Friday, 29 May 2009


King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, 28, an Oxford-educated bachelor, is the world's youngest monarch. The king of Bhutan no less. Makes you think doesn't it? Old Prince Charles just turned Sixty. He's going to have to give her a nudge down the stairs or he'll be the first Pensioner Prince and the first Pensioner King.

It's rotten luck though, she's had almost sixty years on the throne, if he's going to do that he'll have to live to be a hundred and fifty at this rate. Better start eating sushi Monsieur PP. But really, a sixty year old Prince? I ask you ladies if you've ever dreamed of being whisked off your feet by a Prince Charming on his white horse, how would you feel if this idiot turned up? "Is this monstrous carbuncle your house? What does your father do?" Hardly the pinnacle of romance is it?

Did you see that program about the Class system with John Prescott? Harping on about how he's still working class and old Tony's crowd never invited him to dinner because of his accent. Then he's in a cafe asking some fella his opinions on class and starts having a row with him! I'm not bleedin' surprised Tony never asked you to dinner mate, I wouldn't either and it's not because of your class or accent it's because you are a f*cking vulgar yob. He's still proud of himself for punching that bloke who threw an egg at him, he said so. The expression "chip on shoulder" doesn't even begin to describe "two jags" Prescott, more like a full portion of fish, chips and mushy peas with gravy on both shoulders.

In these crunchy times of fiscal probity should we really be having a 12 billion pound Olympic Games in London? I can still remember the terse letter from my bank manager saying "I am surprised you feel able to cash a fifty pound cheque at Thresher", Thresher being a liquor shop, it was the only place that would give cash against a cheque, I didn't buy fity quid of booze even though I was a student, I just needed the cash. But isn't this the same thing? It's buying a round of drinks on a slate, I'm not impressed. I'll watch it but I won't like it, I'm partly British after all.

Unlike Joanna Lumley, she's partly Indian. Now she's going to help write the policy on Gherkins because she was slinky actress once. She still is. Hmmmmm....

Errrmmm, planning any holidays? We might go to America. The problem with America is though they want our semen and DNA samples before we get into the country. I can just imaging that they take a sample and start accusing me of all sorts of monkey business. Who's going to take my semen sample anyway? Will we have a drink first? or dinner? I'm not juicing up for a rubber glove and a copy of Penthouse. Not again.

The only possible objection to governments keeping DNA records is that governments are shit at keeping any sort of data. Especially the Brits at the moment. This is why "if you're innocent you have nothing to worry about" is complete hogwash. Innocent people should be scared fucking shitless of giving their DNA to a government agency, it's just a matter of time before they put you in jail for something you didn't do. Something they did, most likely.

Anyway, that's that and this is me saying Goodnight.



Wednesday, 27 May 2009

Not Normal

I wasn't going to write nothing today but you have to get a load of this:

This morning I went to the posh car place to get the winter tyres took off my car but they denied me, the leasing company said they won't pay posh car place prices, I have to go to a cheap tyre shop. Well, it's their car I suppose, if it breaks they'll have to give me a new one.

So, I'm sitting at my desk spinning my usual web of corporate jumble when I get distress signal from Girlfriend. Apparently the cleaner has disturbed a couple of hoodlums in the process of forcing entry into our maison. She was a bit shaked so I packed up and set off home while Girlfriend called the cops.

Scene 2: I'm sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of new cd's from Amazon to copy when the cops arrive. They've only gone and caught the culprits! You could've knocked me down with a memory stick, hold the front page "Police Catch Burglars", fuck me. We went to the cop shop picked the baddy out of a line up and made a statement.

The statement bit was wierd, the cop was asking me to check the English, being not English herself. We had quite a discussion about the use of "then" versus "than", it seemed to detract from the gravity of the situation for me but the cop was very light hearted about the whole thing. She was glad she'd caught one, that doesn't happen often.

What a day! I got a ride in cop car, cool.

Now I'm off to the boozer to watch the Champions League final, at least nothing fishy can happen there...



Hungarian Asparagus Pickers

I can't believe it's been five years since the last European MP elections, where does the thyme go? Surely there must be a way that we can have you-are-peeing elections every year. Let's have a website poll, we could vote every week! Yaaayyy!

It's called Sarcasm according to the bitchikers excuse for a dictionary. Invented in 1066 when Harold said to Norman "Frankly, I don't see your point".

But surely now is a good time for me to pick up my election campaign trail again. The elections start on 4th June, I'll probably be back from some jaunt somewhere and fit in the votey bit between EXPENSE CLAIMS.

Just a minute, what about the Max Mosely? Should we make it legal to get five hookers in Nazi Uniforms on a sex weekend? I think we should, actually it's already legal, he didn't go to jail for it. The surprising thing is that more people don't do it. See, this feels right.

