stanislav, a young polish plumber said...What a gang of freaks. This isn't an opposition, this is more of the same.

stanislav, a young polish plumber said...

Dave Thing marshaling his troops. Fuck me. D Day all over again. Useless fucking airheads. There's Hague the clown, I have ay joke to tell, Mr Deputy Speaker. I yam ay very good after-dinner speaker, Mr Deputy Speaker and so I will clearly be ay very good foreign secretary, if not ay very good prime minister in due course once my right honourable friend, the member for bicycles, is exposed for the public school dimwit which he most assuredly is, Mr Deputy Speaker, a ha ha ha, thank you, too kind, too kind.

There's the Tories' Hatterjee, that cadaverous, spit-spraying, know-it-all, motormouth misfit and Murdoch nutter, Michael Gove; that fucking bloke, the one with his head seam-welded up his arse, wotsisname, George something, sounds like a prefect and that old, granny shoe fetish bint, Teresa Look At My Boots, Not My Face May, runner-up in the Margaret Beckett, Handsome Is As Handsome Does Face Like A Horse Handicap. What a gang of freaks. This isn't an opposition, this is more of the same. These people applauded Blair; these people, all fabulously clever, were "misled" by by the dipso, Alistair Closet-Campbell, every last one of these opposition members has, time after time, acknowledged Brown's superior, prudent handling of the economy, as the country, overfed impossible amounts of debt, went down the toilet. What the fuck, pray, does vain, empty-headed Dave Thing know about anything, outside his own, cozening, prating cabal of braying, arrogant, thieving, brothel-creeping layabouts. Man's a cunt. Good for fuck all. Never done a days work in his worthless life. If Dave's the answer the question needs urgent re-framing.

Ordinary people, plumbers, even, have been lamenting Nancy Brown's dangerous unsuitability - for anything really - for a long, long time; now that the commentariat and the twitterati have belatedly discovered their own reasons for his departure - after ten years cheerleading for he and his partner in crime, Blair, while they fucked the entire country up the arse - are we supposed to rejoice, as though Trevor Kavanagh was anything other than a shameless cheap Murdoch whore, shooting his master's bullet's, sucking his master's cock. Is Kneepads White any less a loathsome liberal-fascist, Toilets Maguire not a scabby, hypocritical Geordie punk and is la Toynbee not a twittering champagne socialist slag, shitting on the faces of the poor from the same elevated, gold-plated latrine benches as her equally venal chums in The Government, The Arts, The Media and wherever else idle useless bloodsucking parasites congregate to barrack us, bully us, lie to us and steal from us. Take our money and give it to thieving bankers who should properly be in jail and call it reform, modernisation, stability; traduce the poor and flatter and bribe the obnoxious rich, Branson and the dwarf Ecclestone, flog-off the legislature, huge colonies of Russian gangsters made ruinously welcome, nurses and firemen unable to find places to live. What a bunch of cunts is Guido's political media nexus.

There are countless exemplars, parables, metaphors for the last decade's Blair-Brown-Mandelson gay project. Cruelty television is just one; gay barrowboy, Sugar, shouting at people, in his cufflinks; the moronic, hysterical gay cook, Ramsey, swearing at people; a pair of old slapper speedfreaks from the Trannygraph ridiculing people's clothes; Jeremy Klaxon and his little prick, Hammond - of the blessed and miraculous recovery - ridiculing people's cars, their own fabulous stables of vehicles given as bribes from the motor industry; Big Brother, a festival of cruelty and humiliation, attracting even such celebrity caring people as Pussy Galloway, MP and Professor of Orgasm Studies, Granny Greer and as though our homes, clothes, lives, cars, relationships and meals were insufficiently criticised there is, now, a mad ginger jock nutritionist, poring over and criticising the state of people's shit. The mad bitch, poking and sniffing it, stops short of eating it but an opportunity beckons, there, for someone seeking a career opportunity, a Liberal Democrat sort of thing. And if we tire of self-improvement there is light entertainment, offered at fabulous cost to us, from impudent cocksuckers like Ross and Norton, their taxpayer-funded time valued at fifty thousand of our pounds per hour. Not much fuss about the ten pee rate at Broadcasting House. No tears spilled by whichever fuckwit is now in charge of what they call culture; it's the man who wasn't there, isn't it, Purnell. The Dimblebys, Paxman, Humphries, Toilets McNaughtie, all with their bursting portfolios of programmes, newspaper columns and book deals have all lionised the steady hand at the economic tiller of The Man With No Nails.

Lectured to, harangued, insulted, ridiculed, overcharged and short-changed, the TV audience and the contempt in which it is obviously held by Grade and Thompson and the like is treated exactly the same as is the electorate by the elected. You can't turn around these days without some Oxbridge bastard shitting in your face.

All the politicians and all the mainstream media, innured by greed and undeserved wealth to its catastrophic consequences, have conspired with and colluded in the gay project, the famous Third Way. What's happening now is games within games, score-settling by the nasty little prick Field and others, the insipid Meacher and the like, manouevering; more worthless pledges of rebellion from flouncy, grandstanding cunt, Bob-Marshall-Andrews QC, MP, bridling facetiously, showily, on behalf of his poor constituents, whom he wouldn't touch with an ermine-wrapped bargepole; quite enough to put a chap off his claret.

Mr Anonymous at 11.40 probably has the right of it. Its all bollocks, backbench Labour rebellions are all neutered at the eleventh hour, allowing the feeble-minded to continue in their delusion that Labour is, in its heart, a party of the workers and not a poisonous, greedy free-for-all run for its leaders and their bent acolytes at the top of the unions and, even if he's wrong, the substitution of a gang of Tory thieves or some ghastly coalition which includes preposterous nobodies like Clegg won't save the national bacon; they, themselves Brownite, Euro-conspiring, New World Order Merchants are all of the same tide of filth.

There is only one remedy and applied metaphorically or even literally it is Come Out, Gordon - and the rest of you, all of you, Up Against The Wall Motherfuckers.


("I won't have succeeded until the whole country loves this guy as much as I do." Tony Blair, May 1997, speaking of his pretty, straightguy love for Mr Peter Mandelson)

1:37 PM, April 21, 2008