, by giving people a list of what they may not do, we leave it open to them to devise other, quite legal ways to make a nuisance of themselves, to the disservice of we in this house and our sponsors in the banks and the stock exchange. We are thus, Madam Deputy Splasher, looking down the wrong end of the telescope.

Instead of telling people what they may not do we should simply tell them what they must do. Simple really, so simple that all these recent years we have missed it, even though it stares us in the face. What we must enact, most speedily and I am sure with the full support of all in this house, is a very simple piece of legislation which replaces all others and which states quite simply that people must, without queetion - and on pain of a visit from Sir Iain's gelled-up and macho Democracy-Enforcement Unit - do exactly as they told by those, that is to say us, who know better.

In a proper, adult and mature democracy, Madam Deputy Whiplash, people simply must do as they are told. I so move.

June 26, 2008 1:05 PM

stanislav said... Tough on crime. Parliamentary scrutiny. Honourable members. Aye, right.

stanislav said...

Does this bleating prick make no connection between the activities of those whose knob he so thoruoghly decent chappishly sucks and those of the rat-faced poor? No corrolary between insritutionalised banditry in the elite and street crime in the poor ?

Can he read, for instance, the previous posting in which it is revealed that his employers, friends, clients, masters have awarded themeselves an expenses increase of over two hundred per cent in ten years - the "realms of fantasy," so snortingly dismissed on Radio Government by the obnoxious cunt, MP Keith Purchase, now there's an ironic name for a thieving fucking bastard like him, who wants, demands everything for nothing, MPs are very special public employees, shouldn't have to be bothered by receipts, shouldn't have to pay for food, was the burden of his extraordinary, arrogant, thieving song. A shame the harpy at the Beeb didn't ask about HIS pension, still, giving him two bites at her cherry and Guido just one she will doubtless get herself a twittering book programme or a quiz to run, like good Beeboids do. How many programmes does John Farmer Humphries do, is it four, or five ?

Do these fucking bastards in Mediaville, who now want to rearrange the way trials are conducted in order to ensure convictions of anyone, anyone, anyone deemed by Old Bill as Guilty before Trial, not realise what an example they set to those outside the charmed circle.

Is this thoroughly decent arsehole really so fucking stupid that he doesn't realise that stealing from others, wrongly attacking and killing others and lying, lying, lying to wriggle out of responsibility have become the modus operandi of the burgeoning political caste he represents. It isn't just on here that people are contemptuous of party politics. Doesn't he realise what a remorselesly bad example he sets; speechwriter to the amoral, corrupt, warmongering, ruling cabal chides nasty street urchins. Fuck me it's like the eighteenth century round here.

And no, fuck off, it wouldn't be any better under Lord Snooty. This is a Uni-party hegemony, just a matter of whose turn it is to shit in our faces and rearrange, for the greater good of themselves, our rights.

Heard some braying tory oik last night, one of their screeching, Ministry of Injustice shadows, agreeing that those whom the police deem a priori guilty of violent crime, must, in the interests of justice, be denied a fair trial. There you are, the police say they are guilty, evrybody knows they are guilty so in the interests of justice we must frame them up, give 'em a fair trial in which they can't challenge the evidence against them because they don't know who's giving it and lock 'em up. Official Zanu-Tory policy. But subject to strict parliamentary regulation, you understand, the scrutiny of thieves, jusr like the expenses of Gorbals Mick.

The more of these people get split lips the better because that's what it's like in the country they have created. Does this prat think criminals arrive from Mars or something. The "career politician" cares only for himself, his own advacement, his own wealth - these are implicit, inescapable, in the phrase "career politician." How dare they rebuke others, engaged in less salubrious forms of crime ?

Tough on crime. Parliamentary scrutiny. Honourable members. Aye, right. As we say in Scotland. Up against the wall, motherfuckers, more like.

June 26, 2008 12:17 PM

debbie, pa to Mr Screwtape said... Special Offer! HellCo has introduced and exclusive line of Male Cosmeceuticals!

debbie, pa to Mr Screwtape said...

Dear Mr TaT
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June 24, 2008 1:18 PM

stanislav said... we have Northern Rock to pay for and all those PFI wallahs will need their beer money soon.

stanislav said...

Yes, Bob, it is the bankers, for whom Cesare and Lucretia Winterton, Tony and Imelda Blair and Darren and Tracy Balls perform a very useful function as lightning conductors; whilst shouting at their relatively minor nose-troughing we miss the worthies at the Lord Mayor's fucking Banquet -how so very 18th century- robbing us blind in virtually every transaction we make and then robbing us again to recover from their own mistakes, McBroon and McBadger covering their masters' backs at every cynical step, framing policy to ease the lives of the obscenely wealthy.

Noses pressed up against the Dimbleby-screen, watching the revolting spectacle of the rich applauding themselves and their servants in government - as they forecast how hard it is going to be, for us but obviously not them - we almost invite the fucking up the arse they so kindly administer to us.

Nose to the grindstone, lads, shoulders to the wheel; we have Northern Rock to pay for and all those PFI wallahs will need their beer money soon. And all the early retirees on public sector pensions, they need keeping in Saga-luxury. The premier himself has set the tone, work day and night, doesn't matter if you do everything wrong, just be good, fuck-witted presbyterians.

Harder work for less wages. British vaaahl-ewes. And remember, this coming winter, wear lots of woollies and walk to work. Remember what's good for the bankers is good for you, it is they and not you who create the wealth, all of it, every fucking penny.

And remember, also, as Debbie, PA to Mr Screwtape sagely remarks, the bankers carefully look after your money as if it was their own. Because it is.

The Tory Bankers party, the Labour Bankers Party or the Toilet Bankers party; you pays, as they say, your money and you takes your choice. Not that, thanks to Channel Dimbleby, there is one.

June 23, 2008 10:53 AM

stanislav said... Triumphant Fisting Premier Returns from Saudi.

stanislav said...

From the Dail Mirror

Triumphant Fisting Premier Returns from Saudi.

by Toilets Maguire.

As premier Brown descended the steps of his aircraft today he made the following statement to assembled journalists:

"I have here in my chewed-to-bits hand a piece of paper bearing my signature and that of Herr Ali Baba, guaranteeing Oil in our time, well some of the time, anyway. If they let us have some oil we will give them the bits of Britain not already owned by themselves and our very good Russian friends.

It is, in my judgement, in the best long-term interests of hard-working British families that they learn to walk from home to work. If they have any jobs to go to. And any homes. Herr Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and I have had useful and productive and meaningful discussions. (trans. he called me a cunt). The humiliation of the UK is, I must stress, not an event, but a process.

Times are hard - none of my fault - and it is only by taking the right, tough decisions, like these, that I can remain prime minister for a bit longer."

June 22, 2008 10:04 PM

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...The BBC, Dingleberry(s) and other trichofaecolith

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

The role of the Corpoation is to educate and inform, who mentioned brainwashing ?


Like the late George Best, Nigel Kennedy is an erratic genius, a British virtuoso, a maestro as accomplished and creative in Johannes Sebastian Bach as in James Marshall Hendrix.

Genuinely perplexed at how freedom is being beasted, here, in Elgarland, happy to step outside his own area of expertise, raise his own unpolished, non-broadcasterly voice in protest, a precious flower, unshaven and dishevelled as, often, are the truly Godly and some fuckwit on Jock Neil's, tedious, self-congatulatory rubbish programme, takes a man who can fill auditoria all over the globe and sets him down on the sofa with the most ignorant,obnoxious, venal, corrupting, rabble-rousing, useless, mouthy fuckpig in British media; a lardy, gabshite, frothing, drunken cunt, long overdue a heart attack, proud of his part in degrading the standard of public discourse, a complete fucking gross embarrassment not just to the nation but to humanity. Kelvin McCunt, like Jock himself, enriched by chewing on Rupert Murdoch's foreskin, getting the little hard bits out from round Rupe's poxed-up, cancerous, Aussie arsehole, whilst casting himself ludicrously, as Everyman, as John Bull, the fucking horrible bastard.

Jesus fucking wept. We don't produce too many proper world class artists but Kennedy, for all his punk affectation, is one of them; obviously it counts for nothing with the ill-mannered cocksucker, McCunt, and less with Jock, happier taking the political temperature with raucous, braying chums more of his own calibre, Peter Stringfellow, Ross Kemp - the fearless East End warrior, beaten up by his Mrs, Rebekka Wade - and fellow Murdochite, Kelvin. Kennedy's people need sacking.

When he was driving the Jocksman into the ground, up in bonny Edinburgh, Neil employed people to clear the poor from his path, can't stand the poor, y'see, being filthy rich; everyone, espouses Neil, can suck the Murdoch knob and walk away with millions in shares.


Warren Beatty made a memorable assault on political tv journalists in an under-rated film, Bullman, I think, in which an eccentric Presidential candidate on one of those phoney US TV debate programmes, says, effectively, c'mon, gentlemen, this is bullshit, isn't it, you are a load of middle-aged, white millionaires asking us load of middle-aged white millionaires a load of bullshit questions, nothing happening here tonight, nothing to see here, just a load of rich people, bullshitting; rather like the BBC

For that is Neil and his stooges; just a load of rich people, bullshitting; Jock Neil, already fabulously wealthy, extracting every last halfpenny from the licensepayer. Look at me, aren't I clever, he smirks, grinding out his lame jokes, feigning affinity with the citizen, as Joe Public, watching at home, wipes the latest shit-barrage from his face.

The Thalidomide expose, forty years ago, was a good scoop by Neil at the Sunday Times but it doesn't mean he has to dominate the public service broadcaster until he fucking well dies in the arms of some nightclub totty, a quarter his age. Is there really no-one else, less smirky, less embedded in the celebrity circuit, more courageous, better informed, less, how shall we say, showbiz? Jock Neil should get a BAFTA, for light entertainment, that's what he is, that's what he does.

And as for Kelvin McCunt and the BBC, no-one at the Corporation has yet raised the propriety of this bulging, redfaced, racist oaf being funded by a US citizen in a UK election Are there no issues of principle here (no point raising questions of legality when talking of Mark Thompson's boys and girls) why have the self-fallating Mr Robinson and the ludicrous twittering caricature Mr Paxman not raised this most obvious concern ? Can any foreign media mogul launch his candidates in our election ? The principle is clearly up for debate and would be even if Billy Bunter McCunt wasn't a repulsive nutter. One thing for Jock Three Pensions Salmond, up in his pretend government Edinburgh to appoint Donald Trump his Minister for Local Democracy but do we want the shitbag Murdoch putting up candidates, here, backed with millions of his untaxed pounds. BBC's missed this one, anxious as it is to rubbish Basher Davies and Naughty, Selfish, Unco-operative Paddy

From the instant that the Irish answer became apparent the BBC has shamelessly spun it as both perverse and anti-democratic, so predictable that it has almost been comforting to see its giants of journalism spewing out exactly what they are told Propaganda Central.

Google, friends, Guido's archive for Dennis on the TV license, they can't touch you, they can't come into your house, these ogres off the TV advert are a private company, fuck 'em. Paying the license tax to an organisation which is so evidently an enemy of the people is an act at best of irresponsibility and at worst of treachery. This ain't Jackanory, this is the wealthy, self-protecting, unaccountable, insidiously fascist media de nos jours. And fuck the Sun, too.


love from stanislav

June 14, 2008 11:57 AM

Dennis said...

The BBC used to be a great institution. No longer.

It depends for its income largely on the licence fee. You must pay them £139.50 a year if you receive real-time TV broadcasts of any description, whether from them or anybody else.

Curiously enough, this itself is in contravention of the European Convention on Human Rights: the BBC is interfering with your right to receive information. So far, despite a couple of low-profile cases, nothing has been done about this. Possibly some private, quid pro quo, arrangement is in force between the BBC and the European Commission -- who knows? It would certainly explain the BBC's hysterically pro-Europe bias.

Anyhoo, the simple answer to the BBC's shite is simply not to pay the telly tax. It's quite easy to do. Full info at www.tvlicensing.biz.

If you want to stay legal, the best option is to get rid of your set. Try it -- it's wonderfully liberating!

P.S. Stan -- "the little hard bits [out from round Rupe's poxed-up, cancerous, Aussie arsehole]" ... for future reference, the term is "dingleberries".

P.P.S. Stan -- if you got rid of your telly you would be spared the sight of such rabid, fat, arrogant slimeballs as Kelvin "His Master's Voice" McKenzie.

June 14, 2008 2:23 PM

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Dear Mr Dennis

Thank you for your kind reproof, which I have considered carefully. With regard to the terminology of Mr McKenzie's career in faeces consumption, dingleberry is, by now, almost arcane and probably incomprehensible to many of order-order's global audience; people in Florida, say, would be saying Dingleberry ? what is this Dingleberry shit ? The Frog would shrug and say Deengle - barree, is like Rosbif, no ? The congregants of O-O who worship here, you see, come not just from the esteemed Crippled Bellringers Guild, the Hazel Dwarf Appreciation Society or the Polish Plumbers Federation; some of them are quite foreign.

Secondly, as to the television, if you can persuade Mrs stanislav that life continueth, even more fruitfully, beyond the Repeated and Learnt by Heart Adventures of Hercule Poirot and beyond Gardeners World of Freak Presenters I will be even more indebted to you than I am currently. Oftentimes I have denuded the house of all television receivers and do delight in their absence; like a plague of locusts, however, they swarm back in and as you will know, once in, they are watched. They are in every wing of the house and virtually unavoidable. For my part it is only the current affairs, or rolling news which I watch, foul-mouthed, sipping from my cocktail of scepticism, mistrust and unalloyed hatred for journalists, especially those at the BBC, whose license-tax, thanks to your own kind offices, I am saving in order that it be shoved, flaming, up lord Levy's arse, should the happy day of his prosecution ever dawn.

You have never, incidentally, satisfactorily, or in any other fashion, explained your recent, long absence; if it was occasioned by surgery upon your spinal excrescence one hopes that it was successful and that all that remains before your re-entry to decent society is a resolution of that little epidermal problem. B&Q, I understand, now sell palm-sanders quite reasonably, a quick rub over with one of which, before leaving home, might prevent you having your usual impact upon children, the faint-hearted and the elderly.


I remain your humble, affectionate servant and, should circumstances beckon, plumber.

June 14, 2008 3:28 PM

Dennis said...

Dear Stan

Thank you for your kind words of enquiry: I was involved in an accident on my trike (my lopsidedness prevents me from riding a bicycle) but have now recovered, no thanks to a certain ginger-haired dwarf, who visited me not, nor did she send flowers, grapes, pornographic magazines, Tanqueray gin, or other desiderata for the convalescent.

I see no reason for dumbing-down. The use of the term "dingleberry" should be more widespread, as there are so many of them around. Mr E. Balls, for example.

Did you know that there are only two objects in the English language which have exact synonyms? These are "gorse" and "furze", and "dingleberry" and "griffnut".

(An aside to Mr Testicles: I always thought a "winnit" was an exceptionally tiny turdlet rather than a globular accretion of hair and dried excrement, but I am ready be to corrected on this point. My usual authority, Dr Skeat, in silent on this matter.)

As for the TV sets, why not just paste on a tea-chest an A4 photograph, landscape-fashion, of Noel Edmonds for Mrs Stanislav to look at? You can then dipose of the offending items and she will be none the wiser, such is the mentality of females.

Your professional advice on the question of sanders is most interesting and, weather permitting, I will pedal down to B&Q tomorrow to investigate.

I am much obliged to you.

Yours truly

Dennis

June 14, 2008 5:07 PM

Dennis said...

Abu Tap Dass

The New Recognised Word Is

Ratsniffer

Vertically Challenged, Differently White Young Person of Afro-Caribbean Ethnicity

Cap'n Haddock

Gentlemen, thank you for your learned contributions to my education. However, I still think Stan should not shrink from using the correct word when the occasion demands it. How otherwise can foreigners, such as Senor Barroso (a fine example of the object in question), be expected to learn English?

June 14, 2008 9:20 PM

Cassandra said...

Entertaining as the the learned debate about trichofaecoliths may be, can anyone answer Stanislav's question about the legality of a British parliamentary election candidate being bank-rolled by a US/Australian citizen?

June 14, 2008 10:36 PM

stanislav, a young polish blumber said...

Dear Mr Mrs Cassandra

Does seem to have been submerged a little in the tide of discord surrounding the matter of anal hygiene. Since first posting the question the repeat of the dire Any Pointless Questions has been broadcast and the Right Reverend Julia Beefburger, herself a member of the Copraphliacs for Proportional
Representation Party - and by the way, should not the items in question become known, appositely, as Cleggies - but, as usual I digress - RAbbi Beefburger, in any event, did at least raise the query about Murdoch and Kelvin McCunt, but none on the distinguished panel picked it up and ran with it, maybe, like Gove, MP, and Parris they all work for Rupe in one way or another. In a week of bizarre events this is the most startling - that this idea can be even mooted without raising widespread consternation among the twitterati; maybe those of the little darlings who go back to work on Monday will raise it in the House, only not Mr Gove, obviously, a man who should surely, in the light of all this, be considering his own position; leaving aside the fact that he shouldn't have a second job at all, can he draw a handsome salary from a man who is funding a candidate opposing his fellow Conservative, Mr Basher Davies ? If Mr Gove were ever to just shut the fuck up for a couple of minutes he might, like the rest of us, see what a cunt he looks.

June 15, 2008 1:12 AM

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...Gordon Brown on Arms and the Man.

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Anonymous said...
Your blog is getting boring Guido. Where the fuck is that Scotch legendary hero McTwat? Does anybody know?

June 10, 2008 2:49 PM


He appears in this brief aide memoire, below.



Gordon Brown on Arms and the Man.

Those made hospital-sick by starvation rations and cruel treatment were singled-out by their gallant and noble captors. Men with crippling dysentery, unable to labour further under the knotted rope-ends of ignorant, vicious Japanese peasant-soldiers had their bodies and faces slashed with bamboo canes; thirsty, hungry, bleeding and diseased, they were repeatedly kicked and jumped upon, cruelly used by their jovial Bushido warrior custodians, beaten half to death. Some were honoured, obscenely, with a ritual beheading into a moist jungle grave; some, despite their comrades' pleadings, were buried alive.

It is said that for every sleeper laid on the infamous Burma-Siam railroad an Allied POW died, from starvation, thirst, beatings, neglect, torture; sick, emaciated, choleric, defenceless soldiers, flogged, battered and beheaded by those with whom, in the words of the UK prime minister last week,

"we have enjoyed a one hundred and fifty year diplomatic relationship. "

To Don't mention the debt mountain, Don't mention the bent donors, Don't mention Northern Rock, Don't mention l'holocaust de nos jours in Iraq, to Don't mention the snot-eating, Gordon Brown, MP, now adds Hush, child, Don't mention the war.

It is all a long time ago and even those who were there, distressed by their memory, recoiled from speaking of it. A few scapegoated monsters were hanged but there's not much can be done for veterans, survivors of such sustained, enculturated, depraved barbarity and that, of course - not much - is exactly what the UK political caste, ever busy enriching itself and its families, setting itself ever further beyond the law, has done, these last sixty years. Less than not much is what Gordon Brown, cowardly, shameless warmonger, did, last week.

Like most of his bumbling, sticky-fingered crew, Gordon Brown has never had a proper job, let alone worn a uniform; a period of extended studentship, a dalliance with the BBC and thereafter Gordon has been kept by the subscribers to the Labour party, the taxpayer, by wealthy donors and associates seeking favour and advancement.

Notably - until the shame grew overwhelming in the light of the first of many unpunished Mandelson offences - Gordon Brown was the kept man of the revolting Gigolo Geoff Robinson, Brown's "office" funded by Geoff's spoils from his lucrative, old widow liason; apartments rented and dinners bought from Geoff's overseas bank accounts; Robinson, as well as being generous to every hustler in the NewLabour brothel, was, coincidentally, the only person Brown, in power, could find to fill the office of Paymaster General but as we saw with Mandy, Geoff, Gordon, Tony and Imelda, 'tis a terrible thing when thieves fall out, doubly so when Secretary Mandy is responsible for investigating the conduct of Robinson, a man who had bunged him a trifling, easily forgotten, third of a million pounds.

