Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Be Advised:Too much democracy is an offence

hero of the day: David Bowie

I went to check out the Climate Camp at Heathrow yesterday.

I came home depressed.

I can sympathise with many of the tea-drinking Middle Englanders when it comes to the panpipes-playing, flip-flops-and-dreadlocks brigade. But only to an extent. I am a big supporter of people wearing what the fuck they want (and indeed, within reasonable limits, doing what the fuck they want too) but feel that, at times, those who would have us believe that they have rebelled against all forms of society dress sense by wearing organic jumpers and rainbow shirts have in fact invented a uniform all of their own... but that's another rant for another time.

No, what depressed me was the tension. Everyone was tense. The whole protest hadn't even got underway officially and already the police were out with their telefocus lenses and their bus loads of chunky skinheads. The locals were leering and glaring at anyone with long hair because their fucking driveway had been closed off and the more militant swampy type was glaring back at anyone with a nine to five haircut. Already forgotten by everyone except the middle grounders (who are hemorrhaging numbers to the lunatic fringes by the day) was that what was going on here was completely legal. We all had a right to be there.

My beef comes in several parts this time.

1. It astounds me that this protest is being treated by the press as if it were a bunch of lunatic hippies ruining the fun for a few good honest folk who just want a fortnight in Antipaxos ('coz the little people do deserve a little time off from their jobs in factories don't they?). Could the pampered little Tarquins who run the Daily Mail please have a think about what exactly it is that is being fought over here please? It's the planet. The thing we live on. If these greedy fat bastards get their third runway, so many people will be moved from their homes, the last time anything similar happened was during the Highland Clearances. And Britain will become, by far, the worst polluter in Europe. That means floods and hurricanes and lots and lots of dead people. All so little Johnny in Surbiton can go paddling in Malaga. And yes, even Kensington will be affected. Because your tofu and lettuce sandwich will double in price. And your readership will have halved because Basildon will be underwater. You all spat the dummy when Ken introduced the C Charge in your town. Don't you think that this issue is EVEN BIGGER than that one? Maybe not...

2. Can the police not see that what they're doing is bullying and not policing at all? Why do these people join up? To protect the innocent law abider or to harrass the few people who are excercising their right to protest in the name of saving millions (and I don't exaggerate) of lives? It would appear to be the latter. Whilst loads of plod got shipped into Harlington to push a few crusties around, some poor fellow who had stood up to some vicious yobbo vandal coward died of the injuries he suffered as a result. Where were the fucking law then? Whining on about how we don't know what it's like to do "the job" these days. No, we don't, because we hardly ever see any bastard actually doing it. Listen, copper, fuck off and go after the real criminals. The fat bastards in suits who are fucking the planet up. Go and threaten them for a change. (NB. Decent coppers who do their best to be fair and just are exempt from the above rant... there are a fair few, it must be said)

3. Do BAA really think we're stupid? Hang on... they're still making loads of money and choking us all to death... and the law says they can. So, yes, we must be.

4. Why do the knuckle-dragging yokels (one of whom told me to fuck off yesterday, by the way) care so much about a few road closures when their entire planet will be closed unless we start to do something seriously drastic? People like that are the epitome of ignorant tabloid reading tossers who are simply incapable of seeing past the tiny, pathetic little ingredients of their own lives. These bloody vandals are going to flatten your whole poxy village, garden gnomes included, and laugh in your faces. Why the hell are you complaining about the protesters? They're the ones standing up for you. Hang on, I know the answer to this one. It's because your bog fucking stupid, that's why.

Get down to Sipson Lane this week, if only for a few hours. If you see a copper pushing someone around, report the bastard. If a yokel swears at you, swear back (but be sure to use words of no more than one syllable). If the newspapers lie about you, sue the wankers!

Protest. It's your right!

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Roasted Murdering Bastard Anyone?

hero of the day: Giorgi Chukov (and his Stalingrad streetfighters)
The above tosser tried to blow up Glasgow Airport a few weeks ago. Instead, he blew himself up and suffered 90% burns.
In Iraq, affiliated Al-Qaeda kill groups said that "those who cure you will kill you". Sorry boys, didn't happen. Your mongness nipple-features wasn't up to it so it turned out that "those who you tried to kill, tried to cure you". The taxpayer spent an estimated £100,000 trying to keep this rodent alive. But to no avail. He died yesterday. Damn shame.
Some people said we shouldn't have spent the money on treating him. Of course we should. Providing life-saving treatment to those who have want nothing more than to see us all die horrible deaths may look like the behaviour of a bunch of right-on pussies but it isn't. It's exactly that sort of mercy that makes us better than the yee-hah lunatics who are trying to hurt us.
So bye bye, mate. All the best. But look on the bright side. You've got 72 virgins to look forward to. Or maybe not. Maybe the virgins won't be up for it seeing as you failed to kill anyone innocent. Maybe the truth is that you died trying to kill a lot of people who didn't deserve it when the real war was thousands of miles away. You could, of course, had done the same thing in Iraq because there are lots of people there just like you killing lots and LOTS of people who don't deserve it either. Maybe you just got sick of waiting in line to hurt random bystanders so you tripped off over to the UK to do it there.
I guess we'll never know. What we do know is that the last thing he was ever aware of was the distant voice of the infidel pig who had done everything in his power to save his life.
And that, to me, says it all.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Rats and the Sinking Ship

hero of the day: General Fairfax

Get a load of this...

