An Apple a Day?

Picture courtesy of David Forward of Tractorstats fame
It soon might be election day. But you know as well as I do that the wicked warlord of the East, Lord Mandelcrunch of Rentajob has said that he will take a job for the Tories?
So do you take the blue part of the apple or the red part? Either way you still get Mandelson.

Its actually quite representative of British Politics that apple. It doesn't matter what you do if you vote red or blue you get the same maggots, when you bite into it.

Why do you vote for them?


"I didn't choose this party I was born into it". Yes and thats why you joined the young Communists is it Mandy?

Which side of the Apple is poisoned? You decide. I would choose a different fruit.

Its a better bet. It may not be what you are used to but there are 50% of the population who don't vote. If those people voted changes would happen.

Apathy will get you the same apple. Go get a different one today.

Atlas Bugged

From our guest blogger Juliette.



Following my recent musings on whether or not to read Ayn Rand, I couldn't find The Fountainhead - and thought I'd go straight for the motherlode. So I've started reading Atlas Shrugged with some curiosity.

First, the good. Ayn Rand's prose style is way, way better than I was expecting. In fact, I'd say that she is, technically, an extremely good writer.

But I have to say, sixty pages in, it's still not gripping or inspiring me.

This is probably because I want to attack her cast of smug, annoying assholes with a length of two by four.

I have never in my life read a book packed to capacity with so many toxically self-satisfied, unbelievably unlikeable pricks. So far, I particularly hate the so-called heroine, Dagny Taggart
(all Ayn Rand's characters have names like movie stars in Jackie Collins bonkbusters. Don't even get me started on Midas Mulligan.)

Dagny Taggart - who, like the heroine of Cassandra's Conflict, really isn't classically beautiful at all - is a world-class pain in the rectum. She's always doing things like gazing out of her office window at the ant like hordes far below. And constantly thinking how superior she is to the little people around her, with their petty lives. And how she has no interest in anything in life apart from her family business and, as a child, mathematics (which must make her fun to sit next to at dinner parties.) And how her unique energy, vision and talent have seen her rise - with incredible speed and ease - to become Head of Operations at Taggart Trains.

You can't help thinking that this extraordinarily rapid rise through the ranks may have something to do with the fact that HER FATHER OWNED THE FRIGGING COMPANY.

But this is clearly something which has never occurred to her.

Likewise, I dare say Kim Jong Il frequently pats himself on the back for his astounding achievements in life.

'Just think. Twenty years ago, I was the obscure eldest son of the Dear Leader. Now, through pure talent and hard work, I've managed to become the Dear Leader myself. Kiss my ass, little people. Rock and roll.'

I haven't got to the Big Message Bit yet. But - having read a few reviews, and knowing the basic storyline - I can see it approaching me like an oncoming train with every passing sentence.

People who make a lot of money do so because they have vision, genius and unlimited creative energy - and we ordinary, little people should be grateful to have such godlike entities in our midst.

This was clearly written by a woman who had never heard of Jeffrey Archer, Sir Fred Goodwin or Katie Price.

If they were to fuck off to some deserted island (oh, if only), I sincerely doubt that the world would grind to a halt.

Although of course, I might be wrong.

I can see it now. London has become a burning, dystopian wilderness. Weeping commoners lurch through the crumbling streets like haggard ghosts, tearing at their hair as they survey the nightmarish desolation before them. Desperate cries ring out through the rubble, rising through the smoke towards an unseen and indifferent god...

'Have mercy! Who will steal our profits now!'

'Come back! We can't live without your awful ghost-written books about ponies!'

Meanwhile, on an idyllic deserted island, Fred, Jeffrey and Katie are having a gang bang (apologies for the haunting image). Musing on how much better life is, now they're no longer surrounded by the intellectual midgets, petty detractors and small-minded fools who have held back their titanic genius in the regular world - which rewards banality, dishonesty and mediocrity, and fears and punishes true visionary greatness such as they possess.

Before, hopefully, they're all eaten by a passing shark.

It takes quite something to make me feel like a commie.

But - by popular consensus - Ayn Rand really was quite something.


Posted by Juliette who is being brave and reading Atlas Shrugged

Editorial footnote

Its an allegory.

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

Gordon Brown: I Dreamed a Dream

Hat Tip Oldrightie and Subrosa

Susan Boyle watch out you may have a contender!!



Not...

