Monday, December 31, 2007
My Mum begged me not to go to Edinburgh's new year celebrations in 2003, because the police thought terrorists would attack us. As it turned out, the entire plot was utter bullshit and I was attacked instead by a six-foot-four-tall Glaswegian whose deranged girlfriend mistakenly believed I was selling drugs.
So my message this new year must be, don't worry about crazy Islamists - they're highly unlikely to attack us on any given day.
Mental Glaswegians, however, will try to smash your face in on the slightest pretext, and should be shot on sight.
Happy New Year!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
I think it's time I stopped mocking Britain's mad reactionaries, and tried to empathise with their concerns. To this end, I've done a little bit of Christmas shopping and I'd like to talk you through my purchases so that you can benefit from my experience.
For convenience, versatility and stopping-power, I can heartily recommend the AK47u, which is compact enough to keep in your bed but ferocious enough to kill an entire crew of crack-addled gangsters through up to two walls. This protects the homeowner from the potential dangers of investigating suspicious noises in the night - why trust in the mercy of junked-up thugs?
Simply take aim and hose the entire room down without even getting out of bed.
You might also like to invest in a combat shotgun, some of which can cut a man in half through a door... very handy for OAPs, who can fall prey to bogus callers whose only desire is to rifle your house for the biscuit tin you keep your life savings in. When you hear that knock at the door, simply aim and fire.
Of course, these weapons are only effective at close range. For those with extensive grounds around their property, a Barrett M82 50.cal sniper rifle is deadly at a range of up to a mile and is easy for amateurs to use.
Should you find that your burglars arrive by armoured car, there really is no substitute for the Javelin missile, a fire-and-forget system with lock-on capacity and top-attack capability. My neighbour swears by the RPG-29, which has taken out the heaviest tanks in the world, but this is one occasion where it's worth spending that little bit extra for quality - the Javelin may be steep at £40,000 per missile, but nothing's too expensive when it comes to protecting your family.
Finally, those of you who live in top-floor flats have no reason for complacency. It's perfectly conceivable that burglars may descend onto your roof from helicopters, rabid with desire for your daughter or your DVD player.
It's always worthwhile investing in a decent surface-to-air rocket launcher, but a good budget option is a high-powered assault rifle. Simply take aim at the tail rotor, and that chopper will be toast in no time.
So a happy and safe new year to one and all, and remember - if in doubt, open fire.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
"What’s profoundly frightening about this is that we in America could find ourselves subject to the UK’s libel and privacy laws, which throw free speech to the wolves in defense of privacy."
The UK's libel laws are absurdly unbalanced, and Jeff is correct to decry the effect such suits will have on freedom of speech in other countries. The story gets a heh-indeeding link from influential dipshit the Instapundit, provoking a perfect storm of outraged wingnuttery in comments, to the effect that foreigners can't be trusted to protect fundamental freedoms.
While we're on the subject, I seem to recall a lawyer acting for the U.S. Government asserting that the Americans had the right to "kidnap" any person in Britain suspected of criminality, on the authority of the U.S. Supreme Court.
All of which is fine, if you trust the American government to act impartially, without abusing its powers to pursue its own agenda.
And then I recall - didn't the Americans refuse to sign up to the International Criminal Court because it would infringe on their sovereignty?
After all, it's the ICC that's kept Dr. Kissinger perched atop his pile of skulls in Connecticut these past few years, rather than picking up fat cheques for delivering dull policy speeches in Europe.
If there's a point to this extended bit of whataboutery, it's that what's sauce for the goose ought to be sauce for the gander. The Americans (i.e. the Bush Admin) look to have been entirely consistent in promoting the idea that they can do whatever they like, and everyone else can whistle.
To which I can only say, nuts.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Some were idiots, but I was struck by how confident and competent others were. To someone who gets much of their information from politician-hating internet loons, I was surprised by their intelligence, their wit and their candour.
And tonight it's occurred to me - of the impressive politicians I've met, I've never voted for any of them, and as good as never voted for their parties... and I like to think I'm a reasonably intelligent person.
This should bang a nail through the myth of the rational voter, and not before time.
And, Merry Christmas and that.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
And an eventful year it's been, with terrorist attacks in Glasgow, a new Prime Minister and about five million excuses for outbreaks of brown-trousered panic.
It's the last of these that's gradually become the theme round these parts, as I've followed the British belief that no problem is too trivial to cause an outbreak of national hysteria.
Causing a stink this year - relations with Iran, gay adoption, capital punishment, stupid terrorists, MI5, "Islamic fascism", resurgent European fascism, smokers, Cuddly fun with Hamas, Iraq, Melanie Philips, President Bush, and asylum seekers.
Common sense prevailed, thankfully, with the lowering of the national pants.
In sport, I ran a quiz on Shakespearean refereeing and presented Scottish football fans with a gallery of nostalgia, before introducing Winnie Tha Pimp.
On religious affairs, I mused upon the fate of Libertarian Jesus, and in the world of work I offered tips on getting the most out of civil servants. I also reflected thoughtfully on the creation of a computer that thinks it's a mouse.
This year also saw my first attempt to attempt at liveblogging on the night of the Scottish Parliament elections, my first stab at the advertising business and some thoughts on BBC bias.
And finally, some thoughts on reclassifying the political pantheon.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
"...This would be like cutting the word 'Christmas' out of Wham's 'Last Christmas..."