Last week, God finally came good on his promise to fuck us all up and sent biblical floods to the UK. Strangely, they destroyed exactly the sort of Middle England shit hole that tends to like God but that's beside the point. The floods cut the water off. Emergency water tanks were dispatched. Yobs pissed in them and filled them with bleach.

Yesterday, Europe's most expensive railways were set to get even more expensive as the motley band of incompetents and arsewits who make money out of them announced they needed even more money from us in order to make the UK's railway network look less like a cluster of Bangladeshi tramlines.

Last night, some poor fucker was chased through the streets by some bunch of bastards and shot in the face. He was sixteen.

Our children are the most miserable. Our roads are the most clogged. Our food is the most shit. Our borders are the most porous. Our weather is the most grey.

The UK is going down the shitter.

So what do we do? What is the response to this national crisis? With Britain in need of inspiration and rebuilding, those of us who can just pack up and fuck off.

And that sucks.

I know it sucks. Because I'm doing it myself. My missus is from Madrid and after several years of not entirely untarnished bliss here in Britain, we are relocating to her hometown. But I like to think there's a difference between me and the thousands of other British whiners who sod off to Spain or Portugal or fucking poxy Australia whinging on about how Britain's gone to the dogs and smugly waxing on about how they've "always adored" Spain or Portugal or fucking poxy Australia. Number one, I can actually speak Spanish. Number two I am not sniffing around the Costas for some wedding cake, disneyland, vomit choke, pink and purple Villa with a swimming pool and a view of some guitar playing peasant. I am simply looking for a flat in the big city with enough space for me, my Espanola and my dog, Marlowe (which I think we've found). Number Three, I've got a job and intend to do something other than sitting on my fat arse drinking dodgey, just-for-the-foreigners Sangria. And number four... and this is the big one... I'm not especially happy about leaving Britain.

Because Britain has a lot of problems. But every one of those problems is caused by people. And only people can do anything about them. Nasty New Labour have infringed our civil liberties with their CCTV and their obsession with ID cards. Nasty Nutty Islam is on the rise and threatening everyone and making stupid demands. Our schools are more like US jails than schools. And no-one can afford a house.

So let's do something about it! I had a friend who married a fucking poxy Australian and pissed off to fucking poxy Australia and never spoke to any of us in England ever again. Well, fuck him. I intend to come back regularly and do everything within my extremely limited power to make Britain a better place. Because it's my home and will remain my responsibility. And when my children ask me about where I'm from I will tell them that Britain is a mighty country that is fighting to remain free and fair amidst a lot of lies, a lot of greed and a lot of insanity.

It'll get better but not unless we do something about it. Fuck the wankers with their villas and their Australian wives. We should all take responsibilty for the state of our nation. Stand up to yobs, give to charity, protect free speech and be proud to be British.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Shoot the fat bloke

hero of the day: Joseph Bazalgette

Listen up...

As anyone who has been party to my judgements before will know, I am not a fan of J K Rowling and the Harry Potter bollocks that she spawned. One of the many reasons for this is the grotesque greed that has taken control of all who are associated with it. Emma Watson (smug Hermione bitch!) delayed signing for the latest drivel and stuck her nose in the air until the producers doubled her fee. Doubled it. For fuck's sake the girl was already on a million... and she's seventeen for Christ's sake! What makes me pull my hair out all the more is that there's seems to be not a shred of embarrassment about the girl. She seems to have absolutely no qualms at all about demanding such money. It wouldn't be quite so bad if she could at least act! Myself, I would be ashamed to ask for such ridiculous amounts of cash.

But I'd be in the minority.

Little Harry wanker himself is on 8 million. I mean fuck my eldest camel with a traffic cone, what the hell is wrong with us?! This fucker's balls haven't dropped and he's already worth more than Uzbekistan. Nobody questions this or worries about it. Greed is good. All of us want to be rich. The richer the better. The less we have the smaller our penis. The more we have the bigger our libido. A big wallet and a stupid car will make me a man these days and nothing else. Hooray for consumption.

But where's it going to end? The more rich people that exist, the harder it is for the rest of us to lead anything resembling a normal life. Most of my generation can't afford a house to live in because all the rich people have bought five. The planet is melting and the ice caps are disappearing and the poor are getting poorer and we're still buying the Harry Potter books. It's got to stop. This is where the wealthy people accuse me of being a communist. I'm no communist but look around you and tell me honestly that capitalism is working. Under what other regime would we consider the survival of the planet to be of secondary importance to economic growth? It's insanity.

There is hope however.

And it lies with Potter.

Booksellers are actually glad that Jay Kay has finally given us all a break and stopped writing the bloody things. The reason is that so many people buy them, the supermarkets (the Greater Daemons of Greed) can put in ludicrous advanced orders before they're even out, enabling them in turn to undercut the bookshops. So in the end the only choice anyone has is to sell the fucking things at a loss. So as always, the little people make nothing and Jay Kay gets even richer. But at least it is opening our eyes just a little to the madness of modern capitalism. And therein lies the hope.

So listen to the Witchfynder, because it'll save a lot of lives and a planet. Don't do a Hermione and go around believing that immense amounts of money and opulent lifestyles are your right. They're not. Nobody should have that sort of money, the planet just can't support it. Be grateful for what you've got and give away lots to those who have got fuck all (because there are more and more of those people around these days). The one thing I will say about Jay Kay is that she's generous... she's a terrible author, but she's generous. So I salute her... or at least I would salute her if she hadn't written those awful books.

Don't believe in Thatcher and her gimme, gimme, gimme bollocks. She was an idiot.

Greed is lethal. It starts wars. It dries the planet out. It burns forests. It clogs the air with shit.

