Hat tip to Bermondseymum and to Dulwichmum and to Aims who pointed it out
Enjoy
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Friday, July 24, 2009
They're made out of meat
"They’re made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat. They’re made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat."
"That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat."
"Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through."
"No brain?"
"Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you."
"So … what does the thinking?"
"You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"
"Omigod. You’re serious then. They’re made out of meat."
"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."
"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual."
"We’re supposed to talk to meat."
"That’s the idea. That’s the message they’re sending out by radio. ‘Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.’ That sort of thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Both."
"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What’s there to say? ‘Hello, meat. How’s it going?’ But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can’t live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there’s no one home in the Universe."
"That’s it."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You’re sure they won’t remember?"
"They’ll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we’re just a dream to them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat’s dream."
"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone …"
Link here
Oldie but goodie
By Terry Bisson
Edited at 7.30pm
"Meat?"
"Meat. They’re made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat."
"That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat."
"Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through."
"No brain?"
"Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you."
"So … what does the thinking?"
"You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"
"Omigod. You’re serious then. They’re made out of meat."
"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."
"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual."
"We’re supposed to talk to meat."
"That’s the idea. That’s the message they’re sending out by radio. ‘Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.’ That sort of thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Both."
"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What’s there to say? ‘Hello, meat. How’s it going?’ But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can’t live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there’s no one home in the Universe."
"That’s it."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You’re sure they won’t remember?"
"They’ll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we’re just a dream to them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat’s dream."
"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone …"
Link here
Oldie but goodie
By Terry Bisson
Edited at 7.30pm
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Apprentice: Westminster Special
From our Guest Blogger Juliette
In the light of Alan 'Surrallun' Sugar taking his seat in the House of Lords - presumably with the blessing of our political elite - I couldn't help thinking of The Apprentice.
And how much better things would be if only everyone's favourite bulldog-licking-piss-off-a-thistle could oversee the world of politics...
(Scene opens with a bunch of people in suits, milling round in front of an anonymous looking pub on a cold grey English winter morning)
Baron Alan Sugar (standing before them) - This is the pub near the one-bedroomed council flat what I grew up in, cos I went to the school of 'ard knocks and I don't owe nobody nothin' and I din't 'ave a pair of shoes till I was faw-een. And the bizarre and tenuous link leadin' into this week's task is alcohol. Because this week, you'll be organisin' a piss-up in a brewery. Team Idiocity, you'll be followed by Nick - Team Entitled, you'll be followed by Margaret. Now off you go. And at the end of this task - one of you is gonna get fired.
(Cut to Team Idiocity - Gordon Brown, Peter Mandelson, Ed Balls, David Miliband - sitting together at a table, as they plan out their strategy in a nearby cafe...)
Peter: Gordon, you're team leader - but I'll tell everyone what to do, so you can focus on gnawing the tips of your fingers off and having a mental breakdown. Ed and David, you get together an eighty-strong task force to research national statistics on drinking habits and alcoholic preferences over the last 50 years. Gordon, you go and borrow forty billion pounds to build the biggest brewery anyone's ever seen, which won't be finished within any of our lifetimes. And I'll go and spread vicious career-ending lies round the media about Nick being a paedophile, a drug dealer and a vampire bat. So when he tells Sir Alan we were shit, nobody's going to believe a word he says.
(Cut to Team Entitled - David Cameron, George Osbourne, William Hague and Boris Johnson - in the process of completing their task...)
David - Gosh, these new bottle thingies look super - it's awfully lucky that my old chum Gussie Fink-Nottle works at Asprey's these days, and was able to turn some out for us at a reduced price. I say, look at that little diamond thingy on the cork. Simply wizard craftsmanship. I must get Samantha to buy some for our annual servants' ball.
Margaret - Would it surprise you to learn that each of these bottles of wine now costs 250 thousand pounds each?
Boris - Well, gosh, Margaret. That's chicken feed.
William - Oh, Boris. That has to be the single dumbest thing you ever said in your life...
(The teams have been called back to the boardroom. They sit around nervously in silent groups, as Baron Alan Sugar comes in.)
Baron Alan Sugar - Well, well, well. Team Entitled, you wasted ten million quid buyin' platinum and diamond bottles off some old school mate who works at the country's most expensive jeweller's. That's got to be the most schtoopid fing I ever heard in my life. Boris, you also said that two 'undred and fifty grand was chicken feed, which made Margaret attack you with 'alf a brick. I'd watch your mouth next time. There's a recession on, son.
Boris - (strapped to backboard and wrapped from head to foot in bandages) - Mmph.
Baron Alan Sugar - Now. Team Idiocity. You wasted £40 billion on buyin' a huge empty brewery that won't even be completed for another forty years. What's more, Nick, who was reportin' back to me on you, has recently died under mysterious circumstances, leaving a suicide note in what don't look like his writing. I ain't happy, gentlemen. I'm gonna be callin' you back into this boardroom - when one of you IS gonna get fired.
Meanwhile, Team Entitled, you are the winnin' team - if only by default. Which means that you get this week's treat. I've arranged with an old friend of mine for you to spend the next five years runnin' the country, and getting crucified by the national media because you went to Eton and can't perform fuckin' magic. Now off you go.
(Team Entitled carry Boris out of the boardroom, and high-five one another over his supine body.)
Come on, that's got to make great TV....
J x
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Labour Pains
From our Guest Blogger Juliette
I'm about to make a fairly radical comment here
I can't stand Labour.
Whether it's Old Labour, New Labour or sort of Middle Aged But Young At Heart Labour, it gets on my bloody nerves. And it always has done
Normally, anyone who fancies themself as a bit on the intellectual or satirical side is duty-bound to say the exact opposite. Labour is my bestest friend. And Convervatives are stupid/boring/ ugly/unsexy/smell of poo-poo/have nits/can't play with us.
Well, sorry. But - while I'm no great pom-pom carrying cheerleader for the Right (and I still think George Osbourne is Central Casting's ideal choice for a Home Counties Patrick Bateman) - the fact is, I hate the Left a whole lot more.
There are many vices in this world I can happily tolerate.
However, hypocrisy is not one of them.
And the Left is absolutely crawling with the stuff. Exuding it from every sanctimonious pore.
Read the Guardian comment section, and its columnists are constantly warning of the hell that will await us under the Tories. Within months of Cameron acending to power, England will become a nightmarish dystopia of cruelty and evil. Peasants being whipped to death in the street for the crime of pulling a rickshaw too slowly. Babies starving in gutters as top-hatted capitalists whisk past lighting their foot-long cigars with hundred-pound notes. Serfs, vassals and droit de seigneur. People of England, you have been warned.
Well, I hate to burst their bubble, but - unlike the proles in 1984 - I do have a fairly reliable memory. And it tells me that day-to-day life under the Tories was pretty much same as it is now.
Maybe a bit lighter on Diversity Co-ordinators, Traveller Liaison Support Workers and Equality Support Strategic Development Co-ordination Czars.
But what the hell, we survived.
And yes, I know there are statistics showing that there's less crime, safer streets, happier pensioners, better healthcare etc etc etc under Labour. Thing is, you can prove anything with statistics. Literally anything. Especially if you threaten the people producing them with demotion or dismissal if they can't make the numbers go the right way. You can prove that Iraq is a safer place to live than Tunbridge Wells. Or that you're in more danger from a feather duster than a terrorist bomb. Don't believe me, watch The Wire some time.