"baa baa black sheep have you any wool has been banned but I doubt we'll have that printed or played on radio one..."
Hopefully, those outraged by this trivial non-story will be just as broadminded when they find their teenage daughters sexy-dancing to my upcoming Christmas single Ho Ho Ho, Bitchez (Y'All Muthafuckin' Reindeer Betta Step Tha Fuck Off).
Still, this seems to be a recurring problem - group x take whining, mewling offence at toss all, prompting group y to jerk themselves into a furious, priapic rage like an engorged orchestra. Meanwhile, newspaper conglomerate z laughs all the way to the bank, cackling with maniacal glee, twiddling its moustache and stroking its inflated profit as if it were a purring white cat.
So, what to do next time this sorry spectacle rears up? Should we all undertake sensitivity training, to better understand each others' viewpoints? Or should we perhaps take anger management courses, and learn to let such inane fads slide?
Or, and this is my personal preferance, should we just beat them all with spiked baseball bats?
Well, what do you think? Should we...
a) Beat group x with spiked bats?
b) Beat group y with spiked bats?
c) Beat newspaper conglomerate z with spiked bats?
d) Beat everyone involved with spiked bats?
It's over to you...
Monday, December 17, 2007
One would imagine that the Iraqis would be grateful that we have freed them from the tyrannical, arbitrary rule of Saddam and handed them over to the tyrannical, arbitrary rule of the mullahs, but no dice. I've just read a poll that says just 2% of Basrawis believe the British forces had a positive effect since the overthrow of Saddam.
I guess there's just no pleasing some people.
Now, I know my readers - I'm aware that a good percentage of you might've thought that the whole Iraq war was a bullshit enterprise from the get-go, argued for in blatant bad faith by a shower of crooks.
Some of you might also believe that those Vietnam analogies have turned out pretty accurate, and that the crustiest hippy banging a tambourine in 2003 had a better grasp of international politics than the cream of our political punditry.
In fact, you could be forgiven for believing that the last few years have seen a blizzard of mendacious, duplicitous horseshit about Basra.
But I implore you to consider this - had our army pulled out of Basra within months of the invasion, we would've been abandoning the Iraqis to fascists. Such a move would have meant a disgraceful dereliction of our duty to the people of Basra.
Now, not so much. The families of all those dead soldiers can be glad we've really accomplished something there, although we'll have to wait to see exactly what it is.
(P.S. If anyone can tell me how those last two paragraphs differ from the official position of the British government, I'd be very, very grateful).
Thursday, December 13, 2007
For some reason, the paper seems to think this is a bad thing, but I beg to differ. In fact, I've sent the Beeb an email begging for a crack at the old bitch.
Obviously, I've planned this out. I'd aim to get the drop on her and knock her flat out with the first punch, but I have a contingency plan if I miss the chin and she's only stunned.
I'm aiming to dominate her from the outset. I reckon if I work the ribs on her left side, she might drop her elbow enough for me to come over the top with a right cross and knock her fucking block off.
Still, forewarned is forearmed, so if any of you have ever seen any of Her Majesty's previous fights I'd appreciate a bit of tactical knowledge. Just because she's royalty doesn't mean she's above fighting dirty, and I, for one, don't want my first televised bout to end with me shrieking for mercy with the Queen hanging off my testicles.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Since I've always liked the cut of his jib, I'm glad that Brown has shown his inner bravery and come out in support of British troops in Afghanistan. This shows great political nous, and I, for one, see a bright future for the Brown administration.
I've spoken with a friend who has recently returned from Basra, and he reckons that our boys out there would've been a bit narked if he'd decided to throw his weight behind the Taleban. Perhaps he was tempted, but his tacticians have obviously advised him that such a risky gambit might do more harm than good.
So good on Gordon Brown, I say. It's good to see a Prime Minister who's prepared to bite the bullet and take a stand.
Don't ask how I managed to stumble across the personal website of Colonel Gaddafi, north African fashion icon, spiritual leader and full-time hooting mentalist.
The Brother Leader (for it is he) is keen to share his thoughts on war, peace and religion, and turns his remarkable intellect to the great challenges facing the modern world.
In his deranged life, he has fought a great many battles, losing the vast majority. I fear that he has once more bitten off more than he can chew by launching a devastating two-footed tackle on FIFA, the world football federation...
"Why not make the champion host the following World Cup finals? This way, the competition in the World Cup will have some meaning namely; that the champions will have an undisputed right to host the following World Cup...
...Otherwise, the World Cup should be abolished in view of the mortal danger it poses to the world physically and morally. It leads to problems, difficulties, disorders, hatred and enmity. It causes the spread of degenerate behavior and collective recklessness and irresponsibility. Socio-psychological studies have proven that the manic, fanatical addicts of the World Cup are below normal in intellectual capacity and psychological development."
Surely it is but a matter of time before the Colonel awakes in the night to find three Adidas-clad FIFA hitmen preparing to show him the red card for his persistent foul play, before sending him for an early bath.
Protest as he might, the referee's decision is final, and no higher authority is going to rescind FIFA's judgement on video evidence alone.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
So says the daffodil-flapping modern irrelevance Morrissey, complaining about the number of foreigners in the country.