Gordon Brown, though he would deny them thrice, has since found other dodgy sources of funding, whilst for more than ten years sermonising to us with increasingly fevered bombast on the right thing and on values and on vision. His right thing, his values and his vision the only possible prescription for all the ills and sins of the World, his moral compass the only one properly calibrated; his malign, preachy, pushy father; his hothouse schooldays, his obsessive ambition, his bizarre and unnatural, stagey, late middle-aged parenthood, his lifelong bullying, his dishonest, plotting, conniving, secretive, paranoid, sexually repressed, presbyterian freakishness all spun, preposterously, as evidence of average guy normalcy. Hush, child, he is not their grand-daddy, he's their daddy.

Gordon Brown's is a terrible, cataclysmic narcissism which dooms to shabby ruination not just his own bloated, self-aggrandising and adolescent folies de grandeur but the entire nation, all of us, the unvalued war dead, the cheated war wounded; the neglected, extorted dying, their houses appropriated to pay for Mr and Mrs Balls' second home; the living, hectored, barracked, moralised to by Blair GrannyBabes like Hodge and Jowell, yes, and the QueenGrannyBabe herself, Imelda Blair, the thieving, insatiably money-grubbing baggage; the unborn, both experimented-upon and carelessly extinguished. Brown's life-long mental disorders threaten us all.


As with most of his pampered, faux socialist ilk, Gordon Brown's right thing, when it comes to Tommy, is to send him, ill-equipped and underpaid, to fight US gangster capitalism's bandit wars; to get his arse shot off and lie in some shithole hospital, unvisited, unrecognised, chivvied and cheated by moral Titans, like Bob Ainsworth and his boss, Des Jock Browne, the dynamic Brownite duo from the Ministry of Cut-Price Defeat, a pair of over-elevated career cowards who would - Ainsworth a depressingly vulgar, trade union punk and Browne a Glasgow lawyer in a cheap suit - stifle all criticism, even that from HM Coroner.

Brown's contempt for the simple courage of ordinary blokes flashes neon bright in his appointment of Browne - in a time of massive, dangerous, full-time UK military commitment - as part-time Secretary of Defence. Browne's feeble, nit-picking intellect would see him struggling with anything requiring more than the bully's odious skills, that he is charged with coralling a rebellious Scotland whilst overseeing our participation in two conflicts at the other side of the world is a testament not to his meagre abilities, but to his master's contempt for those who really do serve.

The Jap atrocities do date, in truth, from a long time ago but some survivors live still. We can guess what they made of Gordon Brown's hundred and fifty year diplomatic history remarks, being enslaved, starved, beaten, bayonetted and buried alive is a peculiar form of diplomacy, perhaps; beheading lawful prisoners of war not exactly an entente cordiale.

Gordon Brown, though, in squeaky tandem with the Jap premier, lays such ghosts; they, Brown and Fukuda, fanatical incompetents both, have right decisions to make in the long-term interests of hard-working British and Japanese families as they are buffeted by the effects of the American credit crunch and by global economic turbulence. Hush, child, don't mention the repossessions.

Gordon Brown, son of a bullying, censorious clergyman and a bullying, censorious coward himself, flees, shredding his nails, his bowels a-flutter, from any sign of trouble; you wouldn't want him in your fox-hole or your lifeboat. Gordon Brown thinks that if he doesn't mention something it has ceased to exist; that if he does something it can only be the right thing; stealing our liberties, our money, our identity, even our history, Gordon is doing these things and they are, quad erat demonstrandum, the right thing. The impudent Blair claimed he would never do anything wrong; the deranged Brown, from within his Fuhrer complex, insists that his every ruinous, imbecilic, catastrophic misjudgement is right. He was born to be right. Hush, child, don't mention the economy.

With HM Forces operating in two theatres it would not have been amiss for Gordon Brown to have said to his Japanese counterpart, just for instance, Terrible things happened to our servicemen, but now we are friends and partners; he might even have said, We had the horrors of Japanese mistreatment of our men and you had the horrors of Hirsohima and Nagasaki, Sorrow and Shame have been companions to us both, thus mitigating any possible offence while publicly acknowledging the suffering and sacrifice of men now in their eighties and nineties - and, by extension, commending those serving currently, to vaguer purpose.

Gordon, though, his own gilded, pampered, charmed, idler's path fought for and cleared by tortured-to-death or now-tired, old Tommies, is far too cowardly for that and proferred, instead, a revisionist history; our continuing one hundred and fifty year accord with the Nip almost a testament to his own powers, his own values, learnt in the manse. Hush child, don't mention history, history is whatever Uncle Gordon wants it to be.

Here is a bizarre figure; grinning his bleachy grin, he welcomed the Chinese secret service thugs shoving him around in his own frontyard but like a big girly shied away from touching the torch they displayed, I'm not touching that big thing; he signed the Lisbon Treaty but deliberately arrived late, as if doing it after everyone else had gone wasn't really doing it at all; it isn't really a treaty at all, just a wee bit of paperwork, nothing really, see, I am doing the right thing. As always. Hush, child, don't mention the referendum.

Throughout the 'thirties and into the 'forties Japan launched an imperialistic blitzkrieg all over the Pacific and waged a cruel, savage war against all in its path, allied to and exending the domination of the Jew-gassing, fascist master race, Japan's hideous, Samurai hoodlum bullshit was deployed without conscience against babies, women, children and prisoners of war. Hush, child, don't mention the bayonets.


To see Gordon Brown stand in 10 Downing Street, in the crumpled cloth of serial cowardice and back-stabbing treachery, flashing his sick, bleached, paranoia demons' smile; his monsterclaw of compulsive emphasis, rat-a-tat-tatting on the lectern with a spastic life of its own; over-medicated, gulping, charmless, stuttering his clapped-out, delusional junkyard mantra and describe our relationship with this nation, Japan, as a one hundred and fifty year diplomatic accord is a sight to chill the blood.

In taking the right decisions for the long-term interests of hard-working British families, Gordon Brown now even decides what is in history and what is inconvenient. Ich bin eine dish of sushi.


Jack and Tom were Yorkshire mates. Jack finished the war liberating, if that's the word, the Nazi-Axis death camps as part of the RAMC; Tom, emaciated, broken and terrified, flew home from the Far East in the belly of a bomber; both were decent, ordinary Labour party voters; not, for them, medals and parades, not for them high office and baubles in the Westminster dignitaries whorehouse; just a family struggle to make ends meet in the austere fifties, bring the kids up decent. Age did not weary them, nor the years condemn for Death arrived early, summoned, maybe, by their service in arms to their country, their dreams grotesque, their bodies and spirits plundered of health and vigour and optimism.


Their memory then and their service, airbrushed away for a soundbite; their nation now subsumed by ruse and dodge and artifice into a subjugated, tyrannised by consumerism, neo-socialist reich which they fought to oppose. In the morning and in the evening and at the going down of the Sun, Gordon, we may be sure, will not remember them. Hush, child, the prime minister is listening to voices in his head.

Despite his wheezing, discordant choir of praise-singers in cabinet, at the BBC and in the school magazine that is the Rusbridger Guardian, mad dreams must plague him, dreams of no return, waking in the early dawn; his cheating heart, his chiselling ambition brings not longed-for, Kennedyesque stature and glamour and flattery and compliment but derision, insult, affront, contempt, slur and slander; no jibe too cheap, no innuendo too far-fetched, no mockery too cruel as his bright, shiny ambition, realised, alas, far too late, rusts swiftly before his rheumy eye.

The man with no nails, the man with no choices, the man with no money, the man with no hope, his fatuous cliches rejected, his flaws derided, his candidates humiliated, his books remaindered, his rocking horse cavalry hamstrung and gutshot.

What we need, of course - and bugger the braying, barrowboy, Tory oiks and their larcenous spawn, all revealed afresh as ever-thieving, whoremongering spivs, led by worthless, arrogant, public school hooligans - is a spontaneous general strike, a mutiny, a downing of tools and arms, a withholding of taxes until we are delivered a referendum and a general election which should sweep away the scum of every shabby political hue and instal, instead, an avenging regiment of genuine no-quarter independents. What we need is Up against the wall, motherfuckerism. Cowards, thieves, spivs, demagogues, charlatans, ponces, pimps and whores; Labour, Tory or the Cleggies, doesn't matter a shit, that's what they are, that, egged on by the reptiles in the press, is what they do. How long can it be before we hear them cry, You! the one good apple left in here, you spoil it for all us bad apples.

And, for now, at the top of the shitpile, Gordon Brown, besieged by failure, scandal, corruption and incompetence, your country doesn't want you, your stooges and lackeys and maids and minders in parliament don't want you; your bankrupt, deserted party doesn't want you, even your presbyterian Jock fatherland - and Scotland, God knows, accepts the most worthless, throwaway rubbish as entertainers, artists, sportspersons, journalists and politicians - doesn't want you.

A ranting, bad-tempered, unstable, maladjusted, non-legitimised and loathed despot, everything you touch turns to shit, everyone you champion stumbles. People with no axe to grind writhe in embarrassment at your lies, your blameshifting evasions, as though daily, after eleven years as head of UK domestic policy, you are confronted by fresh Thatcher depradations, as though while you are lifting every child into debt or imprisonment or illiteracy the historic policies of Nigel Lawson or Keith Joseph snap malevolently at your reforming ankles.

You are the Four Horsepersons of National Apocalypse, meshed and melded into one gibbering, spluttering fool; a pasty, jowly, repulsive, aged clown, no bright young thing, you, but a mug, suckered by your predecessor into being his fall guy, his lightning conductor, his dummy. Never mind re-writing and sanitising history, try doing just one good, uncalculated, unselfich deed before you die and in the name of God, come out, Gordon, and then, handsomely rewarded for your life of utter madness, fuck off.

June 10, 2008 3:49 PM

john bright mp said...makes one proud that here in England we have an old-fashioned, no-nonsense shirt-lifter for prime minister,

john bright mp said...

All these power couples, glamorous and wealthy; George and Laura Bush, Hillary and Bill Clinton, Tony and Imelda Blair, the Frog fuckwit and his slapper; makes one proud that here in England we have an old-fashioned, no-nonsense shirt-lifter for prime minister, none of that happy couple hypocrisy for us, well, none that anyone believes anyway; Scotland, too, a gay First Jock, living with his mother, fair warms the heart. Wish we could tell about that Taffy bloke, Grunting Morgan, but he lives mostly underground, singing in choirs, Bread of Heaven, look you, and is in all probability a bi- or multi-sexual, hard to tell in the dark, see, isn't it. At least he doesn't do it with badgers like that other chap, Ron Rasta Davies, one of NewLabour's distinguished cast of degenerates.

Good clean dirty fun in the toilets with Michael White and his Magic Kneepads, that's what we expect from our leaders. And thankfully, that's what we get. How can the doings of the deranged Hillary compare ?

June 3, 2008 10:29 PM

john bright mp said...The main question, though, is why do we need an information commissioner in the first place

john bright mp said...

Dear Mr blagger1

Dunion is indeed the only decent bloke in Scottish public administration and seemingly modest and polite, too. A shame he can't have a look at the Scottish, Neil Kinnock/Douglas Alexander election fiasco, now being swept under the carpet by the same cunts at the electoral commission who let Wendy off the hook. There was one on Jock Newsnight, last night, so pleased with himself you would bet he was drinking his own piss, the BBC's Glenn Campbell licking his arse on behalf of the viewers.

The main question, though, is why do we need an information commissioner in the first place, these fucking thieving shits work for us, how dare that smirking cunt, Lord Jack Torture, tell us what we may and may not know ? As long as we engage with them on these terms - that they are the masters, who give us our freedoms and our rights and can therefore withhold them - we are fucked. We are fucked, anyway. See FW de Brun at his press conference with Nippon, yesterday. You will all be liable to indefinite detention, you all must carry an identity card at all times and if some of you don't and as a result of a split-second judgement made by our magnificently professional death squads well that will be a lesson to the rest of you to carry your cards. The subliminal text of this will be that Government knows best, you only have to do as Government says and then Government will look after you.

But if you don't do as Government says you can hardly expect Government to keep you safe. Such, then, are the Vaaahl-ewes, forged over centuries, of the great, hard-working, obedient citizens of HMP UK, carry your papers, report on your neighbours, pay your taxes, do exactly as you are told by Mr Tony McNutter, the Good Order and Disciplne Officer and by the Government Communications Secretariat of the BBC.

Government really does want to keep you safe from threats so grave that we can't tell you about them. The way we conduct ourselves personally, however, with regard to our personal lives and our expenses should convince even the most sceptical, that we are men, and occasionally women, of the greatest probity, whilst you are all potential terrorists who must be surveyed by camera and viewed with suspicion at all times. It is in your own interests that we are taking away all your freedoms and Life Premier - by popular acclaim and state of emergency - FW de Brun will work tirelessly to deliver his vision of HMP UK. Your co-operation is expected and failure to co-operate will rightly be assumed by Mr McNutter and his teams as an act of terrorism endagering the whole prison.

Disperse now and go about your lawful business. And lets have no more about this information nonsense. Government tells you exactly what you need to know.

June 3, 2008 11:05 AM
l

Dennis said...Farewell, Labour! You have become irrelevant.

Dennis said...

Farewell, Labour! You have become irrelevant. The industrial base has been exported to Asia and the unions which sprang from them sidelined and emasculated. I heard that gormless prole Derek Simpson growling on t'wireless this morning and it quite took me back to the days of Len Murray (who died, grey and disillusioned, of a heart attack not long after Thatcher got the keys to No. 10). It took me back to the days when these arseholes dictated government policy over beer and sandwiches. Democrats, they called themselves, overlooking their disenfranchisement of all British subjects who had the temerity not to be union members.

These men were the intellectual giants -- the far-seeing humanitarians with the welfare of their members and the country at heart -- who brought you Grunwick, the dockers' strike, the miners' strike, the Social Contract, the Winter of Discontent, the English Disease. Take the example of Austin Morris (subsequently renamed, via a series of increasingly desperate euphemisms, "BL"). Its industrial relations were so poisoned by communist agitators and petty strikes that its cars became, as planned, a byword for unreliability and shoddy workmanship. Nobody with an ounce of sense bought one, and the company collapsed, along with most of the rest of the British car industry.

What goes around, comes around. Now nobody with an ounce of sense will vote Labour, and the party itself has collapsed. It would have collapsed anyway, without Brown. Blair hollowed it out. By 1992 he must have seen that the Labour Party could have no future in post-industrial Britain. Its only use was as a personal vehicle for himself: a vanity project.

So really, it hardly matters whether they ditch Brown. Personally, I hope they do, just to humiliate him: for he is a bully, and bullies are always cowards, and what a coward hates most, after danger, is ridicule. If they leave him in place there is perhaps a risk that the British affection for failures will suddenly redound to his advantage and lift him somewhat in the polls, but even that will not be enough to gain long-term electoral advantage or stave off the inevitable.

If I were a Labour MP just now, I'd be checking out the noticeboards at my local Job Centre. But, given the quality of your typical Labour MP, that could be a bit depressing.

June 2, 2008 8:43 PM

john bright mp said...Japanese and UK premiers' press conference dominated by 42 Day shit.

john bright mp said...

Japanese and UK premiers' press conference dominated by 42 Day shit.

That little Jap bugger at lunch time, good job that, despite all that Bushido shit, the Bridge Over the River Kwai, the failed kamikaze carry-on, having not one but two atom bombs falling on his ancestors, being occupied by Coca Cola and then overwhelmed by Honda and Sony, despite all that happening it was not an incentive to Tojo Banzai! or whatever his fucking name is, to learn English like a proper nip prime minister. Just as well, really, if the little dog-eating, noodle-munching, tea-swigging bastard had understood one word from the loony stood next to him he would have thought he'd wandered into some barbarian mental health establishment on press day.

Why prime minister, do you want to lock people up for six weeks? What you don't understand, like I do, is that there are non-presbyterian Jihadists under the beds of every hard-working British family. The very fact that you don't believe me is exactly why you are not to be trusted with the evidence which I have seen, the police have to examine every computer in the world, y'know, before deciding to empty their magazines into someone's head in order to let off steam from the very real stress which their magnificent professionalism leads to in this time of global economic turbulence which isn't my fault and anyway people say that the Jihadis want to turn us into an authoritarian, patriarchal and illiberal society thus destroying our freedoms but my responsibility as mansekeeper in chief is to do this before they can thus protecting, actually, the freedoms which you say I am eroding but just not letting you have them anymore. It would be complete dereliction of my moral compass to let some bunch of raghead, heathen Mohammedans terrorise the country when we in the Labour party are ideally equipped to do it ourselves in order to keep you free from them but not from us. Now, as to Africa...No, no, no, it is not a vote of confidence, what we are doing in order to maintain the civil liberties of our people is to confine them safely, albeit in luxurious open prison conditions in HMP UK. It is only by locking all the people up that we can safeguard their freedoms properly. It is only by admitting their guilt that the people can ever feel truly innocent.

It might become necessary for Lord High Executioner, sorry, Chancellor Jack Torture to issue warrants for the libertarian waterboarding branch of Sir Ian Blair-Bendover's Community Protection Force to interrogate some people lifted off the street at random until they confess their guilt; it is only in this way that we can properly illustrate the government's case that the people who believe that government is the servant of the people need to be locked-up and tortured, quite legally, as in America, indefinitely, in order that government can prevent the vast majority of hard-working, law-abiding, soon to be homeless, British families from being radicalised. This is not in any way a move towards a police state but simply brings us into line with other European democracies in which anybody can be locked up indefinitely at the whim of a politician, a judge and that fruitcake, wotsisname, yes, Lord Carlisle of the Toilets Party.

My father, a man of god, too, used to sing that old Scottish hymn, by Jock Jockstrapperson: Me and Jock McGhee, with it's famous chorus: Och, freedom's just another word for nothing left tae lose, the noo. The current threat we face is very much like that hymn: you havenae any fucking money, yer hames are worth less that ye pay for them, ye have nae fucking jobs, yer weans roam the streets knifing each other and raping old ladies, all youse can do is look at yer cars, ye cannae afford nae fucking petrol because of global economic turbulence, the hospitals are death camps, like matey here beside me used to run, what the fuck use tae ye are civil liberties? Just be grateful we're abolishing them. One big unhappy prison population, HMP UK, there, thats mah Vision. Tojo, must be your turn for a question, tell them that one about Africa.

Ah, so. Hangyew vay mush py-minstah. Hangyew. Jap go home now, sadda man but wysa. Waughh is ova, Meesta Bwown, come out, now, from jungal. Waughh is ova. Somebody fetch doctah faw Meesta Bwown. Fuck me, how these mad cunts win fucking waugh ?

June 2, 2008 9:54 PM

john bright mp said... Jeremy Paxman said: (Not everybody called Jeremy is a pansy, y'know.)

john bright mp said...

Jeremy Paxman said:

I categorically did never say that Mr Peter Mandelson and his husband Ms Raymundo de los Tory Rent Boys were gay, even though they are. It was, in fact, Mr Matthew Parris, on my Newsnight show, who is gay, although I would never say he is gay, who said that Mr and Mr Mandelson are gay, which they are, even though they are entitled to be thought of as straight, which they are not.

That Mr Raymundo de los Tory Rent Boys was the paid plaything of a Tory MP before becoming a burden on the British taxpayer as the wife or husband of the former, sacked in disgrace and then given a better job in Brussels Northern Ireland Secretary, Mr or Mrs Peter Mandelson, just goes to show the very real camaraderie of the house of rent boys, or commons as it is also known, inasmuch as when one MP grows weary of a Brazilian researcher, or rentboy, or if his wife found out, not that she would from Newsnight, well not from me, anyway, as I don't believe in rentboys, that he was buggering a pretty young man when he was supposed to be tied-up in committee, then a very agreeable situation arises in which Mr or Ms Raymundo, once rentboy de los Tories, becomes, instead, Mr or Ms Raymundo, rentboy de los Labouristas. All very civilised. I never said any of this, even though it is common knowledge. Indeed I went so far as to go and visit Mr or Mrs Mandelson and apologise for what Mr Parris had said, even though it was Mr Parris who said it and not, as I have made clear, me. I don't believe Mr and Mrs Mandelson are gay, even though they are.

