Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Size Twelves're on the Other Foot...

Plod's well pissed off. According to The Guardian,,2233305,00.html it's not just us disaffected proles who'll fall foul of restrictions on demonstrating near the Westminster Whorehouse.

Tough fucking luck lads. The next time someone tries politicising you, and using you to clamp down on free speech and the right of peaceful assembly and/or protest, bear your current sorrows in mind eh?

Thursday, December 20, 2007


A survey by YouGov found almost half of 30 to 50-year-olds confessed to drinking too much at times and had not learned to stick to their limits.
The poll was commissioned as part of a government campaign to encourage responsible drinking over Christmas.
Professor Ian Gilmore, president of the Royal College of Physicians and Chair of the Alcohol Health Alliance, said: "People over 30 should be aware that their body is less likely to cope with the after-effects of alcohol, think carefully about the weekly amount they are drinking and stick to the safe limits so as to avoid alcohol-related disease."
Dr Sarah Jarvis, a GP, said that it was important for the over-30s to limit their alcoholic intake over the Christmas period. "To help you stick to your limits, you might want to try agreeing a limit with a friend, following one alcoholic drink with a soft drink, or taking time out from drinking for another activity."

What the fucking, christing, arse-bagging, dog-shagging, buggery FUCK?!

It's not five minutes ago (figuratively speaking) that the jabbering dungbuckets who concocted the risible 'units' of consumption came clean and admitted they'd just plucked the numbers out of their arses; simply because they were too fucking bone arrogant to admit that they didn't have the first fucking scooby about that of which they spoke.

Lo and behold, friends and neighbours, here we go again. What is it with these fucking pricks? Do they honestly believe in their olympian wisdom that we have the attention spans of goldfish? That we've forgotten all about it, and reverted to the status quo ante bullshit?

I never attached any credence to units anyway, they made no sense at their inception, and now I wouldn't insult my arse by wiping it with them.

As for Gilmore, (may wild horses bugger him nightly) why won't he just shut the fuck up? If only out of a simple sense of shame? If I belonged to a profession that admitted it had caused alterations in public policy that had cost millions of pounds in terms of advertising and implementation, and spawned a generation of publicly funded killjoy fuckpigs on the back of something they'd just made up, (once more for the cheap seats, they'd just made up) I hope I'd have the sense and common good taste to zip it.

And while I think about it, let's just look at one sentence in particular, to wit -

'and had not learned to stick to their limits'

Had not learned? (MtK abruptly expands to titanic size, and kicks over the Canary Wharf tower) had not fucking learned?! These people leave me practically speechless with rage. The sheer condecension, the sheer palpable sense of superior, finger-wagging holier-than-thou puritanism contained (barely) in those nine words beggar belief.

No, professor Gilmore, I have never 'learned' to stick to my limits; and I never will. What I have 'learned' however, is that self-important tossers like you were born to be either ignored, or held up as perfect examples of what is currently wrong in the upper echelons of the medical profession. Just practice medicine, and stick the lifestyle advice and social engineering agenda up your hole if you please. We've had enough.

Unfortunately, we now inhabit a world where the Gilmores, and patrician titwanks like him are in the ascendant. So expect lots more of the same. About everything.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

You Only Live Once. If you're lucky...

Professor Sir David King the Government's chief scientist singled out women who find supercar drivers "sexy", adding that they should divert their affections to men who live more environmentally-friendly lives.

Christ on a fucking bike. Will the prigs never get to fuck, and leave us normal humans alone?

