Tuesday, February 19, 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.
Ninety thousands pounds a month. That's New Labour public service for you. If only we had a few more like him, going and living part-time among the backward, barbarian bonny lads and lassies, beggaring himself on five grand a day in order to keep Geordie voting Labour.
When, inevitably, this smirking git fucks up it will be one-two-three, altogether now, learn valuable lessons, draw a line in the sand, move forward and not get into a blame culture. It'll be: Oh, fuck me, fucked-up didya, never mind, poor chap, here's a million pounds off the taxpayer in compensation for your hurt feelings; no? alright then five million and a seat in the Lords.
These public sector, six pound an hour arse-wipers, care workers, busting their backs picking up elderly folk while being robbed of their pensions and screwed down to wages set against a fairy story inflation figure, why can't they show some of the self-sacrifice of Mr Wotsisname ?
These squaddies, endlessly bleating about their missing limbs and eyes, what do they know, what can they teach Mr Greedy Arsehole about sacrifice; don't they know that Dame Polly Mascara, toiling away at her laptop sheds a tear for every rich politician embarrassed in the line of duty ?
And finally, just to put into perspective the very real conribution made by Mr Smug Git, his small stipend is only just about five times that awarded to Plagues Matron Shitface Hewitt in order for her to keep her mouth shut and have a nice long holiday in Europe.
All these little people, with their politics of envy and their - as prominent journalist-thinker and prize cunt, Mr Colville, of the failing Telegraph describes it - lively, mildly anarchic stew of internet criticism, don't they know that if you pay peanuts you get monkeys but if you pay a King's ransom, you get merchant bankers. And what a load of merchant bankers they are.
At a time like this the nation enquires: when there's so much thirsty work afoot for the likes of him, where is Lady Sir Michael White and his trusty kneepads, Get yourself up North, Mike, your services are needed. And you, Toilets Kev, to the service of your masters, get ye gone. Spin this fucker.