Greed will kill us.

Make no mistake about it.

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Preaching Preening Pop Plonkers

Hero of the Day: Alan Turing
"Oi! Madonna! You SUUUUCK!"
Listen up, all ye faithful...
Can somebody please tell me what in the name of Jesus, John, George and Ringo gives Simon Le Bon a right to lecture me about my carbon footprint?
"Put your hands up in the air if you didn't come here on a private jet!" he bellowed sanctimoniously at the crowd of adoring haircuts at Live Earth this weekend.
Of course this was his cue to raise his own hand, thus sticking a finger up at all those cynical types who made the (valid) point about overpaid tossers such as Monsieur Le Bon lecturing us about the environment whilst jumping in his Porsche every time he needed to pay a visit to the kazi.
Of course, obediently, all the little people in the crowd put their hands in the air. But Le Bon Bon wasn't interested in whether THEY had taken a plane to the concert. No no. He already knows that the riff raff don't have private jets. Ho ho! What he was talking about was the likes of him... you know, the people of quality.
People with wealth.
And there you have it.
Listen Bon Bon. Sit down and shut the fuck up. Same goes for you Madonna and fucking Genesis and fucking Shakira and all the rest of you coffee table music wankers. It's people like you who are fucking the planet up. Not us. You. With your fucking four houses in England and two in the USA and your private jets and your turbo charged baby buggy with matching cybernetic Filipino nanny. Why the fuck should we have to dutifully get on the tube to listen to even more of your unspeakable drivel in the name of the environment when the quickest and most effective way of reducing CO2 emissions would be to simply drop every one of you in the sea?
Don't fucking lecture me, Bon Bon, when the most you've ever done for the environment is to reuse the same pair of socks. Who the fuck are you to prance about on stage in the name of Save the Planet when the only reason you're up there is because Al Gore hasn't got the first clue about music and it's the only chance you've had to play a gig outside of Ladies Night at the Amersham Arms for twenty years?
Piss off the lot of you.
And Al. Mate. Please, mate. Just listen.
We don't need to be told about global warming. They do.
Us, the little people, we recycle, cycle and switch off at the mains and have been for years. Madonna has six houses and acres and acres of land... which she has kicked the natives off. She also uses a private jet... regularly. So fuck her and her written-in-five-minutes droning bollocks song about global warming. She can kiss my arse and get the fuck out of my country.
And as for the rest of them, they each consume and burn more than an average African nation. So rather than singing at me, maybe they could spend the time reveiwing THEIR fucking lifestyles.
Turn off the music Al. It's shit.

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

Wizard Tosser!

hero of the day: Robert E. Lee

Get a load of this...

That bloody Just William/Roald Dahl/Phillip Pullman/Wind in the Willows pisstake Harry fucking Potter steamroller just won't stop. Another film comes out next week. What's this one? Number thirteen? Number four hundred and thirty three? Harry Potter and the Pubic Hair of Mystery? Harry Potter and the Dark Flange?

I just don't get it. Those "books" are about as original and as well written as the instruction booklet for an Argos toaster. The reason they keep getting longer and longer is because the publishers are so scared of pissing her off, they let Jay Kay do the editing herself (I think she cut a comma in the last one... and that was about it). This bodes ill for the future of literature. Our children have all been brought up thinking that a successful novel must simply be long, contain vague references to magic and promise to be "dark" at the beginning of each installment (and then not be dark at all... just incomprehensible and shit).

And when it comes to the films. I mean fuck my welly boots...

These films should be renamed Harry Potter and the Luvvy Clique, Harry Potter and the Career Resuscitation, Harry Potter and the Row of Egos and Harry Potter: We might as well ressurect Gielgud 'n' all. Every tinpot thesp within thirty miles of Primrose Hill has been drafted in on the luvvy bus to do their bit for the Potter franchise and the result is an eye-watering array of industrial strength egos all jostling for position with nothing resembling a coherent performance anywhere to be seen. And that smug little madam who some arsehole cast as Hermione Granger needs to be taken out and shot. She is without a doubt the worst mini actress ever to defile the screen... and she has fought off some stiff competition to claim that accolade. And Danny White Cliffs or whatever the fuck he's called is so talentless that the only way he can get any sort of mention at the West End (fast-tracked over the heads of a million actors far more skilled of course) is to get his winkle out (yawn!). Maybe one day he'll actually try acting but I'm fervently hoping that he doesn't bother. The result could well make the Taliban wince.

