Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Speeding Up 'Digestive Transit'

But Asif, this works just as well, and it's so much quieter

I have frequently suggested that members of Al Quaeda should stuff various objects up their hoops, and at least one member of that singularly deranged fraternity took my suggestion to heart.

Watch CBS News Videos Online

No fucking way that boy was getting any. Wonder how the recruiter sold him the deal?

What a monumental tool.

Hasn't anyone told them how much blast a human body can absorb? Why do they think people can throw themselves onto grenades to save their comrades? Besides, if he was that constipated there are over-the-counter products to move things through the requisite orifice, rather than through the top of your tiny pointed skull.

I wonder how the commercial would have run...

*Talking head shot of Islamo-birdbrain*

Yeah, I was looking forward to killing the infidel, but I had that bloated, uncomfortable feeling, you know?

Then Mohammed Latif said "Why don't you try jamming a pound of Semtex™ and a cellphone up your hole?"

I was sceptical at first, but then I thought, 'What have I got to lose?', so I gave it a fair try, and now I'm smeared up a wall in Riyadh.

I hope when he gets to paradise the 72 virgins just giggle and mock his tiny penis.

Although the last laugh may be on us when Security Comedy Theatre devises a port-based response... *shudders*

Blogistan is Ablaze...

...over this hideosity, and rightly so.

The first forensic autopsy I observed at was a suicide/double murder involving a mother and two young children with exactly the same method. The aftermath is beyond description, the act itself beyond understanding.

Our brethren have taken the whole sorry mess apart, dissecting the usual suspects with customary attention and accuracy, but it's so wearisome, so hopelessly, soul-bleachingly predictable.

The solutions are there, if someone, anyone, will simply apply them.

• Let the Police, Police. Detect and arrest criminals, quash public disorder.

• Let the courts punish crime and public disorder in appropriate measure.

• Restore and reinforce the principle of absolute equality before the law.

• Restore and reinforce the principle of absolute equality before the law.

• Restore and reinforce the principle of absolute equality before the law.

• Restore and reinforce the principle of absolute equality before the law.

• Restore and reinforce the principle of ABSOLUTE EQUALITY BEFORE THE LAW.

Repeat ad nauseam, or until some fucker LISTENS.

There. That wasn't so hard, was it?

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

I Watched in Silence

The Ponce of Darkness

Mandy Pandy's conference speech yesterday.

I really don't know where to start. I really don't. Everything I loathe and despise. Everything I hate and oppose. Everything that is sick and wrong and degraded about British politics neatly wrapped and delivered in one slippery skin.

To re-hash the sins of this oleaginous, scheming thing would be hopelessly redundant. I'm in no doubt that doing so would merely be to preach to the choir. It's not really those I find so sickening.

No. What really puts me into orbit is the way that the fucking labour party disinter this reprehensible, intolerable excrescence and parade it in front of us all. like some hideous memento venaliter.

The message to the nation from New Labour, received loud and clear:

Look! Look you stupid, stupid bastards! While you hang on by your fingernails, we've elevated this useless fuck to the highest offices of state! Shit! We even made up some new ones, just for him! Isn't that awesome? Isn't that sooo kewl? While you suffer and do without and try to tread water, the only part of him that isn't immersed in the trough is his ringpiece, and it's blowing off! Right in your stupid faces! What do you think about that? On second thoughts - who ever gave a FUCK what YOU think?

I'll let the noble lord conclude, as he did to the faithful:

“But let me say this. If I can come back . . . we can come back,”

Processed through the Mac the Knife Patent Bullshit Translator®™, this reads:

"Lie, cheat, backstab and connive. Fuck the law, fuck probity, fuck morality, fuck public service. Kiss arse, fuck arse, take bungs. IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER! If you're part of the charmed circle you can't lose! Long after you bovine fucks have been thrown under the bus, I'll still be living in luxury; rich, powerful and untouchable"

And a Tin of Sainsbury's Tuna in Brine Goes To...

A blog author at lunch, earlier today

The resplendantly furry Pavlov's Cat posted on the subject of cover versions earlier, with two fine examples of the genre to illustrate his point.