Bond paused at the top of the short flight of stairs leading from the baccarat tables to the foyer. He could feel the recycled hemp soles of his hand-crafted sandals compressing the thick pile as his gaze tracked back to the door of the powder room. Ignoring the relentless itching of his FairTrade underpants, he remembered the voice of the Community Surveillance Liaison Officer in the quiet briefing room at headquarters,
"She's a hot proposition Bond, sophisticated, likes the good things in life; but now of course we have to deal with these matters in a sensitive way that doesn't affect the environment".
Bond snapped back to the present as the door opened, to reveal the lithe body of his contact, Flapza Kimbo, sinuously walking towards him. He frowned inwardly at the wasteful silk sheathe dress, the diamonds at her elegant throat and at the leather - yes - leather shoes.
"Well Mr. Bond", her voice was a throaty, feline purr, "What did you have in mind?".
His reply came with a sardonic look,
"I hope that perfume wasn't tested on animals",
"Because if it was, it's as bad as wearing those leather shoes",
"An animal died to make those shoes, and how many silkworm were worked to death to make that dress?"
"What the fuck are you on about?".
Despite himself, Bond felt his voice sliding up the scale to the sharp, petulant whine that seemed to have characterised him more and more since abandoning the pungent Morland balkan cigarettes he'd favoured since his teens,
"And don't think we're eating meat tonight. I've booked us a table at 'Cranks', where we can get a really nice mung-bean melange..."
"Every cow produces enough anal methane to gas forty baby polar-bears",
Bond was warming to his theme as they reached the exit from the casino, and stepped into the street. The valet swerved into the kerbside, handing Bond the keys to his car with a barely suppressed smirk. Flapza's face writhed with shock and revulsion,
"I'm not being seen in that bag of bollocks!", she shrilled,
"A SmartCar is the only choice these days. Anyone who drives anything over one litre capacity is a planet murderer"
"Kiss my Chanel-swaddled arse you freak. I'm off!".
Bond watched askanse as his date hailed a black cab and disappeared into the night. He slid behind the wheel of his SmartCar, suppressing a twinge of regret as he remembered asking 'Q' what gadgets MI6 had installed,
"Gadgets? What the fuck? Are you mental Bond? there was barely enough room for a fucking cup holder. Gadgets my arse. Just bugger off out of it!".
Bond pulled into the traffic with a sigh. Sometimes it seemed that life had been less complicated once upon a time.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

I'm so happy I could shit...

Well, the ink's dry on the death warrant of the United Kingdom. Our masters in Europe got together for a super beano to finish the carve-up.

Of course, the whole shindig was sans Gordo, who owing to the fact he doesn't own a blackberry will pitch up late. He'll be signing up at a special kiddies table, after which he'll be given jelly and ice cream no doubt.

Barroso was wanking on about a 'continent once divided by a totalitarian curtain', although he failed to explain why being swept under a totalitarian umbrella comprised any improvement.

Isn't there anything in the PM's Oath of Office relating to defence of sovereignty? And if not, why not?

It's a little early, even by my standards, but I think a stiff drink's in order...


From what I've been able to discover, the Oath is simply one of allegiance to the crown. It lays no obligation on the sworn in regard to preservation of sovereignty, defence of the realm or anything else for that matter. One might have hoped that some indirect obligation would derive from HM's coronation oath, but most of that relates to sodding christianity. Worse than useless.

For anyone wondering if I'd gone slightly mad when I asked 'And if not, why not?' above; I was suffering a naivete. Of course they wouldn't swear to anything that bound them to behave with loyalty to the UK.

Most of 'em wouldn't recognise genuine loyalty if it leapt up their arses and ripped their spleens out.

Bastards. How I loathe them.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

What would I do?

If I actually won the National Lottery? Well, the first and most obvious advantage is that it would absolve me from ever needing to sober up ever again; and as I look around me the more attractive that blessed state appears.

However, is this enough? Could I just stop and be satisfied with happy oblivion? Or do I owe a better and greater legacy to the wider world? The answer of course is obvious.

What I'd have to do is buy a large, well endowed mammal of some description. A bull, or an elephant perhaps, and train it to find and sodomise eco-wankers.

I wonder where they'll put my statue...

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

The World Turned Upside Down...

Graham Norton is one of many people who drive me bloody mad. Hitherto he registered on my targeting radar as one of those individuals who'd done a funny thing once (twice to be fair. Father Ted in both instances), and then become a 'Celeb'.

Becoming a 'Celeb' now obviously involves everyone hosing you with liquid cash for no readily apparent reason. Especially the Beeb, who have that stuff in abundance; extorted with menaces from thee and me. Graham pissed me off more than most of the current crop of nondescript arseholes, as

a: the Beeb were unusually (even by their standards) extremely liberal with the pen and
chequebook, and

b: I couldn't understand for the fucking life of me why.

Out of the blue, I was compelled to shift my worldview. I checked out the blog of the estimable Dr. Phil Button on Monday afternoon (linked on the right), and discovered that GN not only has a brain, but is endowed with Common Sense (capitalisation intentional). He also demonstrates a sound liberalism that wholly accords with mine.

Never again can I dismiss him as an empty-headed, shrill, brainless, lightweight titwank; of less worth and use than a blancmange strap-on.


Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Right then...

Sleeves rolled up in the home counties. Since I started this blog, my commitment has been, to say the least lamentable. However, as the months roll on, and the quacking fanatics at ASH, DoH et al get ever more barefaced with their lies; even I've been blasted out of my inertia.

Apart from being one of the complainants who got the supine ASA to tackle the risible 'Silent Killer' ads, I've composed and had printed the stickers you see reproduced above. If you want some, please message me here.