IMHO, all politicians without exception are dodgy, thieving, lying wankers who care about exactly two things - getting elected, and getting rich(er).
The only difference is that the right are (very slightly) less hypocritical and annoying about it.
And while they're ripping you off, screwing the public for every last penny, not giving a tinker's toss about the poor and needy, crawling up the arses of any dodgy Russian billionaires that happen to bung them a few (milion) quid and scrounging freebies right, left and centre, they don't simultaneously expect you to bow down and worship them as the public-spirited holiest of public-spirited holies.
Here are my top reasons why the right-on left wing sucks...
1
Polly Toynbee
God, how I loathe this woman. How can I even begin to convey the depth of my hatred and contempt for her, and everything she stands for?
Here is my case for the prosecution.
Exhibit A - her smug, annoying, sanctimoniously smirking face - which acts much like a government health warning on a packet of fags, immediately warning you of what horrors lurk within. She has the most instantly dislikeable visage this side of Mark Thatcher.
Exhibit B - her relentless patronising air of holier-than-thou superiority, which she takes to a level that would make Lady Bountiful physically sick. Underscored by the certain knowledge that, for all her pontificating on the tragedy of inner city estates and what must be done to help their unfortunate underprivileged inhabitants, she lives about as far away from an inner city estate as it's humanly possible to get without the aid of space travel.
She is the sort of person who will earnestly use the phrase 'people less fortunate than ourselves'
The sort of person who will say 'it is tremendously important to understand the social context that compels under-privileged young people to demonstrate challenging behaviour and become involved in the justice system.'
But you can bet your left tit she's got a bloody good burglar alarm.
The only good thing about Polly Toynbee is that - if you read her column right before Body Combat - you'll go into that class like a young Mike Tyson on crack.
So from the narrow perspective of my health and fitness, I guess she's not a complete waste of space...
2
John Prescott
Yes, I know he's yesterday's man. But for me, his entire being summarises an entire breed - he's the sanctimonious Old Left incarnate. And highlights a rather awkward truth which the likes of the Ragged Trousered Philanthropists somehow endeavoured to ignore.
People in power immediately become greedy bastards. Fact.
This applies whether they were born in a forty-bedroomed stately home with wall-to-wall housemaids and hot and cold running butlers, or in a cardboard box in t'middle of t'motorway a la the Monty Python sketch.
Far as I can tell, the only difference between old-left John Prescott and old-right Nicholas Soames is that Nicholas Soames a - knows how to hold his cutlery, b - isn't carrying something on his shoulder that's less a chip, more a fair-sized branch of McDonalds, and c - isn't a hypocritical cock jockey who thinks he's a man of the people despite owning five dozen polo ponies, eight mansions and a private army.
Apart from that, they're two smug greedy fat peas in a particularly ugly pod (think the horrible great slimy things in Gremlins...)
3
Virginia/Harriet/Jacqui/Margaret/Hazel/Thing
Aaargh! It's a multi headed political monster in horrible flat brown lace-up shoes, and it's trying to bore us to death! It's bombarding us with heavy-duty jargon at machine-gun pace! Multi-agency-working! Robust strategic partnerships! Outcome-focused patient-centric services! Use the Farce, Luke. Use the Farce!
4
The Observer On Sunday Magazine Section
Lost. Will to live. Answers to the name of Fluffy.
5
Polly Toynbee
Yes, I know I mentioned her before. But I hate the pious old bag so much, I just had to give her a second reference.
So it's another mention for the intrepid people's champion, with a real intuitive grasp of how ordinary British citizens live, think, work and feel. Daughter of rich literati. Great-niece of billionaire philathropist. Alumnus of Badminton School and St Anne's College, Oxford.
Anyone know where I can buy a decent voodoo doll round the Liverpool Street area?
6
The Right-On Teachers Of My Youth
If a teacher attempted to brainwash kids by reading them right-wing propaganda, there would be an uproar - and rightly so.
So how come, in my youth as now, it's perfectly okay to do the opposite?
Today, the offending books would almost certainly have been the staggeringly over-rated works of Philip Pullman - whose entire philosophy could be summarised as follows. Brainwashing kids to be conservative or religious is vile and unforgivable, and CS Lewis was a wanker. It's quite okay to brainwash them to be liberal atheists, though. Hey kids, God is dead, gay is good and anyone who says any different is evil and deserves to die.
Back in the day, however, it was a book series named The Borribles by a man named Michel de Larrabeiti. Which was read out to our primary school class, in not-particularly-eagerly-awaited instalments, by some Thatch-hatin' commie twat of a teacher called Mr Wilson. He had a guitar, too. And wore jeans. If he'd been any more of a cliche, he'd have been removed from the first draft of his own life by an eagle-eyed editor.
For some inexplicable reason, the Borribles series has fallen into obscurity. But here's the story in brief, if memory serves. Kids (who are good) run away from home and from grown-ups (which are bad), and form an anarchic tribe of their own called the Borribles (which is good). They survive by stealing (which is good) from adult businesses (which are bad). But they only steal food, and not money (which is bad). Their enemies are the police (who are bad), who try to catch them and make them become respectable law-abiding citizens (which is bad).
The police are led by an evil man named Inspector Sussworth, who is short and dark-haired with a toothbrush moustanche and a passion for order. The author doesn't actually give him one bollock or a German accent, but you get the impression it was a close-run thing.
It was the most most glaring attempt at childhood brainwashing since Swastika Press released their children's classic Jenny Lives With Adolf and Eva.
Although actually, it didn't work. Because even at the tender age of nine, I privately considered Mr Wilson to be an annoying cock monkey - and hence believed the exact opposite of anything he told us.
To this very day, I still think the police are better than shoplifters.
Sorry, Mr Wilson.
I'm voting Conservative next election, anyway. And at this point, I'm going to come right out and tell you the shocking truth.
I voted Conservative last general election, too.
Hey, sue me...
J x
I'm about to make a fairly radical comment here
I can't stand Labour.
Whether it's Old Labour, New Labour or sort of Middle Aged But Young At Heart Labour, it gets on my bloody nerves. And it always has done
Normally, anyone who fancies themself as a bit on the intellectual or satirical side is duty-bound to say the exact opposite. Labour is my bestest friend. And Convervatives are stupid/boring/ ugly/unsexy/smell of poo-poo/have nits/can't play with us.
Well, sorry. But - while I'm no great pom-pom carrying cheerleader for the Right (and I still think George Osbourne is Central Casting's ideal choice for a Home Counties Patrick Bateman) - the fact is, I hate the Left a whole lot more.
There are many vices in this world I can happily tolerate.
However, hypocrisy is not one of them.
And the Left is absolutely crawling with the stuff. Exuding it from every sanctimonious pore.
Read the Guardian comment section, and its columnists are constantly warning of the hell that will await us under the Tories. Within months of Cameron acending to power, England will become a nightmarish dystopia of cruelty and evil. Peasants being whipped to death in the street for the crime of pulling a rickshaw too slowly. Babies starving in gutters as top-hatted capitalists whisk past lighting their foot-long cigars with hundred-pound notes. Serfs, vassals and droit de seigneur. People of England, you have been warned.