Fuck off, Harry.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Dark Future

hero of the day: Charles Darwin
Listen here...
Some bastard left a couple of bombs in London yesterday, hoping to kill lots of people he'd never met, in the name of his fucking stupid religion presumably.
And then, today, some other bastard attempted to kill lots of Glaswegians by driving a burning car into their airport. I couldn't help but cheer to hear that the "suspects" have been burned to shit but are still alive. No seventy-two virgins for you then, chums.
It got me thinking, though. Where are we headed?
This sort of thing is getting more and more common and I see no end to it. Groups of the insane and the angry are sprouting up everywhere, ready to kill you, me and Dot Cotton at the drop of a hat.
I once had some sympathy with the Islamic world, as I have said. I have none now. This worries me. I am having difficulty seeing other points of view. I am turning into a Neo Con and it terrifies me. Where once there was The Guardian and The Anti Nazi League, there is merely yet another fulminating blog and a deep-rooted desire to take up arms against religious fundamentalists.
I would like to say that it's all religious fundamentalists that I would like to shoot at. In all honesty it's not. I'm no fan of Christians, in fact most of them are odious little people who have never read a proper book, but the fact is, the Christians aren't trying to kill me. The Christians aren't promising to blow people sky high because they disapprove of the nightclub scene. All the Christians are doing is what they always do. They just talk shit and complain. The Muslims want to kill me.
And that gives me the hump.
I can't reconcile that.
80% of this country was against the war in Iraq.
Millions of pounds in public funds have been spent on faith schools and places of worship (for all faiths).
Muslims occupy many positions of power and prestige in our society.
And yet still we are infidels who deserve to be beheaded for "supporting" Bush's crusade.
Still they blow us up.
"Oh but it's not all Muslims!" I hear you cry.
Well, if I had been brought up a Muslim I would have chucked my Koran in the nearest skip by now. When it comes to the crunch, religious belief is a choice and the only proper choice is to reject it. Particularly when it is as oppressive and as murderous as Islam. Continuing to follow such obnoxious beliefs is a choice that deserves nothing but contempt in my opinion.
Whether I'm right or wrong, something very worrying is happening to our world. Religion of all types is on the rise and the barmy people have got the biggest guns.
I've always said that I'd only take up arms against an invader. I used to have quaint images of the Hun rolling down my street. But it's turned out to be a lot more complicated than I ever thought it would. The last bomb to kill people like me was set off by four little pricks from Yorkshire. So what am I to make of that?
It's going to get worse.
People who used to wear army surplus and tie-dye are turning into an angry mob of home counties xenophobes and I hate to admit it but I'm becoming one of them.
And if I've become one then there can't be that many cool-headed people left.
And the future looks pretty grim.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Britain: A Nation of Sex Cases

Hero of the Day: Franz Kafka

Listen to this...

I'll be honest, brutally honest, so honest it'll make you wince and your toes curl.

Kirsten Dunst tickles me in dark places.
And I would like to give Salma Hayek a right sorting.
There is a simple reason for this.
I am a heterosexual man.
Were I gay I would probably cite Johnny Depp as a target for my urges (he is, after all, the Lord High Master of Cool and the Grand Mufti of Style). If animals were my thing I might well wax lyrical about the feminine charms of Lassie and I once heard of a fella who got caught making love to a Black Forest Gateau so it's safe to say that there are some seriously far out proclivities out there.
Now I'm cool with that.
Let me say that sex is great and that we should all be doing it all of the time and all over the place... especially in places of worship. We should be like the French and promote it to the level of a national sport and introduce each other to mutual friends in terms of our sexual prowess. ("Alice, may I introduce you to Stan? He has the staying power of a 38 ton lorry apparently"). Yes, we should be sexually free, revelling in our ability to make the ladies tingle and the men go "oof!".
But we're not, you know.
No sir.
When it comes to sex, despite all our smug posturing, despite our Channel 4's and our Page Threes and our Sexy Soho Smut Shacks we are just as awkward and as clueless as we have always been.
"What bollocks!" I hear you cry "The bloke's off his head. We talk about sex morning, noon and night!"
And that, ladies and gents, is exactly my point.
We talk about it.
All the fucking time.
And it's driving me fucking nuts.
The British obsession with the smutty and the rude has wormed its way into every facet of our everyday lives. A mere glimpse at the television will confirm this.
When I was a nipper, Bob Hoskins urged us (for a healthy fee) that it was "good to talk". Remember that? British Telecom beamed that reassuring, smiling fatman to millions and we duly picked up the phone and spent hours talking shit to Auntie Wotsit in Adelaide.
Nowadays we have that floppy haired, flacid winkle man from 'Love Actually' who features in a string of adverts for BT so numerous they should give him his own fucking channel. The premise of this advert is that BT has helped him get laid with some sultry MILF in Coulsdon (or some such English Home Counties mortgage-til-Jesus-visits shithole). With all the deals and the gadgets and the billion ways to tell someone you'll be late for the macaroni cheese, Mr Flop Hair has embedded himself within both her family and her loins. The implication is that if you use BT and all the (generally useless) shit they have on offer, you too will be doing it six times a night with someone else's ex-wife.

