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.