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The BBC used to be a great institution. No longer.
It depends for its income largely on the licence fee. You must pay them £139.50 a year if you receive real-time TV broadcasts of any description, whether from them or anybody else.
Curiously enough, this itself is in contravention of the European Convention on Human Rights: the BBC is interfering with your right to receive information. So far, despite a couple of low-profile cases, nothing has been done about this. Possibly some private, quid pro quo, arrangement is in force between the BBC and the European Commission -- who knows? It would certainly explain the BBC's hysterically pro-Europe bias.
Anyhoo, the simple answer to the BBC's shite is simply not to pay the telly tax. It's quite easy to do. Full info at www.tvlicensing.biz.
If you want to stay legal, the best option is to get rid of your set. Try it -- it's wonderfully liberating!
P.S. Stan -- "the little hard bits [out from round Rupe's poxed-up, cancerous, Aussie arsehole]" ... for future reference, the term is "dingleberries".
P.P.S. Stan -- if you got rid of your telly you would be spared the sight of such rabid, fat, arrogant slimeballs as Kelvin "His Master's Voice" McKenzie.
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Dear Mr Dennis
Thank you for your kind reproof, which I have considered carefully. With regard to the terminology of Mr McKenzie's career in faeces consumption, dingleberry is, by now, almost arcane and probably incomprehensible to many of order-order's global audience; people in Florida, say, would be saying Dingleberry ? what is this Dingleberry shit ? The Frog would shrug and say Deengle - barree, is like Rosbif, no ? The congregants of O-O who worship here, you see, come not just from the esteemed Crippled Bellringers Guild, the Hazel Dwarf Appreciation Society or the Polish Plumbers Federation; some of them are quite foreign.
Secondly, as to the television, if you can persuade Mrs stanislav that life continueth, even more fruitfully, beyond the Repeated and Learnt by Heart Adventures of Hercule Poirot and beyond Gardeners World of Freak Presenters I will be even more indebted to you than I am currently. Oftentimes I have denuded the house of all television receivers and do delight in their absence; like a plague of locusts, however, they swarm back in and as you will know, once in, they are watched. They are in every wing of the house and virtually unavoidable. For my part it is only the current affairs, or rolling news which I watch, foul-mouthed, sipping from my cocktail of scepticism, mistrust and unalloyed hatred for journalists, especially those at the BBC, whose license-tax, thanks to your own kind offices, I am saving in order that it be shoved, flaming, up lord Levy's arse, should the happy day of his prosecution ever dawn.
You have never, incidentally, satisfactorily, or in any other fashion, explained your recent, long absence; if it was occasioned by surgery upon your spinal excrescence one hopes that it was successful and that all that remains before your re-entry to decent society is a resolution of that little epidermal problem. B&Q, I understand, now sell palm-sanders quite reasonably, a quick rub over with one of which, before leaving home, might prevent you having your usual impact upon children, the faint-hearted and the elderly.
I remain your humble, affectionate servant and, should circumstances beckon, plumber.
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Dear Stan
Thank you for your kind words of enquiry: I was involved in an accident on my trike (my lopsidedness prevents me from riding a bicycle) but have now recovered, no thanks to a certain ginger-haired dwarf, who visited me not, nor did she send flowers, grapes, pornographic magazines, Tanqueray gin, or other desiderata for the convalescent.
I see no reason for dumbing-down. The use of the term "dingleberry" should be more widespread, as there are so many of them around. Mr E. Balls, for example.
Did you know that there are only two objects in the English language which have exact synonyms? These are "gorse" and "furze", and "dingleberry" and "griffnut".
(An aside to Mr Testicles: I always thought a "winnit" was an exceptionally tiny turdlet rather than a globular accretion of hair and dried excrement, but I am ready be to corrected on this point. My usual authority, Dr Skeat, in silent on this matter.)
As for the TV sets, why not just paste on a tea-chest an A4 photograph, landscape-fashion, of Noel Edmonds for Mrs Stanislav to look at? You can then dipose of the offending items and she will be none the wiser, such is the mentality of females.
Your professional advice on the question of sanders is most interesting and, weather permitting, I will pedal down to B&Q tomorrow to investigate.
I am much obliged to you.
Yours truly
Dennis
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Abu Tap Dass
The New Recognised Word Is
Ratsniffer
Vertically Challenged, Differently White Young Person of Afro-Caribbean Ethnicity
Cap'n Haddock
Gentlemen, thank you for your learned contributions to my education. However, I still think Stan should not shrink from using the correct word when the occasion demands it. How otherwise can foreigners, such as Senor Barroso (a fine example of the object in question), be expected to learn English?
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Entertaining as the the learned debate about trichofaecoliths may be, can anyone answer Stanislav's question about the legality of a British parliamentary election candidate being bank-rolled by a US/Australian citizen?
