stanislav said...
Was Stanislav's Highland neighbour and famous Polish folksinger Dr Bob Dylan who popularise long "a" but only in song not in speech. Sometimes in song use long "a" for effect - "ay bullet from the back of ay bush... I am ay lonesome hobo ...like ay rolling stone.....etc" Bob just do long "a" for scan and metre and maybe evoke miserable Old Scotchcunt ballad from eighteenth century "I am ay man of constant sorrow," "ay question in your nerves is lit...how many seas must ay white dove sail ...blame it on ay simple twist of fate." Is just poetic license. Is fucking hundreds of example. But not always. Plenty of Bobsong with proper, short "a." If not. some song run in fucking hours not just twenty minute. Long "a" in Bob's case is not a speech impairment. Unlike some people.
Young Master Hague, from Yorkshire, drink fifteen pints of lunchtime beer with manual workers and have mystical arsehole experience and make all fucking hair fall out. Become consume with desire in being prime minister and cuntus inter pares, even if bald as coot. After fifteen pint gangbang, Sweet William, sitting on pile of cushion and listen to John Wesley Harding think Maestro Bob say "I am ay lonesome homo....." and ever since, William is uplifted that sad young mommy's boy is not alone in big bad world, in homage to Bob cannot say short "a" ever again. Is fixed in mind. Everything is long "a," deep, profound. Just hang on there ay moment, you old codgers, I will still be ay young man when you are all in ay hole in the ground, by 'eck."
Thanks to mishearing of Bob Dylan, develop confidence and go in government eventually. One night after few Glenfiddick prime minister say This little bald arsehole, he talks like a pompous prat -ay very good day to you, prime minister; I will be making ay statement in the house - sounds like Jimmy fucking Saville, not a minister in my government, fuck him off, bury him Wales. They all talk shit over there. Dwarves and child molesters and sheep shaggers. He'll fit right in there. Right away prime minister, said Chief of Staff Powell, or Pole, as he would have it. Consider the pompous little cunt buried. In Merthyr fucking Tydfil or some other arsehole slag heap of a place.
And so Sweet William go in Wales, and like all ambitious gay politician, make Brown marriage with womanperson, although long, deep inside, for ay very real accord with ay very nice, athletic, toned man; to make work-out in gym, make judo and karate and kung fu and arse-love, only one at time, and not fifteen.
Official wife Ffffffion say William, you look like a cunt, try this nice baseball cap. Yes, that's right put it on backwards. You knwo how to do backwards, it's about the only thing you do know. But Fffffffffffion, says Sweet William, this is ay piece of gangster apparel, is it not, Mr Speaker, will not ay dark person approach me, Mister Speaker, with ay phrase not dissimilar to Yo, pussy whipped jive ass mothafucka? And me ay prime minister in waiting? You'll wait a long fucking time, now stop talking like a cunt and wear the fucking hat, and I am not Mr Speaker, ya mad bastard; fuck me, thank God we've got no children.
And so begin terrible decline of lonely young slaphead. Get ridiculed, whole nation fall over laughing at pompous Yorkshire cunt in baseball cap, pretend to be niggerbastard from ghetto on Detroit, not wimp nancy from fucking Barnsley. Get thrown from party leaders job and replaced by more slaphead, Ian and Duncan Smith, another mad cunt, The Quiet Man is TURNING UP THE VOLUME. Fuck me, is not exactly Go punk ahead, if you are lucky, and make my fucking day, is it ? Famous words of great Polish law enforcer, Filthy Harry.
Fucked up arse by party, Sweet William take long "a" pomposity show on road with Tony Cup Of Tea-Benn - father of Plagues Minister, Rosemary Benn and grandfather of Spoiled-brat Prodigy Benn -and make fortune. Both sit around and talk like fucking Moses. Do Rotary, Freemasons, Round Table, but not, after teenage experience, working mans club, fuck, no; arse-memory still hurt after thirty years. Talk about life at top, major decisions taken as Wales Secretary, sheep, leeks, rugby, daffodils and Tom Jones, that's it. Oh, and Shirley Bassey. And Ron BadgerMan Davies only he came later. It is Mister Speaker, ay most significant position in ay government to be ay secretary of state for sheep and vegetables or should that be ay vegetable, Mr Speaker, and it is one I commend to the House as ay small example of my towering experience in British politcs, Mr Speaker.
And now Sweet William is back on opposition cunt bench, smarting a little, surrounded by Flashman types but, nevertheless, cosied up to Mr David Two Dicks Willets - (how's that happen? Is birth defect, or surgical augment ?) - ay most distinguished foreign secretary in waiting, Mr Speaker.
As I said to my partner, Sebastian, only this morning, Mr Speaker, Have ay nice day, dear one, have ay very nice day. The times, indeed Mr Speaker, they are ay changing, as we say up North. Icky thump. That'll be fifteen hundred pounds. Plus VAT.
(ps It was the photo at the top of Lord Guido's posting - the one of the pompous opportunist foetus waving his fucking admonitory finger that set me off.)
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