This got me thinking, and herewith my nominations:


Play LOUD!

Saturday, September 26, 2009

So, Just What Would it Take?

"I'll take that one, in chartreuse"
"Certainly Lord Mandelson, shall I gift wrap it for you?"

So, let's now take stock a moment. They've been caught with their fingers in our pockets, soliciting bribes, breaking the laws they've imposed on the rest of us, avoiding taxes (ditto), Lords and Commons both. Perhaps it would be quicker to jot down what they haven't been up to?

And yet. And yet, with a very, very few exceptions they're still there. Pontificating, bleating on endlessly about the 'tough choices' that'll have to be made, the sacrifices oncoming; the consequences of all of which will be borne by? Yes, friends and neighbours, you guessed it, thee and me. Give yourself a coconut. By the time these toad-felching fucks have finished it'll be all you have left.

Just what the hell would make them resign? What would it take? What scale of cupboard-based skeleton? What calibre of smoking gun?

Would either of these do?

I delved into The Bran-Tub of Vileness in the back of my mind and:

When quizzed about being discovered in a floodlit capsule aboard the London Eye, sodomising the corpse of Mother Teresa, Lord Mandelson had this to say...

"It was an inadvertant breach of the rules regarding necrophilic sodomy, I have repaired the damaged ringpiece with UHU and a laggy band, and I really feel it's time to draw a line under the matter and move on"

You can imagine the conversation:

"Don't worry Peter, just pop the stiff in a bin-liner and keep it in the shed until this thing blows over. We'll just squirrel you away in the G20 until everything's forgotten. You alright for cash? Here, have couple of mil. to keep you ticking over. Taxpayers eh? If they didn't exist we'd have to invent 'em" [laughter].

So, in answer to my question, what would it take to make them resign?

Nothing. No. Thing. There is no level of ire or opprobrium that could impinge on their armour of unmerited entitlement and inexplicable estimation of their own self-worth. They are quite literally without shame, incapable of feeling it, surrounded as they are by creatures of equal vileness who support and reinforce them as they wallow and welter in their own slime.

What is it with these people? Why can't they see that this cannot, and will not be allowed to go on?

When the day dawns that we decide to clean house, it really will end in tears.

Gaunt Revisited

Once royal throne of kings, once scepter’d isle,
Once earth of majesty, once seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
Now ragged breed of serfs, this shattered world,
A festering sore set in the leaden sea,
Which serves it in no office at all,
Not as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of foreign shithouses,
This desolate plot, this earth, this ex-realm, this England,
This whore, this teeming womb of elected bastardy,
Fear’d by their taxpayers and famous by their filth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For debauched corruption and true chicanery,
As is the offshore account to bent Mandy,
Of the world’s ransom, blessed Mary’s Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her lost reputation through the world,
Is now sold out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!

The final nine lines didn't need any adjustment.

With apologies to Wm. Shakespeare esq., from all of us.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Oh, Who Could Resist?

The irreplaceable Prodicus put this photo up for a caption competition, but as that nice Mr. Gates gave me 'Paint', I did this instead...

Click to enlarge

And STILL They Don't Get It!

I'll ring your division bell, Big Boy

So now we see what CamBoy means by 'new politics'. According to The Times, no fewer than 28 of his PPC's are either lobbyists or PR weasels.

Well, of course they are. That's exactly what parliament needs. Who's going to notice a few more whoring scumbags at the trough? Who in their right fucking mind would consider selecting individuals of proven worth and achievement? God forbid!

No. You're dead right Dave. Get out there and scrape that barrel, if you try harder you may be able to trawl the depths for some more pointless fucking parasites, but I doubt it.

After a summer in which the full extent of the fakery, thievery and essential worthlessness of the modern British MP has been thrown into sharp relief, they STILL can't see it.

OK Dave, as a personal favour to you, I'll walk you through this one.