Tune in to Newsnight tonight with Mr Kirsty Wark, who is not a thieving, grunting, hunchback, Jock transexual with hairy legs a and a voice like a gorilla. Even though he is. Although I would never say that and if someone else did I would apologise to Mr Wark just like I did to Ms Mandelson, for something I hadn't done.

ps Not everybody called Jeremy is a pansy, y'know.

June 2, 2008 6:37 PM

john bright MP said... Why visit Guido

john bright MP said...

It's the modesty I come for, it's what I like, that and the spelling. And the sixth-form monetarist solutions to every global problem; how, if only you don't tax rich people so much the North Pole will re-freeze overnight, only not on Mars, which is also getting hotter, even though Mars is a tax-free zone.

Maybe all the hard-done-by bankers could take their bonuses and with Lord Branson's help, go and live on Mars, do what they do, create wealth out of thin air, or even no air at all, for the rest of us to enjoy, if not quite as much as them.

Until we make things better for the rich, then, seems to be the thrust, we are failing miserably, even though it was Lord Branson himself who said that if he can't have Northern Rock we must, and did, pay him large amounts in compensation. The beardy cunt. But one swallow, as Mr Mark Oaten, still an MP, will affirm, does not a summer make; much has been done for the rich but much remains to be done and that they pay any tax at all is, as some here point out, nothing short of a national scandal; worse than MRSA, worse than Iraq; sharper than a serpent's tooth is some greedy fucking bastard paying a penny in tax, especially when there's all these fucking immigrants clogging-up the place - only not the Russian gangsters, of course, or non-doms as they are known for non tax-paying purposes.

Maybe if they are too stupid to relocate to Mars they could all bugger off to the Emerald Isle and take their shit, make-believe businesses with them. Paddy's too drunk, too fucking stupid to know the difference, still entranced and disbelieving that Europe is giving his bog-trotting, horse-drawn, gipsy economy so much money in order to con him into joining the Fourth Reich, with that nice Mr Mandelson and his live-in ladyman, Raymundo de los Tory Rent Boys y now NewLabour, buggering one another round the capitals of Europe, in armour-plated Mercs, at my expense. Does Mr Mandelson pay tax; I do hope not, he's rich enough to not pay any, and like all the rich, an idle fucking useless complaining bastard.

But best of all here, beyond the sympathy for the rich, is the lively contribution from those North of the border, as they limp, drunkenly, towards consciousness. That's the best bit.


ps That Melanie Phillips, she's as mad as a fucking hatter and yet... and yet there are hundreds of people who say: Well said, Mel, you should be PM; couldn't have put it better; Spot-on, as usual, Mel. Simon Heffer, probably the same people say the same thing about that vengeful, embittered little turd. Spot on as usual, Simon; Well said Mr Heffer, if only you were PM. World's gone fucking mad, that's what I think; all this blogging. Some fucking nutter in Angola thinks stanislav, the young Polish plumber, should be prime minister. Where will it all end, that's what I want to know.

Looked in Viz magazine for some sanity and found they are advertising a urinal-installed cock-drying machine, like a hand drier but with jets of warm air at 400mph, drying the recently used member and thus avoiding those embarrassing stains in the trouser crotch area and the attendant lame excuses - tap splashed me, no, spilled my drink, before I went for a slash and, worst of all, removing the trousers and holding them in front of the hand-drier to the amused consternation of other drunken urinators, before going back out to the lounge of the Shoplifters Arms and so on - it's all very well, but just suppose Mr Simon Hughes had used the cock-drier before you or Mr Kneepads White. In any event, it isn't just the crotch area that is vulnerable to these damp, post-urination patches, sometimes with the individual bowl arrangement, rather than the wall-length trough, some of the infernal stuff bounces back and soaks the entire region from mid thigh to ankle, thus making one question why one did not simply piss where one was sitting in the first place, at least some of the piss would run out through the seat cushion, onto the carpet, leaving at least a portion of one's trousers looking vaguely respectable; or, if standing, up against the bar, just piss into one's neighbour's pocket, like a Birmingham City fan does, or into their laptop or handbag. Probably the safest thing would be to just live with the urine stains all down the trousers, like Jock does.

It is unquestionably a problem, for waving one's member about to dry it off, as formerly, is often seen these days as an application to join the Liberal Democrat Party or for employment within the BBC, or on the Times, alongside Mr Matthew Dreary, famed for his simpering homilies but Viz magazine's Urinal Team should refocus, brilliant as it may sound the facility of sticking one's dick in a communal hot air tunnel, aside from the hygiene and health and safety concerns, might, by compulsive masturbators, like the prime minister of the United Kingdom, be put to Devilish purpose, innocent toilet-goers might go in the little boys' room only to encounter the first lord of the treasury almost welded to the apparatus, gulping his infamous dry-wank, jaw-drop gulp as he labours, among the curry-laced odours of excrement from the cubicles, aided, he hopes, by the four hundred mile an hour warm air blasting around his shrivelled member, thumping his life-of-it's-own claw on the top of the machine, to ejaculate even a nano-litre of rancid Scotch semen, after his last, routine, ghastly spluttering, spasming humiliation before the nation and the world has removed from him, entirely, the will to live. The pubs are bad enough; suicide by masturbation is a spectacle too far, even for Witherspoons.

Viz magazine so often trails these ill-thought-out products that one wonders if it's product development section is staffed by Irishmen.

June 2, 2008 4:50 PM

john bright MP said...Scotch Wars - Fucking Delicious! (Thread)

Fucking delicious! said...

Hmmmm, the tory retards on here are spitting feathers; all the shouting you do changes fuck all. Brown, or whoever, will be in power for the next two years, and this will increase your impotency and rage to levels unseen as yet. But it will mean nothing. And I'll enjoy the spectacle...

Labour will then lose the election - that much is certain - but all then true scoialists will regroup, and wait...the tories will screw up, as they always have. Then, and only when the labour party is cleansed of the middle-class wankers who inhabit the positions of power at this time, we will return. Play the long game comrades.

I still have to say though; Brown is a cunt.

Fucking delicious!

May 30, 2008 6:39 PM

john bright MP said...

This chap, Mr Delicious, seems to be inciting alarm and disappointment in equal measure; even by the standard of the oft desparate, profane and calumnious rhetoric deployed hereabouts, Mr Delicious is on the outer fringes of human repellence, loathsome, repugnant and detestable; as all decent Englishmen would aver, the disdain he so swiftly and uniformly arouses in order-orderites is compounded by his claim to being Scottish, yet he is, of course, nothing of the kind.

Of primary persuasive significance is his albeit halting and leaden attempts at words of more than one syllable. Anyone who has ventured even a mile or two into his impoverished wasteland will know that Jock does not do erudition, Jock, bless his square ginger head, does grunt. The idea that Jock could write a sentence, much less a paragraph is risible.

Anyone, similarly, who has seen Jock close-up will have observed that the webbed fingers and toes characteristic of his species expressly prevent him from operating a keyboard with any facility; added to the bruising of his knuckles from dragging them along Glagow's derelict streets Jock's prehensile digits prevent him, even if he had any, framing his thoughts in a matter communicable to, let alone decipherable, by modern man.

Thirdly, of a Sunday, Jock does not, like Mr FD, concern himself with political discourse but instead takes to his rancid bed with a nephew or niece entrusted to his care by a mother gone off to get bladdered on her benefit money, accompanied by the current "Uncle" or stepfather, certainly unemployed, illiterate and probably a heroin addict with tattoed forehead. Whie they are In his care Jock will introduce the unfortunate, inbred, retarded wean, some hapless Wee Fiona or Wee Gordon, to the intricacies of Jock's national area of excellence, or communist noncing as we call it in England.

There is only one Scotch writer of note and that worthy is Mr William McGonigal, famous for the spectacular poetic catastrophes so memorably wrought by his infantile, clod-hopping rhyming and scansions, thus:


Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

The poetry of Jock thus revealed, over about twenty verses, all like this. Jock culture. It's like a chimps tea party. There is no room in Jock's dim consciousness for the acrid denunciations, the bitter homilies, the scorched-earth lamentations or the fierce Illuminatarianism of order-order, like Shakespeare or even Enid Blyton, none of it would make any sense to him; football, GBH, whinging, benefit fraud, cross-dressing, inebriation, obesity and noncing, that's a day in Jock's life.

Mr Fucking Delicious, then, by his very presence here on a Sunday, is clearly not Jock. He may be Mr Dalailamadingdong or Mr Atlas Shrugged or any number of speech- impaired-by-too-many-teeth Chinese restauteurs making mischief but Jock he isnae; stupid and preposterous are his ravings; dullardly, repetitive, arch and unoriginal his style and miserable as sin his attempts at humour, even so, this dreadful rubbish he posts is light years ahead of all known forms of Jockspeech, he must therefore be English or some other form of non-Jock.

Your whoreson Paddy, it is true, claims for himself that he is not from a race of obtuse, farting, Guinness-swigging, spud-gulping, melancholy, cry-baby, sorry-arsed, pussy-whipped, superstitious momma's boys but is, instead, from a land o'er blessed with saints and scholars; this asserion is as frivolous as Jock's claims to culture, enlightenment and civilisation, even at at its rudest. Paddy cites the ghastly, mutant doggerel of James Joyce, the pedestrianism of Mr Bernard Shaw and the aching snobbery of Mr Oscar Toilets Wilde as proof of a national literary superiority; the intolerable Mr Flaherty and his spastic, jerking Riverdancers, stamping their huge, thundering, danse macabre feet in unison as evidence of artistic subtlety and praises to the skies the raucous oeuvre of the unspeakable posturing leprachaun, Mr O'Bono and his chums. Like Jock, Paddy doesn't even bother pretending he has any painters, sculptors or serious musicians but parks his cultural arse firmly in the land of showbiz. Val Doonican and the Batchelors, Irish rock 'n' roll. Meagre as it is, though, Paddy's culture at least requires a level of prestidgitation and literacy unimagineable to Jock. Mr FD may well be Paddy except that Paddy, save for the nice Mr Martin Kneecaps McGuiness and other fucking barbarian morons of his kidney, are too dull to romance, still, with ideas of Marxist-Leninist totalitarianism, a doubtless sexually-rooted fantasy which peppers Mr FDs every feeble insult. He is definitely not Jock and on reflection too monomaniacal for Paddy. The answer, then, is that he is either a renegade Englishman or some foreshortened, grunting, troglodyte Plaid Cymru Satanist imbecile, let loose on the hostel computer whilst the warden is preoccupied. Whatever his nationality one thing is beyonde peradventure, indisputable by any decent person. The man's a cunt.

May 30, 2008 7:02 PM

Fucking delicious! said...

Mr. delicious, for I am he, most certainly is a Scot, A proud Scot. Not english, not irish nor, even, welsh; and your post merely serves to remind me why I'll be glad when our Independence finally arrives - as it will. No more subsidising england - no more Scottish oil for you; unless you pay, of course.

Scotland will be Independent, and Socialist. Saor Alba...

Fucking Delicious!

May 30, 2008 8:08 PM

45govt said...

John Bright MP - fucking delicious!

May 30, 2008 9:45 PM

Anonymous said...

To fucking delicious! at 8:08 PM -

Please try and get it right - you are not Scottish or Scot but SCOTCH, as in SCOTCH egg, SCOTCH man, SCOTCH whisky, SCOTCH idiot etc etc

May 30, 2008 11:18 PM

Fucking delicious! said...

tory dimwits; enjoy your negative equity. House prices in the more salubrious part - Scotland to you -of this stinking union continue to rise. And, once you lemmings elect Cameron (another Scot) et al, Scotland will be guaranteed Independence. Scots will never vote tory, as we know what a bunch of chancer barrow-boys you are. It's Scotland's oil; get used to it. Alba gu brath...

Fucking delicious!

May 31, 2008 8:18 AM

deep fried marsbar in my arse said...

Fucking delicious!

with the lowest life expectancy in Europe we can safely assume your inane driveling will stop shortly.

Tasty eh?

May 31, 2008 9:23 AM

Fucking delicious! said...

I will continue, ad infinitum, to elucidate this one undeniable fact: It's Scotland's oil. You thieving english must come to terms with this fact, and cease wanking over the mad cow thatcher. The price of oil will increase uperturbed, whilst you must face a bleak future; reap what you have sown. Do not underestimate this; the anger embedded in the Scottish psyche over your thieving of our oil is deep, and will only increase in intensity.

Alba gu brath.

Fucking delicious!

May 31, 2008 10:35 AM

64 Govt. said...

45 Govt: You are an absolute cunt of the highest order.

May 31, 2008 11:29 AM

Budgie said...

Fucking delicious! said... "I will continue, ad infinitum, to elucidate this one undeniable fact: It's Scotland's oil."

No it isn't. North sea oil is owned by the UK, Norway, Denmark and Holland. A lot of the oil brought ashore in Scotland is Norwegian. Some of the "North Sea" oil and gas is not even North Sea never mind Scottish eg the Morecombe Bay field (10% of UK gas market). In the 60’s the maritime border was moved so that some English oil is claimed to be Scots'. This would revert on England's independence.

Moreover if Scotland can be 'independent' why not the Shetlands (protected by England), as has been threatened? And then where would "Scotland's" oil be?

May 31, 2008 1:51 PM

Dunfesterin said...

Fucking Delicious, leave those thick English cunts alone, they know not what they speak of...

SCOTTISH OIL FOR THE SCOTS

And FUCK THE ENGLISH!!

I was in Coventry last week on the piss and not ONE of you cunts had the guts to look me in the eye when they called me a "jock" and I took umbrage. I was going to knock 4 of you English pricks out, they all left looking a bit sheepish. Keyboard hardmen the lot of ye!

You are all spineless bastards, no wonder we run your country...

May 31, 2008 1:59 PM

mel gibbons brave arses. you can eat our deep fried mars barses but you'll never take our oil. Want to bet on that you inbred fuck wits said...

Dunfesterin:

Oiiii you scotch cunt, I think your mother needs fucking. You're sister has finished with her for the moment! Daddy's just started on you're gran if you fancy a threesome!

May 31, 2008 2:22 PM

john bright MP said...

Dear Mr Fucking Delicious

At least you have a nascent sense of humour. Scottish socialism, fuck me, that's like the flat earth society. The last surviving Scotch socialist, having made a cunt of his dopey Mrs., Ms Mataland, his parents, his best friends and the whole socialist movement, twisted and fucking corrupted as it was by cunts like Organiser (ho ho ho) Steve Arnott and Consigliere John Dirty Book Aberdein, is just about to have a wee lie down on the sunbeds of HMP Barlinnie, isn't he, and have a News of the World-sponsored divorce? The fucking useless coke-snorting bondage freak and gabshite, Tearful Tommy Sheridan, as if Jock wasn't already a laughing-stock, confirmed the towering ineptitude and corruption of Jock politicians - Pussy Galloway, Gordon Brown, Tavish McTavish - doesn't matter what they call their parties, they are all just thieving numpties. If Nancy Salmond ever did con an independence vote out of the local idiots then within five minutes Scotland's stomach would think it's fucking throat was cut. Jesus fucking wept, Jock is a trainwreck of a nation, drug addicts, murderers, cross-dressers and child molesters, highest per capita rates in the fucking world. You couldn't, with both hands, find the hole in your own arse if we didn't give it a good kicking for you now and again. Useless, fucking idle, greedy, drunken noncing bastards all becoming socialists and working for the common good ? Fuck me that is delicious. Remember Culloden, eh, what are you jocks like ? As for this prick going to take on four of his superiors in an English pub whole he was spending his English dole money, would that be in your wee skirt, or out of it, sweetie ? I think out of it and bent over is the only way you'd take on anybody. Never mind Queen Alex, the great smirking Nancy, will probably buy you a nice brown shirt for your torchlight rallies you horrible racist, fascist, mooma's boy imbecile. Do you bae Jock tattoed on your forehead, or do you stick with cunt?

Claiming affiliation with snot-eating Nancy Brown and his bumboys, now there's fucking delicious, too. You probably weren't able yo get snot sandwiches in Coventry 'pubs, another reason for you to stay up there in Scotland, the biggest council estate in England.

May 31, 2008 3:00 PM

Budgie said...

Dunfesterin said... "in Coventry last week on the piss and not ONE of you cunts had the guts to look me in the eye when they called me a "jock" and I took umbrage."

A Scotsman taking umbrage? Who woulda thunk it?

May 31, 2008 3:24 PM

45govt said...

Dunfesterin said... "in Coventry last week on the piss and not ONE of you cunts had the guts to look me in the eye when they called me a "jock" and I took umbrage."

On the piss? - what else would one of you shitheids be doing off the reservation except behaving normally. Drunken, misbegotten, wife-beating cunts, the only four English pricks you would be taking on would be up your festerin' Scotch dung funnel.

May 31, 2008 4:25 PM

john bright MP said...

Dear Mr 45 Govt

"Drunken, misbegotten, wife-beating cunts." You've been to a Jock wedding, then ? Starts as he means to go on, does Jock. You know you can't get near a Jock casualty department on Valentine's Day, so generous is Jock when it comes to kicking his Mrs around, spares no effort to show her how much he loves her; boots, belts, fists, his mates even help him out. Honest. Not invent. Spousal abuse among Jock is phenomenal. Flower of Scotland, isn't he wonderful ?

May 31, 2008 5:13 PM

45govt said...

Dear john bright mp,

A Jock wedding? No, I have not had the misfortune, and should have declined any invitation, having involuntarily studied the activities of the barbarian hordes Jock is pleased to call his Tartan Army, during a number of its forays into civilisation.
I feel Darwin would have recognised Jock as being as far off the evolutionary pace, isolated as he has been in his Gallopegian Highlands, as any other reptile discovered during the travels of the Beagle. Jock's dietary variations alone would have excited that esteemed scientist's wonder that it should sustain sentient life, or even a Scotch cunt.

Your grasp of this lower sub-species of homo sapiens reminds me strangely of a young Polish tradesman whose absence here has been sorely missed. Should you chance upon him in your travels, please pass on my best regards.

May 31, 2008 8:36 PM

welshman, they can fuck off too. lazy cunts said...

Why don't you lot fuck off back to your own country, you scotch cunts.
have a fucking referendum and fuck off and pay your own tuition fees.
cunts.

May 31, 2008 9:24 PM

comment deleted said...

This comment has been removed by the author.
It was written by a cross dressing, wife beating, inbred fuck wit of a scotch cunt.
Their opinion on anything counts for nothing.
Mr. Fucking DoDishes! and stillfesterin can fuck right off.

Anon 9:46..

The scotch are cunts, Liebour are cunts run by scotch cunts. The time is soon when both will getting their sorry tartan arses kiced into touch! CUNTS!

May 31, 2008 9:59 PM

a polish plumber, comes from scotland but hates the inbred twats. i'm confused said...

45govt:

"Your grasp of this lower sub-species of homo sapiens reminds me strangely of a young Polish tradesman whose absence here has been sorely missed. Should you chance upon him in your travels, please pass on my best regards."

I have seen the young polish tradesman's blog whom you refer too. On his profile it states he comes from Scotland, best part of England.

How strange dont you think Mr.45govt?

May 31, 2008 10:08 PM

45govt said...

Confused - so am I, there's no reckoning these Poles, but perhaps there is a part of Jockland that isn't in the council estate?

May 31, 2008 10:23 PM

Fucking delicious! said...

The level of abuse from the representatives of our 'colonial masters' is expected; after all, we have the black gold, the oil.

However, and more to the point is this; the tipping point in Scottish politics has, I manitain, has been reached. All opinion polls proclaim that the SNP is the party that the growing majority of Scots see as representing Scotland interests. Not labour (in its death throes) not the tories (never again in Scotland) and not the 'health food and sandals' party (couldn't win an argument, never mind the popular vote)so, it's the SNP. Scotland first and foremost.

Most english posters on here wish for us to disappear from 'english' politics; rest assured, we are more than happy to oblige.

And, once Independent, we'll keep our oil, no matter what it takes. No matter what...

Fucking delicious!

June 1, 2008 9:37 AM

scotland the brave. oops, sorry for the mistake. should read scotland the shit said...

"And, once Independent, we'll keep our oil, no matter what it takes. No matter what...

Fucking delicious!"

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO get her! Sounds like fighting talk to me. You're right though Scotland will keep the oil no matter what.
That is 'till the English come and take it.
Enjoy it whilst it lasts my tartan cousin cunts; you'll soon be being bitch slapped!