What the fuck happened to Bob Hoskins?
I'll tell you what happened to Bob Hoskins. They fucked him off and replaced him with "Coulsdon Over 30s Gagging For It With Nerds".
I'll tell you why.
Because unless it's got shagging in it, no one will buy it. It doesn't matter if it's a chocolate bar, a washing up liquid or a toilet brush, unless the sales pitch features tits or arses or pelvic thrusts, nobody will touch it with a ten foot barge pole.
And that is what we have become. A nation of sex cases. So busy talking, giggling and obsessing about it, we never get round to actually doing it. When we eventually do get round to it, however, the problems really start.
Flop hair must allude to rhythmic grunting on the Ikea King Size in order to sell us his shoddy telephone services, that is one thing. Beneath this, however, lies something very different altogether.
Our childish fascination with all things porno has swiftly turned sex into a shallow commodity. The consequences of this are grave.
At this point I must head off the inevitable braying from the religious quarter.
The God-fearing loonies would say that the unhealthy obsession I have described is proof that their way of life is the right way.
I would tell them to fuck themselves as Christian fundamentalists have their own sicknesses to cure, such as the worrying propensity to rape children and then cover it up, or the insane insistence that condoms be banned from the developing world thus sentencing untold thousands of the faithful to a miserable death by AIDS. (That Ratzinger bastard is going to get some serious Fynder treatment soon, I can feel it in the water).
So bollocks to that lot.
Returning to the world of the reasoned and the sane, I will continue.
We all know that a lack of talent has long since ceased to be a barrier to success in the music business. The Spice Girls (who, to my absolute horror, are organising a "comeback tour", I mean Jesus wept...) knew this and proved it beyond doubt seeing as only one of them could hold anything resembling tune (the one who looked like a bloke... Butch Spice was it? I'm not sure...). They also proved that there is one commodity that, in this day and age, a woman can not do without if she intends to succeed.
And that commodity is: "Me love you long time!"
I don't want to call it "whoreing" or "prostituting" because frankly it isn't anything like it. It is merely the gyrating of an arse, or the waving of a boob or a wink or a nudge or a giggle. Blonde Spice spent three and a half years promising every man with a television that one day she was going to shag them, simply by smiling and winking into a soft focus lense. But despite all the lollipop licking and the thigh slapping... she didn't.
I'll tell you what she did do, though. She managed to get several million eight-year-olds to dress up in mini skirts and bikini tops and to tell us "what I really really want". Am I the only person who thought that all that was a little bit sick? And what the fuck did "Girl Power" actually mean? Germaine Greer clapped her hands like a seal and said it was the new dawn of a reenergised feminism or some shit. Yeah right, Germaine. You sure it wasn't just good old fashioned, "what d'ya think of my baps, fellas?!" because that's what I think it was. I'll tell you what it reenergised; the propensity for women with smallish brains to show off the parts that were not designed to see daylight much. And that has opened a whole new can of worms of is own.
Listen, women can wear what they like. I don't give a fuck what a woman wears unless it's a sodding burkha, and then I get the hump. But I'm not going to say it's wonderful that girls, barely old enough to buy cigarettes, walk semi-naked through our streets in the name of liberation. Because I don't think it's liberated at all. I think women are under intense pressure to look like they'll put out if you buy them an Irn-Bru and that sucks.
What also sucks is that a large proportion of men believe that if a woman is dressed in such a way and is raped, she is partly responsible.
Let me say this.
If you really believe that you are a sick motherfucker and you should go and see a doctor.
The truth of the matter is that women, just like men, want to be noticed and because of this some feel the need to show off their round bits.
Is that really necessary?
I don't think so.
But maybe I'm wrong, because all you've got to do is ask Mr Floppy and he'll tell you that he and the sultry MILF have made BT millions this year.
And the Spice Girls ARE making a comeback.
So maybe I've got it all wrong.
Maybe I'm the one with the problem.
Maybe I'm the one who needs to change.
Or maybe we're all just a nation of sex cases.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Four by Four Willy Extension

hero of the day: Tony Benn

Now hear this...

I live in London and London has many problems. It is violent, overcrowded and expensive. You can't walk out your front door without being eviscerated by some dipshit gangster wannabe or glassed by some Burberry clad fuckwad. A pint of beer costs more than the entire GDP of Fiji and house prices anywhere near the M25 are enough to make a cat laugh.

But there is one thing about London that even I, softly spoken, gentle, forbearing Mr Fynder just cannot stomach.

People with giant cars, gargantuan egos and tiny willies.

It is a phenomenon that has plagued civilisation since cavemen got around by squeezing into hollow tree trunks and getting the missus to push them down a hillside. It is unavoidable, ubiquitous, and familiar to all and its herald is the shrill cry of: "Mine's bigger than yours! Ner ner!"

It gives me the fucking hump.
There was a time when the car was simply a means of transportation. Families would travel to the seaside in the Morris Minor and cheer when they reached 50 mph.
Then came Thatcher.
For reasons best known to herself Thatcher decided that the modest, small pleasures, overalls-and-Ovaltine Britain of old was past its sell by date and had to go. In its place would be the monster that we now know as "Modern Britain Today" with its greed and its ignorance and its selfishness and its obsession with self.
Thatcher's Britain and the value system by which it lives manifests itself in many ways. For example, children today are now so obsessed with clothing brands and the prestige they bestow that mental illnesses, particularly eating disorders and depression have been blamed on tragedies such as Mummy and Daddy failing to provide the £300 Dolce and Gabbana leg warmers or the trauma of Emma from 4G getting hold of a limited edition Prada codpiece. Is this indicative of a healthy, happy nation?
I would say not.
Thatcher told us greed is good.
I think greed is shit.

Thatcher genuinely believed (and still does... but nowadays she also believes she is a Jedi Master called Frank so she's probably best ignored) that if the rich got richer and the poor got more numerous Britain would benefit a hundred times over.
She was barking.
The British were shown greed at its most voracious, the sort of greed that only the Americans can do and the effects were disastrous.
The Prada-induced anorexia is merely a taster. In a society as class-obsessed as Britain prestige has always mattered a great deal and under the shadow of Thatcher, prestige could be earned in one way and one way only.
Gone are the days when a donation to charity would make the ladies swoon, long forgotten is the era of reading and of education, of discovery, of learning, of cultured people trying to win the greatest accolades by simply discovering amazing things about our universe. Even the quaint gestures of building churches or shelters for the poor have been trampled on by Thatcher's brave new world. The only thing anybody gives a shit about now is how much you can eat, shit, spend and burn and the best, least imaginative and most convenient way of announcing: "I cost the Earth loads!" is by driving around in the most ridiculous, ostentatious, garish automobile you can find.
And you don't have to look very far to find some tosser who thinks he's King of the World because he's spent the annual military budget of Columbia on a car.
Just take a brisk walk through central London and you will find dozens of ludicrous machines with growling, macho names like "Crossfire!" or "GTI!" or "Trooper!" or "Wanker!" (Pajero means wanker in Spanish... sort of). The more macho the name, however, the more stupid the occupant looks sitting behind a rickshaw at a red traffic light.
And there lies the irony.
That's what cars do these days. They sit. There are so many of the bloody things they have managed to make themselves useless. The fastest way of getting around London is on a pushbike. That's how stupid it has become.
We've all signed up to Thatcher's Britain with vigour and this is what we got for it: bulimic Prada addicts and gridlocked wankers.
But there's still a battle for these morons to win and they'll make sure they win it every time. It is the only way that Mr Pee Wee MG and Maggot Manhood Man in his Jeep can salvage anything resembling masculine pride.
They may indeed be travelling so slowly they have managed to bend time, the queue they have sat in for three and a half weeks may indeed be so long it is visible from space but they're going to get to the front of it if it kills them... or you.
Every day, I see some cock on four wheels cutting up, swerving, jumping in, pulling out, hooting, swearing, spitting or shouting, all in the name of two and a half inches.
Yes indeed.
THEIR two and a half inches.

