Stanislav, a young media correpondent said...Simon Hoggart; isn't he that old bloke from Rusbridger's Rag

Stanislav, a young media correpondent said...

This Simon Hoggart; isn't he that old bloke from Rusbridger's Rag who was taking turns with BlindBoy Blunkett in banging pregnant "publisher" Kimberley Quinn, much to the embarrassment of his family ( but not hers)? Did he catch blindness, perhaps, as well as the pox ? It's great to learn, Mr Message In A Bottle, what that cunt thinks. Guardian Preggo Gangbangers, eh? Gosh, let the thought be stillborn. ( Like, one is tempted to say, the rancid sperm of Fuhrer Braun.)

The revolting hypocrite, Hoggart, as his shamed and embarrassed Guardian-reading family will attest, is wrong, anyway; verbal tics, as everyone knows, are (like stillborn children|) a result of frenzied, desperate masturbation in elderly men. After ten or twelve increasingly tiny ejaculations the body of the old person goes into spasm -The Dry Wanks Tremens - and after many years of compulsive, hourly wanking the prime minister in question suffers from both Wankers' Jaw Drop ( a goldfish-like gasping motion in mid-sentence ) and an involuntary facial twitching when telling lies - ie all the time. It is as though the body, having been more or less constantly at the point of desperate, furtive, shuddering, not-quite-discharge, has only to hear the slightest guilty little thing- Iraq, pensions, schoolboys, Cape Cod - for it to be propelled into the posture and facial signs of a dirty old one-eyed, snot-eating Scotchman wanking on a Downing Street toilet seat.

This is common in Scotch politicians; think only of the facial contortions of the late shriveled, ginger hobgoblin, Cook, who wanked himself so hard that he fell off a mountain and died, plunging the Reich into an orgy of hypocritical mourning and ill-concealed delight. Think, too, of the deathly pallor and halting speech of War minister Des Useless McBrowne. Indeed, observing the Scotch members interrogating Mervyn King last week, one noticed that they, too, couldn't string two words to-gether and were often seen ducking out for a quick dry wank.

Advisers to the Fuhrer are, it is reported, advising him that he might divert himself with some less demanding and recognisable sexual practice.( Nobody wants a mad wanker as prime minister, prime minister, they venture cautiously.) Apparently in LibDem circles those jaded by mutual onanism ( all of them but especially Mrs Oaten and Mr Dipso-Kennedy) have discovered the delights of nailing their foreskins to a workbench and abrading their scrota with 100 grit sandpaper ( Mrs Simone Hughes is known to prefer the coarser, 20 grit, but then as President, she must be more hardcore) More piquant, yet, Scottish Liberal Democrats - never much good with tools - like nothing better, to celebrate a good conference, than vomiting into each others mouths. As well as being a delight to all concerned this has the double benefits of not producing any betraying physiognomical aberrations ( The Braun Syndrome) and, due to its recycling qualities, of being kind to the environment; its a green thing. And sometimes yellow. But always with carrot bits.

The BBC ask Stanislav to make clear that the appointment of Danish carpet-muncher Mr Sandy Tuskface to the Chair of it's ever-popular News Quiz and the disappearing of Mr Simon Hoggart from that role is nothing to do with Mr Hoggart's ghastly, smug, faux liberal hypocrisy, his mistreatment of his family, nor with his brothel-creeping degeneracy. It's just that he's a cunt.

10:21 AM, September 27, 2007