• We, the British people are utterly, gut wrenchingly sick of fucking no-accounts

• We, the British people don't want to be represented by them any more

• We, the British people don't want to be governed by them any more

• We, the British people know that there are better people out there

• We, the British people don't know why you won't find them and put them forward

• We, the British people are still waiting for you to give us something worth electing

Lobbyists. Is there a lower form of life? Lower than a pædophilic estate agent I mean, because off hand, I'm stumped. A creature whose sole raison d'être is to pervert the democratic and legislative process, standing for parliament. It's beyond rational analysis. It's an obscenity.

The British Horseracing Authority said that it chose a lobbying firm partly because it employed a prospective parliamentary candidate. “It’s certainly helpful,” said Will Lambe, the organisation’s head of public affairs.

Oh yes. I'm quite fucking sure it is.

If this is 'new politics' you can take it, trim it and shove it. It means nothing to me, or any other right thinking Brit.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Pour Encourager Les Fumers

Had I needed any further proof that anti-smokers are, not to put too fine a point on it, sick in their little tiny fucking heads; the NHS has kindly provided it...

This, from the National fucking HEALTH Service.

What message exactly are they trying to send here? And to whom?

Courtesy Master Puddlecote

A Horseman Writing By

Longrider disputes the veracity of a fake charity, earlier today

Longrider machine guns this supernaturally fuckwitted notion.

In doing so however, he nails the wider malaise:

Quangos and fake charities full of the nasty, envious and downright insidious little creeps who are the parasites that live off the decaying flesh of a rotten, corrupt administration. Afraid that their host is dying, they seek to find themselves a new one before the decay is brought to an abrupt end with the clean gunshot of the ballot box. They must be denied that life. They are a part of the rotten carcass and must be cleaned out with the stinking, fetid host upon which they have flourished this past decade.

These fucking things are the weevil in the national biscuit. They must be brutally expunged from every level of British life and the body politic if we are ever to know democracy*.

The trouble is that I fear that CamBoy has already divined their filthy potential, and has every intention of harnessing them to his rotten wagon.

We shall see, but I'm in no wise optimistic.

*Note that I do not say 'again'

Monday, September 21, 2009

This Could Be Heaven...

...But This Feels Like Hell

Ladeez'n Gennumen - Gun

That's how I feel about it...

You Lucky, Lucky Bastard!

Nurse! Nurse!

Traction Man continues to detail the horrors of NHS food. Hah! The fairy. The limp-wristed, pampered, coddled bum-bag.

He gets two hot meals a day! Two!! TWO!!!

My daily menu in this Luft Stalag consists of:

Breakfast, two weetabix, buttered (I fucking hate milk-and-sugar cereal, there are no other options)

Lunch, some variation on mince or stew. Something veggie that I would rather die before eating.

Supper, some sort of soup (occasionally OK) with a sandwich (this is SEVEN nights a week).

And that, friends and neighbours, is your fucking lot. Tell that wanker Burnham to come and ask me if I'm satisfied with his bloody food. His balls will be my appetiser. The twat.

Cigarette Metaphors? Whatever Next?

Coming to a whorehouse near you

David Cameron to the Liberal (Hah!) Democrats (Stoppit! You're killing me!):

There's barely a cigarette paper between us in all these areas. It's clear: the real enemy of progressive politics is not the Conservatives

One question, and one question only, it applies to both assertions equally...

Why the FUCK not?

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Yes! Czechs Rock!

A symbol of liberty and democracy, earlier today

EU leaders are said to be furious that the Czech Republic is planning to delay signing the Lisbon treaty for up to six months even if the Irish vote "yes" in their referendum next month

Love that Vaclav Klaus (crazy name, crazy guy)...

Mr Fischer said that Václav Klaus, the country's unpredictable President, was planning to have a group of loyal senators in the Czech Upper House refer the treaty back to the country's constitutional court for a second time, which could delay ratification for between three and six months

Mmmmm... And that would mean?

This would mean that the treaty could still be unratified going into the British general election campaign, expected next April or May. Mr Cameron has pledged that, if the document remained a live issue, even though Britain has completed its own ratification, he would call a referendum on it. This prospect horrifies most EU leaders, given the strong vein of euroscepticism in Britain

Yummy, sounds delicious. How did that go down among les cher colleagues?