Well, I hate to burst their bubble, but - unlike the proles in 1984 - I do have a fairly reliable memory. And it tells me that day-to-day life under the Tories was pretty much same as it is now.
Maybe a bit lighter on Diversity Co-ordinators, Traveller Liaison Support Workers and Equality Support Strategic Development Co-ordination Czars.
But what the hell, we survived.
And yes, I know there are statistics showing that there's less crime, safer streets, happier pensioners, better healthcare etc etc etc under Labour. Thing is, you can prove anything with statistics. Literally anything. Especially if you threaten the people producing them with demotion or dismissal if they can't make the numbers go the right way. You can prove that Iraq is a safer place to live than Tunbridge Wells. Or that you're in more danger from a feather duster than a terrorist bomb. Don't believe me, watch The Wire some time.
IMHO, all politicians without exception are dodgy, thieving, lying wankers who care about exactly two things - getting elected, and getting rich(er).
The only difference is that the right are (very slightly) less hypocritical and annoying about it.
And while they're ripping you off, screwing the public for every last penny, not giving a tinker's toss about the poor and needy, crawling up the arses of any dodgy Russian billionaires that happen to bung them a few (milion) quid and scrounging freebies right, left and centre, they don't simultaneously expect you to bow down and worship them as the public-spirited holiest of public-spirited holies.
Here are my top reasons why the right-on left wing sucks...
1
Polly Toynbee
God, how I loathe this woman. How can I even begin to convey the depth of my hatred and contempt for her, and everything she stands for?
Here is my case for the prosecution.
Exhibit A - her smug, annoying, sanctimoniously smirking face - which acts much like a government health warning on a packet of fags, immediately warning you of what horrors lurk within. She has the most instantly dislikeable visage this side of Mark Thatcher.
Exhibit B - her relentless patronising air of holier-than-thou superiority, which she takes to a level that would make Lady Bountiful physically sick. Underscored by the certain knowledge that, for all her pontificating on the tragedy of inner city estates and what must be done to help their unfortunate underprivileged inhabitants, she lives about as far away from an inner city estate as it's humanly possible to get without the aid of space travel.
She is the sort of person who will earnestly use the phrase 'people less fortunate than ourselves'
The sort of person who will say 'it is tremendously important to understand the social context that compels under-privileged young people to demonstrate challenging behaviour and become involved in the justice system.'
But you can bet your left tit she's got a bloody good burglar alarm.
The only good thing about Polly Toynbee is that - if you read her column right before Body Combat - you'll go into that class like a young Mike Tyson on crack.
So from the narrow perspective of my health and fitness, I guess she's not a complete waste of space...
2
John Prescott
Yes, I know he's yesterday's man. But for me, his entire being summarises an entire breed - he's the sanctimonious Old Left incarnate. And highlights a rather awkward truth which the likes of the Ragged Trousered Philanthropists somehow endeavoured to ignore.
People in power immediately become greedy bastards. Fact.
This applies whether they were born in a forty-bedroomed stately home with wall-to-wall housemaids and hot and cold running butlers, or in a cardboard box in t'middle of t'motorway a la the Monty Python sketch.
Far as I can tell, the only difference between old-left John Prescott and old-right Nicholas Soames is that Nicholas Soames a - knows how to hold his cutlery, b - isn't carrying something on his shoulder that's less a chip, more a fair-sized branch of McDonalds, and c - isn't a hypocritical cock jockey who thinks he's a man of the people despite owning five dozen polo ponies, eight mansions and a private army.
Apart from that, they're two smug greedy fat peas in a particularly ugly pod (think the horrible great slimy things in Gremlins...)
3
Virginia/Harriet/Jacqui/Margaret/Hazel/Thing
Aaargh! It's a multi headed political monster in horrible flat brown lace-up shoes, and it's trying to bore us to death! It's bombarding us with heavy-duty jargon at machine-gun pace! Multi-agency-working! Robust strategic partnerships! Outcome-focused patient-centric services! Use the Farce, Luke. Use the Farce!
4
The Observer On Sunday Magazine Section
Lost. Will to live. Answers to the name of Fluffy.
5
Polly Toynbee
Yes, I know I mentioned her before. But I hate the pious old bag so much, I just had to give her a second reference.
So it's another mention for the intrepid people's champion, with a real intuitive grasp of how ordinary British citizens live, think, work and feel. Daughter of rich literati. Great-niece of billionaire philathropist. Alumnus of Badminton School and St Anne's College, Oxford.
Anyone know where I can buy a decent voodoo doll round the Liverpool Street area?
6
The Right-On Teachers Of My Youth
If a teacher attempted to brainwash kids by reading them right-wing propaganda, there would be an uproar - and rightly so.
So how come, in my youth as now, it's perfectly okay to do the opposite?
Today, the offending books would almost certainly have been the staggeringly over-rated works of Philip Pullman - whose entire philosophy could be summarised as follows. Brainwashing kids to be conservative or religious is vile and unforgivable, and CS Lewis was a wanker. It's quite okay to brainwash them to be liberal atheists, though. Hey kids, God is dead, gay is good and anyone who says any different is evil and deserves to die.
Back in the day, however, it was a book series named The Borribles by a man named Michel de Larrabeiti. Which was read out to our primary school class, in not-particularly-eagerly-awaited instalments, by some Thatch-hatin' commie twat of a teacher called Mr Wilson. He had a guitar, too. And wore jeans. If he'd been any more of a cliche, he'd have been removed from the first draft of his own life by an eagle-eyed editor.
For some inexplicable reason, the Borribles series has fallen into obscurity. But here's the story in brief, if memory serves. Kids (who are good) run away from home and from grown-ups (which are bad), and form an anarchic tribe of their own called the Borribles (which is good). They survive by stealing (which is good) from adult businesses (which are bad). But they only steal food, and not money (which is bad). Their enemies are the police (who are bad), who try to catch them and make them become respectable law-abiding citizens (which is bad).
The police are led by an evil man named Inspector Sussworth, who is short and dark-haired with a toothbrush moustanche and a passion for order. The author doesn't actually give him one bollock or a German accent, but you get the impression it was a close-run thing.
It was the most most glaring attempt at childhood brainwashing since Swastika Press released their children's classic Jenny Lives With Adolf and Eva.
Although actually, it didn't work. Because even at the tender age of nine, I privately considered Mr Wilson to be an annoying cock monkey - and hence believed the exact opposite of anything he told us.
To this very day, I still think the police are better than shoplifters.
Sorry, Mr Wilson.
I'm voting Conservative next election, anyway. And at this point, I'm going to come right out and tell you the shocking truth.
I voted Conservative last general election, too.
Hey, sue me...
J x
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Blind State
From our guest blogger Juliette
When I fell asleep last night with people talking about the European elections on the radio, I was feeling seriously pissed off about the whole thing. There's really sod all choice. They're all rubbish. And people wonder why I don't bother voting. Jesus.
Then, like the great Martin Luther King, I had a dream.
Apologies to those of you who are too young/American/Australian to remember that landmark of vintage televisual brilliance Blind Date. But the dream in question went something like this...)
(Blind Date opening credits. Cilla Black comes onto the set, grinning perkily)
Cilla - Hello, and welcome to Blind Date! And now, it's time to meet the fellas that one lucky lady will be choosing between tonight! Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a big hand for our Nick, from Nuremberg!