I've never had any difficulty working out where I am when I travel to England, largely due to the large, near-unavoidable road signs marked "Welcome To England" that dot the border. Additionally, there are key giveaways like regional accents, fried breakfasts and the stampedes of football fans desperately trying to avoid watching the national team.
I reckon I know what's going on, though - whenever Morrissey comes back for a visit, all the locals spot him coming and urgently whisper Bollocks, it's that pretentious twat out of The Smiths. Quick, pretend you're from Warsaw, and maybe he'll go away.
Imagine Morrissey's chagrin when he finds his old haunts are filled with pasty white Punjabis - no wonder he spends most of his time prancing about in Italy like some kind of great, droning tit-end.
Still, he gets brownie-points for suing the arse off smug, bumwipe music magazine NME, an act of charity which is long overdue.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
The case has been heart-wrenching, even for childless curmudgeons such as myself. I've refused to join in the sordid orgy of speculation that erupted over the summer, believing that the McCanns deserve to be treated with dignity and respect.
But Mr. McCann has sorely tested my sympathy with his latest announcement - he's stated that he believes his daughter was snatched by a Predator.
Now, I know this is a stressful time for all involved, but such flights of fancy help no-one.
Let's try to keep this sensible and leave the alien abduction stories to the rednecks, eh?
I dreamt I was in an ice cream parlour, and I'd just bought an enormous strawberry sundae. A huge, beautiful bowl of ice cream and fruit, smoking cold... delicious. I couldn't wait to get back to my table to eat it.
Just as I was walking back to sit down, this hulking great Italian bloke ran right at me, threw himself at me and knocked me flying - the two of us hit the deck, and my sundae splattered all over the floor.
So the two of us were lying there covered in strawberry sauce, when the owner came running over, and suddenly the Italian guy's on his feet, babbling, praying and making those daft finger-and-thumb gestures. The owner takes one look at this, and he's all like Hey, why are you knocking over my customers, you Scottish tosser? You must apologise to this nice Italian gentleman, and buy him the most expensive item on the menu.
The next thing I know, he's forced me to buy two more strawberry sundaes, one for me and one for the Italian guy.
I was feeling pretty hard done by at this point, but then it all turned really weird... the Italian bloke tucked into his ice cream looking all smug and pleased with himself, and when I looked down I realised that I'd actually bought myself a shit sundae, and I'm going to have to chow down on it while the Italian stuffed himself with strawberries.
I'm at a loss to explain what this could mean... It certainly can't relate to yesterday's football match.
If it had been about the football, the Italian guy would've spent the last fifteen minutes of my dream standing in the corner, throwing himself to the floor and rolling about whenever anybody walked past.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
If you ask me, too few people are concerned about the pressing problem of inattentive falcons.
Now, you may laugh - but how many of you have ever called to a distracted falcon as it turns and turns in the widening gyre?
Well, I've been there more times than I care to mention, and it isn't pretty - one moment you haven't a care in the world, and before you know it, things fall apart.
The centre cannot hold - my Granddad's generation understood that basic piece of wisdom, and we would do well to remember it.
It may not be politically correct to say it, but if we allow trendy notions of avian freedom to overrule our traditional values, we risk undermining the very virtues that have made this country great.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
...And Shining Shriek-Queen Shelley Duvall?
Sunday, November 04, 2007
British readers will be familiar with the fads, manias and prejudices of the modern tabloid press, and may have noticed this long before - I was a bit taken aback.
Open the football pages of a random paper on any given day, and you'll likely find some variation on these themes...
The game's governing bodies - the FA in England and SFA in Scotland - well, they're hopelessly incompetent no-hopers whose greatest talent is awarding themselves pay rises.
As for the game itself, did you see England v Israel the other week? 3-0, what a performance. World beaters, I tell you, a purring engine of pure footballing skill - that team fear no-one, and they'll win the European Championships at a canter. The manager has finally come good, and I always knew he was the man for the job.
What's that? They lost in Moscow? Well, I always said they were a mincing gang of overpaid woofters who care more about their fancy cars than they do about rolling up their sleeves and getting stuck in. That manager needs shooting, he's a national embarrassment.
The Premiership? Don't talk to me about the Premiership - it's filled with work-shy foreign imports, who think they're entitled to come over here and pick up fat wage-packets for doing nothing. And the prices they charge you to get into games! Why, it's just a rip-off - go abroad and you'll get into a game there for a fiver.
And don't get me started on the foreigners - that UEFA and FIFA, they're nothing but a bunch of crooks, and our lads never get a fair chance against their biased refereeing. Why, just look at the play-acting and diving other countries get up to, they're nothing but a bunch of cheating bastards trying to con the referee-
-Ref! Penalty, ref! Yeah, okay, so there wasn't much contact and Michael Owen made a bit much of it, but that's the modern game isn't it? The referee's there to be played too.
But as I was saying, why is it only Britain that plays by the rules while everybody else cheats and do as they please?
Yes, the game was much better when I was a lad - they played for the shirt in them days, and it was two-bob to get in. Not like today, where it's all prawn sandwiches and over-privileged mercenaries on the make.
All in good fun, of course, but isn't it odd that our coverage of sport and politics are so similar?
Why, it's almost as if the newspapers have perfected a formula for keeping us all pissed off and resentful, yet ever-eager to fork over cash for more of the same.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Lots of people have attacked the government for giving the Saudis the full Buckingham Palace treatment, pointing out the illegitimacy of their rule, their human rights violations and their frankly whiffy relationship with Al Qaeda.