EU leaders are said to be furious that the Czech Republic is planning to delay signing the Lisbon treaty for up to six months even if the Irish vote "yes" in their referendum next month

Oh-ho. I'll just fucking bet they are. Still, the EU is reknowned for it's staunch defence of democracy, not to mention it's respect for the integrity and sovereignty of it's member states. Sorry? What's that irritating whining sound?

Nicolas Sarkozy, who helped to draw up the treaty after the French and Dutch voted against its predecessor, the EU Constitution, has warned Prague that it faces "consequences" if it does not swiftly follow an Irish "yes" with its own ratification

Ah yes, the sawn-off coq sportif, the Napoleon Bonaparte des nos jours.

Consequences eh? Watch it Nicolas, the Czechs have known tyranny first hand, they know it's filthy boots and they recognise it's rotten stench.

You may find that they don't react positively to threats. Especially not from a laughable tin-pot fuck off like you.

MEMO to Nicky, I'm prepared to bet that the spirit that drove Jan Kubiš and Josef Gabcik is alive and well. Look 'em up Nicky, look 'em up...

Saturday, September 19, 2009

On Why the NHS is Comprehensively Fucked

Your taxes at work, earlier today

First, I detect some confusion of the boundaries between Public Health Medicine, Health Policy and the NHS. Indeed, the blurring of these boundaries is to blame for the administrative and financial mesh throttling the NHS. Public Health Medicine is the prerogative of busy-body, do-gooder, meddling, paternalistic nannies and is of no proven benefit.

Gasdoc gives 'em the gun. Go and read the whole thing, you will not be disappointed.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Before I Forget

The Hospital in which I'm interned is one I used to work for. It had a social club where I made a lot of friends and had some very memorable nights.

I was sad to see that it's been shut down and converted to new purposes.

It's now the clap clinic.

Symmetry? Or a case of mutatis mutandis?

Seven Minutes and Three Seconds

It's a Moroccan station identifier, which goes to prove that genius is universal. Please enjoy...

Not Quite

Green is the new shite

Richard North over at EU Referendum has something to say on the topic of recently revealed public attitudes to climate change.

It seems that Joe Soap's feelings on the topic are mirroring the global trend - i.e. cooling steadily.

Dr. North has something of a rep for pissing off blogistanis in that he has a tendency to berate us for our lightweight content and general frivolity. It's a charge I cheerfully plead guilty to, as I am, if I say so myself, a frivolous lightweight. In fact, I rank myself somewhere between 'Practical Newt Breeder' and 'OK' in the publishing stakes.

In my view however, Dr. North's superiority complex is well founded. He's well informed and in turn informative, disciplined, tenacious and prolific. I read his stuff with care and diligence, not just at EURef, but also at Defence of the Realm, and consider myself intellectually and factually better shod as a consequence.

Nonetheless, here I think he's missing something, and in this he's not alone.

Despite all the work the greenies have been putting in, it seems that, although there was a general acceptance that climate change is happening, most people thought that humans are unlikely to be wholly responsible.

I've read similar observations elsewhere, not only in blogistan, but in the wider world also.

Despite all the work the greenies have been putting in

Less I think 'despite', more 'because of'. There was a time, not so very long ago that I was giving limited credence to the second hand smoke myth. It made a kind of sense, and I saw no harm in modifying my behaviour to compensate. If ASH et al had simply shut up then they'd have had a result of sorts. Zealots can't do that though. Moderation and sublety are alien concepts to this species. On and on they went, until second hand smoke was responsible for the Seven Years War, the Irish potato famine, Scotland being kicked out of the World Cup in 1978 and every medical ailment from syphilis to trenchfoot.

Which is when my bullshit radar came on at full power. When people not merely state a case, but overstate, reiterate, elaborate and masturbate; then other people will begin to speculate. Speculate that 'the bansturbator doth protest too much'.

As a child I learned fairly rapidly to keep my lies simple. A little colour and a few details to lend my confection verisimilitude were all that was required. If 'a big boy did it and ran away' then the make of his bike and the colour of his jersey lent the tale sufficient credibility for a cursory inspection. If I embellished further, adult scrutiny grew keener, and the details were forensically re-examined with smacked arses and stopped pocket money featuring as an epilogue.

