it says here

thirty years too late they arrest the hate-pedlars of the sun. i need to lie down; my sides are hurting. but the reaction from one of the current liars in chief includes this gem of newspeak:

the “Sun has a proud history of delivering ground-breaking journalism”

they are presumably very proud that their lies were believed to such an extent that britain’s sheep bleated in thatcher and major time and again.

they are proud of the career break they have given to so many young ladies who would otherwise have been left shivering without their underwear.

they are proud of the jingoistic hate that made them complicit in the deaths of a thousand over a small series of rocks in the south atlantic.

they are proud to have exposed the ‘fact’ that dole-queue-scroungers live in luxury while unfortunate millionaire bankers starve.

they are proud of the racism oozing from their pages that allowed the death of one young man in south london to be acceptable to the police and the ruling elite for 18 years.

proud to have replaced thought with knee-jerkery; compassion with self-righteousness; logic with bigotry. proud to have done all this with no other thought than to keep their lizard-masters in perpetual power.

oh and money.

they will be especially proud that they never got caught – until now…

kinda ground-breaking if they all get jailed, i suppose.

slimy things did crawl with legs

as the zim told us, everything is broken.

the people with minds full of nasty dark things have largely realised they can’t get them out in public because it will be like the bit in the horror film where a scuzzy but otherwise normal head dissolves in a mass of putrefaction and loathsome crawling things. sure, the things will still lurk somewhere in the secret part of them for which they will one day have to answer; but like torturing then slowly starving children to death all the while laughing like a drain or watching x factor, they are the things NEVER TO BE SPOKEN.

every so often one of these things worms out of an eyeball and bears witness to the squirmy maggoty special effect-fest within. and almost invariably it comes out of something nasty and smug and appears in something akin to the daily male.

which is pretty appropriate i suppose.

today’s crawling thing oozed unpleasantly out of something whose human name is dominic raab. (conveniently, raab is one of the surnames a demon can actually pronounce.) it coalesced here:

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23916856-tory-mp-blasts-obnoxious-feminist-bigots-and-says-men-get-a-raw-deal.do

even the title will probably be enough for those without a gut of stainless steel. i got to the bit where it said:

‘If you buy into the whole Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus theory of gender difference – with all its pseudo science – you can’t then complain about inequalities of outcome that flow both ways from those essentially sexist distinctions.’

before my search for anything recognisable as logic or even grammar caused my brain to start oozing sadly down my left nostril.

for some reason it felt the need to tell us that the writer’s wife ‘works in marketing for a major IT firm‘ and just to prove it, they had a picture of raab in human(ish) form accompanied by said smiling wife. ‘hey’ it gushed ‘ even if this is what happens when you open your mouth, you can still get a girlfriend, guys’.

‘i have sex’, shrieked the expression on the raab-demon’s face, ‘and i have also read a human book’. he then didn’t rip off his skin and howl ‘fall before me, puny mortals’. shame really.

no of course he didn’t do that, because he isn’t a demon at all. he’s human; he walks among us, living in esher, proudly saying such things for the better education of his fellow humans. these are the kind of things we say when we leave our humanity so far behind as to justify all the oppression with the perfect non-logic that ‘it’s all their fault’.

someone did quietly point out: “Women still earn 20 per cent less than men, domestic violence claims the lives of women every week and women bear the brunt of poverty in the developing world…. feminism is a just demand for equality and human rights“. but that was just a woman.

quite cunning though, cos if you look at what she says, it actually seems like it’s true, whereas if you look at what the raab said, it had all the clarity and beauty of pus.

a bit later i read that goldman sachs paid £7.9 BILLION to around 7000 people.

Broken cutters, broken saws
Broken buckles, broken laws
Broken bodies, broken bones
Broken voices on broken phones
Take a deep breath, feel like you’re chokin’
Everything is broken

wow that’s a big penis substitute (and you’ve just fucked our nursery)

the story broke some days ago in the evening standard (or, to be accurate, i spotted it in evening standard lite – come on guys, the original is hardly a news titan; just letters from a bloke who doesn’t want black people to have cars because ‘i was at these traffic lights in south london and there was a coloured man in his car and it looked expensive i mean i don’t even know where they get the money from and they all have loads of kids probably on the social bad as travellers if you ask me i’m not a racist but yadda yadda…………’, three old sudoku puzzles and a recipe involving a fish you’ve never heard of that you won’t have time to cook even if you don’t get stuck on the tube for 2 hours on the way home. ‘roll on the olympics’, sez me.)

ahem….