It seems to me that we're missing the real parakeet in the pantry - the most embarrassing thing about this is the fact we have a Queen for Abdullah to meet in the first place.
Forget the tantrums about the evil Saudi regime - they're ruthless Middle Eastern oligarchs, and they're supposed to be evil. It's in the job description.
We, on the other hand, are theoretically a modern liberal democracy whose figurehead is a crinkly old bat who happens to be descended from German princelings. Such rights as we possess are not inherent to our status as citizens, but are privileges graciously granted by the Monarch.
Now, I'm not daft - I know that the Queen possesses almost no practical power. My problem is that I once spent my days studying the lives of Thomas Paine, Cromwell and Danton, and it left me with the definite impression that they might have had a point.
Still, we Britons are too sentimental to send our feudal overlords to their richly merited appointment with Madame Guillotine, so another solution must be sought.
The monarchists always tell us that the Royal family bring in millions in tourist revenue - I say, why not expand the franchise?
If I was suddenly crowned as the King of Scotland and Mrs. Rodent made Queen, think of the torrent of Yankee dollars that would flow into the public purse! The Americans couldn't give a damn whether we were born of regal stock or delivered in a ditch, so long as there's plenty of looted finery to photograph.
And anyway, if you're going to arbitrarily crown a random scruff, why not the guy who came up with the idea?
Being royalty has its drawbacks in terms of privacy issues, but I'm ready to take one for the team. So long as my life of luxury brings in much-needed revenue for the people of Scotland, I'd be prepared to sacrifice myself for the good of the nation.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Nothing too major, just the odd one-liner here and there. I think it's perfectly legitimate, believing that the gift of humour is a blessing upon humanity, to be freely distributed wherever people gather in need of entertainment.
It's in that spirit that I'd like to wish for the immediate death-by-skullfucking of whichever one of you bastards ripped off my "Cocaine Users Are Getting Younger" post, slapped your name on it and submitted it to Viz.
I hope that "Star Letter" award brings you ill-luck, and that whatever you buy with your fraudulently gained £10 turns to ashes before your eyes, you stoat-throttling cutpurse, you.
Honestly, I laboured for minutes over that post. Minutes.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Bumfoolery with the bonus tunnel, if you know what I mean.
He notes that both Beckett and Joyce displayed such posterior-fixated perversions - he further implicates D.H. Lawrence, Norman Mailer, Philip Roth, John Updike and V.S. Naipaul.Indeed, it is not only the literary lion who exhibits such depravity - I myself am nuts-deep in a Yorkshire Terrier even as I type.
What could be the explanation for this? That with heavenly gifts come demonic desires?
P.S. You'll notice Amis doesn't include himself in that list, largely because he's been so far up his own arse for the last decade that he's in danger of winking out of existence.
Friday, October 26, 2007
So, what happens now?
On Iran's nuclear ambitions, my predictions are worthless. What I know of enriched uranium could be written on a piece of paper small enough to be swallowed and washed down with a glass of water.
Of our domestic hawks, however, I know far more than any sane man would wish to. One would hope that recent events have been instructive, but a quick click through any American newspaper's website indicates otherwise.
All those long years of dusty academia studying the Western way of warfare have so far proven pointless, so now seems as good a time as any to make use of my education. In guessing what comes next, let's reminisce about how this went the last time, to see if any useful lessons can be drawn.
As far as I can see, most societies have their share of carnivorous undead freaks whose unsleeping, implacable rage demands constant sacrifice at the bloody altar of daemonic slaughter. This Satanic urge is generally kept in check by the population's longing for a quiet life and the pious prayer of our pacifist minority, thus ensuring an uneasy calm.
Most of the time, we let these unholy troglodytes rant and rave in the darkness, feeding on each other's brains, snarling and slouching loincloth-clad around crypts filled with the noisome stench of their sick corruption.
Every now and then, when the ululating shrieks of these night-creeping fiends become too loud to ignore, we toss them a carcass, letting them gorge themselves on a Grenada or feast upon a Falklands.
But in exceptional times - recent ones, for instance - they slip their chains and come marauding amongst us, ravening through our gardens, banging on our doors and scratching at our windows, pleading for us to let them in.
And here's the thing - even in dire straits, these desperate, gibbering ghouls can only gain admittance if we invite them of our own free will. Mindful of old campfire tales, we ignore their mewling, slobbering supplications, and clasp our crucifixes tighter to our chests.
Within our warm abodes, however, are always those whose minds are weak. Those who are susceptible to suggestion, who secretly yearn to feel the cold, hard breath of the beast upon their necks, to submit to that dark embrace and give themselves up to the sharp pang of razor fangs.
"Let them in," these deluded souls mutter, entranced, moving as one to remove the bolts and unslip the locks. "They want to help us... they want to keep us safe and bring freedom and human rights to all..."
"Jesus Christ, NO!" shouts the lone voice of sanity, "Those flesh-eating undead fucks will tear us all to shreds and feast on our entrails!"
Yet already it's too late - the doors are flung wide, and the unholy pack sweep inside baying in animal triumph, drunken and frenzied with blood-crazed greed to wreak swift and terrible carnage. Once over the threshold, no sacred symbol or silver bullet can repel the savage fury of the damned.
That's how it went last time, at any rate.