No, our zealot can't let it go, they have to add and add. Their original premise gradually accreting layers like some ghastly tumour. If the target audience doesn't instantly drop what they're doing and leap for the bandwagon, the zealot automatically assumes that something more must be added. Like demented cooks with a bad dish, they pile in more and more ingredients; deperately trying to conjure something palatable from the mess, while each addition makes the whole viler still. And at the end they find that no one wants to eat it.

They've carried on screeching and jumping up and down, throwing things and breaking their toys; and Mummy and Daddy are ignoring them.

They can't get the simple fact that they've put themselves into the same category as junk mail, and Kerry Katona. Irrelevant, costly irritations to be ignored.

And they did it all themselves.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Not Qualified Eh? Gosh, That's a Shock

If I'd needed another reason, here it came

As I'm currently immured in the depths of the NHS at the moment, trying to get to grips with this infernally complicated standing up and walking around malarkey, I'm not as well informed as I otherwise might be. Mum the Knife popped in to see me this afternoon, and before I fell into the hands of Lucy the Occupational Terrorist she mentioned that the Olympics had attracted the attention of R4's 'You and Yours' programme. She didn't dwell on the topic as she had to bring me up to date and how insane the cats are and other hard news, but needless to say I pricked up my ears. if what she said was true, this is potentially quite explosive.

Accordingly, I had a sniff around the online editions of the DTP and guess what? Not a dicky. A little more digging however, unearthed this, courtesy of Building magazine...

Investigation into £160m overspend forces LDA chief executive to admit employee lacked formal qualification

The accountant ultimately responsible for the London Development Agency's Olympic budget was unqualified, it emerged today.

Fucking what?!

Harvey McGrath, chair of the LDA and Sir Peter Rogers, chief executive of the LDA faced questions over how the Agency had allowed an extra spend of nearly £160m on costs without anyone noticing

Probably because it's a fucking QuANGO, stuffed with the also-rans and never-weres of the pond-slime collectively known as Noo-Laybuh - just guessing you understand.

Members from the London Assembly Economic Development, Culture, Sport and Tourism committee demanded to know why the agency's accountants had failed to spot the overspend.

The LDA admitted of the two accountants employed to check the accounts, only one was formally qualified. This one reportedly looked after “day-to-day” accounts, the LDA said, while the £1.1bn Olympic budget was ultimately governed by an unqualified accountant

Oh well, what's 1.1bn quid these days eh? Not as though it's real money eh? Oh, wait a minute. Yes it fucking well is!

The LDA also confessed a series of programmes it had been hoping to fund, would now face severe cuts.

This included funding for the Visit London tourist programme, which the LDA said would be cut by £4m this year. The London Pavilion due to be built in Shanghai, will also now no longer be possible, the LDA said

So this particular cloud has something approximating a silver lining, but achieved at one fuck of a cost.

I knew this gang of half-arsed braindead walrustitties would fuck things up, but this has overshot my wildest imaginings.

"You'll be administering a budget of 1.1bn pounds of public money, what are your qualifications?"


"Qualifications. Are you an accountant for example?"


"Oh well, never mind, I've got a luncheon appointment to get to. Here's a London 2012 biro, you'll need it to sign all those cheques. Toodle-oo"

*Door slams, limo guns away into the traffic*

"I've just come in my pants"

I have a sick sensation that tells me this is just the tip of the iceberg. If they fucked up on this scale, over something so fundamentally fucking obvious to even the most limited intelligence, what else have they done? Or not.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

And There's More

I'm pleased that YouTube reached an agreement on music videos, 'cos I can share this little gem with you...

In Transit

And we are fragile

We are not things. We are not this or that. We are not smokers or non-smokers or ex-smokers. We are transient beings, who are always becoming something, ceasing to be something else. We are not here or there, but everywhere. We cannot be fixed, like butterflies pinned into display cases.

He's right you know...

Monday, September 14, 2009

Lovely Little Toy...

...who could say no (apart from Ireland we fervently hope)?

Get Widget

Courtesy of The Red Rag.

