stanislav said... Nancy Brown, were his unspeakable actions not so criminal, would be the most tragic figure in British public life, ever.

stanislav said...

Nancy Brown, so desperate to fulfill his deranged father's cross-generational ambition; so intent on being the cleverest boy in the country that, listening to - hearing - no voice but his own, droning, year after year, spewing out bent made-up statistics that he turned the nation's economy into a house of cards should come out. He has beggared us at home and shamed us abroad. Nancy Brown, were his unspeakable actions not so criminal, would be the most tragic figure in British public life, ever. Hiding, in Lisbon, signing the Closure of Britain Act all alone; what did he look like?

Nancy Brown; a stuttering, gibbering, paranoid, malformed, maladroit, uncouth, bullying, delusional freak, stumbling, slithering, sliding around desperately, blindly in a nest of vipers. The nation belaboured by the ranting fevered bombast of a closet homosexual with more than one thing to hide. As it is, he and his vile crew of hangers-on should be not only removed but punished. A fantasy spiral of quarters of spurious growth, fueled not by any real industry, invention or application but by irredeemable, lunatic levels of debt; bankers showering themselves with billions of pounds of unearned bonuses; council house building suspended and the housing ladder myth peddled as though it were Holy fucking writ; Yes, you can, in Nancy Brown's dream economy, buy a house for a fiver and next year its worth a million, honest, just watch a property programme, get on the ladder and you can fuel the economic miracle, play your part further by buying worthless imported tat that is out of date before you get it home and was good for fuck all in the first place. Sorry, Nancy, cameraphones, they're really useful for the NewLabour generation of illiterate criminal little fuckpigs to film their assaults on innocent individuals, their knifings of one another. You fucking poisonous degenerate, you, with your ludicrous Amoral Compass and sermonsing voices in your head, you who would goosestep all over our freedom, reduce the quality of life, the public discourse, the temper of the times to filth and violence and squalor and greed and envy; you who would enforce your vile vision through regiments of corrupt mandarins, slag spin doctors, bought cops and judges, by enlisting and promoting and bribing the most unprincipled, thuggish, sticky-fingered, incompetent, jobsworth, ministerial whores in history; and you who cosy-up to vilest slags in Fleet Street, you don't mention their little secrets and they, Andy, don't mention yours; an unspeakable gang of self-protection racketeers; you, Brown, there is nothing worth knowing about to which you are the solution. You should quit and come out before you do any more damage.

Traipsing round the far East with beard, looking like Andy Pandy and Looby Lou, you are preposterous; dressed-up like a maharajah getting a doctorate in water buffalo studies you have the nation in fits of incredulous laughter; grilled, ignominiously, in India, India, about why it is that you're giving the UK to VirginThievesRUs, you shame us all, you fucking useless, incompetent wanker. Why don't you just fuck off out of it and give a heterosexual or a proper homosexual a chance ? Anybody would be better than you. Anybody. You carry on your back a steamer trunk full of blackmail and secrets and slights and fears and masquerades; you hear voices, you jerk, twitch and spasm; you spout a preposterous Victorian piety; your Domestos grin frightens man and child and beast and nobody - aoart from those paid to so do - believes a word you say about anything; not your phony patriotism; your parents; your wife; your phony values; and, least of all, your phony adding-up

Fleet street should have told you this long ago. The brilliant and incisive Mr Anotole Katalepsy, until five minutes ago your fawning praise-singer, is now starting to do so. Had he come here, he would have learned, long ago, the truth of what he now says, belatedly, in his column.

Nancy Brown; author of Prudence, as he describes his lunacy, hectoring, moralising and lying to us, is a vile, deceitful warmongering hypocrite; a conceit of a man, sssheltered, untested by proper work or family life, unchallenged by timid colleagues, swimming in the sewer of dynastic politicians like Ted Cappaquiddick Kennedy, bitching and hissing in an unholy menage a trois with Miranda Blair and the poisonous Peter Mandelson; the fortunes of millions of Britons merely the meaningless backdrop to his own vain, squalid black comedy.

The Queen, the real one, should exercise a prerogative. Go, Brenda, earn your money, go and stand outside Downing Street and shout, Come Out Gordon, Come Out And Fuck Off.

1:14 PM, January 22, 2008