Which leaves us with one question - at the fateful moment, when the moon is full and we hear once more the skitter of claws at the windows, will we calm the gullible and the easily-led amongst us?
Will we hold them by the shoulders and shake sense into them, imploring them to gaze into the beast's fiery red eyes to see the smouldering hatred within?
If you asked me to guess, I'd say probably not. Most likely we'll go on a march or two, then write a jolly stiff letter to our Members of Parliament.
Time will tell, I suppose, but we must bear one thing in mind - however the confrontation between Iran and the West pans out, we must remain calm and resist the urge to hyperbole and hysteria.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Now, as her final moments are once more strewn across the pages of the scum press, we learn of her heart-wrenching final words...
"Princess Diana repeated the words "oh, my God" as she lay hurt in car wreckage while photographers took pictures..."
A sad scene indeed, one made all the sadder for her needless and wilful blasphemy - a slight that the Lord will not quickly forgive as He closes His celestial Ears to her shrieks for mercy from the Lake of Fire.
While I shed a solitary tear for the red-hot poker inflicted back-door tortures that the Princess of Hearts is surely experiencing, I must harden my resolve and recall that the Lord laid down His Laws expressly forbidding this type of sacrilege.
I understand that being crushed in a high-speed car accident is probably quite stressful, but that is no excuse for disobedience. What if we allowed everyone to utter such vile oaths in times of strife?
If you can't do the time (eternity), don't do the crime (mild cursing), that's what I say.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
First, the bus to work - full of School-Troopers and Pensio-Nazis, demanding unquestioning obedience to their deranged doctrines by ringing the bell for every stop and barking orders at the driver. The journey took forever thanks to their implacable hatred.
Getting off the bus, I found the city centre thronged with Pedestrianazis, every one of them driven by an unshakeable ideological determination to stand chatting in large groups on the pavement.
Then I get to work, and my Co-workerfascists had already eradicated the cooked breakfasts, and the Canteennazis were chemically sterilising the floors and surfaces.
Not only that, but every one of the tables had been annexed to provide lebensraum for the Greater Department of Accounts, and I was forced to march downstairs to my desk to eat the bitter cereal of the oppressed.
Well, the time for such appeasement is over. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to work armed with a bloody big stick, the better to batter any fascists who try to crush my right to a peaceful bacon roll.
After all, who could object? Once we're agreed that these people are fascists, the only conceivable response is to attack them with everything we have. Our granddads could tell us what happened to their breakfasts the last time Britain tried to mollify totalitarians.
I say we stop these little Hitlers at their early-morning Munich.
Oh, I know that some of you might quibble that not all of these people are actual, literal Nazis, but then, neither were the Germans in 1938 and look where our weakness got us then. Others might make an ill-informed judgement that at an all-out assault on evil may actually be counter-productive, illogical and stupid.
The objectively pro-fascist amongst you might even say that I should explore other options, such as getting to work earlier. I say that you are ignoring the hard-learned lessons of history.
Well, the time has come to decide which side you are on. Would you rather side with the forces of freedom, or cravenly lick the boots of totalitarians?
Consider well, for if we allow the cowards and appeasers among us to win the day, we face a breakfast of darkness that will last until lunchtime.
Thanks and apologies to the (NSFW) B3TA Photoshopper whose hard work I have shamelessly nicked.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
I've run a couple of quick Google searches, and I can't find a single major contender for the presidency or the office of the Prime Minister in the last five years who's had anything good to say about peace.
Oh, don't get me wrong - they've all got plenty to say about peace in the Middle East, by which they generally mean war. One and all eulogise peace of mind, which is of course to be gained through more war.
But of peace in the abstract, as an inherently good thing in itself, I can't find a squeak.
I don't mean peace as in Peace, Man, let's all hold hands and sing "We Are The World". I mean peace as the desired state of humanity, as the reason why our Granddads faced the machine guns and won.
Peace as an ideal that should be aspired to, not as some Hippy acid-trip to be mocked by desk-bound, arse-scratching armchair warriors.
I'm afraid that the reason that we don't hear such things from politicians is that the word itself is electoral poison, and any candidates giving such a speech would find their campaign plummeting towards the earth, riddled with rhetorical bullet holes.
I think it's debatable whether a candidate would choose to deliver a speech in praise of peace over a tribute to the "misguided" torturers of Abu Ghraib.
In America and the UK, all four major parties are pro-war in the broad sense - if the cry goes up that Wherethefuckistan needs to be blasted with hi-tech whizzbang until it's civilised to our liking, voters had better look elsewhere for dissenting voices.
I worry that, over the last thirty years or so, we've accepted war as our natural state, rather than as a temporary exception. I'm concerned that we've trained a generation of journalists, political activists and citizens to see the world as a perpetual threat that must be constantly bombed into submission.
Who knows, perhaps I'm wrong - maybe Obama or Cameron has a few nice words for the concept.
For now, stray visitors from blogs run by shitheads can shout booga-booga-booga! about the Iranians in comments. It seems to be what the internet is for, after all.
An independent study group has heavily criticised the BBC for what it calls "Anti-English bias" in its coverage of the 2006 football World Cup
Media Bias Watch, a privately funded organisation dedicated to scrutinising the Corporation, cited numerous instances in which the national team was unfairly denigrated, while the faults of other nations were glossed over.
