WOTSONTELLY

 

HELLO, MY NAME IS DEATH, YES, MINE TOO

Jack Torture, the Justice Minister, Lord Chancellor and war criminal got his scabby arse kicked yesterday and by no less a worthy than Douglas Moatman Hogg. Smarting, probably, at his being forced to step down - instead of go to prison, as he should - Hoggy was laying into Jack over his piloting of the Parliamentary Scandals Commission legislation; this is the farming-out, to trusted stooges, of the oversight of MPs expenses and the useless nit-picking sonsafuckingbitches all have something to say about it; Hoggy was wetting himself in indignation, startling, really, since he's going for a Burton; maybe he is just trying to show his mettle and not retire in complete ignominy. Where is the representation, he whined, of other parties, the Executive is fucking us up the arse with this, Leaders of the House are all arseholes, and the whips, they're arseholes, too; under this government we are all living in ArseWorld.

Jack was non-plussed, stammering and stuttering and hesitating, looking, he hoped, thoughtful, rather than Up Shit Creek, which is where he was. Talking about himself with dummy interviewers like Jock Neil or Jerry Paxman, Straw can large it with the best of them, I will be remembered for this and that, I single-handedly destroyed Deference, except to myself, there were no drugs when I was at University, so I was never tempted, I genuinely believed all that WMD bollocks dreamed up by Alistair Campbell, I am minded to say that I am Mr Wonderful, that's me. In a proper parliamentary encounter, however, he looked like what he is, a jumped-up student president with airs and graces.

To survive so long the Blair Brown Mandelstein axis has surrounded itself with mediocrity, Jack Straw a permanent feature; shame on them, greater shame on us. It'll be repeated on the PermaNews of Parliament channels, watch it and weep.