WACKO! - A Musical

From our Guest Blogger Juliette


Following the raging success of Mamma Mia and We Will Rock You, I found myself thinking - what could be more topical than a musical based on the songs of Michael Jackson?

And what subject matter could be more topical than the end of New Labour?

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present...

WACKO!
A Political Musical

by Juliette

Scene 1 - MAD
(Dynamic opening number by leading man Gordon Brown, performed to the tune of Bad)

My smile is weird
It just don't look right
Go check it out
On that YouTube site
I'm telling you
Better watch your butt
Because I look
Like a scary nut...

I'm giving you
On count of two
To shit your pants
And vote for blue
I'm tellin you
Just watch my eyes
You wouldn't trust me
To serve you fries

Well they say I'm going crazy
And for me that's just a fact
But my friend, you have seen nothing
Just wait till I get sacked

Because I'm mad, I'm mad - come on
You know I'm mad, I'm mad - you know it
You know I'm mad, I'm mad - come on, you know
And the whole world has to answer right now
Just to tell you once again,
Who's mad . . .

Scene 2 - I JUST CAN'T STOP ROBBING YOU
(Passionate duet for two MPs, to the tune of I Just Can't Stop Loving You)

Each time the bills come
Stick 'em up your bum
I ain't got to pay ...
New suite this morning
Get some free porn in
It's on the UK

You know how I feel
This scam can't go wrong
I'm so proud to say
It's rent-free
I may be a scrote
But I got a clean moat
We'll get this shit forever
Thieving's the answer...

Off to the shop now
Get a free mop now
And carpet spray
Look voters, see here
Can't buy my own gear
On 90K

I won't spend my dosh
But I want to live posh
My life ain't worth living
If I can't steal from you...

I just can't stop robbing you
I just can't stop robbing you
And if I stop . . .
Then tell me just what will I do...

'Cos I just can't stop robbing you...


Scene 3 - KEN
(A sweet-faced young voter sings affectionately to a small evil-looking ratlike creature burrowing into London Paper, to the tune of Ben)

Ken, the Londoners need look no more
They all found what they were looking for
Like a mayor who isn't shit
You newt-loving old git
So you, my friend, are sacked
Piss off and don't come back

Ken, you're always slagging Boris off
You say he is just a useless toff
If you weren't a bitter knob
You might just shut your gob
You just look even worse
Can someone call for nurse?

Ken, most people would turn you away
They don't listen to a word you say
And they're absolutely right
You washed-up commie shite
I bet they'd vote again
If they had a mayor like Ken...


Scene 4 - MILIBAND
(The finale. A big show-stopping song and dance number performed by huge crowd of TV viewers, to the tune of Thriller)

It's close to midnight
and something scary's there on your TV
Right there on Newsnight,
You see a sight that makes you spill your tea
You try to scream
But terror takes the sound before you make it
You start to freeze
And wish you hadn't taken those Allis
That was unwise...

'Cos this is Miliband, Miliband night
And no one's gonna save you from the freak with scary eyes
You know it's Miliband, on Newsnight
You're fighting for your life inside a Miliband interview tonight

Christ, he looks scary
Like something off a Hammer Horror flick
You try to calm down
And tell yourself he's just another prick
But Jesus Christ
He's like a dummy haunted by the devil
All through the night
You'll see his freaky likeness in your dreams
You start to scream...

'Cos this is Miliband, Miliband night
Just quickly change the channel, he's one spooky-looking shite
You know it's Miliband, on Newsnight
You're fighting for your life inside a Miliband interview tonight...


(Any Cameron Mackintoshy types want to buy the rights, you know where I am...)

J x

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

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

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

Wild Wild Westminster

For your delectation and delight here is some satire and fun from a guest blogger

She will occasionally be writing here for juicy salacious satire and sarcasm.


Todays Guest Blogger is Juliette from http://thenewadventuresofjuliette.blogspot.com/


The original is here

I've just been reading about the unfounded political rumours of Damian McBride. Now, I'm sorry, but if you're going to make things up, you could at least make something up that was a bit funnier or more interesting than that crap. So I started thinking along these lines myself. Admittedly, I haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, but it didn't slow Damian McBride down...

Things You Never Knew About Politicians (And Never Wanted To Ask)

Lembit Opik is a cunningly disguised alien. I mean, just look at him, for God's sake. His head's the wrong shape. And the name's a dead giveaway. Clearly he skimped on the research back on Planet Zog, and thought Lembit Opik would be nicely inconspicuous. It's Ford Prefect all over again.