"Time and time again, the BBC's commentators referred to England's performances as 'lacklustre', 'workmanlike' and 'half-hearted'," said Sir Richard Starke-Staring, Chairman of the group. "And yet they had nothing but praise for teams such as Italy, Brazil and Germany."
"But where was the praise for England's triumphant defeat of Trinidad and Tobago?"
"It is precisely this kind of contempt for Englishness and pandering to foreign nations that exposes the Corporation's fundamental lack of trustworthiness."
As for the treatment of the U.S.A. national team, the report states that the commentators spilled over into overt anti-American hatred - Gary Lineker was heard to state that "the Americans aren't very keen on football - sorry, soccer," and pundits Alan Hansen and Peter Schmeichel both laughed at the prospect of an American triumph in the competition.
"Would they have laughed at the suggestion that Brazil might win the trophy?" asks the report.
William Rees-Mogg - Why the BBC needs to be defrocked and defenestrated, p22
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
While I appreciate the intent to bring culture to the masses, I can state that, having worked in Edinburgh's premier booze-cruise nightspot, the area already possesses a burgeoning programme of free entertainment.
Why, on any given night one can easily find interpretive dance troupes sashaying up and down the road, clad in outlandish attire for the amusement of taxi drivers who witness their abilities at close quarters as the participants bounce gaily off their car bonnets.
Fridays and Saturdays are a particular joy for those of a historical bent, as re-enactors can be found staging performances of the Battle of Agincourt from Henry V through the medium of glass.
And fans of the erotic and scatological arts will be delighted by the nightly bacchanalia, in which a broad selection of amateur enthusiasts publicly engage in the kind of displays that would redden the cheeks of a Bangkok ladyboy.
As a purist of the performing arts, though, I'm most taken by the operatic works commonly heard in the small hours - while the performers vary in quality and vocal range, it's the sheer unpredictability that amazes.
I recall finishing work one night at 2.30 am to be confronted with a talented young soloist, who stunned me by launching into the following aria...
"Awright mate, goan geez a fag/
Just a fag, mate, I'll gie ye twenty pence for it/
C'mon, then cunt/
Just one fag, it'll no kill ye/
Geez a fag, ya prick/
Or you're gettin' slashed."
Truly, a virtuoso recital.
So, while I appreciate this plan to boost the performing arts on the city's streets, I can't see how they can top our present embarrassment of riches.
Monday, October 15, 2007
£25 million* for the best answer...
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Pictured right is Celtic and Scotland midfielder Scott Brown - as fine an example of Scottish skill and technique as could be found.
Last season, he played for Edinburgh club Hibernian, under manager-cum-Eurotrash-playboy John Collins.
For reasons known only to themselves, there was a rebellion amongst the players, and a group of them visited Hibs owner Tom Farmer at his house to demand that the manager Collins be removed.
Everything was sorted out, but a week later Scott Brown was interviewed by a BBC reporter...
BBC Reporter: Scott Brown, were you one of the players that visited (Hibs Owner) Tom Farmer's house?
Scott Brown: I don't know.
Heartfelt tribute to the geniuses of the Scottish team - you have done us all proud, despite your mental impairments.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Just last night, I opened a can of Alphabetti Spaghetti for dinner, and within two minutes I was able to form Jihadist slogans such as DEF TO THE INFIDEL, I LUV DEF MOR THN LIFE and OSAMA IS NICE.
Disgracefully, I was still able to write HITLER IZ SEXY if I used an N on its side for an S, thus demonstrating that fascism retains a place in the European psyche.
This foodstuff is fed to our children, for God's sake - are we really so spineless and supine that we allow this racist propaganda onto our dining tables?
Resist! Write to your MP demanding he ban this evil durum-based, Dhimmificatory filth.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
I'm disappointed to see that, rather than forcing him to lick jelly off his own balls for the entertainment of a gang of cackling CIA interrogators, Vanity Fair have merely given him a face pack and a back, crack and sack wax.
It's at moments like this that I recall why I have such great respect for Hitchens - even as a combined force of health specialists and photographers strive to strip him of his dignity, he still maintains an air of detached, fuck-you rebelliousness by puffing on a cigarette.
What a trooper - lesser men would've been left looking absolutely ridiculous.
Still, in all of this pornographic depravity, we must remember to commemorate the suffering of the real victims.
I ask you to pity the poor stylist who laboureth betwixt the bulbous cheeks of Hitchens, for truly she hath looked into the abyss, and it hath looked into her.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
"When you think about how fantastically successful the Jewish lobby has been, though, in fact, they are less numerous I am told - religious Jews anyway - than atheists and [yet they] more or less monopolise American foreign policy as far as many people can see." - Ayatollah Dawkins, recently.
Well, I've never trusted the guy - you can see from the fevered look in his beady eye that he's one stubbed toe away from launching a one-man pogrom on the Armenians.
Scratch an atheist, and you'll find Inquisitor Bernardo Gui, or so they say.
Anyway, I have a hard time believing all this The Jews control this or American policy that. I saw a guy on TV once saying that they controlled the media or some such cant - short, German bloke, daft mustache, seemed a little bit pushy.
Well, I've been a huge fan of the works of Joseph Heller, Philip Roth and Kinky Friedman for years, and none of them have ever produced anything half as moronic as The Jeremy Kyle Show or America's Next Top Model.
If you ask me, we should march en masse through the streets demanding that the Jews be put in control of the media, to improve its intellectual and comic content.