So do me a favour and listen to these sage words from The Fynder.
A real man sits and waits.
A woman with a brain will excercise a bit of patience.
The rest of Thatcher's greedy, small-minded, self obsessed little island would rather kill a stranger than wait for the lights to change.
And that is bollocks.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Bollocks to Uncle Sam

hero of the day: Christopher Walken

Here's how it is...

It has become fashionable for those of us with a degree in humanities (i.e. 68% of the entire country) to criticize the USA.

I myself am no friend of fashionable. Fashionable is shit and for cowards. I say "bollocks" to fasionable.

But I can't help but say "bollocks" to Uncle Sam 'n' all.

And this is why....

The Americans are going to get us all killed.

It really is that simple.

With the Americans in control of the planet apocalypse, megadeath and global catastrophe hang at our doorstep like heavily armed Jehovah's witnesses.

It is a nation brought up from the cradle on kill-the-towelhead jingoism and yee-haw Jesus loves me. It is a nation so ignorant of history that 20 million US citizens have searched the internet for video footage of the War of Independence. It is a nation of which one quarter believes the world will end as described in the bible. (Gospel truth)

I'll start with an old chestnut. A chestnut with which every limey will no doubt be very familiar. Your average American genuinely expects every Brit they meet to say 'thank you' for saving us from the Nazis and often expresses outrage and disgust that such gratitude is seldom forthcoming.

In case there happens to be an American reading this, confused at my implication that such gratitude is in fact undeserved, I will elaborate a tadge.
Britain and France went to war with Hitler on the 3rd September 1939 after he invaded Poland and were promptly bitch slapped into the Channel. Britain was then bombed and harrassed, beseiged and battered for two years. Nobody came to her aid. Despite desperate pleas from Churchill, the USA did fuck all and at one point congress even debated joining the war on Hitler's side because it looked like he was going to win (real heroes!).
Then the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour and suddenly the USA got all brave and courageous.
America sent the mother of all forces to wreak vengeance on the nips, whilst paying the obligatory lip service to the fight against Hitler.
Then Hitler declared war on the USA (the only official declaration of war the Nazis ever made) and so Uncle Sam shrugged his shoulders and kicked off with Adolf after all.
And yeah, they helped. They gave us lots of money... and then demanded it all back with interest rates so crippling that even my dad remembers rationing... and he was born two years after the fucking war ENDED!
Like I say. Real heroes.
So no, Uncle Sam, you didn't bail us out. I'll tell you who did but you won't like it.
It was the Russians actually.
An estimated 25 million Russians died fighting the Nazis. And whilst the Soviets were throwing whole armies into the German meatgrinder, the western allies dithered and farted, only finally deciding to "liberate" Europe to stop the Soviets getting there first.
But back to the present day.
Do we find the Americans any wiser?
Do we find the USA to be a country of learning, of experience, of progress?
Not really.
This is a country that carpet bombs weaker nations for the good of democracy and rigs a vote in Florida so the correct white person can be installed in the White House. This is a country that claims to be the voice of progress and reason and yet nurtures a fear and an awe of Christianity that would not look out of place in medieval Spain. And this is the country that is going to destroy your planet because it makes financial sense.
Listen people, I'd rather be pushed around by the yanks than the mullahs but the fact remains that they're going to get every man jack of us killed. Politically they are and always have been a stupid nation and they will remain stupid until the day the whole sorry place is vapourised because they just won't listen to anyone.
Except Jesus, of course. They'll listen to him apparently.
And Jesus was well into carpet bombing weaker people wasn't he?

Friday, June 22, 2007

Mr Mediocre and the Fuckwit Evangelicals

hero of the day: Horatio Nelson (balls of steel!)
Keith Allen.
Jesus, what a cock...
First he pollutes our screens with his ludicrous ham acting in "made-for-the-clever-people" films that are far easier to forget than they are to watch. Then he pollutes our planet with that paradigm of mediocrity Lily who just won't stop singing at us in that boil-in-the-bag mockney accent and who is a finer example of "my-daddy-knows-the-right-people" than has ever walked this Earth.
And now, because he's a drunk, a letch and foul-mouthed tosser, he feels we need him to go and take the piss out of the Christians for a Channel 4 "documentary".
Because he's an atheist and that's what atheists do apparently.
A few points here, Keith.
1. The Christians do not need you to take the piss out of them. They are doing a perfectly good job of that themselves.
2. The fact that you're a piss artist does not give you the right to portray yourself as the face of modern, secular liberalism. You are not the face of modern, secular liberalism. You are a piss artist.
3. Hate-filled religious bigots deserve zero publicity. And I mean ZERO. As soon as you swagger over to their compound in the USA and switch the camera on, you give them publicity... and they have won. You know that. I know you know that. Because you fucking admitted it on screen!
4. Shouting at a barking mad Christian that God doesn't exist does not make good television, it is boring.
5. A documentary is well researched, thought-provoking and informative. Your car crash TV show was none of these. There are literally thousands of proper journalists out there who could have done a better job and would have done, if only they'd been made famous by getting their todger out on "Shallow Grave" like you.
Keith Allen's programme was an insult to film makers, journalists, actors, writers and cameramen... to name a mere handful. In fact the only people it wasn't an insult to were the Christians.
Nice one, dickhead.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Fat Boy Croaks