Seven Minutes, Twenty-Four Seconds

Those of us who like good animated comedy are very well served nowadays. Nevertheless, however good the new kids are, they must all bow down in the presence of pure genius...

I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.

One Thing Occurs to Me...

A frequent refrain on many and many a blog, concerns Noo-Laybuh's 'client state'. The feckless, the fuckless, the brainless. These legions of chavs, parked up on the DFS sofa with the Lambert & Butlers and the cans of Spesh.

I can't for the life of me work out why people get so exercised about 'em. After all, if intelligent (theoretically) hard-working tax payers feel voting isn't worth the candle, what on earth makes anyone think that the national pond-life academy'll bestir themselves? Even assuming they know what a vote is, leave alone the importance of casting it.

Labour may have engendered a client state, it's true; but it also made sure that it comprises absolute fucking morons. I'm really not that worried.

Vote? Wassafack's 'at 'en? Naahhh, let samavvah cant dooova job, innit...

Sunday, September 13, 2009

The Measured Response to Racism... to take the piss out of the poor, miserable, small cocked bastards. Or take a leaf out of Gordon's book, and opt for 'direct action'...

Of Course, Epitaphs Are One Thing...

...but the last line is another. On reflection, I think I'd like that closing sequence that leaves the audience guessing:


Friday, September 11, 2009

Nothing is forgotten.

They can never win.


Thursday, September 10, 2009

And Their Name Liveth For Evermore

Nourishing Obscurity is a place of interest and subtle whimsy. Well worth a look if you happen to be passing.

James Higham, the proprietor has invited readers to compose their own epitaph. So I did:

The moment blogdom dreams of, earlier today

If you've too much time on your hands, you can play too.


This is quite addictive...

Or perhaps...

Withering on the Vine

Don't get me started. Just... Don't get me started.

Burning Our Money is an invaluable resource, even if it does destroy more cardio-vascular systems than Ronald McDonald. It was here I found the above image of Jeremy Vine.

Wat Tyler, the author of BOM is far too intelligent and gentlemanly a soul to descend to crude populist lampooning.

Fortunately, I am not.

In the above photo, does Jeremy Vine look:
A cunt
A prize cunt
A total prize cunt
A massive, biblically humungous mega-cunt
All of the above
Very stylish (us cunts must stick together)

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

And the Bansturbators Played On...

A Doctor wanks, earlier today

And off we jolly well go. Seconds away, round 274. The Ballbreaking Masturbators Anonymous have decided that our obstinate refusal to stop doing what we like is simply symptomatic of our incredible stupidity. Yes, we have no brains or free will, we are simply bovine herd animals, brainless puppets of the advertising industry.

The BBC obligingly parrot the BMA (Government) line here.

I'm not going to refer to this any further, leave alone waste my time fisking it. The usual suspects are all over it and in full flight. Anyone who reads this site knows my blogroll and if they want in depth incandescent fulminations on the topic, I'm quite sure they know who to see. Legiron has a nice piece up today on the mechanics of banning - a guide to practical bansturbation if you will.

No. I have a theory about all these fucking intolerable, unconscionable donkey-fellating arse-products. You know who I mean, the Donaldsons, the Gilmores, the Shenkers (oh, and there's a name to conjure with); all these unbearable, self satisfied, condescending, patrician cockdrips who plague us like some terrible rectal infestation.

Why do they do this? What drives them? I don't doubt that if asked, their answers would be somewhat along the lines of:

"I just want people to be healthy", or "I can't stand by while people ruin their lives", or even "The NHS is a common resource, we must take action now to preserve it". I think some of these desperate ball aches are so far gone they actually believe it.

Were you to raise a few salient points such as:

"People don't want you to interfere", or "You've advised them, isn't that sufficient?", then the rhubarb-rhubarb chorus would shift to:

"People don't always understand what's good for them" or "Education can only take matters so far, and then...(insert appropriate paternalistic crypto-fascist drivel here)".

You see, the problem with all these fucking people is that they're right. Oh, not 'right' as you and I understand the term, as in 'factually correct'. I mean the new, improved Right®, as in 'I'm right, and everyone else who doesn't see that and agree/comply in every particular NOW is a brainless fuckwit who is lower in evolutionary terms than whale-shit'. That sort of right.