*
Gordon Brown was inexplicably used as the model for the 'devastatingly handsome' human Shrek in Shrek 2. The truth is out there...

*
Cherie Blair is a fully paid-up member of the Undead. I can't believe nobody's figured this one out before.

*
George Osborne is concealing a terrible secret.

In 1998, ten prostitutes were found murdered and mutilated in Oxford. Horrific crimes that shocked even the hardened lead detective on the case - the hard-drinking, twice-divorced, reckless but loveable maverick Jack Riley.

When Riley interviewed the helpful, blandly smiling clean-cut student George Osbourne to take a routine witness statement, a distant alarm bell started ringing in the back of his mind. There was no evidence tying this handsome and well connected young man to the horrific murders, but....

There's something about him, thought Riley starkly. I can't put my finger on it. Something wrong.

He started investigating Osbourne's movements and alibis for the nights of the murders, and told his sergeant. The next day, Riley was summoned to a private meeting with his sergeant. He was formally told he was being removed from the investigation.

'We're replacing you with Detective Muppet,' his sergeant told him awkwardly. 'You're being transferred to the Makework case.'

Riley stared at him in disbelief.

'You can't be serious. Muppet's never solved a case in twenty years.'

His sergeant didn't quite meet his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Jack. This comes from higher up. I'm just following orders.'

Yet, haunted by his suspicions concerning Osborne, Riley continued digging in secret. God damn it, he needed to know the truth. The more he learned, the more chillingly certain he became that Osborne's charming facade concealed a deadly psychopath. He learned of the woman who'd been found killed in the exact same way near Eton five years ago. Another identical case near the village where Osborne had grown up. Jesus, Osbourne had been doing this all his life. And now he was out of control.

Then quite unexpectedly, Riley was summoned for a meeting with the Chief Commissioner. The urbane and silver-haired older man greeted him warmly, and ushered him into his book-lined inner sanctum.

'Care for a glass of scotch, dear boy? Forty years old. I have cigars too, if you'd care to indulge.'

They stood together before a roaring fire. Riley felt as tense as strung elastic. The Chief Commissioner patted Riley's arm. The gesture was avuncular, yet somehow sinister.

'You are a young man. You have a promising career before you. I will do everything in my power to help that career progress. But first, you must let these ridiculous suspicions drop.'

Riley stared at the Chief Commissioner. He could feel the blood draining out of his face.

'W-what do you mean?'

There was a new and steely note to the Chief Commissioner's voice.

'You know exactly what I mean, Detective Riley.'

Riley hadn't told anyone he was still investigating Osbourne. He was sure of it. Jesus Christ, was he being followed?

As soon as he got back home that night, Riley went straight to his computer and started searching for answers. The luminous white light from the screen illuminated Riley's disbelieving face, as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place - and he found himself looking at a family photograph from an old news article that said it all.

Oh my God, Riley thought starkly. The Chief Commissioner is Osborne's uncle.

He grabbed up his mobile and rang a trusted friend - a newspaper journalist. He had to share what he knew with the world, before it was too late. His friend's voice answered on the sixth ring, sleepy and irritated.

'Jesus. Riley. Do you know what fucking time it is?'

'I've got something to tell you,' Riley said urgently. 'This is front page shit, Greg. I can't talk over the phone. It might be bugged.'

'So come on over,' his journalist friend grumbled. 'But this had better be good, motherfucker.'

Riley raced out of his flat, down the dark and silent stairs and out into the freezing, moonlit night. The world was deadly silent. Nobody around. He got into his car, his heart hammering away inside him. He slammed the door behind him, and turned the key in the ignition.

The car exploded in a ball of flame. Riley died instantly. His knowledge intact.

His death was blamed on a terrorist ring he'd helped to lock up five years ago.

To this day, the ten prostitutes' murders have never been solved.

Okay, it's not even remotely true, but it would make a fantastic story.

*

David Miliband has the smallest cock in Parliament. Ten gets you twenty.

*
David Cameron is actually a freshly boiled and buttered new potato with a smug, annoying little face drawn on it with a biro. Designed by the same dark CGI arts that created Piers Morgan.

*
Jack Straw is a serial killer. The sort whose neighbours say 'such a nice quiet chap. Keeps himself to himself.' Until the police break in and find he's got a fridge full of severed willies and a month-dead rent boy sitting on the sofa. Look at the face, for God's sake. Look at the eyes.

It's Fred Westminster.