June 1, 2008 12:32 PM

john bright MP said...On the Price of Petrol

john bright MP said...

Hey. Al. These Chinks. Where'd they all come from ? There's fucking millions of the little yellow bastards, so Milliband tells me. What? No? Billions you say. Never. Billions of them ? All wanting petrol that belongs to the hard-working families of Britain facing long-term economic turbulence. Which is anybody's fucking fault but mine. It's a fucking outrage. Stop that now, Michael, get up off your knees and go and write something for the Guardian about the Yellow Peril, yes, clean your chin up. And Milliband tells me there's a place next door to China where every fucker wears a bandage on his head and they all want petrol to put in their 1955 Morris Oxfords, seems that hanging on in their hundreds to the sides of garishly painted buses isn't good enough for them anymore. Why didn't some fucker in the fucking government tell me about this, while I was taking the long-term decisions which would see hard-working British families, spied-on, terrorised, robbed and impoverished and converted en masse to the timeless Vaaahl-ewes of the one true Presbyterian Faith. Which I learned from my Da'. Have I gotta do fucking everythong round here. Chinks and fucking curry-mongers, ruining my long-term planning. And.....and.. that fucking place that that cunt Mandelson's so fond of, you know, the place where the women all have great big cocks, or is it that the men all have great big tits and hairdos, you know, like at a Tory bonding session, ladymen, trannies, whatever the fuck they're called, ask that fucking wretch Kaufmann he's always off down there on fact-finding missions, twinning Manchester with Sodom-in-the-Andes, seems they all want fucking petrol, too, riding across the pampas on a fucking llama not good enough any more, they all want fucking BMWs to suck each others knobs in. Brazil, that's it, the place the nuts come from. Whaddathey want with fucking petrol ? Where'd all these fucking petrol heads come from? Last I heard the Chinks rode about in fucking rickshaws and now you tell me there's billions of the fuckers all driving cars along the Great fucking Wall of fucking China. Give us a fucking break. Nobody told me about this shit when I was doing my long-term planning. We'd best do some radical initiativising. I know, ban the fucking Tesco plastic bag, make every cunt walk about in the dark, falling down stairs and tripping over the fucking dog because they're compelled to use useless fucking energy-saving dark light bulbs and tax every bastard's car off the road, even if they could afford to buy fucking petrol to put in the bastard in the first place. That'll stop the Chinks and the Curry Heads and the Ladymen dead in their tracks. This'll send a message, Al, to the world, that I'm in charge and that my long-term planning was right all along, just missed out on a few billion of heathen foreign devils. Easy mistake. Not that I make mistakes, It's some other cunt's fault. I feel better now, time for bit of prayerful meditation, Can you fetch Michael White back ?

May 29, 2008 11:00 AM

john bright said...Phil Woolas, the cunt; he wouldn't survive as far as the scaffold.

john bright said...

Yes, Phil Woolas, the cunt; he wouldn't survive as far as the scaffold. Tear the bastard limb from limb. Got one of those big fuck off tellies but with no fucking license, so its OK, Dennis, and was watching Kirsty Wark, the BBC's grunting, hunchback transexual and this bloke Woolas, smirking his fucking head off and nearly didn't have a big fuck off telly any longer. This bloke is obnoxious made flesh, he makes Murdering Bob Shithouse, the Brummie Butcher, look almost agreeable. What the fuck is going on that an intolerable little cunt like him is running the country? How did all this happen ? Stupid fucking arseholes voting for grinning Blair, time after time. Like the country was the Big Brother House. What a shower of cunts; once maybe but not after Mandelson, not after Iraq. Its like millions of people who are too stupid to have a vote thought Oh, I'll vote for the cocksucker with the biggest grin, grinning is good, grinning will make the country better, fucking imbeciles. And now we have the walking skidmark Phil Woolas lying to us, barracking us, robbing us, the iniquitous little Nazi fuckpig.

If those cowardly arsehole Tory bondage boys want any support then the next time one of them is on the box with that cunt Woolas they should punch him in the fucking teeth, miserable shower of shit, all of them, kick over the coffee table of consensus, set fire to the sofa of conformity, useless fucking bastards, freaks and layabouts. Some tory cunt last night, some ponce with with too much hair, muttering at Woolas like a speak your weight machine, worthless prick. They've all seen the Blair stratagem and they're all fucking Blairites, from Dave No-Face, right down to this twittering cunt last night.

The Eye, a while back, revealed Woolas's form - the dwarf cunt Hislop must have been off making some shit programme for his real paymasters at the Beeb, pulling funny faces and making lame, antique satire or maybe down at the Telegraph, playing at being FieldMarshal Max Gabshite Hastings, VC and bar - anyway, Woolas had smirked his way through some fucking compliant cocksucking Panorama programme about the alleged sins of drinking bottled water, more shit for us to feel guilty about, as though Nancy's economic miracle wasn't based on irresponsible, untrammeled, massively indebted consumption of fucking rubbish jetted-in from every part of the globe by FeelGood AirlinesRus, live for today, because tomorrow you're fucked, plc. Oh no, said the rancid little cunt, no bottled water in my department, London tap water is good enough for us, it's excellent. The Eye revealed that in the building Woolas was talking about the delicious London tapwater was filtered through two and a half grand water purifiers on every tap, courtesy of me and thee. Diane Abbot's lucky constituents in Hackney, thanks to her efforts on their behalf on the Jock Scab-Neil Show, of course, have two and a half grands lying around all over the place to make their shitty water drinkable, like moral, environmentally sound Phil's is.

Kirsty Wark, the thieving Glasgow baggage and some tongue-tied cowardly Tory cunt; no wonder Woolas is smirking. There is no point in rebuking these fucking gangsters, no point talking to them; they have nearly all got away with murder on an industrial scale, larceny that beggars belief and an incompetence that in the individual would signal profound mental disorder. No point in writing to your MP, he or she is a thieving cunt, doesn't give a flying fuck for some nobody like you and your miserable concerns, not unless you can bung him a few quid, a free holiday. Don't bother with They Work for You, - a cyber scorecard on MPs activities - because they don't. Read the drearily divine Matthew Parris, his revolting, narcissistic autobiography refers to the voter as some nobody, out in nowhere.

We are the nowhere men and women, outside the charmed circle of celebrity, unknown to Michael Kneepads White and Toilets Maguire, unconsidered by la grande dame, Polly Mascara, the mutant freakshow that is Johannes Hari, nor by the intellectually paralysed, morally bankrupt effluent of a criminal political caste so sharply characterised by the likes of Ainsworth and Woolas. In the BBC green room, as they drink our drinks before they are driven home in our cars, we trouble none, we are non-persons, we are not worth thinking about. Bienvenu, Mr English Liberation Front, au monde de cunt; say it loud, say it often.

May 28, 2008 11:48 AM

rudyard kipling said...Rebuke

Dave, Worcester said...

Guido, will you, for fucks sake, stop swearing so much on your blog.

I agree with a lot of what you say, but I have to disagree with your reference to MP's voting for soldiers to pay for their own rations. No such vote ever occurred as far as I can make out.

I was a soldier for 22 years from '77 to '99 and all of that time soldiers paid for accommodation and rations. What the new system tried to address was an ever present grumbling from soldiers that they had to pay for rations 7 days a week and when they weren't on active duty they (quite rightly) would go away at weekends and do what soldiers do when they are not in the thick of it. So the grumble was that they were paying for rations which they weren't eating because they were somewhere else.
The new system introduced meant soldiers did not have the cost of rations automatically deducted from pay, but instead allowed them to 'pay as you dine', so they only paid for what they were actually eating. In theory this address the decades long gripe, but in reality some soldiers get their wages and spend them very quickly when they are not on operations (live for today !!) and so they run out of cash mid month and can't pay for the meals they subsequently attend. It is more to do with some guys not being able to manage their own budget, than it is about the Government taking the piss. In trying to address the gripe, the MoD created a situation whereby the safety net of paying for your rations 'up front' and knowing you would always be fed, was removed.

Now, I'm not saying it is right to charge soldiers for rations, I'm just pointing out that the facts of the story are being mis-represented.

Incidentally, when I was in the Army I lost count of the number of times I had to convince people that I paid for rations, accommodation and yes, income tax. Most people couldn't understand why soldiers had to pay for it all, even when they were fighting in the falklands etc.

May 27, 2008 1:36 PM

rudyard kipling said...

Well, fuck me, Dave from Worcester, you were probably the smartest girl in the tank, managing your own budget and everything, you fucking arsehole.

This shower of thieving bastards misrepresent everything they do in their poxy lives and - venturing an educated guess - nobody round here gives a flying fuck if they duly get misrepresented themselves, it's about fucking time somebody kicked them in the bollocks; they don't need playfair wallahs like you to bail them out, they'd shit in your face, you fucking sanctimonious moron.

Talk about misrepresentation, the drunken, shit-eating thug, Jock Reid, when Defence Secretary, avowed that no British squaddie would face a shot fired in anger in Afghanistan. It's nearly a hundred dead now and countless maimed, there's a case for your bleating "the facts of the story are being misrepresented" you worthless cunt. Fuck off up to Glasgow Celtic football club where Reid is chairman and say Oi!You! Cunt! wossallthis shit you said would never happen ? The Nimrod fleet, there's another one, take up your fair play issues there, go and tell those bereft of the fourteen airmen not to misrepresent the government. The melted cavalryman, the bloke who should be grateful that Bob Ainsworth pays him a pension, he'd love to hear your misrepresentation shit, go and see him, Dave, tell him how a man must manage his budget, he'll fucking love you even more than I do. Either that or fuck off next door with Mrs Dale, that's the place for girl guides like you, wear your cardy. No place for creepy collaborateurs like you in this New Model Army. Mustn't misrepresent the thieving, drunken, coke-snorting, toilet-lurking, shit-eating, worthless, murdering bastards, up to their necks in graft, corruption and sperm ? Oh, fuck me, no, mustn't over-egg the fucking pudding. Never heard such shit. Do fucking grow up, Dave from Worcester. You sound like Gerry Hayes. You're not him, are you, off on some gay, army fantasy, like he does ?

These fuckers need a fair trial and then they need hanging. Simple. Job done. Job's a good 'un.

May 27, 2008 3:35 PM

Dave, Worcester said...

Ah Rudyard, touched a nerve or too there did I? So now, we counter a mistruth with another mistruth? No, we do what this site and others do - highlight the mistruths and watch the fuckers wriggle and squirm, but assembling and disassembling in return is not the answer. How the fuck does my correcting a statement make me a collaborator. You should take a chill pill and lie down, for a fucking long time.
I met plenty of gob shites in the Army - I've just met another.

May 27, 2008 4:53 PM

rudyard kipling said...

Dear Mr Dave from Worcester

Sweetie, I bet you were the darling of the catering corps but it'll be a long cold day in Hell before you touch anything of mine, much less a nerve.

As for you being a filthy collaborateur well, few here seem impressed by your nit-picking Geneva Convention rectitude being so punctiliously applied to the whores, pimps, ponces and slags of the Westminster Brothel. It must be said indeed, that the corrections of errors, since you mention it, might usefully commence with yourself rather than with Mr Guido, already much maligned by the apostrophe Jihadists.

You mean misrepresent and not mis-represent, there is not necessarily a hyphen in all longer words; you mean dissemble and not disassemble and although there is no correct substitute for your use of the word assemble in this context, we can be sure, nevertheless, that you know what it is that you think you meant when you coined this imaginative gibberish, or that you did when you thought you meant it.

It has been most interesting to share your correcting world view but regrettably there is no substance in it. If you would avoid those post spud-bashing stress disorder flashbacks which so upset you and your family you should fuck off; here is a dark place.

Ms Widdecombe knits, sews and bakes cakes in the light, and is perfectly attuned to your own quaint notions of fair play; she is much more your sort of companion, why don't you visit her? You can swap pizza recipes.

May 27, 2008 6:47 PM

john bright MP said...Knighthoods, cocaine and rentboys all round.

john bright MP said...

Oh, Friends, not in these tones.

Writing weekly fan letters to themselves in their local 'papers our MPs never really disclose the true, shameful level of penury which is their portion as they strive to make life better for we ingrates.

Clearly, on balance and in a very real sense the Devil, as ever, is in the detail - as people like Lord Digby Bendover-Jones, are wont to say - and we do not, do we, want to "get into" a blame culture, apart that is from blaming the poor for their poverty, the disabled for their haltness and the old for their age. We must blame, further, at this moment, those reckless service folk whose oversights and derelictions of duty turn the valuable aircaft with which they are entrusted into fireballs thus not only selfishly incinerating themselves at great public expense but embarrassing further the great Brummie war leader, Mr Bob Shithouse AInsworth, MP, himself briefly a capstan operator at Standard Triumph before taking up the cares and responsibilities of Labour movement parasitism; there is, in truth, much blame to be leveled at the electorate in its many guises but those - exalted ones, like Melvyn Lord Bragg the Cunt and that fucking bastard from the Royal Mail, Crozier - from commerce, the arts and politics who appear on the BBC's
Channel Dimbleby are, by their very modesty and self-sacrifice, beyond blame and cheap at the price, whatever it is.

Think of our first black parasite, baroness Diane Lard-Abbott of CaribbeanHolidaysRus, toiling, not as she would prefer, on behalf of her electorate, but labouring at the coalface of Jock Scab-Neil's pretend tv programme, tittle-tattling drunkenly for a mere thousand pounds an hour, ensconced with Aren't I A Prick Portillo, or scribbling long into the night for her various newspaper columns when she might be more joyfully and virtuously engaged on constituency business; driven as she is to making fascinating celebrity TV programmes about herself, the great smirking, tongue-tied, moronic, politically illiterate, overfed blubber mountain deserves our understanding. And our money. The sacrifices that Diane has made in order to send her son to private school, far from the grimy spawn of constituents who pay her, are testament not only to her socialist principles but to how very poorly paid she is and we should be grateful under the circumstances that she continues to stand.

The very next time we see a prospective legislator assuring us that he will work tirelessly not on his or her own behalf but on ours we must remember that this may well be what he or she wants to do but our pusillanimous, penny-pinching approach to public service pay will drive he or she into moonlighting in the media, in commerce, in the courts, even, heaven forfend, in the pizza business, as one elderly lady MP is forced to do as, her Old Maid oeuvre exhausted, her publishing work falls away.

Who can doubt the shame felt by firebrand socialist entertainer Mr George Pussy, MP, of the RespectMe party, forced, in order to make ends meet, into neglecting his paid duties in the House and dressing up in fetish clothing to do a spot of granny porn in the Big Brother House.

No, Mr Guido, lay down your weary cudgel, chide and reprove no more for it is we who are at fault. The impoverishment of our MPs is a running sore on the body politic. Know you not that even still-serving MPs are forced to completely disappear from the House in order to concentrate on earning a crust, as though in early retirement but still drawing the salaries and expenses. One thinks of Mr Alan Punk-Milburn, former health secretary, now, still an MP but working full-time for the pharmaceuticals industry; his colleague Ms Patsy C Difficile Hewitt, having showered the doctors with payrises they hadn't even asked for, this brilliant public servant, paid-off with a minor Brussels sinecure worth only a few millions is forced, like Mr Milburn, to flog her insider knowledge to Messrs Boots the Chemists, whilst drawing her own MPs emoluments.


Poor, ailing, priapic, gluttonous Mr Prescott is seldom seen these days in the house representing his doubtless deranged and equally workshy electorate. Perhaps instead he occupies his time with further memoirs and perhaps a well deserved holiday or two. Bless.

It really is too bad. People who have devoted in some cases months a year to ruling us in our own best interests deserve better. And those who cry Up against the wall, motherfuckers, sell short the great British public and its appetite for shit-in-the-face.

Have we not seen, anywy, at Crewe and Nantwich the coming of the New Order? Will Tory lawyer MPs abandon the courts, will Ken Lung Cancer Clarke concentrate on earning his MP's salary or will he continue flogging lethal drugs to third world children, the fat, horrible, smug, shit-eating, sing-song, I-know-best fucking bastard; will the boardrooms of the banks be bereft of braying Tory fuckpigs in pinstripe suits, moonlighting from Westminster, keeping, as they impudently call it, a foot in the real world, bunch of money-grubbing cocksuckers?

All is now changed. Mr Cameron, the walking miscarriage, will soon rule. He will root out fiddles, and scams and moonlighting. On his blank, strangely erased face we will see a righteous thunder as he dragoons his troops into concentrating on the job for which in a four-yearly festival of competitive promising they debase themselves before complete strangers. Tories will be dragged from their merchant banks, their insider dealings and their bondage brothels. The subsidised bars and greasy silver spoons of the Palace of Westminster will fall silent as MPs concentrate on what they are paid to do but in order to continue to attract the very best - people like Prescott & Conway & Oaten - and in order for Mr Cameron to ensure that honourable and right honourables on all sides do not completely scupper his Ascension, salaries, exes and pensions, for so long so unfairly pegged at pittance level, will obviously have to go up. And up. And up. Knighthoods, cocaine and rentboys all round.

May 27, 2008 11:47 AM

john bright said...

john bright said...

Prostrate with grief, bereft of their bilious, harridan protector, Gwyneth the Bad-Mannered, the serfs of Crewe fell to their knees before the MediaMinster juggernaut. We are sick, they said, much as we loved old wotsername, a real character, a true parliamentarianite, we are sick of her mates shitting in our faces, we don't want her daughter and heir, the Lady Tampon, shitting in our faces for the next five years, ano-fucking-bulimic, intshe ? Be all yellow. And watery. Or else little hard brown bullet-turds. Fuck that shit.

Stooging around their own grim town centre, foregathering in fish and chip shops and at the hot pork batch stand, Crewe and Nantwichians, egged-on by TV producers, vied, one with another, to mutter Northern imprecations at the visiting horde of serpents, drunks, sex addicts, dipsomaniacs, child molesters, grave-robbers, arse bandits and sticky-fingered vermin swarming all over this dire hamlet. Please don't shout at me, chided Mr David Moneybags, I am an Old Etonian and I shall do what I can for you, my good fellow, although it may not be entirely what you want. Thank you, Sir, said the peasant, you can be sure of my vote.

I shall, if I may, take your name and phone number, hissed Lady Tampon to some churl, grasping the sleeve of her suit jacket - from Marks & Sparks Skeletor range - and I shall look into this matter and, under her breath, do fuck off you horrible and poor bastard, don't you know I am a fucking aristo, like the Queen and Tony Benn. Oh, how I shall not vote for thee, said the oik as the cameras panned to the BBC's Mr Michael Crick in his fetching, boyish scarf, chortling at his own cleverness.

And so the word went out around the constituency: We Crewe and Nantwichians shall not kneel before NewLabour a moment longer to have them shit in our faces, never. We are a proud people and will seek our face enshitment elsewhere. Mr Cameron and Mr Gove, the SpeedFreak, they shall empty their bowels on our upturned faces; encrusted we shall be with the faeces of Mrs Shoe Fetish and that little mouthy, slaphead, Yorkshire git. Best of all, les cremes des les merdes shall be ours, a torrent of greedy, braying, inbred Old Etonian layabouts and sexual degenerates shall dump their portions in our grateful faces. And in this manner we send a message to the whole country. No need to be stuck with NewLabour shitting in your face, give the Tories a turn. This, after all, is a democracy.

Back in the studio, earning his stipend from the BBC, Sir Michael Kneepads White was having a nervous breakdown or was deeply drunk, or both. Ceaselessly insulting his co-parasites, Professor John Rentagob from some pretend Jock University and pretend journalist, Anthony Teeth-Hangover, a septuagenarian political groupie, Kneepads ranted and railed and frothed, almost taking over the entire dismal programme, it's only a by-election, these people deserve Labour shit in their faces, not Tory shit; I knew Boris Johnson's father, y'know, thirty years ago; funny how we both turned into complete cunts. If Kneepads is serious journalism then we should elbow the Liberal Democrat trysters aside and seek more useful illumination down on the nearest shithouse wall.