hero of the day: Peter Tatchell
Hear this...
Bernard Manning died.
That's a loss.
And I'll tell you why.
In these days of "Daily Mail" frothing, we need reminders of just where all this "PC gone mad" came from.
Because it wasn't black people that gave us PC.
Or gays.
Or disabled people.
Or Muslims, or Jews or fat people or transsexuals or anybody else to which the term "minority" can be applied.
The people who blighted this nation with political correctness and litigious whiners are the very same people who whinge endlessly about it.
People just like Bernard.
No Bernard, the word "nigger" is not funny. It is possibly the least funny word in the English language. "Paki" isn't funny either. Nor is "coon".
And nor were you.
Your legacy, Bernard, is political correctness, the very same political correctness that strangles everything from artistic expression to meaningful debate. So next time one of your fans bitches lamely about how you were "misunderstood" maybe they might spare a thought for those of us who have to live with the mess you made.
And don't give me that crap about "working class hero" because that insults the thousands upon thousands of working class people who have put up with the dozens of ham-fisted social experiments foisted on them over the years by the patronizing, public school tossers who run this country and who wouldn't dream of calling someone a "nigger". Of course, as soon as they complain about the tiniest thing they are dismissed as racist by Right On of Tufnell Park but Right on of Tufnell Park, despite his claims to be down with the kids, hasn't got the first fucking clue what it is like to live in a multi-cultural society besides what the Guardian has to say about it. So he can fuck off 'n' all.
Bernard Manning was not a casualty of modern Britain as some people have tried to make out.
But his kind of racism has claimed a fair few casualites of its own.
Laters, Bernard, and don't worry, mate, we'll get your mess cleaned up eventually.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Islam: As boring as it gets

hero of the day: Yasmin Alibhai-Brown
Listen up...
Allah is a wanker and the prophet Muhammed was a drag queen.
I will say what I want and I will fight you to the death over my right to do so.
So what if the British Government has given Salman Rushdie a knighthood? I will accept that Salman is a walking, breathing personification of mediocrity and is only famous because of that bloody Fatwah and that he would have been lucky to get a Blue Peter badge otherwise. I will accept also that those with hot tempers, small brains and even smaller penises (or is that penae?) will choose (and I mean choose) to see this, therefore, as a calculated insult to their poxy, wretched, bigoted religion.
And I really don't give a shit.
In fact, I'm glad that Britain has pissed you off, Mr and Mrs Muslim! Because every time you run up and down your street burning flags or books or toilet rolls, the world is reminded just how backward, vicious and ignorant religious people are. We are also reminded that Muslims are the spoilt children of the world and that placating them is as pointless and counterproductive as giving a bawling brat another lolly.
I'm amazed you get the flags right as it happens. I imagine the minor delay in finding Danish flags to burn (remember all that?) was due to the simple fact that not a single one of you yapping, fascist bastards had ever EVER read a book or looked at a map of the world or even heard of Scandinavia.
Keep it up, dickheads, and I guarantee you that you will get your Jihad. And you will lose. Because when people like me get angry, you really have run out of sympathisers. I once sympathised with the Islamic world. I once believed in moderate Islam.
But now I don't.
I think Islam is horrible and I will stand up to it. Just like I would have stood up to Hitler or Franco or Mussolini or Stalin. And the startling truth is, that I am almost as likely to get murdered defending my right to free speech today as I would have been under any of the above regimes.
Fuck you. You people are just a bunch of fascist thugs and I don't have the tiniest ounce of respect for your religion.
Defend secularism!
Fight the Islamo-Fascist bullies!
Long Live Free Speech!

Monday, June 18, 2007

Self Pity: A National Epidemic

hero of the day: Gordon Ramsay

This is how it is..

I, like you no doubt, spend a large portion of my day with other people.

This is generally a bad thing as other people are prone to be a pain in the tinies.

But there's one thing I have noticed of late. There is a sickness at the heart of British society, a cancer that is eating away at this once fine nation.

And it threatens to destroy us all.

I have just spent the day with some bloke who just cannot stop talking shit. He is incapable. You could put a gun to his temple and demand he be quiet and he would still go yapping on about bollocks. (I don't doubt that this has already been attempted but when it didn't work I imagine whoever it was turned the gun on themselves).

The man has a veritable beehive in his bonnet but top of his list of "things I must rant about at least thirty hours a day" is his ex-wife and their two children. By the sound of it, his ex-wife is some mail order bride from Thailand. I have no idea how much she cost him but I expect he tried to get his money back because she developed a troubling fault called a personality and booted him out.

All day he was ranting about his wife and how evil she was.

All day he was bitching about how his children had disowned him (and of course, he didn't have the faintest idea why).

All day he was moaning about the fact that he's STILL paying money towards their upkeep (I mean one of them is almost 19 years old! What's the world coming to?!)

