Friday, February 1, 2008
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Stanislav's Rants on Guido (www.order-order.com) plus whatever else tickles my fancy.
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- Plumbers Assistant
- This blog is a compilation of Stanislav's Rants as they appear on Guido. It is neither operated nor sanctioned by him. If you don't like it, don't come back.
Dear Lord Guido
They are certainly rattled. On QT last night the vice-president of British American Tobacco, Mr Ken Clarke, who works a day or two a month as an MP, was jowls a-wobbling at the indignity of all this Conway business. Clarke's fellow Tory MP - only actually in the Labour branch of the Party - Mr Shaun Sainsbury-Turncoat said that if the public wasn't careful it - we - would be the real loser in all this clamour to clean-up parliament.He really did say that; we had better watch our or we will wreck it for ourselves. Mr Shaun, a billionaire, dilletante minister refused, like Mr Ken Fat, fresh from a trip to the third world persuading children to take up his company's form of drug addiction, to urge poor Mr Conway to resign, that was a matter for his conscience. And we have all seen the power of Mr Conway's conscience in urging him towards righteousness.
Both Tories put up an indignant response to the idea that MPs should behave as others. Seldom seen Mr Fat so animated. No-one from DimblebyULike asked him if he ever felt like working full-time as an MP, instead of as an international drug dealer, jazz critic and overbearing pundit. Why should an MP work full-time, after all.
On the Jock Neil programme the sofa twins were equally outraged; Ms Abbott so perplexed that one thought, only momentarily, that she had been denied the freedom of the Green Room. Perhaps some bold soul had volunteered the opinion that Abbott was a stupid, obnoxious, mouthy clown not worth listening to. Parliament, she spluttered at a bemused Mr Greg Dyke, really comes into its own when the chips are down. She failed to convince even herself of this.
Michaela was at his Thatcherian, ministerial best, bristling at the idea that parliamentarians were crooks. Mediaeval torture, he fumed, that's what poor Mr Conway has endured. Torn apart, he's been, by all this. Unendurable. And actually the BBCs much worse, he pouted; what about Blue Peter?
Actually, Sweetie, the larcenous Conway has been a bit humiliated but lacking the sensitivity even to resign immediately, he will not have felt a thing and nor will his freeloading family. Mediaeval torture, dear, hyperbolic Mr Portillo, generally involved pieces of very hot or very sharp metal invading your body, the removal of your tongue, ears, genitalia and your vital organs being drawn from you and burnt before your eyes, the whole merry spectacle prolonged as long as possible, in front of cheering crowds, by some thieving bastard doctor. Not even a cyber-roasting from order-order will have singed a hair on Mr Conway's precious head. These Spanish drama queens, what are they like, eh?
The agitation of all these customarily sanguine, blase, overfed and overpaid pampered layabouts was great to see; maybe, they felt, this public revulsion might upset their own nice little earners. In addition to learning that rather than being a sober, charming, thoughtful, historian, Mr Portillo is actually a petulant, screeching ignoramus, like all Murdoch employees, it was great to see the BBC, despite itself, revealing more of the crumbling cesspit from which it drinks so deeply.
Keep it up 'em, Guido et al. They don't like it.