(audience applause. Enter Nick Griffin, who walks in and perches on one of the stools.)
Cilla ; Now, Nick, that's a lovely black shirt you're wearing tonight.
Nick : Thanks, Cilla. It's funny, because black's not my favourite colour normally!
(audience applause and laughter)
Cilla : And let's give a big hand to Number Two, Our Dave from Eton!
(audience applause. David Cameron walks in and perches on one of the seats.)
Cilla : So, our Dave. I hear you lead a bit of a glamorous life - tell us all about it!
Dave : No, really - I'm just like any other ordinary working dad trying to balance work with having a family and owning a 25,000,000 acre estate housing 5,000 serfs, 8,000 vassals, 98 serving wenches and a private army.
Cilla : And you live in a castle, is that right?
Dave : Well, yes... but it's not a big castle. It's only got 25 bedrooms. I'm just a regular guy when you get to know me, Cilla.
Cilla : And last but not least, let's hear it for Number Three - Our Gordon, from Rampton!
(Audience cheers. Gordon Brown led on by white-coated aide and coaxed into chair, where he sits staring into space with a spreading wet patch on the front of his trousers).
Cilla : And here's the lucky girl who'll get to pick one of these three charming fellas! Let's hear it for Juliette!
(Blind Date music. Audience applause. Enter Juliette).
Cilla : So what sort of fella are you looking for, Juliette?
Juliette : Well, I'm just an old romantic really, Cilla. I just want someone who's going to listen to me, and treat me like I'm special. Not lie to me or mess me about, or drag me into dodgy wars, or steal my money to get his moat cleaned out. That sort of thing.
Cilla : Let's get down to business, then, Juliette! You've got your three questions for our fabulous fellas - take it away!
Juliette : Okay. My first question is, how would you take me to our first date? And that goes to.... Number Two.
Dave - On my ecologically friendly vote-winning bicycle - and I'll give you a ride to remember every time!
(audience shrieks and whistles)
Juliette : Number One?
Nick - I'd get you there in a racing car - because when you're with me, we'll always win the master race!
Juliette : And to Number Three?
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on front of his trousers)
Juliette : Okay, my next question. If you could be an animal, what sort of animal would you be - and why? And that goes to.... Number One.
Nick - Well, Juliette, I'd be a polar bear - because they're big, they're cuddly and they're totally white!
Juliette : And same question to Number Two?
Dave - I'd be a baby seal - because I'm cute, fluffy and clubbable! And if you don't pick me, Juliette, the fur's going to fly tonight!
(Audience cheers and whistles)
Juliette : And to Number Three?
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on front of his trousers)
Juliette : And my final question. If you took me out for dinner, where would you take me - and why? And that goes to... Number One.
Nick : Well, Juliette, I'd take you down to the local Indian curry house where we could throw bricks through the window - and we'd be sure to have a smashing time!
(audience laughter and applause)
Juliette : Same question to Number Two.
Dave : I'd take you to a Jamie Oliver restaurant, for an ethically-sourced, nutritionally-balanced meal to remember. And Juliette - when you see my meat and two veg, you'll definitely come back for a second helping!
(audience goes wild for a full minute, whistling and cheering)
Juliette : And Number Three?
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on front of his trousers)
Cilla - Oh, Juliette, decisions, decisions - but before you make your mind up, let's have a re-cap from Our Graham.
(voice over from Our Graham, to Blind Date music)
(Our Graham) Well, Juliette, are you going to go for our saucy Number One, who doesn't believe the Holocaust ever happened - but who could be the final solution for your love life?
(Nick grins and winks at the camera)
Or will you choose sexy Number Two, who looks like a freshly buttered new potato - but he'll eat you for lunch?
(Dave grins and winks at the camera)
Or will you choose our catatonic Number Three, who may be mentally unstable - but get your straitjacket, love, you've just pulled!
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on the front of his trousers)
Juliette - Well, Cilla - it's a tough decision, but I think I'm going to go for Number Two.
Cilla - Oh, Juliette - look who you turned down! How could you resist our Nick, from Nuremberg?
(audience applause. Nick goose-steps out, gives a Nazi salute, kisses Juliette on the cheek and walks off stage.)
Cilla - And you also turned down Number Three - our Gordon, from Rampton!
(audience applause. White-coated aide hurries out again, takes Gordon's arm and guides him slowly round the concealing screen and out of sight.)
Cilla ; But now, let's see who you did choose! You chose Number Two - and that was our Dave, from Eton! Come out, Dave!
(audience applause louder than ever. Dave walks out looking reasonably normal, and kisses a relieved-looking Juliette on the cheek.)
Cilla (holding out a selection of envelopes) Now - it's time to decide where you're going to go on your date! Who's going to pick?
Juliette : You can, if you like.
Dave : No, really, I insist.
(Juliette murmurs 'thank you', picks an envelope, tears open the envelope excitedly - then, momentarily speechless, shows Cilla what it says.)
Cilla - Oooh, Juliette, it looks like you're both off to Hell - in a handbasket!
(Audience cheers and applause)
Cilla : Off you go, and have fun! And be sure to come back in five years' time, and tell us all what a nightmare it was - and why you're never voting for the fucking Tories ever again!
Exit, pursued by a Blair...
J x
When I fell asleep last night with people talking about the European elections on the radio, I was feeling seriously pissed off about the whole thing. There's really sod all choice. They're all rubbish. And people wonder why I don't bother voting. Jesus.
Then, like the great Martin Luther King, I had a dream.
Apologies to those of you who are too young/American/Australian to remember that landmark of vintage televisual brilliance Blind Date. But the dream in question went something like this...)
(Blind Date opening credits. Cilla Black comes onto the set, grinning perkily)
Cilla - Hello, and welcome to Blind Date! And now, it's time to meet the fellas that one lucky lady will be choosing between tonight! Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a big hand for our Nick, from Nuremberg!
(audience applause. Enter Nick Griffin, who walks in and perches on one of the stools.)
Cilla ; Now, Nick, that's a lovely black shirt you're wearing tonight.
Nick : Thanks, Cilla. It's funny, because black's not my favourite colour normally!
(audience applause and laughter)
Cilla : And let's give a big hand to Number Two, Our Dave from Eton!
(audience applause. David Cameron walks in and perches on one of the seats.)
Cilla : So, our Dave. I hear you lead a bit of a glamorous life - tell us all about it!
Dave : No, really - I'm just like any other ordinary working dad trying to balance work with having a family and owning a 25,000,000 acre estate housing 5,000 serfs, 8,000 vassals, 98 serving wenches and a private army.
Cilla : And you live in a castle, is that right?
Dave : Well, yes... but it's not a big castle. It's only got 25 bedrooms. I'm just a regular guy when you get to know me, Cilla.
Cilla : And last but not least, let's hear it for Number Three - Our Gordon, from Rampton!
(Audience cheers. Gordon Brown led on by white-coated aide and coaxed into chair, where he sits staring into space with a spreading wet patch on the front of his trousers).
Cilla : And here's the lucky girl who'll get to pick one of these three charming fellas! Let's hear it for Juliette!
(Blind Date music. Audience applause. Enter Juliette).
Cilla : So what sort of fella are you looking for, Juliette?