For a while I elected to put up with his droning ( it seemed easier at the time) until he let it slip that this divorce happened 14 fucking years ago.

I was under the impression it was a recent event.

But no.

For fourteen solid years this limp dick has been boring a hole in the skull of every unfortunate he comes into contact with simply because he feels he's been hard done by.

I had a message for him.

He didn't like it.

It went something like this:

Shut the fuck up, dickhead.

If you choose to clutter up the planet with copies of yourself don't bitch about it when they burn a hole in your pocket. If you don't pick up the tab then the rest of us have to, which wouldn't stick in the throat quite so badly if they didn't resemble Chewbecca eating a stinging nettle. And for the record, Jonny Taxpayer has been picking up the tab for mis-fucks like you and your wife for decades and are frankly sick of it. Which is why the CSA was invented (yes, the CSA, boo hiss!). And you can claim you hate the CSA because they're rude to you when they phone, or you can claim you hate the CSA because they're grossly mismanaged but the simple truth is, you hate the CSA because they cost you money. And that's really fucking pathetic.

But what I can't help noticing, when you step back and look at the world, is that 95 percent of the world's population are far worse off than this bloke but have less of a tendency to complain.

Just open a newspaper and you'll see any number of people who could out bitch this smurf any day of the week. But none of this means anything to dickheads like this fella. Because this is Britain, and whatever is going wrong is always somebody else's fault. You see it in that odious gaggle of "send-'em-'ome" types who quit Britain for Australia saying that this country has gone to the dogs and usually blaming the problem on "immigrants" whilst failing to appreciate the screaming irony of their own situation. (For let's face it, the last thing Australia needs is more white people). You see it on reality TV when teenage wannabes blub because "I was born for this" and "it's just not fair" that Simon Cowell thinks you're shit. You see it in traffic jams when people hoot and swear and threaten anyone who dares slow them up for three hundredths of a second.

Because Britain doesn't give a shit about you or me or anyone else. Because it's all about the number one.

So do me a favour, next time you want to complain that you never get a holiday, or that nobody ever listens to you, or that life's just not fair, spare a thought for the other 95 percent of world.

And shut the fuck up.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Brian Haw: Moaning Lefty Coward!

hero of the day: Derren Brown

And another thing... this tosser has become something of a Jesus figure to all the pampered, right-on, flip-flop wearing art students that infest this town. They reckon he's a bit of a hero.
Let me tell you this.
He is not a hero.
He is a waste of fucking oxygen.
Whilst this numbskull hangs around Parliament Square generating incredible body odours, the war goes on. Does anybody really give a shit? Do the insurgents in Fallujah dream of getting the money together so they can get on a plane and thank this dickwad personally?
They don't.
They are far too busy blowing up children and screaming prayers of thanks to their mad god (who seems to be gaining popularity there of late... always a bad sign).
Brian, mate, do me the service of listening to me just for a moment and follow these three easy steps.

1.Get a fucking job.
Then you will have money to buy soap.

2.When you have bought soap, send the change to one of the many charities that are doing great things to actively HELP the people of Iraq.

3.Repeat daily.

Of course, idiot plod have turned this cockweed into a martyr by tearing his papier mache construct down as he slept (nice one boys!) and the slimey bastards in Westminster have spent months and thousands of pounds trying to legally get rid of him (I imagine they will revert to the illegal option if that fails... that's how it usually goes). But since when did that lot have the first idea about common sense?

If you want to be a hero, Brian, sign up with Peter Tatchell's crew and go and do some REAL protesting against some REAL nasties. Where were you when Tatch was getting his head kicked in by Russian skinheads at a protest for gay rights in Moscow? Where were you when Tatch was folded over sixteen times by Robert Mugabe's thugs and posted back to us in a jiffy bag?
Oh, I know... sitting in a tent, waving a placard saying: "Keep my children safe"
Are your children safe, Brian?
Of course, you wouldn't know, because you're not at home looking after them.
Where you should be.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

The Demise of Sanity as a Lifestyle Choice

hero of the day: Pat Condell
I'll tell you this... back in the day I used to be a very accepting soul. I have spent precious hours of my life arguing with all and sundry about why we should be nice to people with barmy ideas and beliefs.

And now I don't give a shit.
It's true.
I have been born again.
If you believe I'm going to burn in hell because I think the bible/the koran/the torah/the back of a cornflakes packet is a load of old toss, you can fuck off. And I mean it.
If you would refer to me as an infidel or a kafur or preach that it's all right to blow me up because I don't believe in the same bearded lunatic from yesteryear that you do, you can fuck off again.
I have been surfing the internet of late and it seems to me that those who would profess to follow the sage words of some spiritual wise man (Jesus, Mohammed, the flying spaghetti monster) are infact the craziest, nastiest, most bigoted fools that walk the earth. It's barking mad American Christians that started Iraq, it was Muslims who blew up London/Madrid/New York and it's Hindus who are demanding that a cow with TB be allowed to live (thus endangering countless people... sorry, infidels).
I logged on to richarddawkins.net (all hail to the mighty Dawkins, check him out) for the first time yesterday and was appalled to read samples from the long list of frothing hatemail sent to him by friends of our man Jesus. "Ha ha ha" says one "Can't wait to see you punished by God and burn forever. ha ha ha!" I've corrected the few dozen spelling mistakes. "My gun is loaded" says another.
yeah, well so is mine bastard.
And if you arseholes really want a jihad, count me as a sworn enemy.
Because I've had enough.
Bollocks to God.