"Sir, you are no Jack Kennedy"!!
Just as well, the Kennedys were a bunch of homicidal maniacs that would happily push the world to nuclear armageddon just to make a point. Still, having your brains blown out all over your wife tends to make people think kindly thoughts about you after you're gone.
stanislav said...
ANONYMOUS at 2.14
You may well be right about the ghastly, nazi-loving, whoremongering, drunk-driving, gang-banging Kennedy dynasty so admired by Brown the Obnoxious but watch what you say about Gerry McCann and Cilla, the MSMs favourite ventriloquist act.
Over at the Sunday McGuire they were marking - or celebrating - the oxymoronic (this means contradictory, Gary) six month "anniversary" of Gerry's ordeal by reporting on the deeply religious Gerry's favourite activity of going to church with the dummy under his arm and the BBC in attendance; this is all about Maaahd-lin and I am a wonderful father, came the familiar Glaswegian android voice, as Gerry did his act for the cameras, and the fearless British press applauded. Gottle a geer, gottle a geer, squeaked Cilla, Gerry's hands up her arse and round her neck. Ten thousand neighbours have come to pray with Gerry and Cilla, thundered Clarence Gatemouth Mitchell of Virgin McCann, in front of an empty church. They have come to pray for war. War with our oldest enemy. War with Portugal. The Portugueezers did it. You can't trust these fucking Dagoes. Moved by the holy ghost, the BBCs Barney Chapattee fell to his knees to give Mr Mitchell a quick but devout blowjob, and the nation, comforted, sighed deeply.
As for the Daily Trannygraph, it needs Lord Neill of Wapping at the helm. Imagine how readers would flock back to the 'paper if the Scotch Scab, O'Neill, could persuade heavyweights like Michael Winner, Peter Stringfellow and some people from EastEnders to share with us their views on economic and foreign policy. Diane Abbott could roll around drunk and talk about her black constituents, none of whom can afford an expensive education for their sons, or thrice annual holidays in the sun but which, due to their generosity, and ours, she can. Dame Michaela could write, simperingly, as she does, that she agrees with almost everything everybody else says about anything. Instead of buxom sixth-formers with double-barrelled names -and only slightly related to Trannygraph employess - celebrating their A levels in gym-slippery all over the front page, Lord McNeill could, instead, show us the scrawny septuagenarian cleavage of his friend Tina Brown, the alluring embonpopint of ageing glamourpuss Eva Bollard and the inviting pouting hairly lips of dag queen Edwin Currie; it would be totty, Jim but nowhere fucking near as we know it.
The British press, you couldn't make it up. Although they do. With every passing day Stanislav is more grateful to Mr Tony Benn for having invented the Internet, back when he was postmaster general - but should have been prime minister, if there was any justice.
Built the Concorde with his own hands, y'know; ministers were like that back then.
Anonymous said...
Boris Johnson must be quaking in his boots, when literary talent like our 'stanislav' is up for hire !!!
Stanislav not up for hire. Busy with Plumb Cheap 4U. Not fit lick boots of Boring Johnson. Some say Johnson phony stuttering cunt pander to Colonel Blimp nitwit constituency. Not Stanislav. Boring is fine constituency MP, only part-time homme des lettres, only spend five minutes a day write for Telegraph, Spectator, go on TV, fuck cocaine totty in back of Bentley,campaign for(Hell freeze over) Mayor, rest is busy devoted to voters -who pay salary.
God bless, Boris. All row to-gether. Can't have too many Oxbridge Etonians fucking country up arse. Johnson family motto; this gonna hurt me but not as much as is gonna hurt you. Bravo. Bullingdon uber alles. What are they like, these Flashman types ?
No comments:
Post a Comment