A plethora of independent candidates - none of whom, however eccentric, could be as bad as anyone from the leprous, dinosaur, Expense Account & Home Inprovement parties - stood in Crewe, none of them secured any backing. An opportunity presented itself, too, in the light of the recently disclosed widespread, cross-party levels of corruption, for a forest of spoiled papers. But no, the dummies in Crewe, habituated to shit in their faces, did exactly as they were bid by the Westminster media, switched their copraphagic fealty from one Gangmaster to another and in the words of famous kiddy-porn researcher, Mr Pete Nose, of The Oo, it's a case of meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

Persisting in his life-long delusion, Brown insists that this latest humiliation is just part of a dialogue between he, the cleverest boy in Scotland and some of his electorate; they are asking him to tweak his uber-Vision, modify ever so slightly the Values he personifies. However pleasant it is to see the prime minister increase his fevered, stuttering, gulping bombast, repeat his sorry-arsed and weary long-term decisions mantra, this is no bright new morning. Cameron, too, is a worthless never-done-a-day's-work-in-his-life cunt. Everybody knows that, apart, it seems, from the compulsive voters in Crewe and Nantwich, may God bless the shit which pummels their faces, now and forevermore.

May 23, 2008 1:11 PM

Me and Guido; libertarianism, but only up to a point, mind. AN OBAMA FUNDRAISER

(The following was pre-censored from order-order - the N-word, y'see, upsets people.)

Trying to get a meal down Mr Sam Wu Chu's but he was too busy with the VIPs; saw this on the telly:


An Obama Fundraiser


"Mah Fellow Niggah-luvvin' Liberals, Hillbillies, Rednecks, Bible-thumpin' motherfuckers and White Trash sonsabitches,

President Obamalamadingdong calling y'all. Now Ah knows Ah ain't no kinda niggahs' niggah. Fact is, Ah ain't hardly no kinda niggah at all. Ah's a bit black fo' sure, on the outside, but you ain't never gonna see President Barack Obamalamadingdong sittin' down to a mess a grits, not when there's foie gras and chablis to be had, what kind of dumb motherfuckin' niggah'd do that shit ? Bitsa fat pork and rice and stalk-eyed, creepy-crawly motherfucking shit from the bottom of the river where everybody takes a dump ? No fucking way, man, that this so-phisticated motherfuckin' sonofabitch gonna be eating that shit. Leastways not unless some motherfucker is there from Time Magazine.

Seein' as how Ah am a Senator an' all, Ah got me a five-star cook from Paris, France back home in Chicago an' if I go in the kitchen and say, On-ree, mah man, how's about some hominy grits, dude, and some jelly beans and some corn fritters and maybe some blackeyepeas, Ah just know that motherfucker is gonna take one look at me an say Vous can kiss my frog ass, s'il vous plait, M'sieu, le president, Henri not come to US of A to cook fucking entrails, bits of merde an' grease, some fucking Mississippi monster fricassee, zut alors, fish lips an' foreskins and shit like that, Sacre bleu, that ain't no haute cuisine, that ain't no nouvelle cuisine, that there is sorry-assed, shitpoor niggah food, this motherfucking soulfood shit, M-sieu Barack, sautee of racoon with cornbread and motherfuckin' molasses, this is a la fucking carte from the motherfuckin' slaves' cafeteria. And Ah'm telling you, mah fellow liberal niggah-luvvin' motherfuckers, that Frog sonofabitch be on the first plane back to the Champs fucking Elysee. And Ah'll be stuck here cooking mah own burger avec fromage with pommes frites and le diet pepsi, sure as shit. And who, mes amis, wants to be without the hired help ? Even if the dude is a frog and shit down a hole in the bathroom floor.

But anyway, mah fellow, middle class liberal motherfuckers, you was all askin' me about penal reform. Over a million black, black, black, motherfucking niggah rapists and murderers and gas-station stick-up artists and all kindsa sub-human, cocksucker shit held in lockdown maximum security conditions that's worse than them fucking mediaeval dungeons and mosta them niggahs ain't never coming out, them niggahs done got their sorry black asses buried alive, they ain't never gonna see no more pussy, they ain't never gonna have a crumb a human kindness, they ain't never gonna see nothin' but concrete and razorwire and dogs and guns and batons and teargas and evil, vengeful, eye-for-a-motherfuckin' eye, punitive shit like that. Them sonsabitches try and get a few zeds at night and some redneck, honky, shitfaced, Alabama Jim Crow KKK warder come right along, whistlin' Dixie and whack his nightstick all along the bars just to keep Leroy wide awake, repenting of his Oh-fendin' behaviour. Them niggahs is like disproportionately convicted to the Nth motherfuckin' degree. And many a them motherfuckers, they's just railroaded straight to Hell by some white DA, some white jury, some white judge and like as not by their own white motherfucking attorney and maybe didn't even do no motherfucking crime in the first place - 'part from bein' a niggah - and people say to me Mistah President, whatchall gonna do about this shit ?

Well, brothers, sistahs and motherfuckers, we don't talk about that shit, here at Team Obamalamadingdong, the impact of slavery and ghettoisation, ain't no fucking way that's gonna get me in the White House. We is all for black folks, just as long as they's like white folks, obedient and up to they asses in debt and patriotism. Nosirree, we don't go there because them hard-time niggah motherfuckers don't have a vote so, in a great democracy like this, they's not even worth talking about, not even once every four years. But Ah, too, have a dream - Ah dreamed, by the way, brothahs and sistahs and motherfuckers that Ah was over in England where the fag president, that nosepickin' dude, don't bother himself none with all this election shit, just get the job because he wants the motherfucker so bad and then hang onto it even though the whole motherfuckin' place is going down the john, while here, Stateside, we still gotta go through the motions and like y'all got the chance a choosin' between the zillionaire pigface pussy-chewin' bitch and her pimp, Spunky Bill; the cockamamie senior citizen dwarf with that motherfucking acne all over his face an madder'n a a trunk full a spanners, or me, Uncle Tom. But back to my motherfucking dream. Ah have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of motherfuckin' brotherhood and when the drug deal done go wrong them cocksuckers all blow each others motherfuckin' heads off, with high calibre, motherfucking automatic weapons, pump-action shotguns and Ay-Kays and Em Forties and shit but that the American way, motherfuckers, brothahs and sistahs, will prevail., Lord-a-Mercy. That the white man will be set free, on pro-bation, and that the niggah criminal will be set, once more, in chains and ropes and shackles, cast down, brothers and sistahs, in the narrow cells and dark places which admit no hope and certainly no motherfuckin' charity. And that the white liberal motherfucker folks'll all vote for me as their Uncle Tom president. 'Slong as they got one of us motherfuckers in the White House, see, they can do whatever shit they like on the rest of them; burn their asses and pop their eyeballs on Death Row, why that dude Clinton, the so-call Nigras' champion - Yall hear what he done say about me? - everytime he got hisself elected to the White House he'd just roast him a celebratory niggah boy or two just to show how tough he was, and mebbe get off a little bit, get hisself some action off one a them volunteer cocksuckers they have in the White House. It was like Spunky Bill's own personal Thanksgivin', only with a roast Nigra instead of a roast turkey. President Dubya, he'd hang 'em high, fry 'em slow, strap 'em kindly to a table and fill 'em full a humanitarian poison and pray his ass off for their black souls or just plain let them idle sonsabitches sink or swim in that motherfucking hurricane shit, down there in BigEasy voodooland. An' if he got real pissed off with the non-white element a Creation he'd just up and start a fucking war against them raghead motherfuckin' sonsabitches, blow 'em all to Hell and steal their motherfuckin' oil. It's the Uncle Sam way. Done gotta speak Peace unto the heathen motherfucker. And kick his ass.

Speakinawhich, motherfuckers, Ah will continue to take those itty bitty bitsa welfare that remain after the great reforms a my predecessor and I will take that money, every last Goddamned nickel and dime, brothers and sistahs and motherfuckers, Ah will take it from them feckless niggahs and trailer trash and return it to right where it naturally belongs, with the executives of corporate America who so generously bought my black ass in order that I could run mah campaign. Just y'all watch and see if Ah don't.


Y'know, mah fellow motherfuckers, the African-American, or the niggah, make up more'n twelve percent of Uncle Sam's children and yet he don't own but less'n one tenth of one per cent of Uncle Sam's wealth. An' that's why y'all should vote for me. Ah ain't one a them nasty niggahs, with a great big black dick, mebbe two feet long and gonna stick it all up yo white women's asses. Ah ain't one a them niggahs keep banging on 'bout slavery and whippings and hangings and castrations and gangrape and fire-bombing and all a them facets of our great heritage; y'all know what Ah'm saying, ethnic cleansin' a them injuns and that little coupla centuries a niggah community programme work, they's all a necessary part a the development of this great nation; one nation under God, e pluribus unum, motherfuckers, means we all in this shit together, the Ku Klux Klan, John Birch, they's all good ole boy motherfuckers, got nothing to fear from President Obamalamadingdong. Why, snakes alive, brothahs and sistahs and motherfuckers, wasn't for the people-traffickin' a them early pioneers of free enterprise, wouldn't be no Goddamn niggahs here for y'all to be liberal about in the first place. Wouldn't never a been no SwingLow SweetChariot, We Shall Overcome shit. Wouldna been no Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles bumpin' into each other down there at the civil rights march, wouldna been no Joan Baez destroyin' the motherfucking ozone layer with all that Godawful fuckin' shrieking. If there wasn't no slave trade and no niggah lynchin' wouldn't be no motherfuckin' culture worth Jack Shit here in the home of the free. Be one dumbass motherfuckin' niggah president who'd wanna go against all that historical weight of patriotic cruelty an' oppression an' I sure as shit ain't gonna be that dude; when in the White House, do as the white folks do; selling postcards of the hanging, 'sgood enough for me. Things all gonna stay much the same niggah-wise around here, served us all pretty good so far slavery, ethnic cleansin', segregation an' Big Macs with extra fries; rally round the flag, y'all.

And anyway, whose motherfuckin' cause y'all gonna get up on ya hind legs about then, iffen we let all the brothers outa jail? Ain't no need to get all liberal about the Jews, them Hebe motherfuckers got the place all sewn-up; even though them sons a Abraham dudes done mutilated their peckers all to shit, motherfucker, cut the end right off that sonofabitch is what they do, I'm not shittin' ya. OK, maybe them little Jewboy babies done need a place a safety order being slapped on their asses, keep their litttle winkies the fuck away from them scalpel-waving Semite sonsabitches but basically Hymie don't need no special pleading. Micks, Krauts, Chinks, Spics, Wops, why, bless my soul, motherfuckers, they don't need no liberal conscience to protect their ass. Them motherfuckers OWN organised crime. Poor niggah just gets to deal a bit a crack cocaine, a drug specially invented to fuck his sorry head right up and get his ass in jail for nine hundred and ninety nine years, motherfuckers. Judge give Leroy a millenium's wortha cold, hard time and say Don't do it again. And just as long as them motherfuckin' trailer dwellers got some tee-vee to watch and some guns to loose off now and again, they all just be happy as motherfuckin' Louisiana hogs in shit. We all start treatin' the niggahs better an y'all lose your purpose in life; then y'all just gonna have to become motherfuckin' vegetarians. Just like Ay-dolf Hitler.

You know, motherfuckers, mah old nanny used to say to me 'Barack, you spoiled little prick, I ever tell you that without that cheap cocksucker Judas Iscariot wouldn't be no motherfuckin' Christianity ? No niggah motherfucker'd ever go up in Heaven, 'cross the River Jordan. Wasn't for brother Judas, nobody'd a ever heard about no River a Jordan. Wouldn't never a been no James Brown, no Elvis Presley. No blues, motherfucker, no gospel singing. Every motherfucker'd be a flesh-eatin; headshrinkin' pagan sonofamotherfuckinbitch cannibal, or a Goddamned motherfucking Jew, or maybe the whole fucking world be full a Godless, heathen bastard, motherfuckin', shit-eating, communist, faggot presbyterian sonsabitches, just like in Scotland, England. Wouldn't be no cathedrals, no motherfuckin' art, no music, no sculpture, no literature, was Judas, y'see, motherfuckers, by betraying the dude, Jesus, done made the whole Western civilisation shit happen. And now folks who wouldn'ta had no kinda job without ole Judas rollin' over on the Saviour Hisself is up there in the pulpit spittin' out the word Judas like it was the Devil's very own ee-jack-u-late. Dude done wasted hisself anyways, lynch his own sorry ass from a tree. What more do these fucking sonsabitches want ? You'd think every motherfucking Pope in history fall down on his Nazi, Jew-baiting knees and kiss a picture a Judas's asshole in sheer motherfucking gratitude but instead ole Judas is as popular as the clap in a nunnery. Now ain't that a crockashit, ya little motherfucker ?' 'Swhat she done said to me. 'Without no motherfuckin' traitor ain't no motherfucking Church a Jesus H fuckin' Christ. All down to the little fink, lee Harvey Iscariot'

An' just like our own Sweet Saviour, I have been, brothahs and sistahs and motherfuckers, forty days and forty nights in the motherfuckin' Wilderness with only a little bit a cocaine and a few hookers to comfort me in my hour of tribulation, motherfuckers. And Ah have been smitten by the Clintonite, the McCainite and the Lord even sent to sorely try my ass that shit-eatin' wopbastard sonofabitch, the Giuliani-ite. But just as long as that unnatural woman keeps a goin' with her motherfuckin' lies and misfuckinspeakins an' just as long as that motherfucker Gore stay where he belong, in motherfuckin' history, then brothers an sistahs and liberal niggah-luvvin' motherfuckers, We Shall Overcome. Or Ah will, anyways. Praise the Lord, motherfuckers.

Ah have climbed me up the high mountain, brothahs, sistahs and motherfuckers. An' I have looked down off the top a that motherfucker, brothas and sistahs and motherfuckers. An' I have seen the promised land. And I beheld a sight for sore and weary eyes, children, brothahs, sistahs and motherfuckers. Ah saw a land laid out before me rich with promise, and flowing with all that milk an honey shit, and the little birds in the trees was singin' the Hallelujah Chorus - and if all you niggah-luvvin' liberals all wanna raise y'voices up to Godamighty and shout Hallelujah for President Obamalamadingdong, why, this motherfucker ain't gonna stop your asses - and the fields was rich with every kinda shit you could wanna eat an' the roads was all toll free, gasoline was free, every motherfucker had a kickass, six-litre Lincoln motherfucking Continental and there was free mother-raping, granny gangbangin', dog-fucking, shit-eating, corpse-banging, porn-o-rama on the tee-vee for every freeborn American motherfucker who wanted it. And that was every last motherfuckin' one a them patriots.

But all that good shit was just for the decent white folks. The niggahs was all down the other end a the Promised Land; a few of them was scrapin' at geetars with bitsa broken bottle, but mostly they was just ragged and threadbare and hungry, pickin' cotton and shining shoes and a goodly number a them was in jail and some a them swingin' from the trees. And them hate-filled, mid-western pussywhipped, gun-toting nee-fucking-anderthal German motherfuckers, they was all stacking the shelves of Brother Walmart just like they was born to do. And that Promised Land, was the American Dream; there, right before my motherfuckin' eyes. White, Anglo motherfuckin' Saxon and Pro-testant. And Off-White, like me.

Ah was a good student. I had all that niggah shit educated right outa my black ass. An' I learned all that Judas business from my nanny. An' I learned too, 'bout sincerity, offa that slimy, Limey cocksucker, Tony Blair and his Godamned motherfucking hideous bitch, Imelda - anyone try an' pimp that ugly bitch starve to fucking death, motherfucker, starve to fucking death. All you gotta do motherfuckers is fake that sincerity shit. See, motherfuckers, just like NewLabour done over in Limeyland, outa great betrayals can come huge and highly profitable motherfuckin' enterprises, for the few but obviously not the many motherfuckers an' with your help brothers and sistahs and liberal niggah-luvvin' motherfuckers, that's exactly what Ah'm 'bout to prove to y'all.

You can fool enough a the motherfuckers enough a the time. Ask not, therefore, motherfuckers, what your President can do for you, but what you can do for your President; send not to ask, motherfucker, for whom that bell toll, it done toll for another backward niggah on Death Row and remember, motherfuckers, John Brown body may be mouldering in the grave but once we gets us the nomination we is gonna party all night long. Mine eyes, brothas and sistahs, done seen the Glory of the coming of the White House. Goodnight motherfuckers and God Bless America."


Although blacks make up 12 per cent of the population they own less than a tenth of one percent of the nation's wealth - much of it derived from slavery or ethnic cleansing - and they form nearly fifty per cent of the US prison population; there are seven times as many blacks on Death Row as whites. The land of the free jails more of its citizens than any other Western nation and to less preventative or rehabilitative purpose. Attorney and wannabee president, Obama, like the witch Clinton, believes in the lockdown, the thousand year sentence and the death penalty being applied to the people he calls, for electoral purposes, his own. He is adamant, though, they roast the right niggah and not the wrong niggah. That, motherfuckers, wouldn't never do.

Posted by stanislav's blues at 12:00

Taken from Stanislav's blog: Stanislav's Blues (click title for link back)

stanislav a young polish plumber said...Good news at last, Browne ill.

stanislav a young polish plumber said...

Good news at last, Browne ill. Hope it's deadly but protracted and agonisingly, screamingly painful, like napalm.

Maybe, God willing, he'll go home and find his house bombed, his family in bloody shreds and Geoff Hoon loitering there, saying You'll thank me one day, you'll thank me one day; I simply don't accept that, Kirsty, I simply don't accept that, kirsty; or Miranda Blair saying I take full responsibility but only in the form of millions of US dollars in payoff; I am a pretty, straightguy. Perhaps Ali Closet-Campbell will be there saying Heavy shit, Des, finding these Weapons of Mass Destruction. And anyway, the world's a much better place for the removal of that Saddam bloke, innit, mission accomplished, eh, fancy a drink ?

Presumptuously, Guido, permit stanislav, on behalf of the little Iraqi boy, his arms and family blown to bits, brought to NHS Blair in a foul publicity stunt; on behalf of the melted cavalryman blackguarded by Browne's junior, the unspeakable cunt Ainsworth and on behalf of uncountable legions of innocents slaughtered, maimed and blinded, made refugee, thirsty, hungry and frightened wish Des Browne and all the frightfully clever yet easily "misled" honourable and right honourable members a lifetime of pain, sickness and misery equivalent to their wickedness; may their sleep be fractured by dead children marching through their bedroom walls, reproaching them; may they lift bloody hands to ears unstoppable, be despised and rejected, spat upon and shat upon by decent folk everywhere; may Browne and his cronies, cowards, thieves and degenerates; torturers, vandals, warmongers, philistines; brutes, monsters and villains; ponces, pimps and whores, may they bear the guilt a weary way and thereafter may they roast, forever, in presbyterian Hell, down there sucking on Satan's cock, mouth-to-mouth with Gordon Brown's neglectful, ambitious, pushy, sanctimonious father; it is he, after all, we must thank for this miserable, sermonising, cowardly, gibbering, snot-eating freak, appointing shit like lawyer Browne, shaming and beggaring the country, robbing the poor, fellating the rich, murdering the innocent. New Labour, what are they like, eh?

ps to the bloke above, Mrs Dale is probably out shopping in Oxfam for a new cardy, no point talking to her here, this is a dark place of rage and venom, not well behaved like Mrs Dale, Mrs Dale doesn't do bad language, only bad writing. Maybe try the WI.

love from stainslav

3:39 PM, April 22, 2008

stanislav said...BBC Parliament, Kipling would have loved it.

stanislav said...

BBC Parliament, Kipling would have loved it, the UK government are such shits that Tommy Atkins' best friend is not the part-time war minister, Browne, not the Labour Party, nor the Tory Party but the fucking Coroner and the government, in the person of Tony McNutter, as vile and unworthy a person as ever held public office tries, now, to muzzle even him; Tommy, like the rest of us, must be defenceless before Government, friendless when cheated and betrayed, even the tiny ripples of criticism from the Coroners' Courts must be dammed-up, diverted.

Wittering in front of whey-faced, puddingy Jacqui Schmidt at home office questions, this famously mouthy cunt in his tie and haircut bleated that the Coroners had to be shut up in the interests of national security, that is to say in the interests of McNutter's own job.

Nobody demurred, nobody grabbed the Mace and whacked this obnoxious prick in the face with it.
Tories - Mercer, surprisingly - nit-picking over time scales but cowed by the shibboleth of national security. If this household paid the BBC tax, the horror show that is the house of commons would be worth every penny. Even through the tv screen you could almost smell the shit on Tony McNulty's breath, how do they do that?