Juliette : Well, I'm just an old romantic really, Cilla. I just want someone who's going to listen to me, and treat me like I'm special. Not lie to me or mess me about, or drag me into dodgy wars, or steal my money to get his moat cleaned out. That sort of thing.
Cilla : Let's get down to business, then, Juliette! You've got your three questions for our fabulous fellas - take it away!
Juliette : Okay. My first question is, how would you take me to our first date? And that goes to.... Number Two.
Dave - On my ecologically friendly vote-winning bicycle - and I'll give you a ride to remember every time!
(audience shrieks and whistles)
Juliette : Number One?
Nick - I'd get you there in a racing car - because when you're with me, we'll always win the master race!
Juliette : And to Number Three?
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on front of his trousers)
Juliette : Okay, my next question. If you could be an animal, what sort of animal would you be - and why? And that goes to.... Number One.
Nick - Well, Juliette, I'd be a polar bear - because they're big, they're cuddly and they're totally white!
Juliette : And same question to Number Two?
Dave - I'd be a baby seal - because I'm cute, fluffy and clubbable! And if you don't pick me, Juliette, the fur's going to fly tonight!
(Audience cheers and whistles)
Juliette : And to Number Three?
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on front of his trousers)
Juliette : And my final question. If you took me out for dinner, where would you take me - and why? And that goes to... Number One.
Nick : Well, Juliette, I'd take you down to the local Indian curry house where we could throw bricks through the window - and we'd be sure to have a smashing time!
(audience laughter and applause)
Juliette : Same question to Number Two.
Dave : I'd take you to a Jamie Oliver restaurant, for an ethically-sourced, nutritionally-balanced meal to remember. And Juliette - when you see my meat and two veg, you'll definitely come back for a second helping!
(audience goes wild for a full minute, whistling and cheering)
Juliette : And Number Three?
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on front of his trousers)
Cilla - Oh, Juliette, decisions, decisions - but before you make your mind up, let's have a re-cap from Our Graham.
(voice over from Our Graham, to Blind Date music)
(Our Graham) Well, Juliette, are you going to go for our saucy Number One, who doesn't believe the Holocaust ever happened - but who could be the final solution for your love life?
(Nick grins and winks at the camera)
Or will you choose sexy Number Two, who looks like a freshly buttered new potato - but he'll eat you for lunch?
(Dave grins and winks at the camera)
Or will you choose our catatonic Number Three, who may be mentally unstable - but get your straitjacket, love, you've just pulled!
(Gordon stares blankly into space with spreading wet patch on the front of his trousers)
Juliette - Well, Cilla - it's a tough decision, but I think I'm going to go for Number Two.
Cilla - Oh, Juliette - look who you turned down! How could you resist our Nick, from Nuremberg?
(audience applause. Nick goose-steps out, gives a Nazi salute, kisses Juliette on the cheek and walks off stage.)
Cilla - And you also turned down Number Three - our Gordon, from Rampton!
(audience applause. White-coated aide hurries out again, takes Gordon's arm and guides him slowly round the concealing screen and out of sight.)
Cilla ; But now, let's see who you did choose! You chose Number Two - and that was our Dave, from Eton! Come out, Dave!
(audience applause louder than ever. Dave walks out looking reasonably normal, and kisses a relieved-looking Juliette on the cheek.)
Cilla (holding out a selection of envelopes) Now - it's time to decide where you're going to go on your date! Who's going to pick?
Juliette : You can, if you like.
Dave : No, really, I insist.
(Juliette murmurs 'thank you', picks an envelope, tears open the envelope excitedly - then, momentarily speechless, shows Cilla what it says.)
Cilla - Oooh, Juliette, it looks like you're both off to Hell - in a handbasket!
(Audience cheers and applause)
Cilla : Off you go, and have fun! And be sure to come back in five years' time, and tell us all what a nightmare it was - and why you're never voting for the fucking Tories ever again!
Exit, pursued by a Blair...
J x
Thursday, June 4, 2009
James Purnell Quits
More woes from the Government with James Purnell going
so heres a little election light relief for you all
Three contractors are bidding to fix a broken fence at the No. 10. Downing street
One is an English worker , another is a scottish worker , and the third is an Indian worker .
All three go with a No.10 offical to examine the fence.
The English contractor takes out a tape measure and does some measuring, then works some figures with a pencil. "Well," he says, "I figure the job will run to about £500:- £200 for materials, £200 for my crew and £100 profit for me."
The Scottish contractor also does some measuring and figuring, then says, "I can do this job for £600: £250 for materials, £250 for my crew and £100 profit for me."
The Indian contractor doesn't measure or figure, but leans over to the No. 10 official and whispers, "£1500."
The official, incredulous, says, "You didn't even measure like the other guys! How did you come up with such a high figure?"
The Indian contractor whispers back, "£500 for me, £500 for you, and we hire the English contractor to fix the fence."
"Done!" replies the governme nt official.
And that, my friends, is how the new stimulus plan will work.
Edit:
Dear Gordon
We both love the Labour Party.
I have worked for it for twenty years and you for far longer. We know we owe it everything and it owes us nothing.
I owe it to our Party to say what I believe no matter how hard that may. I now believe your continued leadership makes a Conservative victory more not less likely
That would be disastrous for our country. This moment calls for stronger regulation, an active state, better public services, an open democracy.
It calls for a government that measures itself by how it treats thepoorest in society. Those are our values, not David Cameron's.
We therefore owe it to our country to give it a real choice. We need to show that we are prepared to fight to be a credible government and have the courage to offer an alternative future.
I am therefore calling on you to stand aside to give our Party a fighting chance of winning. And as such I am resigning from Government.
The Party was here long before us, and we want it to be here long after we have gone. We must do the right thing by it.
I am not seeking the leadership, nor acting with anyone else. My actions are my own considered view, nothing more.
If the consensus is that you should continue, then I will supportthe government loyally from the backbenches. But I do believe that this question now needs to be put.
Thank you for giving me the privilege of serving.
Yours
Rt Hon James Purnell MP
so heres a little election light relief for you all
Three contractors are bidding to fix a broken fence at the No. 10. Downing street
One is an English worker , another is a scottish worker , and the third is an Indian worker .
All three go with a No.10 offical to examine the fence.
The English contractor takes out a tape measure and does some measuring, then works some figures with a pencil. "Well," he says, "I figure the job will run to about £500:- £200 for materials, £200 for my crew and £100 profit for me."
The Scottish contractor also does some measuring and figuring, then says, "I can do this job for £600: £250 for materials, £250 for my crew and £100 profit for me."
The Indian contractor doesn't measure or figure, but leans over to the No. 10 official and whispers, "£1500."
The official, incredulous, says, "You didn't even measure like the other guys! How did you come up with such a high figure?"
The Indian contractor whispers back, "£500 for me, £500 for you, and we hire the English contractor to fix the fence."
"Done!" replies the governme nt official.
And that, my friends, is how the new stimulus plan will work.
Edit:
Dear Gordon
We both love the Labour Party.
I have worked for it for twenty years and you for far longer. We know we owe it everything and it owes us nothing.
I owe it to our Party to say what I believe no matter how hard that may. I now believe your continued leadership makes a Conservative victory more not less likely
That would be disastrous for our country. This moment calls for stronger regulation, an active state, better public services, an open democracy.
It calls for a government that measures itself by how it treats thepoorest in society. Those are our values, not David Cameron's.