*
Boris Johnson is the only remotely likeable person within five miles of Parliament. This may actually be true.


*Please share these completely unfounded rumours with a political editor friend, and get my blog in the papers*

J x

Posted by Juliette at 21.11

Meeting Juliette

I met Juliette yesterday and did some tweaks on her blog.



Ive not done much today and Im not blogging about Jade's Wedding so I shall be back with your daily dose of politics very soon.

Jingle Bombs

All I want for Christmas

Well I suppose I had to mention that, plus Mariah Carey, it simply wouldn't really be Christmas without a few tunes from the Devil.

Anyway here we are on Christmas Eve anxiously awaiting the 2007th rebirth of Christ, in a manger and whats going on in the UK, politically and medically and just by the by stuff.

A quick scan on the papers today shows that Portuguese police are trying to find a blue gym bag which used to carry tennis stuff for Gerry McCann which disappeared at the same time as Maddie.

There have been massive personal data losses from the NHS, from 11 trusts (makes you wonder why the name Trust is used!)

The fog last night screwed up many a flightplan for those trying to escape Britain for warmer or colder climes for Christmas.

Petrol prices well the protests were rather small, why does no one bother is everyone being apathetic again? but more protests are planned for the New Year.

I have also heard that other people have had terrible times this year and I blame it on the year of the Fire Pig... Yes that old chestnut of I ching and the four pillars.

and now just to lighten the mood a bit of Mariah Carey. Look out for the 3 fat ladies!

Is this the real life or is this just fantasy

No escape from reality...

As the famous song goes. I haven't been able to keep up with the politics as I've just been too bloody busy with my own reality.

Never discuss Politics on the first date

That's my thought for the day. It comes from me watching Brothers and Sisters last night.

On a separate note I had a weird dream this morning, I had gone back to visit my old school and I met four of my old teachers who were exceptionally happy to see me.

Mr S, Mr W, Mr F, and Mr C and two of them were going to do a parachute jump.

Like I say it was a weird dream.

Thankfully I have realised what it means. It means that whatever you do in life, if you put your heart and soul into it, it is worthwhile and part of your life. Seeing them in my dream has given me the courage of my convictions.

Its like they are cheering me on and that from your original teachers is a good portent of things to come.

On another note I see Jack Straw is to review the Self Defence law Link here
This is probably needed but I have a proviso for Jack.

Make sure that the level of reasonable force is appropriate. If you injure and hurt someone who burgles you, or think that because you are using self defence you can let rip and be overly nasty then that is wrong. That will only escalate the situation for as we know injured animals are the most dangerous.

There is also the old adage. Do as you would be done by.

Be careful Jack. Don't put people in danger with this and what's more don't make them into pseudo-police officers either or you risk bringing the fascist state a little bit more closer to full reality.

Floods, weather warnings

The parched even scorched earth pictures of last years summer are now well forgotten by those suffering the flood this year.

God did say he wouldnt flood the wicked but it seems its a wicked world out there and lots of people have been affected and have even died in the floods.

More people have died from flooding than from terrorism this year in Britain and yet there is no war on Flooding oh no None whatsoever and I do believe that the Thames water hosepipe ban has still not been taken off in some places... crazy or what!!

Food prices are shooting through the roof and are running at 6% well above inflation and is the government doing anything No they are burying their heads in crap and promising more flood barriers by 2010 well thats a great lot of help to the pensioners who are finding their weekly shopping bill rising by the week and bread prices becoming worse by the week.

It used to be that the only place you could buy a loaf of bread over a £1 was the Channel Islands, not so now I guess it must cost about £2 for a loaf in Jersey now.

Edit There is a fabulous article here which I urge everyone to read and I thank Ranting Stan for finding it

On a more serious note

One of the people arrested over the weekend is a Junior Doctor.

This is a worrying development a) his name should not have been released to the BBC media packhounds here and b) what ever happened to a man from such and such place is helping police with their enquiries.

Even if he is innocent his life is now ruined beyond compare as his name has been circulated on a news website read by millions.

Why can the government not realise that by disaffecting their doctors they are doing themselves a disservice.

Disaffected junior doctors from a British Muslim background are going to be ripe for the plucking for the Al Qaeda recruiters. No job , no prospects and a mortgage and all sorts of other bills to pay and highly intelligent and bitter. A lethal combination.