7:34 PM, April 21, 2008

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...What a gang of freaks. This isn't an opposition, this is more of the same.

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Dave Thing marshaling his troops. Fuck me. D Day all over again. Useless fucking airheads. There's Hague the clown, I have ay joke to tell, Mr Deputy Speaker. I yam ay very good after-dinner speaker, Mr Deputy Speaker and so I will clearly be ay very good foreign secretary, if not ay very good prime minister in due course once my right honourable friend, the member for bicycles, is exposed for the public school dimwit which he most assuredly is, Mr Deputy Speaker, a ha ha ha, thank you, too kind, too kind.

There's the Tories' Hatterjee, that cadaverous, spit-spraying, know-it-all, motormouth misfit and Murdoch nutter, Michael Gove; that fucking bloke, the one with his head seam-welded up his arse, wotsisname, George something, sounds like a prefect and that old, granny shoe fetish bint, Teresa Look At My Boots, Not My Face May, runner-up in the Margaret Beckett, Handsome Is As Handsome Does Face Like A Horse Handicap. What a gang of freaks. This isn't an opposition, this is more of the same. These people applauded Blair; these people, all fabulously clever, were "misled" by by the dipso, Alistair Closet-Campbell, every last one of these opposition members has, time after time, acknowledged Brown's superior, prudent handling of the economy, as the country, overfed impossible amounts of debt, went down the toilet. What the fuck, pray, does vain, empty-headed Dave Thing know about anything, outside his own, cozening, prating cabal of braying, arrogant, thieving, brothel-creeping layabouts. Man's a cunt. Good for fuck all. Never done a days work in his worthless life. If Dave's the answer the question needs urgent re-framing.

Ordinary people, plumbers, even, have been lamenting Nancy Brown's dangerous unsuitability - for anything really - for a long, long time; now that the commentariat and the twitterati have belatedly discovered their own reasons for his departure - after ten years cheerleading for he and his partner in crime, Blair, while they fucked the entire country up the arse - are we supposed to rejoice, as though Trevor Kavanagh was anything other than a shameless cheap Murdoch whore, shooting his master's bullet's, sucking his master's cock. Is Kneepads White any less a loathsome liberal-fascist, Toilets Maguire not a scabby, hypocritical Geordie punk and is la Toynbee not a twittering champagne socialist slag, shitting on the faces of the poor from the same elevated, gold-plated latrine benches as her equally venal chums in The Government, The Arts, The Media and wherever else idle useless bloodsucking parasites congregate to barrack us, bully us, lie to us and steal from us. Take our money and give it to thieving bankers who should properly be in jail and call it reform, modernisation, stability; traduce the poor and flatter and bribe the obnoxious rich, Branson and the dwarf Ecclestone, flog-off the legislature, huge colonies of Russian gangsters made ruinously welcome, nurses and firemen unable to find places to live. What a bunch of cunts is Guido's political media nexus.

There are countless exemplars, parables, metaphors for the last decade's Blair-Brown-Mandelson gay project. Cruelty television is just one; gay barrowboy, Sugar, shouting at people, in his cufflinks; the moronic, hysterical gay cook, Ramsey, swearing at people; a pair of old slapper speedfreaks from the Trannygraph ridiculing people's clothes; Jeremy Klaxon and his little prick, Hammond - of the blessed and miraculous recovery - ridiculing people's cars, their own fabulous stables of vehicles given as bribes from the motor industry; Big Brother, a festival of cruelty and humiliation, attracting even such celebrity caring people as Pussy Galloway, MP and Professor of Orgasm Studies, Granny Greer and as though our homes, clothes, lives, cars, relationships and meals were insufficiently criticised there is, now, a mad ginger jock nutritionist, poring over and criticising the state of people's shit. The mad bitch, poking and sniffing it, stops short of eating it but an opportunity beckons, there, for someone seeking a career opportunity, a Liberal Democrat sort of thing. And if we tire of self-improvement there is light entertainment, offered at fabulous cost to us, from impudent cocksuckers like Ross and Norton, their taxpayer-funded time valued at fifty thousand of our pounds per hour. Not much fuss about the ten pee rate at Broadcasting House. No tears spilled by whichever fuckwit is now in charge of what they call culture; it's the man who wasn't there, isn't it, Purnell. The Dimblebys, Paxman, Humphries, Toilets McNaughtie, all with their bursting portfolios of programmes, newspaper columns and book deals have all lionised the steady hand at the economic tiller of The Man With No Nails.

Lectured to, harangued, insulted, ridiculed, overcharged and short-changed, the TV audience and the contempt in which it is obviously held by Grade and Thompson and the like is treated exactly the same as is the electorate by the elected. You can't turn around these days without some Oxbridge bastard shitting in your face.

All the politicians and all the mainstream media, innured by greed and undeserved wealth to its catastrophic consequences, have conspired with and colluded in the gay project, the famous Third Way. What's happening now is games within games, score-settling by the nasty little prick Field and others, the insipid Meacher and the like, manouevering; more worthless pledges of rebellion from flouncy, grandstanding cunt, Bob-Marshall-Andrews QC, MP, bridling facetiously, showily, on behalf of his poor constituents, whom he wouldn't touch with an ermine-wrapped bargepole; quite enough to put a chap off his claret.

Mr Anonymous at 11.40 probably has the right of it. Its all bollocks, backbench Labour rebellions are all neutered at the eleventh hour, allowing the feeble-minded to continue in their delusion that Labour is, in its heart, a party of the workers and not a poisonous, greedy free-for-all run for its leaders and their bent acolytes at the top of the unions and, even if he's wrong, the substitution of a gang of Tory thieves or some ghastly coalition which includes preposterous nobodies like Clegg won't save the national bacon; they, themselves Brownite, Euro-conspiring, New World Order Merchants are all of the same tide of filth.

There is only one remedy and applied metaphorically or even literally it is Come Out, Gordon - and the rest of you, all of you, Up Against The Wall Motherfuckers.


("I won't have succeeded until the whole country loves this guy as much as I do." Tony Blair, May 1997, speaking of his pretty, straightguy love for Mr Peter Mandelson)

1:37 PM, April 21, 2008

Mr Chu said...

Mr Chu said...

Harro! Mr Chu here again, owner of the Fuk Yoo Jon lestaulant in Hurr. Plescott come in other day with this shifty-rooking broke, say getting velly wullied about erection. I terr him tly viagala, it work for me evly time, but he carr me sirry sritty eye and terr me piss off. Then he start talking with shifty-rooking broke, who is famous Porish prummer and have name rike toiret -- Sanirav or something. It appear New Rabour tlying to buy vote of Porish community in Gleat Blitain and Sanirav wirring to herrp for cash in hand, no tloubre for tax man, wink nudge. What tlaitor! What tleachelous cunt!

9:46 PM, April 20, 2008

Mr. Sam said...

Harro Mr Chu!

11:10 PM, April 20, 2008

Mr Wu said...

Harro to you Mr Chu
That frat frucker Prescott used and abused my lestaurlant The Ligid Cock in Glimsby for two lears before I kick his frat arse down the stairs two leeks ago.
He came in with blig-haired drag queen called Maureen and the frucking pigs ate their way fru the frucking card.
He always take up offer of eat all you can for a fiver. We give frat frucker small plates but he sly and goes back for seconds. He humililates his drag queen paramour who seem very nice.
I sling out Plescott because he expectorlates over my top waitress and offers me outside when I plesent bill.
I need to speak to you urgently Mr Chu. We need to stop this greedy, frat frucker in his tracks.

12:37 AM, April 21, 2008

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Hello Mr Chu and Mr Sam and Mr Wu and fuck off back to Shanghai all of you, slope eyed, dog-eating, yellow racist bastards. Fucking bad enough live here with fucking Jock. Never mind with cheeky bastard chink with too many fucking teeth. Anyway stanislav never sit for dinner down with lard-eating, vomiting, shrunken-cock, speech-deficient, meatpie monster but instead give him quick rubdown with housebrick if opportunity ever present. Fat cunt.

Surprised actually, that none of the caring anonymati who posted earlier, cunts, made the obvious connection between over-eating and poorly controlled diabetes; it is ever so common and it will certainly be Prescott's problem.

Managing diabetes, of either type, requires both self-restraint and a degree of intelligence/ foresight/self-awareness. As we know, Prescott is a stupid, greedy, useless, whining, self-indulgent cunt; a bastard, a ponce, a sexual predator, a union punk, a hypocrite, a cheat, a bully, a thug, an illiterate incompetent, a crook, good for fuck all, a waste of oxygen and a disgrace to the decent British working class; a lazy, greedy, stupid, worthless piece of shit. That this clowning oaf apparently confuses poorly controlled diabetes with bulimia makes all the more horrifying the fact that, even after he had been stripped of most of them he still retained some quite significant powers. A man who, despite legions of advisers, not to mention occasional oversight of the Department of Health, simply doesn't even understand that his own, diagnosed illness can make him overeat but instead invents another illness entirely, was, for ten years, under some rank, leprous, black compact, the deputy prime minister of the United Kingdom. New Labour,eh, what are they like ?

2:07 AM, April 21, 2008

stanislav said...Lardman Prescott has "confessed" to suffering from cuntus greedybastarditis.

stanislav said...

O/T black comedy in the Telegraph and Sunday Times.

Apparently, Lardman Prescott has "confessed" to suffering from cuntus greedybastarditis. He worked so hard, he claims, banging the secretaries and playing cowboys and indians, that he developed bulimia, often stuffing his face so full with meat pies, dripping and Eccles cakes that he made himself throw up. It is a disease, he says, confessingly, which doesn't just affect airhead princesses but serious, conscientious servants of the people, like wot he is.

Next week's extract from his memoirs, in the Sunday Times: Shagger Prescott reveals: Why I mix my worms up and they come out all shit; I talk like a cunt because I am so sensitive and intelligent.

11:00 AM, April 20, 2008

stanislav said...BROWN OVER AMERICA

stanislav said...

BROWN OVER AMERICA

Among the disgusting, bullying cowards who make up the global political elite the imprimatur of the revolting Senator Kennedy is probably, even now, much sought after and on Friday it was certainly manna from heaven to the UK's Dead Man Walking premier, himself a coward of great distinction.

Kennedy it was who left a girl young enough to be his daughter to drown in his submerged car in the cold, dark waters of Chappaquiddick Sound while he ran home, drunk, to placate his wife, sort out his alibi and bribe whoever it was necessary to bribe.
None of that famous Kennedy heroism for drowning Mary-Jo Kopechne, driven off a bridge by the Senator; you think Spunky-Bill Clinton is an amoral, draft-dodging, contemptible, cowardly piece of shit, Kennedy wrote the book and in the way of these things remains, nearly forty years on, a distinguished member of the US Senate. Fitting then that he should do warm-up for a man frightened, even, of a general election, of a straight question, of coming out of the closet.

Yesterday, Teddy, old and bloated and - one hopes - surely past dalliance with young girls, spent fifteen minutes praise-singing his protege, the snotgobbler, before Brown's outburst of NWO mania at the JFK Library. The whole UK, implied Ted, beseeched Brown to stay at the Treasury for, well, a lot longer than anyone else had done in a long time; no mention that Brown's co-blackmailee, Blair, couldn't budge him; no mention in fact of Blair at all, the UK, seemingly, run single-handedly, prudently, benevolently, these past eleven years by the Man With No Nails.

Brown, continued Kennedy, had all but abolished child poverty in the UK, lifted two million children out of poverty, he had. Puzzled UK viewers must have been muttering Ah, it's their affluence that makes the little bastards knife and shoot one another, drunk and drugged out of their minds, kicking householders to death; the values of canny Presbyterianism, trickling down to Dewsbury's hapless denizens. Brown's real accomplishment, of course, is to lift much of the country into debt, fear, suspicion, hostility and repression; or to put it another way, Calvinism.

But, metaphorised Kennedy lamely, Brown, master mariner, son of the fucking manse and moral compasseer had steered the Kennedy sailing boat safely through the choppy waters of Cape Cod; he could do the same with the entire fucking world. Brown had made his bones as a student university rector and a tv producer, the essential qualifications for re-ordering the world for the better, adolescent bollocks and make-believe. Brown's indefatigability would defeat turrism, Brown would cool and chide the very Sun itself into ending global warming; Brown would dragoon a billion chinks into moderate, prudent energy consumption, a billion South Americans, a billion Indians, all would be putty in the hands of prime minister Brown, as were all his hard-working subjects at home; a world transformed by his visions and values and industry beckoned, a world in which historical problems could at last be resolved.....

Kennedy's hagiography echoed that of his father Joseph. US Ambassador to the UK in the late 'thirties, the subject of Joe Kennedy's praise-singing then was a man like Brown with values and visions and a sense of mission and purpose; Kennedy senior's preferred global statesman was a man who, like Brown, favoured a New World Order, state control, state media, centralised services, population surveillance, special powers and identity cards, his name was Adolf Hitler.

Despised and ridiculed for his cowardice both at home and among hawks in the US, Brown's unerring Jonah instinct led him to cook up a grandiose and self-serving double act with his chum and mentor; like all of his endeavours it turned to shit before our eyes. His political judgements -like his morals - utterly worthless, Kennedy is a man who will be remembered for being his brothers' brother and for fleeing the scene of a crime; would that Brown's infamies were so relatively slight.

Come out, Gordon, nobody likes you, nobody trusts you, nobody believes you. Who do you think you are kidding, Mr Gordon ?

10:29 PM, April 19, 2008

stanislav said...Come here not to praise them but to bury them; dead or alive. Bastards.

stanislav said...

Over-egging the sentimental pudding here. Seems like people have been reading Doctor Raj Persaud's book Bereavement: What to Do when Somebody You Never Met Dies, Strategies For Coping. I fear we may not see her like again, Mr Craig must be reading the Boys Own Book Of Cliches. I think all thirteen lachrymose members of cardyworld next door have wandered in here, obituarising, like they did when that prick of a chief constable topped himself.

Dunwoody, one of those ghastly, phony Labour rebels, do anything bar resign what they bizarrely call the whip. Bob Marshall-Andrews, Tony Benn, Dennis Skinner, Lardwoman Abbott, Rachmann Meacher and the bilious Dunwoody; their stagey principles fooling none but Toilets Maguire and Kneepads "Nuremburg" White. And of course Mr Craig and the Grieving Anonymati. Get the place a bad name all this mawkish fucking drivel.

Time after time these cunts lend themselves willingly to the idea of "the soul of the party," "fiercely independent," might "bring down the government." Its just that they never do. And never would. Labour rebels ? Cowed, sullen bunch of cocksucking hypocrites.

They don't bother too much with eulogising the million dead wogs and the countless maimed and blinded, made refugee, hungry, thirsty, frightened, nor those with faces melted away like candles at an Islington dinner party; no forty-eight hours of respect for Tommy coming home in a box with bits of other Tommies thrown in, rudely stitched together, an arm here and a leg there. Honest, not invent. Ask that coroner. No, a great parliamentarian is dead. What a load of fucking rubbish. Anybody who stays in the party of Blair and Hoon and Straw and Browne and that unspeakable cunt Ainsworth, well, the sooner they are explaining themselves to their christian socialist maker, the fucking better. God rot the lot of them.

And anyway, if that obnoxious, ill-mannered, domineering, ghoulish old matron was anywhere near as clever or influential as she claimed, how come transport, like everything else, is so laughably poor in NewLabour UK plc? How comes if that she made them all squirm so much that they all just went on as before, shitting in our faces. Fuck 'em all; men, women, Angela Eagle and all the other malformed, loathsome mutants squirming like maggots around the mad, snot-eating presbyterian. Take no prisoners. Dunwoody, however she postured, was part of NewLabour, if she wasn't she would have quit and stood as an indie. Come here not to praise them but to bury them; dead or alive. Bastards.


love from stanislav

10:23 PM, April 18, 2008

Mr. Sam said...Harro! Mr Sam here, owner of the Fuk Yoo Ken lestaulant in Rewisham, South Rundon.

Mr. Sam said...

Harro! Mr Sam here, owner of the Fuk Yoo Ken lestaulant in Rewisham, South Rundon. I aporrogise for not lighting lecently but you lemember I had to crose other Fuk Yoo Ken lestaulant in Rambeth because lobbing clunt Mr Rivingstone set the lates at clushing revel. He also want to crose me down because I not brack. Now I have smaller estabrishment in next bollough.

I forrow storly of Orympic frame last reek and am wullied. I not rike to see Chinese lunners in brue halassing Miss Huq. They are blutes, golirras. Mrs Sam and I not applove of Chinese hoorigans in Tibet and Nepor. I come to Engrand to ribelate famiry from Mao burries and make honest riving in own lestaulant.

Mr Blown, Plime Minister, is sirry man. He should have glabbed frame and rectured on human lights in flont of clowd, not stand there rike glinning morlon. Maybe Miss Huq not give him frame because she not want gleen bogeys to lub off.

Anyway, Mr Rivingstone rook in at Fuk Yoo Ken lestaulant yesterday. I not see him for reeks because he lun for erection as Chairman of Rundon with Mr Bollis from Burringdon Crub and Mr Blian, poofter porriceman who want glass and heloin to be regal.

I say: "What you want for runch today Mr Ken?"

He say: "I not come for runch. I come for you give me Chinese gril."

I say: "I not give you gril, Mr Ken. You ask for grils before, this is not a blother. And I lead in paper you have many other grils and make them plegrant but not mally them. So why you want Chinese gril?

"Cos my wirry is like bloomstick in morning" say Mr Ken. "I am hung rike Orion"

"Orion?"

"Yes, you sritty iriot. Hung rike a rion. Big cat, king of follest."

I not quite understand.

"You copurate with too many radies, Mr Ken. In China such loose molars are disglace. Why you come to me for more?"

"Because Chinese lunners in brue have some pletty grils with them. I think you can plovide one."

"I not know lunners in brue" I say roudly. "I lenounce them. Anyway, I fix you up with Miss Fifi-Monique before and you comprain."

"I comprain because Miss Fini-Monique was RADYBOY. I cannot bleed more splogs with radyboy."

"How many splogs you got, Mr Ken?

"Dozens of the blats" say Mr Ken. "I bleed them in the interests of equarrity and incrusivity. I have Rebanese, Lussian, Rat, Lwandan, Flench, Sliss, Sommarian, Rundoner, Itarrian, Gleek, Alabian and Cyllian, Camerloon, Palaguay, Nigelian, Moloccan, St Rucia, Amellican, and Firripino. But no sritty-eye blats. I must comprete the correction, so find me Chinese gril to get plegrant.

"Why you not mally any of them, Mr Ken? Make good rife?"

"Because wise man he say, why buy book when he can bollow flom ribalry."

Mr Ken go on: "Anyway, why you glumble about me sreeping with froozies when Mr Bollis do the same?"

"Mr Bollis take plecaution. He use contlaceptive Dulex, so no offspling."

"Mr Bollis is a plick" say Mr Ken.

I ask: "Do your splogs have watermerron smires?"

"THAT IS LACIST LEMARK" Mr Ken berrow.

"Only blinging some revity, being jorry."

"You'll be jorry solly when I crose you down, you sritty rittle cleep" say Mr Ken. "Why can't I have Miss Yasmine, waitless?"

"Because Miss Yasmine is NOT A SRUT, Mr Ken."

"Fuk yoo" say Mr Ken and regged it from lestaulant.

* * * * *

Rater that day Mr Bollis alive.

"What-ho, Mr Sam!" say Mr Bollis. "Gleetings to you! A word in your rughole."

He come up crose to risper. "Any danger of a pletty rittle Chinese gril this evening?"

"How about Miss Yasmine, waitless?" I say.

"But you alrays say Miss Yasmine is crean uplight gril, Mr Sam."

"She is. But Miss Yasmin tell me lecently she rike to copurate with man with brond rocks."

"Jorry good show! Bling her on. Got any Dulex?"

To be continued...

7:31 PM, April 15, 2008

stanislav a young polish plumber said... (on) Matthew Dreariness Made Flesh Parris

stanislav a young polish plumber said...

Matthew Dreariness Made Flesh Parris is off again, doing his owner's bidding and in Blair sentences rubbishing Nancy-Wu Brown. Mr Murdoch must have decided it's time for a change; good of old Rupert, Ms Bruiser Wade, Mr Parris and fiercely independent journalist "Sir" Peter Jenkins to take an interest, good of Mr Murdoch to let us vote, really, and Matthew, as ever, has Murdoch-approved democracy's foreskin firmly between his teeth and he's not letting go until he's told us what's wrong with Nancy Wu.