the story is that the mayor – not the mayor of where you live, or even ken the mayor of london, but the mayor of kensington and chelsea (which can’t be that hard a job, even though it sounds like he has two bits of london to sort – actually, the qualification is to be head of the ruling-in-perpetuity tory group on the council; if you have a funny name like merrick or warwick or two or more surnames it helps – if you don’t believe me, just look up the list of councillors at http://www.rbkc.gov.uk) has bought a new car. it couldn’t be ken the mayor of all of london because he hates cars and goes on the tube like the rest of us. not a perfect human being, but he does at least suffer the public transport network with real people – the patron actually eats in his own restaurant as ’twere).

the car, a bentley, cost £115,000. well it’s a bentley.

well of course.

it’s also a very bad car which puts out ‘5 times the emissions of a prius’. so they wheel out a spokesman (NB the royal borough of kensington and chelsea are not mealy-mouthed bleeding heart liberals; oh no – they pay no dues to political correctness; they have spokesmen and all their committees have chairmen – some of whom, i admit, are women) to make these very relevant points:

we haven’t had a new car for 30 years (and this was really nice and shiny)

we don’t want a scuzzy old prius because it’ll probably be junk in 4-5 years (how i’d love the toyota legal department to get their teeth into that)

we need (really need)(like my 4yr old son really needs a power ranger) a car that reflects the profile and position of the mayor (of kensington and chelsea you remember) – ie a big penis extension for a posh man with rather a small one

all of which means that: we are actually using the council’s money wisely and being good to the environment (no i didn’t get that either).

it does at least have the claim to be the fastest production car with some fantastic topspeed over 100 mph. which isn’t all that useful in the crowded streets of kensington (or chelsea). it will also attract the new higher rate of congestion charge and parking permit charge as levied by the … yes … royal borough of kensington and chelsea to stop people buying silly expensive cars that needlessly pollute the planet. (though see above the bit about really really needing it.)

i am the chair (no chairmen for us you note) of a community nursery in the Royal Borough. we have letters from madonna’s mother-in-law who runs the provision of things like nurseries in the borough saying we are really really good (so it must be true); we cater for a socially diverse mix of children from working parents (many single parents) and target those on low incomes. in the good old days we had all of our funding from the borough – now we get a certain amount every so often which is used to keep fees affordable for those working parents. maybe 15-20k last year. the day i read this heart-warming story, i had a meeting with the new civil servant in charge of whatever business they deem looking after children to be (everything is in a business group for the borough – terribly gradgrindian) who informed us we probably wouldn’t be getting any money any longer. no real reason, we just wouldn’t. she did tell us we would in the future get free tickets every friday night when they close off a circuit of roads around the central library and council building so our poor wee bairns can watch mayor bidswick blitherington-browne chuck a few laps round it at 115mph or whatever the car does. they will also be allowed to tip their caps and shout ‘gawdblessee guv’nor’ as he whooshes by in a smog of greenhouse gases.

okay – i lied about the last bit. still; not particularly helpful, is it?

eeeh! look at the muck in ‘ere (competition time)

blimey – i’ve just fought my way through the door, past a pile of junk mail as towering and phallic as a priest’s ego, choked on dust as thick as a tory councillor, the gas has been cut off and just from a brief inspection of the lifeforms that have evolved in my fridge, i have to admit it’s been a little while. i will answer your sarky comments on the thread where they appear and i am preparing a post that will truly change the world. however…
in the meantime, it’s not as if i don’t have many and varied things to be delighted and furious about. it is truly gratifying that no sooner does the primordial ooze in the tory party get extra daring and bubble up a policy for my mate dave to wrap his gorgeous pouting lips around than the voice of reason speaks from the shires (or wherever that bloke hails from) to whine that the dark ages are a glorious place to live (wow the sentence is so long; my stay at the henry james academy of period was indeed worthwhile) and some people just don’t deserve better than a secondary modern anyway. hoorah for the tories and their ability to keep opening their mouths every so often to remind you that:

a ) they’re still alive (bother it all)

and b) ah yes… THAT’S why we hate the bastards

however, the subject of our competition (and focus for my all-too-often-aroused ire) is a scottish bloke in a dress who reckons some old chap in the sky tells him abortion is “an unspeakable crime”, a “social evil”, “the wanton killing of innocents” who are “murdered in their mother’s womb” (at the very least, someone has misplaced an apostrophe – just saying). my challenge to you, my beloved writers/readers – for are we not all both of these? – is to put in the comments exactly what you’d like to say to the delightful, insightful, tastefully clad Cardinal Keith O’Brien (can’t be too many other Cardinal Keiths around, can there?). prizes will be awarded for conciseness, wit and pure old-fashioned rudeness. and if anyone wants to say anything to these dangerously emotive words of feminazi Ann Furedi from some wooly liberal baby-murdering group: “abortion is a safe, legal and medically-legitimate procedure” not to mention her radical assertion that “Women should be able to make their own decisions about their bodies and their future” (HAH!!!) then feel free to open fire. prizes as ever are yet to be decided (not to mention entirely imaginary) but will each include a free eucharist for two – with food and drink; a week in a mud hut featuring lots of unpleasant diseases; and definitely NOT the chance to look through Galileo’s telescope – courtesy of our new sponsor the Catholic Church of Scotland. wonder what big dave would think of that!