Yes I am blaming government policy. Everything the government do has a knock on effect on everything else

You can't make 10000 junior doctors unemployed with out a ripple like effect affecting the widest possible shores and why someone in the government hasn't understood this is beyond stupidity it falls into the moronic.

It seems the lunatics really are running the asylum.

Beware the wolf in presbyterian sheepswool clothing

Gordon Brown becomes our latest Priminister on Wednesday. Already the optimism and the joy of leaving the Tony Blair years behind is palpable but is it justified?

What record do we have of Brown being trustworthy? According to the Panorama programme that was shown we have no idea of how devious and untrustworthy he is.

The recent budget tax cut on the headline rate of income tax whilst removing the 10% band was actually an increase.

Proof if it were needed that Brown is a devious son of a preacherman.

Out of the frying pan into the fire is one term that I will say is relevant here. We could all tell when Tony was lying but will we be able to tell when Brown is?

The next few months are going to be interesting.

Tony to push through new stop and search laws

It seems that shiny Tony is going to leave us all with a bad taste in our mouths
Not content with leaving Brown with a poisoned chalice he's going to add alkali and a few other chasers to the cup.


"
Prime Minister Tony Blair plans to push through a new anti-terrorism law before he steps down next month giving "war-time" powers to police to stop and question people, a newspaper reported on Sunday. Blair, who is due to resign on June 27 after a decade in office, wrote in an article in The Sunday Times that his government planned to publish new anti-terrorism proposals "within the next few weeks". An interior ministry spokeswoman confirmed the government was looking at including a "stop and question" power in the new legislation. "We are considering a range of powers for the bill and 'stop and question' is one of them," she said. The "stop and question" power would enable police to interrogate people about who they are, where they have been and where they were going, The Sunday Times said. Police would not need to suspect a crime had taken place. If suspects failed to stop or refused to answer questions, they could be charged with a crime and fined, The Sunday Times said. Police already have the power to stop and search people but have no right to ask them their identity and movements. The Sunday Times said the powers already existed in Northern Ireland. Civil rights groups viewed the plan to extend them to the rest of Britain as an attack on civil liberties, it said. Such powers had only existed before in other parts of Britain in war time, it said. Interior minister John Reid is proposing other measures to combat Islamist militants, the report said. These would give police the power to take documents away for examination even if their value as evidence was not immediately obvious and the power to remove vehicles to examine them. Blair's government passed tough anti-terrorism measures after the September 2001 attacks on U.S. cities and again after four British Muslim suicide bombers killed 52 people on London's transport network in July 2005. However, some of Blair's proposed measures -- such as a plan to hold terrorism suspects for up to 90 days without charge -- have been blocked by parliament or the courts. Britain's anti-terrorism strategy has faced criticism in the last few days after the disclosure that three men suspected of planning attacks on British or U.S. troops abroad had absconded. Authorities had attempted to keep tabs on the three men through "control orders". In his article, Blair said it was not the government's fault the three had absconded. Instead, he blamed parliament and the courts for quashing the tougher measures he had wanted. "We have chosen as a society to put the civil liberties of the suspect, even if a foreign national, first. I happen to believe this is misguided and wrong," he wrote. Britons had decided that, except in very limited ways, the threat to public safety from extremism did not justify radical changes to the law, he said. "Their right to traditional civil liberties comes first. I believe this is a dangerous misjudgment," he added."


The above post is from Reuters via Msn

Is nothing safe from Tony?

Pasty Hewitt says closing beds is a good thing

Yeah right! Soon there'll be no beds left Will that be good too? Something along the lines of the Emperor's new clothes? People express sympathy when I tell them I work for the NHS but its not their sympathy that I need, no its their vote because their vote is the only thing that can stop this country going straight down the plughole.

Already she has made 7000 doctors unemployed who will be booking their flights to Australia and New Zealand in July and who probably are so hacked off with MTAS and the government that they'll never come back so she has just wasted about 2 billion pounds of taxpayers money just to balance the books this year along with all the hospital closures because the NHS must balance its books! Why? Its a service it doesn't actually need to balance its bloody books it needs to provide a service

Why this government and the previous governments of Margaret and Major sought to make it into a business is quite clear,they wished to privatise it in one foul swoop.

There is no legislation to prevent NHS trusts from independently becoming private organisations.... Does that surprise you? Margaret Thatcher did that and what she didn't do this government is hell bent on finishing off.

Lets be very clear about this, Why should politicians who are sackable by vote actually try to do things which they know will end up in them being voted out?

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark ... as they say