I want to make a law that let's married empee's shag hookers if it's on expenses. As an unelected citizen I believe it is my duty to put forward the needs of ordinary empee's and stop this blatant empeephobia which is staining our coastline. Or border. By border I mean sovereignty, pride. By pride I mean shirts, those coloured shirts with white collars and cuffs that Frenchmen wear.

If a man is a confessed alcoholic he should be allowed to drive drunk. This is obvious, he's confessed. Some people like to flash their expensive cars around wine bars and then they have to get home (to their second home with a tart). It is possible to be an alcoholic and keep down a job in politics, that's why stopping drink driving is anti-empee. Anything that's "anti" is bad, read the papers. Except anti-Nazi, unless it's a hooker in a party costume.

Back to the point though, I want to be Member of the You-Are-Peeing Parliament and I think it's going to take a step more than the mundane theiving and cheating of national politicians, here's the fucking plan:

First I'm going to get a cat, then I'm going to train the cat to swig vodka out of a bottle in a paper bag. Then I'm going to give him my loyalty card from Chez Fernand kebab shop. Once they get to know him down there I'll show the cat how to get two people on the metro on one ticket - it's not hard. Next I'll teach the cat to play guitar, mow the lawn and write wordy powerpoint shows that meander on for days without saying anything. Then I'll leave the cat in my office with "Project Management for Dummy's Cats" and just slink off into the distance.

I wake up on a south pacific island beach and it's better than winning the lottery, I don't have any money but I don't need it either, beauty.

Wait, that's a shit plan. Is it that em-ee-pees are all corrupt motherfucker's or is that all corrupt motherfucker's are emeepees? That's one of those trick population distribution questions that you need to draw a venn diagram for. I'll give you a hint; whichever way it works out, if you're a politician you are going to get your arse kicked no matter what you do. It's like being an insurance salesman or a twat. So the best thing to do is make lots of noise about people's rights while secretly hiving off tons of cash for the inevitable "early retirement".

So, can I count on your vote? No I won't kiss your baby, fuck-off.

Darn it, I almost had it in the bag. I think that baby thing blew it right at the end. Let's spend the rest of the budget on a huge election night party! Yaay!


Monday, 25 May 2009

It's Time to Play the Game

Who want's to see the Prime Minister on You Tube? No one.

I want to have a nice day, some sun, sit in the garden, have a beer. Do I care if monkey-bollocks went to Poland for a dick-slapping session about inter-governmental pigs-nipples?


I saw a piece on TV about the sad demise of Morris Dancing in Angleterre, is it my imagination or do they run the same piece every 10 years? Why don't they get money from the lottery like the opera mob? Don't tell me it's because Morris Dancers have no secret connections, the Lottery Fund distribution is done on a needs assesment basis for the betterment of all. Charities can't be corrupt. Ok, except that time Winston Churchill got £13 million to buy his grandad's diaries. They never did explain that one. Let's just try to forget it now, look at the tits on page three.

Actually, the only time I've wanted to see politicians on tv at all is when they've been caught lining their own pockets and have to explain their actions. How to explain the unexplainable to an audience who already thinks of you as a weasel, if nothing else it's an object lesson in creative speaking under pressure.

All of this is real:

"The rules aren't very clear so I claimed for everything and bought a new house just to be sure I was doing it properly"

"Well you tell me where I can get a moat cleaner for under £1500?"

"£1672 is exactly what it costs to build a duck island, the expenses committee approved it so it's completely within the rules. I fail to see the problem. "

"Of course I live with my wife and we are both MP's but the rules state each MP must buy a second house, so we bought two between us"

"I claimed for food only in the second house, not at my first house, it's a cheap shot to say I can only physically eat one dinner"

"Yes I continued claiming for the mortgage for two years after it was paid off, it was mistake. The place was awash with money we didn't have time to go into all the details"

"Obviously David Cameron is squeaky clean, he doesn't claim expenses, he gets £70,000 bonus for being leader of the opposition"

Isn't it a bit galling that the leader of the losers gets an extra seventy grand a year on top of his MP's salary? The same leader of the losers who was telling us last month how banks ruined the economy with their fat-cat bonuses?

Still, the bankers must be secretly thanking whoever blew the whistle on MP's expenses, certainly took the spotlight away from them. Could there be a connection? Surely not, that would mean that all rich people are more or less in cohoots to avoid any sort of justice. Frankly I'm not prepared to believe that of Michael Jackson and it's about time we stopped bashing middle class white men like this.

Ok, let's not be hasty. It was obviously David Cameron who blew the whistle on the expenses. He has nothing to lose, he can now get rid of some Tories he doesn't like and have real good go at Labour. That's why the news was leaked over several days and the first few days covered labour MP's only. They suffered the most damage. Cameron is an utter, utter weasel, he must win the next election, all the press will support him now.

There are three winners in this game; David Cameron, The Telegraph Newspaper and The Thieving Bankers. An unholy trinity if ever I saw one.