We therefore owe it to our country to give it a real choice. We need to show that we are prepared to fight to be a credible government and have the courage to offer an alternative future.
I am therefore calling on you to stand aside to give our Party a fighting chance of winning. And as such I am resigning from Government.
The Party was here long before us, and we want it to be here long after we have gone. We must do the right thing by it.
I am not seeking the leadership, nor acting with anyone else. My actions are my own considered view, nothing more.
If the consensus is that you should continue, then I will supportthe government loyally from the backbenches. But I do believe that this question now needs to be put.
Thank you for giving me the privilege of serving.
Yours
Rt Hon James Purnell MP
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Bit of Light Relief
I thought I should share a nice little photo session ( courtesy of B3ta) with you.Midweek light relief ( yes I know its Thursday) I was busy... click on the picture to enlarge it and read it in full Technicolour.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Ten Good Reasons To Vote For The BNP
From our guest Blogger Juliette. Satire is her strongpoint.
'What the hell do you mean, you're thinking of voting for the BNP?'
This was me. Last night. Talking to someone I know. It may scare the shit out of you when I say that the person in question is a perfectly pleasant, normal, politically moderate individual, with no racist tendencies beyond a mild to moderate dislike of the Scottish - but nothing heavy even in this area. I mean, they wouldn't want to throw Scottish people into concentration camps or torture them to death or anything.
Well, apart from Gordon Brown, obviously. But I think that's fairly universal.
'The other parties are all completely useless,' this person said defensively. 'At least the BNP might give a toss about what ordinary people actually want.'
I stared at her (oops, I meant 'this person') in total and utter bewilderment. From my point of view, this whole situation is like something off Invasion of the Body Snatchers. All my life, I'm used to being the right wing one in any conversation with normal, moderate people. One of the finest and truest political quotes I've ever heard in my life - 'a liberal is a conservative who hasn't been mugged yet.'
It's come to something when I get handed the role which was originally earmarked for Polly sodding Toynbee.
'Jesus Christ. They're neo nazis. You cannot seriously, genuinely intend to vote for these people.'
'Oh, come on. They're not that bad.'
'Yes, they are that bad - I've met neo nazi BNP scumbags, remember? Back in the day. They threw stones at me. For being sort of pale olive ish.'
'Well - they were just kids, Juliette. They've grown up now.'
'Damn right they've grown up now. Into neo-nazi scumbags. Who vote for the BNP.'
This conversation could have gone on all night, but was happily derailed by the subject of Katie and Peter's separation. This topic was considerably less controversial, and we rapidly arrived at a consensus opinion. Definitely her fault. Dead eyed cow.
Nonetheless, what my companion had said about maybe voting for the BNP haunted me all night.
Holy crap, what if lots of normal people are thinking like this?
What if the buggers get in, just because they're not called the Useless Thieving Scumbags, the Old Etonian Smug Bastards or the Total And Utter Wastes Of Space (sorry, New Labour, Tories or Lib Dems)??
Did a tiny handful of Cassandra-like people lie awake thinking thoughts like this in Berlin, circa 1930???
Was I being paranoid?????
However, I always think it's best to look on the bright side. And, as I did so, I may have inadvertently come up with a new advertising campaign for the not-racist-at-all-when-you-get-to-know-them gentlemen in question (some of whose best friends are black, gay, Jewish or Asian)...
Ten Good Reasons To Vote For The BNP
1 - If we descend into a nightmarish Nazi state where every aspect of life is under rigid and tyrannical state control, I may finally get my Boots advantage card replaced. I don't wish to sound petty, but it's been three months now.
2 - If the British film industry is forcibly turned over to producing nightmarish Nazi propaganda movies, they may finally have to cut back on the Lottery-funded turkeys about mockney gangsters called things like Harry the Hatchet. And slice it however you will, The Triumph of the Will is a significantly better film than Shifty.
3 - The BNP would, and I quote, offer "firm but voluntary incentives for immigrants and their descendants to return home." Which, to be fair, does mean that we'd finally see the back of Omid fucking Djalili.
4 - The BNP would also refuse to promote or encourage homosexuality and would, I quote, 'return it to the closet where it belongs". Come in, Little Britain. Your time is up.
5 - And take that dick Graham Norton with you.
6 - Everyone loves a bit of 80s retro chic, and it's all the rage this season. Stonewashed denim. Neon hairbands. Graffiti on corner shops screaming PAKIS OUT. All together now, let's go into that retro 80s hit, 'ain't no black in the Union Jack...'
7 - Hitler famously made the trains run on time. So perhaps a like-minded dictator could work his magic on fucking Virgin.
8 - National obesity crisis. Concentration camps. No national obesity crisis.
9 - Systematic elimination of the disturbed, insane and retarded isn't always as bad as it sounds. Yes, Kerry Katona, we just need you to have a quick shower. In you pop.
10 - More anti-semitism, less Peter Mandelson. There's always a silver lining, if you know where to look.
Hmmm... come to think of it, maybe I could get to like these BNP guys.
Especially if they take me on as their six-figure-salaried Head of Advertising, hint hint...
J x
Posted by Juliette
Henry's Editorial Note
It may be worth anyones time who seriously think that the BNP would do anything to remember that their constitution bars anyone not of AngloSaxon or Celtic heritage from joining their party and that if the BNP actually got in to power Britain would be likely to have international sanctions against us like we did against South Africa when they had apartheid. Basically our economy would fall apart,and they would appropriate everything. You'd end up having to grow food in your back garden and there'd be no cheap imported food anymore. Don't say you weren't warned.
Edit:We would have to grow food in our garden FOR REDISTRIBUTION, as these are Socialists aligned along national and ethnic boundaries. Thank you Roger
'What the hell do you mean, you're thinking of voting for the BNP?'
This was me. Last night. Talking to someone I know. It may scare the shit out of you when I say that the person in question is a perfectly pleasant, normal, politically moderate individual, with no racist tendencies beyond a mild to moderate dislike of the Scottish - but nothing heavy even in this area. I mean, they wouldn't want to throw Scottish people into concentration camps or torture them to death or anything.
Well, apart from Gordon Brown, obviously. But I think that's fairly universal.
'The other parties are all completely useless,' this person said defensively. 'At least the BNP might give a toss about what ordinary people actually want.'
I stared at her (oops, I meant 'this person') in total and utter bewilderment. From my point of view, this whole situation is like something off Invasion of the Body Snatchers. All my life, I'm used to being the right wing one in any conversation with normal, moderate people. One of the finest and truest political quotes I've ever heard in my life - 'a liberal is a conservative who hasn't been mugged yet.'
It's come to something when I get handed the role which was originally earmarked for Polly sodding Toynbee.
'Jesus Christ. They're neo nazis. You cannot seriously, genuinely intend to vote for these people.'
'Oh, come on. They're not that bad.'
'Yes, they are that bad - I've met neo nazi BNP scumbags, remember? Back in the day. They threw stones at me. For being sort of pale olive ish.'
'Well - they were just kids, Juliette. They've grown up now.'
'Damn right they've grown up now. Into neo-nazi scumbags. Who vote for the BNP.'
This conversation could have gone on all night, but was happily derailed by the subject of Katie and Peter's separation. This topic was considerably less controversial, and we rapidly arrived at a consensus opinion. Definitely her fault. Dead eyed cow.