On the other hand, I'm not averse to calls for the vicious, public flogging of Dawkins. It's a difficult conundrum, with pros and cons on either side.
Damn it all, I just can't decide.
Commenters, what do you think? Should we appoint Woody Allen as the Head of Light Entertainment, or should we all just get together and whip the skin off the vile racist Dawkins 'til he squeals like a chainsawed chihuahua?
Think carefully, now. The lives of millions may depend upon it.
Monday, October 08, 2007
"The work, entitled Shibboleth 2007, runs the full 167 metres of the cavernous hall on London's South Bank.
It begins as a crack then widens and deepens as it snakes across the room."
The artist explains the work's significance, but I prefer to leave it to your interpretation.
What symbolism could this massive crack possibly have?
Personally, I'm just glad it's showing in London rather than Scotland. We'd just have filled it with sausages or turned it into a crude device for smoking narcotics.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Congratulations to President Talabani, who has astoundingly schmoozed the Americans into reversing their current policy. It's amazing that he's managed to change Mr. Bush's mind when 70% of Americans can't.
It occurs to me that this could just be a political move - perhaps Mr. Talabani is trying to bounce the Republicans into doing his bidding.
Well, best of luck - I've been touting for a few tasty reconstruction projects myself, and no dice. Back in 2004 I worked for the Coalition Provisional Authority under Jerry Bremmer, running crack and bitches for the young Republican swinging set in the Green Zone.
Let me tell you, it was hard work. Every day I was besieged by shouting, sweater-clad business graduates cramming hundred dollar bills into my hand, calling me Buddy and asking me to track down horse tranquilisers and small rodents for them.
Every night was a Baghdadi bacchanalia, as preppy can-do types reinterpreted Uncle Milty Friedman's permanent income hypothesis while snorting lines of cocaine so wide you'd need a run-up to vault them.
Bremmer was arbiter bibendi, sitting under an enormous portrait of George W. while wearing a crown and overseeing the proceedings with maniacal glee.
"You there!" he'd shout now and then, guzzling down a roll of pills with deep tonks from a bottle of Jack. "Don't tickle her with it, really give it some! And bring me more hamsters, you fucks, or I'll have you all shot like dogs!"
You've never felt fear until you've seen the cream of the 2002 economic theory classes ripped to the tits on Absolut and Vicodin, trying to see which of them could shove the most drugs up their arses before they started convulsing and speaking in tongues.
And that was just a Tuesday night - the real fun didn't kick off 'til the weekends.
All that, and all I got was a thank you, a smile and a see you at the Weekly Standard bash next year!
So, as I say, credit to Talabani for convincing the Administration to go along with his plan - he's succeeded where I couldn't.
If the Americans don't follow through with his withdrawal plan, I advise him to try yawning, then announcing that it's getting late, and that Iraq has to be up early for work in the morning.
Works like a charm on unwelcome guests every time, in my experience.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Via Mr. E, I find that Mick Fealty has put together a word cloud depicting those Wee Gordon used most often - as one might expect, it's not hard to spot the influence of focus groups and electoral strategists.
"I am proud to be penis - I believe in penis values..."
I will stand up for our schools and our hospitals - I will stand up for penis values.
I will stand up for a strong penis.
And I will always stand up for you."
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Celtic have beaten the European champions AC Milan 2-1, while Rangers have defeated German champions VFB Stuttgart by the same score, and absolutely stuffed French champions Lyon 3-0.
Add this to Scotland's home and away victories over football giants France, and we are a nation on the up - after years of humiliation at the hands of diddy countries, we are now knocking shit out of some of the biggest powers in the world.
It's been far too long, but finally Scottish football is making its mark on the map. Best of luck to Aberdeen, who have an appallingly difficult tie to negotiate today - all of us hope that you can do a job on Dnipro.
Fucking brilliant - no other words will do.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Don't believe me?
Just this week, the Prime Minister shamefully announced that 1000 British soldiers would be withdrawn from Iraq, betraying the promise we made to its people.
Oh for the days of Tony Blair, a leader with balls of steel - Blair would never flinch from ordering the armed forces to drive in circles around Basra to be shot at and blown up by the locals. Blair would face down his critics and say, We are prepared to make the required blood-sacrifice, and if that means ordering soldiers to dodge bullets and IEDs for no good reason, then by God I will!
There was a leader who wasn't afraid to play meaningless gesture politics with the lives of others.
But that's not even the worst of it - oh no. Now, we can't even deport refugees to be tortured in Sudan without being subjected to a load of whining about their so-called "human rights".
Well, if you ask me, as soon as you decide not to be a white, British anglo-saxon protestant, you lose all of your so-called "human rights" - if you don't even have the basic decency to be born in Britain, frankly, you deserve everything you get.
What kind of country have we created in which a British policeman cannot shoot whoever he wants, whenever he wants, as many times as he wants, without having to answer a lot of impertinent questions?
And, frankly, a world in which a gang of red-blooded American mercenaries can't machine gun a marketplace without being harrassed by the political correctness police is not a world in which I wish to live.
Fie, a pox on these touchy-feely Hampstead liberals, for they have made great, simpering jessies of us all.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Internet Bloggers Cast Doubt Upon Sparrow's Guilt, Implicate Palestinians
Reuters News, 1st October 2007
The trial of the Sparrow, accused of the cold-blooded murder of Cock Robin, collapsed in bitter acrimony today following a dazzling intervention by a pair of internet bloggers.