That sort of right (Right®) can't be argued against because it doesn't recognise facts, logic, reason, humanity, compassion or fairness. It only recognises it's own fundamentalist frantically-masturbating-under-the-bedclothes rightness. It can't be negotiated with or accommodated for the same reasons. It is closed, sealed like some ghastly pseudo-moralistic cenotaph, a juggernaut festooned with junk science, creaking under it's intolerable load of bullshit and self-aggrandisement.

Which brings us back again to why. Why? If you don't buy into the compassionate, well meaning bollocks, and I certainly don't, what are we left with?

It can't be power, they already have it. Wealth? Not really, most of these individuals are doing very nicely thank you, at least by most people's standards. Honours? Regard? Hardly. They are professors, knights of the realm, OBE's, CBE's - you name it. Apart from Shenker of course, but as a stooge in a fakecharity he can expect something down the line no doubt.

So why? I can only offer one suggestion. This need to dominate, to control, to mould and to drive. This compulsion to interfere, to demonstrate the essential inferiority of anyone who is not one of their own, not in lockstep with their vision, their apotheosis of all that is Right®. What does it tell the rest of us? Those that are Wrong®?

Quite simply that they are mentally ill. It's the only thing that explains their hideous, narrow, violent misanthropy. Listen to the language they use as they advance their notions, how it drips with loathing and contempt for the untermenschen with their lager and their televisions, listen to them as they belittle our lives and our achievements and explain how we must be controlled, and corralled and bent to their vision, because they are Right® and the rest of us are Wrong®.

It's a form of megalomania. Once upon a time they might have claimed that they were Napoleon or Cæsar, now they are doctors and professors and only they are right.

Just listen to them, and then tell me I'm Wrong®.

BMA/Alcohol Concern conference earlier today

For a Wider Audience

Our Flo, earlier today.

I give you the true inheritor(trix?) of Nightingale's legacy...

I was shocked to see that 78 per cent of people in your text poll* don't think the NHS should cut jobs.

I'm a nurse and I'd love to see some cuts. Far too many are paid a fortune to make terrible decisions and chase ridiculous targets. Bin them all and let's get back to making ill people better.

MD, Glasgow.

Make that woman President of the RCN without further delay, this is how health 'professionals' are supposed to think!

Quote from The Metro but I can't link directly.

HT That Wadsworth Bloke.

Memo to B&D: Yes I am hat-tipping him, he saved me a job/spotted something I didn't so good on 'im and fuck the pair o'yeez...

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Here's to The Irish.

A nascent totalitarian bloc, earlier today.

Courtesy of Hairy Chestnuts, this nameless Mick. A man with the Right Stuff, more power to his elbow!

Let's hope the sons and daughters of Erin show those EU pricks the door.

Sunday, September 06, 2009

Oh, for Allah's Sake!

Fasting for the Faithful, an Idiot's Guide

Oh arse. Oh arse, arse, arse. I had such high hopes for you, I really did.

Is there something about the Mayorality of London that fucks up braincells? What? What does this to people?

Boris Johnson has recommended that we all fast for Ramadan. This in order that we learn to understand Muslims better.

Look Boris, as a personal favour I'll walk you through this. The problem lies not in the fact that we don't understand Muslims. In a sane country we'd have no need to, an individual's religion being a matter for them and them alone etc. etc.

No. The problem lies in the fact that certain Muslims understand the boneheaded, fuckwitted jellies of our political class far, far too well.


Saturday, September 05, 2009

On Pimping, and the Brave Men Who Do It...

Demetriou earlier today, Boatang is out of shot, strangling a puppy.

Boatang & Demetriou have some things to say on the topic of networking within the blogosphere. I'll put my hands up and admit that when I first got in to this game, I definately fell into the trap of using the virtual equivalent of skateboarding past the cool kids murmering 'My Friendship, you know you want it'.

Happily, I kicked that in the head fairly rapidly. I link quite prolifically, but only to people I think have something to say, who simply provide high grade entertainment, or valuable information.