Nonetheless, what my companion had said about maybe voting for the BNP haunted me all night.
Holy crap, what if lots of normal people are thinking like this?
What if the buggers get in, just because they're not called the Useless Thieving Scumbags, the Old Etonian Smug Bastards or the Total And Utter Wastes Of Space (sorry, New Labour, Tories or Lib Dems)??
Did a tiny handful of Cassandra-like people lie awake thinking thoughts like this in Berlin, circa 1930???
Was I being paranoid?????
However, I always think it's best to look on the bright side. And, as I did so, I may have inadvertently come up with a new advertising campaign for the not-racist-at-all-when-you-get-to-know-them gentlemen in question (some of whose best friends are black, gay, Jewish or Asian)...
Ten Good Reasons To Vote For The BNP
1 - If we descend into a nightmarish Nazi state where every aspect of life is under rigid and tyrannical state control, I may finally get my Boots advantage card replaced. I don't wish to sound petty, but it's been three months now.
2 - If the British film industry is forcibly turned over to producing nightmarish Nazi propaganda movies, they may finally have to cut back on the Lottery-funded turkeys about mockney gangsters called things like Harry the Hatchet. And slice it however you will, The Triumph of the Will is a significantly better film than Shifty.
3 - The BNP would, and I quote, offer "firm but voluntary incentives for immigrants and their descendants to return home." Which, to be fair, does mean that we'd finally see the back of Omid fucking Djalili.
4 - The BNP would also refuse to promote or encourage homosexuality and would, I quote, 'return it to the closet where it belongs". Come in, Little Britain. Your time is up.
5 - And take that dick Graham Norton with you.
6 - Everyone loves a bit of 80s retro chic, and it's all the rage this season. Stonewashed denim. Neon hairbands. Graffiti on corner shops screaming PAKIS OUT. All together now, let's go into that retro 80s hit, 'ain't no black in the Union Jack...'
7 - Hitler famously made the trains run on time. So perhaps a like-minded dictator could work his magic on fucking Virgin.
8 - National obesity crisis. Concentration camps. No national obesity crisis.
9 - Systematic elimination of the disturbed, insane and retarded isn't always as bad as it sounds. Yes, Kerry Katona, we just need you to have a quick shower. In you pop.
10 - More anti-semitism, less Peter Mandelson. There's always a silver lining, if you know where to look.
Hmmm... come to think of it, maybe I could get to like these BNP guys.
Especially if they take me on as their six-figure-salaried Head of Advertising, hint hint...
J x
Posted by Juliette
Henry's Editorial Note
It may be worth anyones time who seriously think that the BNP would do anything to remember that their constitution bars anyone not of AngloSaxon or Celtic heritage from joining their party and that if the BNP actually got in to power Britain would be likely to have international sanctions against us like we did against South Africa when they had apartheid. Basically our economy would fall apart,and they would appropriate everything. You'd end up having to grow food in your back garden and there'd be no cheap imported food anymore. Don't say you weren't warned.
Edit:We would have to grow food in our garden FOR REDISTRIBUTION, as these are Socialists aligned along national and ethnic boundaries. Thank you Roger
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
WESTMINSTER SIDE STORY
Our Guest Blogger Juliette writes
(If you don't know the songs of West Side Story, this post will make absolutely no sense to you whatsoever. If you do, however, allow me to present...)
WESTMINSTER SIDE STORY
A Recession Era Musical
By Bernstein, Sondheim and Juliette
Scene 1
(Tough-looking ministers pirouette down Downing Street, and launch into the first big song-and-dance number - to the tune of When You're A Jet.)
When you're in debt,
You're in debt all the way
From your first cigarette
To your last dyin' day
When you're in debt,
And the worst comes to pass,
You got bailiffs around,
You're chucked out on your arse!
You're never alone,
You're never undetected!
The bank is on the phone
The bailiffs are expected
Your leccy's disconnected!
Then you are screwed
With a capital S,
And you'll never forget
It's a right fucking mess.
When you're in debt,
You stay in debt!
Scene 2
(Tony and Cherie Blair are lying on a sunny beach, surrounded by hundred dollar bills and bottles of Cristal. The couple launch into a perky duet, to the tune of I Like To Be In America...)
I like to be in America
More cash for me in America
Scrounging's okay in America
Ten grand a day in America
I'm glad we went into that war
Or we might still be a bit poor
Everyone there's scared they'll get shot
Everyone there can suck my cock
I like to be in America
Everything free in America
Not called a bitch in America
We're fucking rich in America...
Scene 3
(Alone in Ten Downing Street, Gordon Brown gazes out of the window thoughtfully. Begins to sing a moving solo, to the tune of Maria...)
Oh Dear!
I've just seen the figures, Oh Dear!
And suddenly my name
will never be the same
Oh Dear
We're right in the brown stuff, Oh Dear!
And suddenly I've found
How frightening a sound
Can be!
Say it loud and I hear angry scousers,
Say it soft and I just shit my trousers
Oh Dear
I'll never stop saying Oh Dear!
Scene 3
(Policeman sits at his desk in front of a mountain of paperwork. Suddenly, a group of people burst in and launch into big song-and-dance number, to the tune of 'Officer Krupke')
Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke
You gotta understand
It's just that we've been burgled
and the cunts took twenty grand
It's not that hard to find them
Unless you're fucking thick
Golly Moses, chuck 'em in the nick
Gee, Officer Krupke
We hate to be pests
A bit less PC bullshit and a few more arrests
Hugging a hoodie's
a right waste of time
Just go and solve some fucking crimes
Right! Officer Krupke
We know you're not Morse
And we know you've got to get to your diversity course
It's just that some scumbags
Broke into my flat
And now they've gone and nicked my cat
Oh, Officer Krupke
We know that you're stuck
It's not your fault you're managed by some useless old fuck
Your sergeant is a tosser
His chief of staff's a twit
Goodness me, of course you can't do shit
Dear Officer Krupke
What are we to do?
Gee, Officer Krupke, Krup you!
Scene 4
(Middle aged man pirouettes round room lined with final demands, and full of blank spaces where bits of furniture used to be. Admiring his stanley knife wielding reflection in the mirror, he sings to the tune of I Feel Pretty...)
I feel shitty
Oh, so shitty,
I feel shitty and just want to fight!
And I pity
Any fucker in a suit tonight
See the shitty flat in that mirror there
Whose can that depressing flat be?
Such a shitty mess,
Telly repossessed,
Family looking stressed
Such a shitty me!
My mood's crashing
I hate bankers
Feel like smashing some wankers with bricks
For I'm fucked
By a pretty detestable clique!
Scene 5
(Grand finale. Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling dance off into the sunset hand in hand, and launch into a stirring duet, to the tune of Somewhere....)
There's a place for us,
You'll find it on the bus
Lose your job and we'll take you there
Where you'll wait for hours on a wonky chair
There's a place for us
Called the Job Centre Plus
Get your cards and we'll take you there
It all started with Tony Blair
Somehow
We'll make a shitload of money
And wriggle out of this scot-free
Somehow
Somewhere
Somewhere.....
J x
Posted by juliette at 21.14
(If you don't know the songs of West Side Story, this post will make absolutely no sense to you whatsoever. If you do, however, allow me to present...)