oh yes – we’re back… flagellate at will.

big hot sweaty love

i have been accused of not loving my regulars enough. and this despite the fact they are sufficiently few in number to allow me to feel (nay, demonstrate) a deep personal (if not actually moist) affection for each one.

you who write here are my brothers and sisters; you put up with my endless soapbox ranting about why i hate the tories, why things that annoy me slightly somehow threaten the existence of all worthwhile members of this species, and why cricket is the clearest expression of the eternal soul of humanity; you listen (virtually) without visible yawning or derisive laughter (please don’t feel you need correct me on this one) as i bang on about how the north east of england is the land of lost content where the sun always shines and happy naked children run carefree through the giant rhubarb native to the region; you smile good-naturedly as i regale you with efforts at amusingly quirky stories about ‘life’ or some such, about isinglass and drunken friars who never existed; you suppress your snorts of incredulity as i maintain that dylan can actually sing (and not in the same sense a tortured corncrake sings); you pick up things that are barely ideas and run with them to produce vast surreal screeds of narrative about … well frankly i couldn’t begin to say what.
you indulge the (for me) pleasant fiction that what i write has the slightest shred of significance. you wonder simply with me and together we whisper into the void. i am grateful. it’s good to know you all and you truly have my big hot sweaty love. is my tongue in my cheek? (mmfgh … gruggh … ahunngj … checks quickly) well only partly.

xxx – fidel, you have your answer.

and breaking news: the guy who nicked a bolivian spider monkey from chessington world of adventures (well that was an adventure) gets a year in prison – a tory councillor who prostituted a woman with learning difficulties (gratefully plagiarised this from sparklematrix) got a suspended sentence. so does that mean that the monkey is more or less important than that woman? hmmm tricky one.

justice

well we know there ain’t none.

if you are a murdered woman in ipswich (dear God I don’t think i’d want to live there – much less get murdered there) they leave you in a ditch because they need the forensic evidence. i haven’t heard of this necessity with other ahem nicer girls who get what they deserve – i’m sorry, that should read – get strangled for no reason.

i won’t claim to be suffering to a similar degree and if i am belittling a serious subject, i’m sorry, but i too have a grievance (when do i not?) . i’ve been at the Leashold Valuation Tribunal (i said it wasn’t comparable); we live in a housing association flat part owned with Notting Hill Housing Group (formerly the charity that was Notting Hill Housing Trust) and after six years of refusing to repair the roof – or anything else for that matter – and my neighbours bringing up kids in the damp (we are fortunate in the latter), Notting Hill have decided that they will fix stuff but it will cost us £600,000. Now admittedly this is for a building of 25 flats and it’s over ten years, but these flats were sold as affordable housing, and with a guarantee, no less, against various things like damp and crap roofs. It was refurbished with alleged substantial expenditure on the roof just before we bought it. So having first being served with that bill 3 years into the life of the development was a surprise.

So the ‘professionals’ sit there lying their (rather expensive, i imagine) socks off and not batting a hair. And the lower income residents of the flats are beneath contempt – ‘a ghastly bunch’ i believe the opposition lawyer called us. And there’s a flash as the lightbulb goes on for me as ‘people who know’ are saying there actually isn’t any damp in your flat, and if there is it’s definitely your fault and it’s all down to a small pink pixie that nobody else can see and apparently sane people are nodding and saying ‘yes yes pixie’ and looking wise as they say it; and you think is this the tiniest taste of what it might be like to be anyone black confronted by the police, or a woman in court alleging rape and a lot of men shaking their heads and saying ‘how serious an allegation to make against a man’, or really anyone on the wrong end of privilege. or a woman unknown and unmourned by society, with kids and parents, ending her life with some bastard’s hands around her throat.

we’re lucky it’s just money and we can climb back into our cosy overcoat of white male (in my case) privilege – just a glimpse of another life…

and maybe that’s the one equality because in the hands of ‘experts’ we’re all just ‘a ghastly bunch’

(oh and the handle has fallen off the teapot)

bugger

Hello world!

hello world?

hello fucking world???

and they let these people run whatever the collective noun for a group of blogs is…

oh please…goodbye world