In today's Murdoch Times, in a list as long as your arm of Nancy-Wu's failings - none of which trouble Matthew and none of which include Nancy-Wu's curious sexuality and disgusting personal habits - Matthew finds the gravest sin not to be, just for instance, the bloodbathing festivals in Iraq and Afghanistan, the catastrophic mismanaging of the economy in favour of greedybastard bankers; the charitable giving away of the nation's gold and the confiscation of it's pensions; the prairie fire of unparalleled corruption among the so-called honourable members nor even the BlairBrown failures in health, housing, transport, crime, farming, fishing, education and indeed almost everything which one might reasonably expect a government to improve upon, after eleven years of taxing our bollocks off.

Nor yet, even, is it Nancy-Wu's self-protective appointment to cabinet of calamitously incompetent, caterwauling fuckwits like the witches Flint, Blears and the grim and ghastly Treasury lesbians; of the impossibly freakish, cross-eyed, workshy Milliband wonks, all at sea on an ocean of wholly unmerited responsibility; or his failure to oust poisonous necromancers like Jack Torture Straw, the winsome, self-flagellating Ruth Man Kelly and the unspeakable, cowardly, worthless piece of shit, Bob Yes, Jeremy, I Am A Cunt Ainsworth; no, Matthew is untroubled by Pandemonium, Mayhem, Deception, Brutishness and Blackmail swirling around a delusional, gibbering, snot-eating, presbyterian freak guided by his dead father's voice and a rusty moral compass.

It's not the sight of the prime minister of the United Kingdom kow-towing to chink thugs in his own Downing Street frontyard which disturbs the Parris amour propre; Matthew is troubled, seriously troubled that Nancy-Wu doesn't have a Big Idea.

The prime minister of the United Kingdom is demonstrably in need of profound psychiatric care and in one less obnoxiously and catastrophically ambitious his plight would be pathetic but over-reached, ham-strung and dumbfounded by reality, his fetid careerism, his practiced bombast, his masquerades and his rank, impertinent hypocrisy lay low not merely his own being but the entire nation. HMS United Kingdom, a ship of Fools.

The ruinous feud that is his party deserves the fiercest damnation of the poor, the rage of the sick and dying and the hot contempt of such of our youth that they have not corrupted by example - Hain, Prescott, Mandelson, Blair, Blunkett, Robinson, Clarke, Cunningham, Milburn, Martin et al ad infinitum; crooks, thieves, cheats, liars, blackmailers, ponces, pimps and whores - and the whole, horrible thieving Westminster shithole of career politicians and their stooge journalists requires a cleansing blowtorch up its well-trousered arse. All, though, muses Matthew, might be redeemed, made fresh and wholesome if only Brown might, from the very arse of Heaven itself soundbite a Big Idea into being. If only professional journalists had a more viable, Big Idea-driven government cock to suck. Aye, Matthew, right; rave on.

In the absence of same, years behind the bloggers, the bien pensant twitterati, Parris, claims, belatedly, that Emperor Brown has no clothes. Matthew knew it all along, mind; he and only he, it seems, saw flaws where others viewed prudent competence; detected charlatanry where others gasped at genius and now, exultantly, hints, Jesus wept, at what ordinary people have been saying for years. The bloke in the 'pub a far more astute observer of this train wreck of a government than any hack whoring for Murdoch.

On a weekend when vicious union punk, Alan Johnson, defends the nation's servility to China's secret police and the criminality of the attorney general; when Glasgow Des Browne dismisses passionate, righteous criticism from the courts and from Tommies' families as "outdated" and thus irrelevant even the Gods would puke.

Parris's conversion to Fawkesian order-orderism, therefore - belated, purple, self-serving, precious and incomplete as it is - nevertheless remains welcome. The national problem, though,is not one simply of a poor, maddened, gay jock, out of his depth, but also of a compliant and culpable, mainstream, deadtree press; fawning, collusive and corrupt; Kneepads White and Toilets Maguire fumbling and stuttering to explain away an avalanche of military, political, judicial, economic and constitutional disasters, all entirely attributable to the man with no nails.

Old mother Toynbee, now, too, sits knitting 'neath the tumbril, mascara tears running down her ashen face, a lifetime of champagne socialist hypocrisy laid bare; what a repellent gang of slimeballs is the UK quality press.

Parris, the droning, sanctimonious, querulous voice of the former MP, of the Times and the BBC should set aside his wretched, ludicrous, faux-journalistique pomposity, put his country before his employer, call a spade a spade and join in the People's tumult: Come out, Gordon; up against the wall, motherfucker.


love from stanislav

9:21 PM, April 12, 2008

madame defarge said...

Ah, my dear Monsieur Stanislav, it is good to 'ear from you, manifique. Je 'ave Mme Polly in ze back of ze shop, knocking back le absinthe. She puts le customers off, crying all ze time on ze forecourt, so I 'ave taken 'er in. You cannot sell tumbrils wiz nasty stained Straw. Nor yet a party, I zink dey will find.

Monsieur Parris 'as sounded de retreat et zere will now be an orderly scuffle for the lifeboats, 'owever I am 'opeful zat we vill see Nick et Mick et Andy et Kev go down on the ship, as zey have plenty of practice of zat sort of ting.

Now we 'az le penultimate act, where zey will fight like ferrets in le sac, oblivious to ze economic melt-down et civil unrest. It is always zo wiz deze palace-types. Now we in La Belle France know a ting or two about starvation and massive debt and enemy occupation, so now is not ze time for le 'ot-eads to begin too early. No, now is go to le cafe for a drink and get tinned food in.

Le ancient regime 'ave not yet reached the point where zey are destroying files et claiming never to 'ave been zere, but this will come by Octobre, avec le end-of-le-pier outings, when ze will all say: "zis time last year we could 'ave won an election but le coward did not call one at the only time in his entire life when 'ee could 'ave won, because le stupid garcon David was all over the place. Et now, we 'ave Le Boris. Ah well, we 'ave only one year left, zo remember to take all le petite shampoos from le salle de bains and empty the mini-bar." Monsieur Milburn is smiling, but not too wide as 'e as to arm-wrestle Monsieur Johnson over a broken glass, but first dey 'ave to combine to dispatch Monsieur Balls. Azlo, zey do not want le night-watchman job. Let Monsieur Straw do dat.

Ah do not zink you Rosbifs nor Scots will do La Revolution. You are too sangue froid, zo let me introduce to you the new service of Defarge Industries Political Solutiens Internationale (DIPSI): Timeshare on Elba.

Yes, for only a small fee we at Defarge Permanent 'Olidays will collect your unwanted politicians and keep zem safe on a rock in l'ocean which is humane, yes, zey can form a petite parliament and 'ave all ze squabbles zey like. When zey are morte, we will return l'ashes for burying in nauseating public sepulchre, 'we shall not see their like again'; well, one 'opes not.

Now, if you will excuse me, Mme Polly is takin' off 'er clothes and trying to do le can-can. She is too old for dat and will fall off le table an’ crush Mme ‘Arman ‘oo ‘as applied for hamnesty.

7:17 PM, April 13, 2008

mitch said...

LONDON (Reuters) - Gordon Brown's personal popularity ratings have plunged further and faster than any other British prime minister since polling began in the 1930s, a poll revealed on Sunday.

But the biggest blow was delivered on Brown's personal ratings, which have fallen from plus 48 last August to minus 37, on a zero midpoint scale.

"The collapse is the most dramatic of any modern-day prime minister, worse even than Neville Chamberlain who in 1940 dropped from plus 21 to minus 27 after Hitler's invasion of Norway," the paper said.


hahahahahah bye snotty!!

9:20 PM, April 13, 2008

tacitus said...

Stanislav and whose army, one might ask?

It is like finessing a play nobody is watching. Fretting over notes with the microphone off. Dabbing on a canvas hung in a pigsty. Here comes Stanislav blasting into the void, with no-one but a couple of crumpled pensioners to creak into arthritic applause.

Perhaps Stan should remind himself of the words of one of his abler predecessors,

"Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. There wasn't even a shed there, and she was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing into a continent. Pop, would go one of the six-inch guns; a small flame would dart and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would give a feeble screech--and nothing happened. Nothing could happen."

3:32 PM, April 13, 2008

stanislav, hammer of the jock said...

Dear Mr Tacitus

Talent like yours, you should be whoring for Mr Murdoch. His drones, too, rather than wrest their own words from a troubled, anxious perception, instead, cut and paste the words of others more gifted, as do you.

In the age of Google what a worthless, redundant cunt you are. The jock, of course, your spunk-faced bedfellow, banging his niece and nephew under a cheap tartan duvet, a worthy comrade.

There is an excuse of course for Jock, he, as all can see, is a retarded imbecile, one of thousands queueing to suck King Alex's cock, you, meantime, would pretend to an education and a mind. You should try to write something of your own. Just for a change.

This is probably the kindest thing anyone will ever say to a pretentious, empty-headed piece of shit like you. You should try to absorb it. If you can.

love from stanislav

a man who writes his own words and your superior in every conceivable way.

12:15 AM, April 14, 2008

45govt said...

tacitus - "Stan, you poor thing. I am not contesting your little kingdom: it is all yours. Here, you are the actor and all others mere audience. But that is all you are: an eccentric schoolmaster entertaining his sixth form."

Are you, Mr tackypuss the person to do more? Are you the mover of mountains, the saviour we have all been waiting for; is it words of yours that are going to bring about the improvement in our desperate national position? Let us know when you come down from the Mount, to lead us into the land of milk and honey.

None of us KNOW stanislav except through his posts here, nor do we know anyone except the odd cunt, usually some three-dollar-bill of a publicity seeking ex MP, whose name escapes me, but I don't think - no I KNOW I am not alone in being hugely entertained by the prose, the disparagement, the matchless bile, and the possibilities explored by stan's oeuvres.

You on the other hand neither amuse nor enlighten, have no discernible purpose and as such are a worthless wanker. We do not know whether you have any tangible existence in the wider world, nor do we care.

1:26 PM, April 15, 2008

stanislav said...Need a Roll of Shame starting with The BBC News Department

stanislav said...

Need a Roll of Shame starting with The BBC News Department, the slapper Denise van Outen, the shameless drunken, old cunt, Trevor McDonut and including all these other celebrity gabshites thrusting their way, even for a few minutes, into this macabre farce, celebrating their own self importance and ambition, blind and deaf to Beijing's countless executees, torture victims and enslaved millions. Even though SKY is owned by a sinophile it's coverage seems to be of another event to that covered by the bright Oxbridge boys and girls of the BBC, it's cuntish newsreaders who will say absolutely anything put in front of them.

The wretched Jowell's scruffy, pinch-faced, scheming, warped ugliness laid bare by the cold winds and Nancy, dressed for church, shuffling about, insecure, uncertain, like a long-term chronic mental patient, clutching for security not - this time - to a child, but to a disabled person.

Calamity Britain, it's rulers so far up their own arses they cannot see what, in daylight, the rest of the world must, thieves, incompetents and nutters.

Just for once in your unhappy, insecure, bullying, deformed, fretful and polluting existence do just one good, selfless deed before you die and Come Out Gordon, your time is up, everybody's sussed you, you are the only person who believes your mad shit; Come Out Gordon, Daddy won't mind.

1:41 PM, April 06, 2008

stanislav said...Repeat all over the fucking shop, same shit. This is calamity Britain.

bogeyman said...

The Torygraph has revealed that Leninslime's breeding partners gave birth to Slimelets within a few weeks of each other. The Mayor (ex-mayor as of May 1) was impregnating women two at a time, then buggered off with dick at full mast to produce more Keninclones with another Labour "researcher".

The smug newt-fancier says he has no shame about his private life. Voters are not interested; they are more concerned about crime and transport. Well this voter is bloody well interested.

Leninshit, what kind of advertisement are you in a city where thousands of fatherless Bradleys and Leroys, deprived of a family life by cock-happy idiots like you, are joining gangs and killing each other instead?

These are kids whose mother's life is marked by a procession of "boyfriends", "uncles" and "stepfathers" with whom she can share weed and strong cider funded by the taxpayer. High on dope, the men are eager to deposit their bodily fluids in her scabby minge - thereby ensuring future voting fodder for you - before disappearing to impregnate another slag and knock another few points off the gene pool's IQ.

Although not a constituent of yours, the repulsive chavette Karen Matthews is one such example. Look what happened to her daughter.

And you are telling them it's OK to behave like this.

I don't care where you put your scrawny cock. But don't fucking tell me it doesn't matter that you are a role model for a dysfunctional society.

You Marxist cunt.

9:53 PM, April 05, 2008

stanislav said...

"Although not a constituent of yours, the repulsive chavette Karen Matthews is one such example. Look what happened to her daughter." Mr Bogeyman.

Ms Matthews' very common situation has been unfortunate, probably no worthwhile role models and no meaningful support from national and local politicians; she has grown poor, irresponsible desperate, her supposed champions, Blair, Brown and Prescott all grown fabulously wealthy, happy, as Labour politicians, to describe their natural constituency as "the Underclass" as though we were in New Dehli or 'thirties Berlin

When Ms Matthews steals the pensions, destroys the economy, flogs the gold, shamefully, murderously invades a sovereign state, fucks the health service and gives the nation to an unelected oligarchy of people like Peter fucking Mandelson she might deserve your ill-judged soubriquet.

Ms Matthews, despite her staggering disadvantages is unlikely to benefit from the interventions and funds of Gordon Brown, Rupert Murdoch's bought and paid for ex-coppers and Lord Beardie Branson although her neglect of her child is no worse than comparable to that of more salubrious members of NewLabour Britain

There are sufficient sins to lay at Livingstone's door, while so many like him have grown filthy rich many more like Ms Matthews have grown filthy poor; using the impotent poor and wretched to beat the smug and untouchable rich is not the best way to proceed.

11:54 PM, April 05, 2008

bogeyman said...

Stanislav, for once I must take issue with you. My grievance is with Leninslime for digging the cesspit in which the unfortunate Ms Matthews and people like her now swim. She knows no better. Nor, it seems, does the man himself.

12:46 AM, April 06, 2008

Anonymous said...

Stanislav

Extremely well put Stan. Who is still The Man BTW.

Do not blame the victims of fascist socialism. It is not there fault.

They can only do the best they can with the intelligence god gave them, and the non educational inhumanly destructive, socialist system, they are daily confronted with from birth.

Blame the criminal minds that propagate it. I personally blame the BBC even more then Labour MPs.

After all if the establishments favorite mechanism for spreading divisive and inherently illiberal fascist socialism The BBC.

Had not been the propaganda mouthpiece for Neo fascist soul sapping, working class hating, poverty creating, socialism, for the last 29 odd years. This sorry mess would never had happened ever again. She might of actually had a chance to make something of her life. Or simply not have been able to afford to have any more then one child.

BTW

Gordon Brown does not need some massively corrupt body such as the IMF to warn him about his own so called mismanagement. Gordon Brown has always known exactly what he is doing.

He is dancing to the tune of the international banksters that have bank rolled this current Fascist New Labour regime since the nasty cunts first interviewed Tony Blair and Gordon Brown for the job.

Now its pay back time, and it is not Gordon Brown or Tony Blair that will be paying it all back with interest.

Atlas shrugged

12:53 AM, April 06, 2008

stanislav said...

Mr Bogeyman & Mr Anonymous Atlas Shrugged

yes that's what stanislav mean, in poor english. Ms Matthews more shit upon than shitting, innit. What mad fucking place is it where shit fuckpig hack like Toilets Maguire describe as "stepfather" to seven children, young bloke who is a, only common-law husband to poor cow Mum and b, closer in age to children than to Mum. This is Blair Project. This is fucking disaster. Repeat all over the fucking shop, same shit. This is calamity Britain.

Now is other nutter, nail biting snot-eating paranoid cocksucker lunatic, not find hole in arse with both hands come aboard like Captain fucking Ahab, make everything fucking even ten fucking times fucking as bad because of madbastard fucking vision, like fucking Prophet in Old fucking Testament. Voices in ma heid from ma Da up in Heaven. Man's a fucking criminal lunatic.
Voices and Visions and snot-eating. The country's fucked. Every bastard wind up living like poor Ms Matthews. Ten to a room with no fucking money, eat beans and drink cider and only retarded, farting fuckwits for comfort. Maybe is better go back in fucking Poland with horse-drawn gippo economy. Can't be no fucking worse than what these cunts are doing here.

2:32 AM, April 06, 2008

stanislav said...

Anonymous said...

OH SHUT THE FUCK UP DICK WEED.

You all love your anti hero Guido

He hates the UK government
He hates the royal family
He lambastes every institution in the land .

He gives the impression that he is patriot to the Tory cause, and is devastated
At what has happen under new labour

HORSE SHIT FOOLS

Fuckes is an Irishman living in Ireland, making his living in the UK..WHAT A CUNT

Typical NeoCon…Biting the hand that feeds him.

So carry on your love affair with Guido…He is fooling you all.

PS G Fuckes makes numerous FOI queries, each can cost upto £250 to research. That cost is picked up by the UK tax payer of which G FUCKES isn't one.

3:57 PM, April 04, 2008

stanislav said...

Dear Mr Anonymous at 3.57

Nobody's perfect, are they ? And thanks for your input, which is most valued. Are you by any chance a megalomaniac gay Nazi, like Cardinal Blair, or are you some other kind of mental case?

The NHS is not what it was but even so in extreme cases like yours they can find you a room with soft furnishings and no sharp edges.

Whilst others in the information game spend days churning-out dreary rubbish, order-order works, often, seemingly, at light speed, exposing, provoking, chiding; reproaching and entertaining, it is a bitches brew, a pot pourri, a beggars banquet, a collision of rage and spleen and outraged virtue; here the people come to jeer and taunt and attempt reform and improvement. What was it YOU wanted ?

5:01 PM, April 04, 2008

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anonymous said...

The Pope was never a 'card-carrying member' of the Nazi party. Following his fourteenth birthday in 1941, he was enrolled in the Hitler Youth — membership being legally required after December 1939. He was an unenthusiastic member and refused to attend meetings. His father was a bitter enemy of Nazism, believing it conflicted with the Catholic faith. In 1941, one of his cousins, a 14-year-old boy with Down syndrome, was killed by the Nazi regime in its campaign of eugenics. In 1943 while still in seminary, he was drafted at age 16 into the German anti-aircraft corps. Ratzinger then trained in the German infantry, but a subsequent illness precluded him from the usual rigours of military duty. As the Allied front drew closer to his post in 1945, he deserted back to his family's home in Traunstein after his unit had ceased to exist. As a German soldier, he was put in a POW camp but was released a few months later at the end of the War in summer 1945. He reentered the seminary, along with his brother Georg, in November of that year.

1:02 PM, April 04, 2008

stanislav said...

Mr Anonymous 1.02

Ratzinger was the last Pope's consiglieri, especially in the matter of suppressing the US East Coast diocesan epidemic of noncing monsignors; Ratzinger's advice to the then Pope was that the diocese file for voluntary bankruptcy to avoid paying court-ordered compensation to victims of Holy Mother Church's cock- up-the-infant-arse theology. Like Murphy O'Connor in this country, Ratzinger's approach to offenders was to shift them, unpunished, untreated to different locations; to bully and coerce the victims and their families with threats of ex-communication and to pretend nothing untoward had happened. Regardless of the level of his own young participation in the Hitler Youth, Pope Nazi seems a well deserved soubriquet for this wicked old man.

There have and continue to be bold, courageous and compassionate persons in the Catholic Church, Ratzinger isn't among them and your apologia shames you.

4:36 PM, April 04, 2008

stanislav said...Perjury charges in Murdoch case. Sid and Nancy to beat rap.

stanislav said...

Here's some proper Murdoch news, frae Scotland, a proud country recently purchased by Mr Donald McTrump, Mr Brian McSouter and Lady Sean McConnery domiciled on the bonny bonny banks of Lake Geneva and founder of HollywoodWifeBeatersUlike.

Perjury charges in Murdoch case. Sid and Nancy to beat rap.