WESTMINSTER SIDE STORY
A Recession Era Musical
By Bernstein, Sondheim and Juliette
Scene 1
(Tough-looking ministers pirouette down Downing Street, and launch into the first big song-and-dance number - to the tune of When You're A Jet.)
When you're in debt,
You're in debt all the way
From your first cigarette
To your last dyin' day
When you're in debt,
And the worst comes to pass,
You got bailiffs around,
You're chucked out on your arse!
You're never alone,
You're never undetected!
The bank is on the phone
The bailiffs are expected
Your leccy's disconnected!
Then you are screwed
With a capital S,
And you'll never forget
It's a right fucking mess.
When you're in debt,
You stay in debt!
Scene 2
(Tony and Cherie Blair are lying on a sunny beach, surrounded by hundred dollar bills and bottles of Cristal. The couple launch into a perky duet, to the tune of I Like To Be In America...)
I like to be in America
More cash for me in America
Scrounging's okay in America
Ten grand a day in America
I'm glad we went into that war
Or we might still be a bit poor
Everyone there's scared they'll get shot
Everyone there can suck my cock
I like to be in America
Everything free in America
Not called a bitch in America
We're fucking rich in America...
Scene 3
(Alone in Ten Downing Street, Gordon Brown gazes out of the window thoughtfully. Begins to sing a moving solo, to the tune of Maria...)
Oh Dear!
I've just seen the figures, Oh Dear!
And suddenly my name
will never be the same
Oh Dear
We're right in the brown stuff, Oh Dear!
And suddenly I've found
How frightening a sound
Can be!
Say it loud and I hear angry scousers,
Say it soft and I just shit my trousers
Oh Dear
I'll never stop saying Oh Dear!
Scene 3
(Policeman sits at his desk in front of a mountain of paperwork. Suddenly, a group of people burst in and launch into big song-and-dance number, to the tune of 'Officer Krupke')
Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke
You gotta understand
It's just that we've been burgled
and the cunts took twenty grand
It's not that hard to find them
Unless you're fucking thick
Golly Moses, chuck 'em in the nick
Gee, Officer Krupke
We hate to be pests
A bit less PC bullshit and a few more arrests
Hugging a hoodie's
a right waste of time
Just go and solve some fucking crimes
Right! Officer Krupke
We know you're not Morse
And we know you've got to get to your diversity course
It's just that some scumbags
Broke into my flat
And now they've gone and nicked my cat
Oh, Officer Krupke
We know that you're stuck
It's not your fault you're managed by some useless old fuck
Your sergeant is a tosser
His chief of staff's a twit
Goodness me, of course you can't do shit
Dear Officer Krupke
What are we to do?
Gee, Officer Krupke, Krup you!
Scene 4
(Middle aged man pirouettes round room lined with final demands, and full of blank spaces where bits of furniture used to be. Admiring his stanley knife wielding reflection in the mirror, he sings to the tune of I Feel Pretty...)
I feel shitty
Oh, so shitty,
I feel shitty and just want to fight!
And I pity
Any fucker in a suit tonight
See the shitty flat in that mirror there
Whose can that depressing flat be?
Such a shitty mess,
Telly repossessed,
Family looking stressed
Such a shitty me!
My mood's crashing
I hate bankers
Feel like smashing some wankers with bricks
For I'm fucked
By a pretty detestable clique!
Scene 5
(Grand finale. Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling dance off into the sunset hand in hand, and launch into a stirring duet, to the tune of Somewhere....)
There's a place for us,
You'll find it on the bus
Lose your job and we'll take you there
Where you'll wait for hours on a wonky chair
There's a place for us
Called the Job Centre Plus
Get your cards and we'll take you there
It all started with Tony Blair
Somehow
We'll make a shitload of money
And wriggle out of this scot-free
Somehow
Somewhere
Somewhere.....
J x
Posted by juliette at 21.14
Friday, February 29, 2008
Seven Good Things Tag
Rachel from North London has tagged me so I must do the necessary
Seven good things
1. Low carb diets that show results in less than three weeks Namely the idiot proof diet by India Knight and Neris Thomas( ps If you get a spike in sales I want commission)
2.Friends who help you out in your hour of need and don't judge you.
3. Lidl because without Lidl ordinary people would never come home with cheap useful quality stuff( and Aldi and Netto to a degree) and yes I want commission if Lidl starts selling out because I need stuff too.
4. Concrete raft foundations for making earthquakes easier to cope with.
5. Omega 3 fish oil in high concentration on prescription
6. Celeriac for being the most versatile vegetable on the bloody planet and being low in carbs to boot
7. The ability to glean wild food from the planet without it costing you a penny.
Right I tag the following people
Theo Spark
Neuearbeitmachtfrei
Rogue Gunner
Single mother on the Verge
Menopausal Old Bag
Chaucers Bitch
Mark Wadsworth
The Cookiemouse
Seven good things
1. Low carb diets that show results in less than three weeks Namely the idiot proof diet by India Knight and Neris Thomas( ps If you get a spike in sales I want commission)
2.Friends who help you out in your hour of need and don't judge you.
3. Lidl because without Lidl ordinary people would never come home with cheap useful quality stuff( and Aldi and Netto to a degree) and yes I want commission if Lidl starts selling out because I need stuff too.
4. Concrete raft foundations for making earthquakes easier to cope with.
5. Omega 3 fish oil in high concentration on prescription
6. Celeriac for being the most versatile vegetable on the bloody planet and being low in carbs to boot
7. The ability to glean wild food from the planet without it costing you a penny.
Right I tag the following people
Theo Spark
Neuearbeitmachtfrei
Rogue Gunner
Single mother on the Verge
Menopausal Old Bag
Chaucers Bitch
Mark Wadsworth
The Cookiemouse
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sluts and the City
A valuable resource for Sex and the City...
Normal blogging will come back soon but to get you all in the festive mood here is something a little x rated to cheer you up.
Normal blogging will come back soon but to get you all in the festive mood here is something a little x rated to cheer you up.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
A Bit Of Light Relief
Well its not funny, but it is ironic and a little harsh but I enjoyed it.
Normal service will resume soon. One has to rest as its all getting a bit much at present. Xmas comes and the fucking world just goes crazy and its cold outside and I need to sleep a bit more.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Anti social Networking sites (2)
In my never ending quest to find rip off pages I have found this today (link)
Funny for a little while but just pure advertising as usual
Funny for a little while but just pure advertising as usual
Monday, October 15, 2007
Money cant buy you taste
Click the title to see the house that the man who makes toilets built for himself. Guaranteed to raise a smile.
BBC Link ( Realplayer)
BBC Link ( Realplayer)
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Enemybook
Remember Arsebook? well now there is a Facebook user that has created an application called Enemybook.
God knows why but its there. Main page link here
Edit and Update:
God knows why but its there. Main page link here
Edit and Update:
Enemybook is an antisocial utility that disconnects you
to the so-called friends around you.
Enemybook is a Facebook app that allows you to manage your enemies as well as your friends. With Enemybook you can add people as facebook enemies, specify why they are your enemies, notify your enemies, see who lists you as an enemy, and even become friends with the enemies of your enemies. Ever wanted to "enemy" somebody instead of friend them? Finally you can. This app remedies the one-sided perspective of Facebook.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer...
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