Yes, it's a little incestuous at times, and yes I think perhaps from time to time arslikhan rears it's hoary head, but so what? Why people blog is a question with a multiplicity of answers, and wanting to belong is certainly one of these. In the current political and social climate a lot of people, and certainly libertarians feel pretty isolated, I know when I stumbled across blogistan it was a tremendous relief to find out it wasn't just me who thought the world had gone Dagenham. It felt like finding a few survivors of your own regiment in the middle of a full-scale rout, and it felt good. It gave me hope. Which is why I think we can all be forgiven for drifting into something of a siege mentality.

We look to eachother for support, which is good, but we can end up becoming insular and self referential, which is fucking stupid and self defeating. The day I de-list someone for saying something nasty about me, then take the gun to me; because I must be mutating into a lefty, and the end of that road will be CiF with my head up my arse and that's a fate I don't want to contemplate.

Which brings me to my main theme for tonight. The awards to which B&D refer do encapsulate a lot of the bollocks they were railing against, true. But, they led me on to a few new bloggers I didn't know about. That's good. In fact it's very good.

One such is Frank Davis. Like me, Frank enjoys a smoke, and like me, Noo Laybuh arbitrarily reduced his social life to ashes (no pun intended) as part of their fucking children's crusade against tobacco.

One of the reasons I'm such an erratic poster is that I'm still blithering around looking for my voice, and very frequently I find that even on subjects dear to my heart someone else not only got there first, but said it better. Being one of these blokes who, if he hasn't got anything worthwhile to say, shuts up; I often forbear to add my three ha'porth.

Frank's posts are genuinely moving. They carry a real, raw authenticity; speaking of yet another ordinary bloke struggling to make sense of what's been done to him and why. For that reason they often make uncomfortable reading, but they nevertheless demand to be read. They don't have the polished, witty venom of The Devil, or the concise intellectual bite of Legiron but they speak loud and clear for all that.

As I've no doubt mentioned before, I was disabled in an industrial accident at about 15:10 hours GMT on March the second 1978. On that day, at that hour, life as I'd known it finished. From then on, I was what the medical profession characterise as an 'incomplete paraplegic' (only they could concoct a piece of terminology that manages to imply that I'd made a half-arsed job of it), in short, in an instant I was 'de-normalised'.

'De-normalisation' is not a good thing. One lesson it has taught me, over and over again is that prejudice sucks arse. It ruins lives and blights society. It is a foul cancer, far worse than anything that ever came from a cigarette, exercised by individuals who are to be pitied and loathed in equal measure for their dirty, stunted little souls and despised for their ignorance and bone-headed counter productivity.

One thing I know, is that anyone who for whatever reason believes that wilfully engaging in a course of action that 'denormalises' other human beings is in any way either beneficial or justifiable is a manifestation of evil incarnate, and must be resisted - and stopped - by all people of good conscience.

'Denormalisation' is invariably undertaken by individuals who believe they know best what is good for everyone else, and their essential unshakeable confidence in their own rightness empowers them to do anything to anyone. It always leads, ultimately, to the same place.

We must not go there ever again.


Ronery, but Unbowed

The Dear Reader, earrier today...

When I was figuratively mooning the proletarian arcadia that is the DPRK the other day, something occurred to me.

In this monument to subtle imagery...

A monument to subtre imagery, earrier today.

...we note the interesting tripartite handshake (clasp?) at the bottom. One guy is clearly white, one guy is clearly black; while the third is clearly... Er... Very white.

I suspect there may be a new recruit to the path of Songun. Has The Dear Leader converted the mighty Killface to the cause?

"Well, basically Glenn, it means 'Military First'..."

I don't know, but I think we should be told.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

Of Prophets and Loss

Coming soon, to a green and pleasant land near you...

If you haven't bookmarked Numberwatch, then do it now. The excellant Professor Brignell has much to say, none of it good.

For those of you with the stomach for it, he scries our brave new ecofuture. Ordinarily I would shrink from correcting him, but the title of this piece should read: The Time - The Near Future.

Some people are going to have some serious explaining to do. When that day dawns; and it will, their problem will lie in the fact that few - if any - will be inclined to listen.