The Sparrow had previously broken under intense questioning by the prosecution, sobbing freely while professing his guilt.
"I remind the witness that he is under oath," stated the Lark, prosecuting. "Now, Sparrow, can you tell me who killed Cock Robin?"
"I," sobbed the Sparrow, "With my little bow and arrow - I killed Cock Robin."
A murmur of surprise rippled around the court as a clerk then approached the bench and handed an envelope to Judge Rook, presiding.
In a move that has astonished the world of avian law, Judge Rook announced that he was granting a petition from internet bloggers Charles Johnson of Little Green Footballs and "Zombie" of Zombietime to present evidence as "Amicus Curiae", or "friends of the court".
Over-ruling objections from the prosecution, Judge Rook then heard expert testimony from the bloggers, who presented technical and ballistic evidence to disprove the charges against the Sparrow.
Presenting a diagram of the crime scene, Mr. Johnson demonstrated that, at the time of the murder, the Sparrow's line of sight to the victim had been blocked by a large tree.
"Clearly," Mr. Johnson stated, "If the Sparrow could not see Cock Robin, he could hardly have shot him with his little bow and arrow."
"And, since no autopsy was performed upon Cock Robin, there is no evidence incriminating the Sparrow."
"It's true," sobbed the Owl from the gallery, "I dug his grave - with my little pick and shovel, I dug his grave."
The prosecution objected furiously to the intervention, strenuously contesting Mr. Johnson's academic credentials.
"This man is not qualified to give expert testimony," the Lark stated. "He is quite obviously a pony-tailed, Californian surf-bum tool with a sociopathic beef against foreigners!"
"I'll allow it," ruled Judge Rook, who then observed with interest as "Zombie" demonstrated her hypothesis that a third party had been involved.
"As we can see from my diagram, it is perfectly possible that a Palestinian bowman was concealed behind a poorly-drawn pram, on higher ground. The victim was well within the range of the standard Palestinian bow, which is more than powerful enough to kill the average small songbird."
"As an expert in Palestinian ballistic technology, I have studied the arrow in question, and can confirm that it is of Palestinian origin."
Judge Rook then called the Fly to the dock, where he was questioned by Counsel for the Defence.
"Did you see him die?", the Fly was asked, to which he responded "Aye, I saw him die - with my little eye, I saw him die."
"And," asked the Wren, defending, "in your opinion, is it possible that Cock Robin could have been slain by a concealed Palestinian?"
As the Fly nodded his assent, the Wren then addressed the bench. "I put it to you, M'Lud, that the Sparrow is innocent, and that this evidence is a set-up concocted by Palestinian propagandists to discredit him!"
There were gasps as Judge Rook then threw out all charges against the defendant and dismissed the case.
Outside the court, Mr. Johnson and "Zombie" welcomed the verdict.
"This is a victory for the common man over the might of the MSM (Mainstream Media)," announced Mr. Johnson. "We must remain vigilant, for the wily foreigner is always adept at exploiting the prejudices of the journalistic establishment to spread his vile propaganda."
"With dedication and perseverence, we will prove that every allegation of wrongdoing against Sparrowkind is nothing but a convuluted Palestinian conspiracy."
At that moment, the Bull tolled the bell, and all the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing, when they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Continuing his scab-scratching exploitation of the 9/11 attacks, the hideous Draculoid slaphead stated that, for him, "every day is an anniversary of September 11th."
The mind boggles at the perpetual grief and rage America's Mayortm must feel upon rising in the morning - presumably, before he slips on his velour slippers, Rudy bows his head as a mark of respect for the dead.
Suitably chastened by the suffering of the victims, he is then ready to spend the remainder of the day maniacally bum-raping their memory in exhange for bundles of cold, hard cash.
Later, as ring-leader of the hysterical, sanctimonious circle-jerk caused by Iranian shithead Mahmoud Ahmedinejad's visit to New York, Rudy noted that...
"...Assisting Ahmadinejad in touring Ground Zero - hallowed ground for all Americans - is outrageous."
All of which is rather amusing, since Ahmadinejad is really an Iranian Giuliani, prepared to blow whole herds of goats for the slightest political advantage. Rudy, however, would never miss the opportunity to pose as the valiant defender of the victims of 9/11 while skullfucking the survivors and rescue workers by ignoring their medical ailments.
Which brings me to the question I wanted to ask - how does ground become hallowed?
Well, should Rudy stumble past this page while looking for brave survivors to leg-hump, I'd like to make a business proposition - I've had a great idea for a entrepreneurial venture.
"...a man as resourceful as John Reid will find gainful employment elsewhere," I chuckled vindictively.
Well, the last laugh's on me - he's been announced as the new chairman of Celtic FC instead.
True to form, he's put forward detailed plans to redesign Celtic Park to suit his vision of the club's future...
He's also promised a strict exercise regime for the players - one hour a day in the quadrangle, supervised.
As if that wasn't enough, he's hinted that fans will receive free food and, if their behaviour merits it, they will be able to maintain their own allotments.
Nice, shiny new shower rooms, lights out at nine, slopping out at seven - and just wait 'til you see the uniforms.
John Reid is a firm believer in discipline, and I'm sure he'll do a bang-up job.