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Dear Mr Mrs Cassandra
Does seem to have been submerged a little in the tide of discord surrounding the matter of anal hygiene. Since first posting the question the repeat of the dire Any Pointless Questions has been broadcast and the Right Reverend Julia Beefburger, herself a member of the Copraphliacs for Proportional
Representation Party - and by the way, should not the items in question become known, appositely, as Cleggies - but, as usual I digress - RAbbi Beefburger, in any event, did at least raise the query about Murdoch and Kelvin McCunt, but none on the distinguished panel picked it up and ran with it, maybe, like Gove, MP, and Parris they all work for Rupe in one way or another. In a week of bizarre events this is the most startling - that this idea can be even mooted without raising widespread consternation among the twitterati; maybe those of the little darlings who go back to work on Monday will raise it in the House, only not Mr Gove, obviously, a man who should surely, in the light of all this, be considering his own position; leaving aside the fact that he shouldn't have a second job at all, can he draw a handsome salary from a man who is funding a candidate opposing his fellow Conservative, Mr Basher Davies ? If Mr Gove were ever to just shut the fuck up for a couple of minutes he might, like the rest of us, see what a cunt he looks.
The role of the Corpoation is to educate and inform, who mentioned brainwashing ?
Like the late George Best, Nigel Kennedy is an erratic genius, a British virtuoso, a maestro as accomplished and creative in Johannes Sebastian Bach as in James Marshall Hendrix.
Genuinely perplexed at how freedom is being beasted, here, in Elgarland, happy to step outside his own area of expertise, raise his own unpolished, non-broadcasterly voice in protest, a precious flower, unshaven and dishevelled as, often, are the truly Godly and some fuckwit on Jock Neil's, tedious, self-congatulatory rubbish programme, takes a man who can fill auditoria all over the globe and sets him down on the sofa with the most ignorant,obnoxious, venal, corrupting, rabble-rousing, useless, mouthy fuckpig in British media; a lardy, gabshite, frothing, drunken cunt, long overdue a heart attack, proud of his part in degrading the standard of public discourse, a complete fucking gross embarrassment not just to the nation but to humanity. Kelvin McCunt, like Jock himself, enriched by chewing on Rupert Murdoch's foreskin, getting the little hard bits out from round Rupe's poxed-up, cancerous, Aussie arsehole, whilst casting himself ludicrously, as Everyman, as John Bull, the fucking horrible bastard.
Jesus fucking wept. We don't produce too many proper world class artists but Kennedy, for all his punk affectation, is one of them; obviously it counts for nothing with the ill-mannered cocksucker, McCunt, and less with Jock, happier taking the political temperature with raucous, braying chums more of his own calibre, Peter Stringfellow, Ross Kemp - the fearless East End warrior, beaten up by his Mrs, Rebekka Wade - and fellow Murdochite, Kelvin. Kennedy's people need sacking.
When he was driving the Jocksman into the ground, up in bonny Edinburgh, Neil employed people to clear the poor from his path, can't stand the poor, y'see, being filthy rich; everyone, espouses Neil, can suck the Murdoch knob and walk away with millions in shares.
Warren Beatty made a memorable assault on political tv journalists in an under-rated film, Bullman, I think, in which an eccentric Presidential candidate on one of those phoney US TV debate programmes, says, effectively, c'mon, gentlemen, this is bullshit, isn't it, you are a load of middle-aged, white millionaires asking us load of middle-aged white millionaires a load of bullshit questions, nothing happening here tonight, nothing to see here, just a load of rich people, bullshitting; rather like the BBC
For that is Neil and his stooges; just a load of rich people, bullshitting; Jock Neil, already fabulously wealthy, extracting every last halfpenny from the licensepayer. Look at me, aren't I clever, he smirks, grinding out his lame jokes, feigning affinity with the citizen, as Joe Public, watching at home, wipes the latest shit-barrage from his face.
The Thalidomide expose, forty years ago, was a good scoop by Neil at the Sunday Times but it doesn't mean he has to dominate the public service broadcaster until he fucking well dies in the arms of some nightclub totty, a quarter his age. Is there really no-one else, less smirky, less embedded in the celebrity circuit, more courageous, better informed, less, how shall we say, showbiz? Jock Neil should get a BAFTA, for light entertainment, that's what he is, that's what he does.
And as for Kelvin McCunt and the BBC, no-one at the Corporation has yet raised the propriety of this bulging, redfaced, racist oaf being funded by a US citizen in a UK election Are there no issues of principle here (no point raising questions of legality when talking of Mark Thompson's boys and girls) why have the self-fallating Mr Robinson and the ludicrous twittering caricature Mr Paxman not raised this most obvious concern ? Can any foreign media mogul launch his candidates in our election ? The principle is clearly up for debate and would be even if Billy Bunter McCunt wasn't a repulsive nutter. One thing for Jock Three Pensions Salmond, up in his pretend government Edinburgh to appoint Donald Trump his Minister for Local Democracy but do we want the shitbag Murdoch putting up candidates, here, backed with millions of his untaxed pounds. BBC's missed this one, anxious as it is to rubbish Basher Davies and Naughty, Selfish, Unco-operative Paddy
From the instant that the Irish answer became apparent the BBC has shamelessly spun it as both perverse and anti-democratic, so predictable that it has almost been comforting to see its giants of journalism spewing out exactly what they are told Propaganda Central.
Google, friends, Guido's archive for Dennis on the TV license, they can't touch you, they can't come into your house, these ogres off the TV advert are a private company, fuck 'em. Paying the license tax to an organisation which is so evidently an enemy of the people is an act at best of irresponsibility and at worst of treachery. This ain't Jackanory, this is the wealthy, self-protecting, unaccountable, insidiously fascist media de nos jours. And fuck the Sun, too.
love from stanislav