Saturday, June 28, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Stanislav's Rants on Guido (www.order-order.com) plus whatever else tickles my fancy.
Blog Archive
About Me
- 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.
Those two trannies in the picture the other day, shuffling along the Embankment. The one at the back, in the stockings, that was Heffer and the one at the front was Janet Moustache, the American lady, the one with the thing for Punishment.
They were being followed by a small troupe of fans led by Mr Simon Coulter from Spain, all wearing tee-shirts bearing statements such as: spot-on as usual, Mr Heffer; spot on as usual Mr Daley, spot on as usual Ms Parris; Way to Go, Mr Littlejohn, one man, straggling at the back, his tee-shirt said I love Jeremy Clarkson, spot-on, as usual, Mr Clarkson and they were all marching into the river.
The Plumbers Guild cancelled it's Trannygraph subscription on the death of honourary plumber, Mr Auberon Waugh, the last great British journalist. The rest of them are cunts, every last fucking one of them, cunts. Utter fucking rubbish, good for fuck all, a fucking pollution; slags, ponces, arseholes.
What kind of a pretend journalism would give house room to Peaches fucking Geldof, for fucks sake; Muriel Gray, Piers Moron, Toilets Maguire, Kneepads White, David Aaronobitch, Yasmin Alibi Muslim and that utterly obnoxious freak of nature, JoBoy Hari, the twittering lardman of the Independent.
What kind of journalism, more importantly, would dance to the tune of the criminal Alistair Campbell, why didn't someone in the ridiculous lobby just punch this prick in the mouth, save a million lives. Or two.
They will, the so-called quality press, all go the way of the Trannygraph and all these slags will be working, officially, for the heirs to the Murdoch pornography empire, not just moonlighting, like Sir Michael.
The voices of the people, connected, skyped, g-mailed and blackberried across all the continents, unfiltered, bypassing the mush and drivel of the BBC are now heard here, in the vast quadrants of cyberspace. Fuck off Heffer, you horrible, sanctimonious, know-it-all, purple-faced degenerate and take your band of braindead groupies with you, useless, idle bastard.