Mr Anwar Neswnight, good-looking lawyer for Glasgow socialist mobsters Sid and Nancy Sheridan, was upbeat, interviewed on Radio Orkney, last week.

It's a bum rap, these pigs, whaddatheyknow from shit ? They already rolled-over on the booze heist and all that's on the table now is this lying in court shit and they'll never make that stick in Scotland; 'swhat everybody does, ain't no crime. 'sin the fucking genes, Jock can't tell the fucking truth. I'm not shitting you. Ask anybody in London. Just look at that Andy Blowjob, or that bloke, Wark, on Newsnight, the transwotsaname. Look at the fucking joke parliament, full to bursting with thieves and tramps and con-artists. Bent lawyers, union punks and nonces, wouldn't know the truth from a pile of tartan dogshit. Simply un-fucking-constitutional to expect my Jock clients to tell the truth in court and I'll move for a dismissal.

Mr Anwar, (Ll.b,FRCS, D.Litt, Hindujah Brothers Cash 'n' Carry Passports 'n' Degrees R Us ) senior partner in Doolali, Garam-Masala and Marshall-Andrews, continued that Sid and Nancy were deeply humbled by all the cards and messages of support they'd sent themselves.

Just because they called Sid's former girlfriends and sex club partners "lying cunts, traitorous shitbags, thieving scum and Murdoch worshipping gold-diggers who must be destroyed"** didn't make Sid and Nancy bad people. And we'll be calling eminent character witnesses, like Sid's Ma and Da, to name but them all. Apart from Mr Pussy Galloway MP, if his missionary work in Africa permits.

A local listener, Mr Magnus Muttonburger, phoned-in to venture that however honoured Sid and Nancy might presently feel it would be as nothing to what Sid would experience as he was treated to an introductory falling-down-the-stairs off Mr Angus McScrew of HMP Barlinnie plc. Och, I remember it the noo, ken, after I was in there for a wee while over that misunderstanding wi' ma niece, she looked a lot older than seven, d'ye ken, at least twelve. Sid and Nancy's wean won't find it too bad in social services care. Not really. And she can always come and stay with me.

Joining the interview by 'phone from New York, Mr Rupert Murdoch said to Mr Anwar Newsnight that he could always find work for a good, photogenic lawyerboy and the plane tickets were at the airport desk. As Mr Anwar hurriedly left the Northern Isles for Edinburgh International Airport,skipping, Mr Murdoch continued that he and his organisation, News Corpse, were deeply committed to human freedoms, very deeply. Only not Sid and Nancy's. Fuck that. Those cheap cunts're going down.

Although, continued Lord Murdoch, if the broad wants to get her tits out for the News of the World, mebbe in that air hostess outfit, we could cut a deal. She got any tits, that Nancy ? Or is she a dog like that horrorshow, Wendy Satchmo. Jesus H Fuckin' Christ, but that's one ugly dame. Oughta be in the fucking circus.




** extracts from Sid and Nancy Sheridan's Simian Solidarity Party Manifesto to the 2007 Scotch general election, sponsored by Mataland and Benson and Hedges, in which, heroes of the People as they are, they triumphantly won no seats and destroyed Scotch socialism and minority, independent politics, left or right, forever.

4:46 PM, April 02, 2008

stanislav said...Here's another view of la Dyke Hillary's "mis-speaking."

stanislav said...

Fuck Mark Steel, the BBC's tame Maoist entertainer and layabout.

Here's another view of la Dyke Hillary's "mis-speaking."

From the Sunday 'papers


Speaking to the Sunday Telegraph's Peaches Coren, Senator Mrs Clinton said that events in the life of a busy First Couple, like herself and her husband, Mr Bill Ah-Feel-Your-Tits Clinton, often got a bit hectic.

It had been reported, for instance, that Mr Bill, while Governor of Arkansas, had used the State Troopers as his own, personal brothel keepers; had conducted affairs throughout their marriage, notably with a Miss Jennifer Flowers and a Ms Lewinsky, a woman young enough to be Mr Bill's and Mrs Hillary's daughter, although nowhere near as toothily unprepossessing and disagreeable.

I would just like to set the record straight, Senator Clinton confided to Ms Coren, about my husband's rumoured infidelities over these past forty years. It's all a crock, as we pretend New Yorkers say, got up by the right-wing press, and the left-wing press, they did it, too. All a massive conspiracy.

It's not that my husband was actually banging all these broads all these years, abusing his position, humiliating me and driving me to the dusty comforts of crooked property speculation, carpet-munching and political campaigning. No, he wasn't perpetually unfaithful, abusive, exploitative, deceitful, predatory, hypocritical, and an all-round worthless piece of draft-dodging, coke-snorting, Deep South hogshit who would fuck anything still fucking warm; he simply, constantly and ubiquitously, mis-spunked.

( Mah Fellow Americans. Ah did not have sexual relations with that woman. Ah simply mis-spunked. Mah ejaculate was meant to splash on the manly countenance of the First Lady, Wossername ? But we were in the White House library and Ah was showing Ms Lewinsky how one of Fidel's best hand-rolled could negotiate her East River and, Lord have mercy, Ah just happened to mis-spunk it all over that young woman's dress. 'sall it was, a gen-yew-ine mis spunkin'. Now, you tell me any good ole boy hasn't mis-spunked once in a while - mebbe over his babysitter, or his niece, or his Arkansas Golden Retriever - and Ah'll show y'all a Godamned, pussy-whipped, lying, faggot, communist, pinko sonofabitch. An just remember, folks, vote for the sourpuss, grungy blonde dyke an' y'all get me, too. First Gennulman. God bless America. )


Senator Mrs Clinton believes that her self-effacing honesty in these personal areas of lying, stealing, cheating and industrial scale whoring will lead her to the White House; that somehow, in the way of these things, she, too, will be mis-elected. Horrible fucking bastard.

1:57 PM, April 02, 2008

stanislav said...Marty Kneecaps McGuiness, the well-known gay ginger nutter

stanislav said...

Deputy First Presbyterian, Marty Kneecaps McGuiness, the well-known gay ginger nutter and his companion in torture, maiming, rape, tarring and feathering, burying alive, bombing, arson and mass murder and all round beardy cunt Gerry Adams, do they get to vote for their mate,Ken ? Seems the least they could do.

Maybe the Mayor should import some of that Ulster, Black and Decker, pick-axe handle, firebomb electioneering. Bring a taste of proper democracy to the Somali community. Vote for Ken or get crippled, a straight choice. Worked for Gerry and Marty, bless.

11:52 AM, April 02, 2008

stanislav said...Mrs Dale Jam, Mrs Dale Marmalade, Mrs Dale Chutney and pickle fucking onion

stanislav said...

"...polling the readers." ???

Last time stanislav stray in fucking cardy world next door was when SuperCop topped himself after shaking hand with Nancy and was fucking thirteen miserable fucking bastard readers; thirteen fuckers all moan about declining fucking standard, vote for Mrs Dale into house of filth, select Mrs Dale for your constituency, buy Mrs Dale knitwear, send for Christmas hamper of Mrs Dale preserves, is Mrs Dale Jam, Mrs Dale Marmalade, Mrs Dale Chutney and pickle fucking onion; everyone sitting around sucking on fucking rich tea fucking biscuit. Is Mrs Dale polling all of those fuckers? Fuck, that'll be thrilling, best get gay bloke from St John Ambulance with clapped-out Bedford van and bag of bandages and half-empty bottle of smelling salt and put him on standby next door in case entire cardy flock piss themselves, choke on fucking denture and drop down dead with excitement.

Same time as thirteen cardy world readers over here was two fucking hundred and thirty fucking crazies; raving, incensed fucking lunatic lynchmob, howling for blood. Is no place like fucking home, eh ?


Mrs Dale on Big Brother, frothy venal, cruel, empty-headed rubbish for fuckwits. it's a step-up, I suppose, from where she is now.

love from stanislav

10:37 AM, April 02, 2008

stanislav said...SURREALISM DOWN THE MONKEY HOUSE

stanislav said...

SURREALISM DOWN THE MONKEY HOUSE

One of them was wetting himself last night. Gibbering in the Lobby this impertinent little monkey was going bananas about Mrs Speaker, Glasgow Mary and her penchant for taking taxis to the chippy and back to get her man's supper. Never seen this cunt before but he sounded like a hybrid eunuch, spawn of a toilet encounter between Martin Cunt Salter and Steve GissaJob Pound.

Reacting to news that the shameless, thieving fucking bastards, the Martins, were to undergo a show investigation before retiring on a hundred grand a year plus, this horrid, uneducated piece of backbench shit expressed the view that Gorbals Mary could hardly be expected "to catch the number 12 'bus, just like ordinary people but should be shown proper deference." The People's Party, eh.

Glasgow sectarian thug-celebrity, Mr Pussy Galloway, has commented that it doesn't matter how much Gorbals Mick steals, because he's the first catholic Speaker ever, Respec', George, my man. Country going down the toilet and this other fucking prick is screeching about deference to some greedy, hustling Jock minger. Jesus fucking wept, you couldn't make these cunts up, not in your wildest, drink-fuelled nightmares.

Does anybody know the name of this deferential lump of filth, MP. Time he had a few cuntmails in his inbox.

9:38 AM, April 02, 2008

stanislav, a young polish olumber said...After the bogey-munching,everything was downhill.

stanislav, a younf polish olumber said...

After the bogey-munching,everything was downhill.

Nancy has been going in the chamber of the house of commons for over twenty years, it's not as though he doesn't know about the cameras or that people all around the world may watch PMQs.

Anyone with a passing acquaintanceship with sanity, whatever their secret personal habits, would say to themselves before entering the chamber, remember, best leave the snot-eating out for a while now, and the wanking, TV cameras in here.

Anyone with the vaguest understanding of the Internet would know that an error of judgement can be, ineradicably, all around the globe, almost instantaneously. Anyone with half a brain would not have done that. The snot-eating.

In many ways it would have been less offensive if he had got his cock out and started wanking, right there, on the front bench, at least, then, he could have been sectioned, which is what he needs, the poor, mad, gibbering freak.

Poor, friendless Nancy, do none of his ghastly crew tell him that all around the world people can -and do- watch the UK prime minister picking his nose and eating it; that whatever show of clumsy elegance he attempts with David Beckham and the Stick Insect, or with the ghastly frog and his showy bint, people look at him and see a paranoid, delusional, sixty year old fairy behaving like a two year old; not in secret but painfully, horrifyingly, in front of the entire world.

The snot-eating does not of itself have the frightening economic implications of Nancy's continued, disastrous chancellorship; nor does it have an impact on the hundred or so Afghanistan deaths which Labour predicted would never happen, the cruel, bloody catastrophe of world war three starting-up in Iraq; the raping of the country by the super-greedy, nasty little hedge fund wankers with mean mouths and gross appetites; countless other maladroitnesses, misjudgements and stupidities cannot directly be blamed upon Nancy picking his nose and eating it, or can they? Is the country hostage to Nancy's bogies ?

Until someone in the press, or in parliament says Oi, Nancy, have you any idea what a fucking laughing stock you have made of our country, will you apologise ? then, yes, he will continue to behave as though, firstly, he is such a great man that his public snot-eating is a minor idiosyncrasy, a price his subjects should be happy to pay to keep him at the helm or, secondly, that the snot-eating never actually happened, all got-up by the nasty bloggers.

Nancy displays the contempt for decency and good manners, the bullying bombast and the complete disregard for truth and honesty of the truly, incurably deranged. Our prosperity, our liberties, our safety, our joint futures are in the nail-bitten hands of a delusional, bad-tempered, screeching, incompetent, criminal, snot-eating freak.

The rest, Northern Rock, ID cards, money laundering, Iraq, torture, rendition, Lisbon and on and on, these are his cowardly, desperate, illegitimate, attritional, Mugabe Moments, his Nutter-Visions, his GayNaziPresbyterian Values, just, in short, what you would expect from a gibbering, spasming, sixty year old, snot-eating monster.

Nancy, a suitable case for treatment.

12:10 AM, April 02, 2008

stanislav said...email support to Galloway in a language he will understand. office@respectrenewal.org

stanislav said...

Just get begging email off George Showbiz Socialist Galloway. Honest. Not invent. Is below. George wants money off ordinary bloke so he can go in London Assembly and do shake about.

This jock cunt already get wages and exes of hundred, two hundred grands. Get quarter mill off Trannygraph in damages; get seventy, hundred grand off Big Brother for little bit of revolting fetish granny porn with old bag, Lenska, off Minder. Galloway gets further salary from radio programme and fees from newspaper columns and also a grand and free dinner and piss-up and train ticket off Dimblebys for Any Questions and Question Times rubbish. Suppose even a few people cough up for shit Galloway book, Not The Only Cunt. Get free dinners down Westminster and telly, household goods off John Lewis and mortgage and free travel and stamps and subsidised booze and the cunt wants plumber and old age pensioner and poor Somali car valet to send him more money. Beardy Cunt.

Galloway's constituency is the poor, the unemployed, the outsider and rather than sell his Portuguese pad to fund his democratic visions, he would have the pennies from their pockets. What an obnoxious, vain, unspeakable, shameless fucking arsehole this bloke is. No wonder his wives leave him, no wonder he can only live with his life refracted through the press and the telly.

Galloway recently claimed that Gorbals Mick milking the taxpayer didn't matter because he was the first Roman Catholic Speaker ever; there, sweet as a nut, is Galloway's
philosophy; rant, piously, as he may about Blair and Iraq, his own, demonstrated, ethics and morality are, simply: whatever he can get away with, is ok. Please email support to him in a language he will understand. office@respectrenewal.org
---------------------------------

Dear friend,

I want to personally inform you that I am standing for election to
the London Assembly on 1st May 2008 and to ask for your help.

The assembly is meant to be London's government but virtually no-one
has ever heard of any body in it. I want to change that.

Having shaken up the US Senate, with your help, I can do the same in
City Hall.

How can you help?

1) My election campaign urgently needs funds. Please, donate as much
as you can to the George Galloway Election Fund.

Please make cheques payable to "George Galloway Election Fund" with
your name and address on the back, so we can send you a receipt, and
send it to: George Galloway Election Fund, PO Box 1109, London, N4
2UU.

If it's easier, you can transfer funds to the following:

Account Name: George Galloway Election Fund

Account Number: 00 86 45 38

Sort Code: 30 90 47

2) I need your help in the campaign. If you can help us leaflet,
canvass, come aboard our battle bus, raise our profile online, help
in the office or organise a group for us to speak to, then please
contact us on 0871 234 1696 or 07507 600 561 or just reply to this
email.

3) Please give me your vote on 1st May. Vote Respect (George
Galloway) to shake up the London Assembly.

4) Please tell your friends I'm standing. Forward this email as
widely as you can!

I hope to see you on the campaign trail.

We'll have an energetic and fun campaign. I hope you can be a part of
it. In any case, I'll keep you up to date with regular email
bulletins.

Best Wishes,

George Galloway MP

2:04 AM, April 01, 2008

stanislav said...Dear Mr Shitbag

Shit-Bag said...

No disrespect to Ken, but if Boris wins the mayoral election it will be so bloody funny that Madame Portillo's 1997 hilarious general election defeat will look like a Greek tragedy by comparison.

6:22 PM, March 31, 2008

stanislav said...

Dear Mr Shitbag

La Portillo's tour de force was not standing there looking like a prize cunt as Miss Twigg stole his seat but that series of TV programmes he did where a whole fucking gang of self-opinionated cocksucker rubbish sat around eating and articulating profound observations with gravy running, horribly, down their chins. That was ace. Are they repeating it, by any chance? What a cunt.
love from stanislav

8:06 PM, March 31, 2008

stanislav said...Teach your children well.

stanislav said...

Jack Torture Straw, the man who, in his own modest opinion, ushered in the Summer of Love, has a great record on human rights in this area. When Home secretary didn't he set the Met's community pacification units on those lawfully protesting about visiting Chinese monsters. Give 'em a good beating ?

Go Jack, you overdressed fascist cunt, tell us some more about civil liberties in a mature democracy.

3:29 PM, March 25, 2008

Anonymous said...

Stanislav 3.29

Funny enough I was talking to my son-in-law about that yesterday. It was the first time I realised just what a shower of shit the 'people' had just voted in.


And first impressions, in this instance were exactly the right ones.

4:05 PM, March 25, 2008

stanislav said...

Mr Anonymous at 4.05


Most son-in-law is normally useless fucking bastard but can give yours stanislavian history lesson, cheap4cash. Train-up properly into anarcho-plumber to be proud of.

Jack Torture Straw does it for me in a way that none - not even Kinnock - can equal. Maybe it is his wet-lipped, face like a bag full of stones ugliness, or his Himmlerian, fussy dress sense or his wordy, pretend-lawyer bombast - I am minded to say this etc - or maybe it is his pompous, goose-stepping hobgoblin son, William, the drug dealer, but a good kid really.

Most probably, though, it is his fawning, cock-sucking obeisance to Coh-Lin the Uncle Tom prick Powell, at the UN debate on the Iraq invasion. Hans Blix laying it out just like it was -no WMD, this stuff they're dismantling, it's not toothpicks - and Coh-Lin the fucking dumb stooge trotting out what even he now admits was a load of jingoistic Haliburton-inspired horseshit. And Jack, the eternal unemployable undergraduate, nodding his wise head, consigning countless Iraqis, and many many Tommies to inferno and death, although not his prick son, William, of course.

Maybe, on the other hand, it was Jack Straw's insistence that even if evidence submitted to UK courts had been obtained by torture it was torture which Dubya had personally decriminalised.

Or maybe it is, after all, his feigned ignorance of the treatment of those beaten by British cops in honour of some visiting gang of ancient, chink communist fellow torturers that should persuade all of Straw's merit.

If he and Livingstone and Commissioner Bendover and Lady Jowell-Mills cannot, between them, suppress any anti-Chink protest they will not be dislpaying their true, totalitarian colours. And Nancy will be unhappy, again.

Recounting their sins, Mr Anonymous, there's a lot to choose from with Jack and his nasty chums. Teach your children well.

5:01 PM, March 25, 2008

stanislav said...Hardcore diddycoy

stanislav said...

As person with dual Irish citizenship, passport and everything, is no pleasure to remark that one's every encounter with Irish tinker, tarmaccer, horsedealer and lucky charm hustler has been uniformly unpleasant, unwholesome, uncivil, unfair, intimidatory and dishonest. This is opinion not of pre-judgement, or bigotry or conditioning but is fucking well empirical, evidence of own eyes and emptied fucking pockets. Is worse than fucking Jock for being thieving useless bastard. All cruel, violent shit-dumping vandals. Stanislav walk around Handsworth, Moss Side or Gorbals in middle of fucking night and not give a fuck; wouldn't want to be in same square mile as bunch of Irish tinkers. All pleading persecution and racism. Fucking horrible bastards. Good for fuck all.

Loopy, new age, crystal eating travellers is one thing. Hardcore diddycoy is something else altogether.

Not in same criminal ballpark as politician and banker and BBC board of fucking governor and Toilets Maguire and Piers Moron and Kneepads White and Ministry of Defence and David Blunkett and Tony Blair and John Prescott and Nancy Brown and Alistair Campbell; nowhere near. Daily encounter, however, with barrack room lawyer gypsy must be soul-destroying, like feral youth and noisy, belligerent Rastaman. Is failure of government and establishment to moderate, integrate, assimilate.

Outsider, cowboy junkie angel outlaw is all very well, in art and literature. But simply cannot have convoys of non-tax-paying horse thieves and itinerant drive-laying cowboys coming and shitting in the front garden. Is what you might call further failure of multi-culturalism industry - Darcus, Jasper, Ken et al

So, much as Lady Tessa is vile, horrible incompetent hypocrite who will beggar London to get these fucking games open and should be swinging from lamp post with hubby cannot, nevertheless, support the gypsies. Neither revolutionary, anarchic or even iconoclastic, theirs is a road to Nowhere, a culture of ducking and diving, no art, no music, no crafts, no skills, save blagging, even the rude painting of horse-drawn caravans long fallen away; there is nothing worth saving but their own bilious, exclusive self-regard; some fragments of cod Romany and bitter slang. These are no charming roguish raggle-taggle gypsies-o but cheating, bullying, poverty-pleading flat Earthers in big motor homes and flash Mercs. Fuck 'em.

3:08 AM, March 25, 2008