Gosh. A jumped-up Edinburgh lawyer in a pinstripe suit and lurid necktie bites the dust. That must leave only a hundred or so of the fuckers shitting in our faces from Westminster. And another hundred in Holyrood.
The only good things you could say about this wretch were that he didn't shoot dogs, bugger rentboys, stand trial for murder, give blowjobs to that horrible mad cunt David Owen, fuck the secretary or fall down drunk and pretend to be married.
If anyone's interested he's pronounced Ming and not Minz because in old Scots there was a letter that looked like a Z but was actually a "gh" sound - thus Mingh-ies. Fucking wonderful, Scotch politicians; anyone with half a brain would have quietly changed the z to a g and got on with things. Or thinzs. Wanker.
What I wanna know is how you get to be an elder statesman without ever having held any office of state ? Is it running in the Olympics makes you an elder statesman ? And is he now a former elder statesman or an elder, elder statesman? These people are all, without exception, cunts. Especially the bisexual one, Simone. I mean, gay is one thing. But bisexuality is such a fucking impertinence; dunno which way to turn and want it all ways; all things to all men, or women. That Hughes; quick rub-down with a housebrick and drop down a mineshaft.
Still, now Minz will be able to get to bed early with the fetching Lady Elspeth and maybe explore her Minz, knocking off a round or two, as befits one of his much vaunted energy and vigour, instead of being insulted seven ways from Christmas by hunchback transexual Kirrrrsty Wark on Newswank.
That cunt Lord Sir David Steel. Lectures on cruise ships for a living. Obviously no directorships available in the abortion industry. Can just see the little, smarmy, over-dressed Scots git all done up in his contrasting collars, lecturing a load of rich old deadbeats: Go back tae yer staterooms and prepare for mal-de-mer. ho ho ho. I used to be on Spitting Image, me.
Stanislav, I have told you before, the term hunchback is offensive to the dorsally atypical.
Otherwise, I daresay I speak for many when I say your eulogy, encomium even, is deeply moviz.
Stanislav visit Amsterdam and see van Gogh paintings. Horrible. Tiny little mad things, all daub and splash. Fucking rubbish. Stanislav dog Rocky W make better art. See Rembrandts, too. And Vermeer. Is bloody good at make paint look like real. Is representational, innit? Old Masters. Not fucking impression of shit, like van One-Ear. Mad fucking bastard. Never make fucking farthing, ponce on brother, treat brother like one-man department of work and fucking pensions, draw benefits, pensions and then cut own fucking ear off and want disability allowance. Is taking piss, right ?
But anyway, van Gogh have frog friend name Gauguin. Gauguin smart. Not sit around in field paint grass, or sit in dingy room, paint broken-down old chair. No, Gauguin fuck off in South Seas paint naked women like proper artist, not like nutter who chop off own fucking ear and sing Starry Starry Night and live in lunatic asylum. Gauguin paint so many naked women that people think maybe he is Chris Langhamite and say many bad thing about him, although still love his paintings of Polynesian totty.
Gauguin make coin of phrase which is always in Stanislav mind when do Cunt of Day musings.
Maybe tonight, as they drop dentures in glass and try to make sleep despite howling silently with you're-too-fucking-old and too-fucking-boring embarrassment, Lord and Lady Ming will be saying, like Gauguin, life being what it is, one dreams of vengeance.
And serve them fucking right.
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