Monday, 12 October 2009
WING COMMANDER SPIV IN A TAILSPIN
Former Thatcher Secretary of Spiv, Wing Commander Tebbit, Distinguished Telecom Bonus and Bar is at it again.
Every year on the anniversary of the Brighton bombing, the Bicycling Ace gets on his and rants about too many civil liberties being the road to ruin, flog them and then hang them being his refrain, all of them, just as long as they may have done something wrong. 'swhat Churchill woulda done.
Tebbit set the pace for what is now commonplace among the right honourables; the gabshite Milburn was only out the door of the Health Department when he was advising, at fifty grand a year, PharmaCorp. Horrible Hatty Hewitt, similarly, had hardly left the NHS building before taking up a gig with Boots. Boots the Chemists. Younger readers may not remember Tynesider Jack Tie and Handkerchief Cunningham, an overdressed Blair toad and curiously, given his evident effeminacy, cast by skymadeupnewsandfilth as Tone's Enforcer in the Hoose a Commons like, bonnie lad, departing the front bench to immediately get radioactively close to the Nuclear Industry; all these thieving bastards and many more have Tebbo to thank for the speed with which they can now flog the contacts they made in public service. Used to be a time when there was a little discretion about these things , a year or two might pass before ministers publicly accepted the bribes promised them in office; Tebbit, having privatised the GPO was, after government, on the board of Telecom like shit off a shovel and has remained Spivhood's flag-bearer ever since.
In a governemnt of spivs - the Laughable Heseltine and His Hair; Cecil Pinstripe Parkinson, famous for his MI5-persecution of his mistress and their so-called lovechild; the trophy-wifing Lawson; the warthog Brittan and the Thatcherkind themselves, Mark the Coupster and Carol Gob - Tebbit, even among this miserable crew of shit-eaters, was a grubby chancer, bitter and bilious. Hard, then, to have any sympathy with the prat when Marty McGuiness and Co upset his night's sleep in Brighton but one did, nevertheless, just as long as he was there, quiet and frightened on his stretcher, one felt for him and his poor wife - even though a harsher viewing of the bombing would see it as a target at least a little more legitimate than schoolchildren and restuarant diners, better Tebbit than Brummies out in The Tavern In The Town, the British government at least seemed a more proper, bolder target but ashen, distraught faces, even of politicians, swept that all aside and one felt compassion for the victims, as one did for the hunger strikers, dying for Adams and McGuiness.
Tebbit's wife was paralysed in the attack, he badly hurt and one can undertand his rage at the IRA and at the mixture of blackmail, cowardice, hypocrisy and opportunism which is the Blair Peace Proh-cess. We don't, though, have victim's justice in this country; we are Judaeo-Christian in our jurisprudence, not Sharia, as Tebbit would have us be. Torture he claims, in today's Telegraph, is fine. No ifs or buts. If we don't torture people they will keep on taking the piss. To fight terrorism we must use terrorism, as Churchill did, and Roosevelt, says Wing Commander Spiv, the rotten old bastard. Best that we keep the torture at arm's length, though, for appearances sake, he says, like a good fascist.
".....I find it more difficult to follow the thinking of those who swallow all the love-ins and compromises with unrepentant and unpunished killers, and acclaim them as part of a brave, new inclusive wave of politics, but are unwilling to use intelligence from tainted sources to prevent carnage on our streets. Why is it right to make deals with murderers and torturers to stop the violence in Northern Ireland, but wrong to use intelligence from agencies less scrupulous than ours to stop foreign-inspired violence on the mainland? How else to explain the willingness of our political classes to expose serving agents of MI5 and MI6 to the possibility of police prosecution on torture charges levelled by those who seek to destroy us?"
The pass being sold, Tebbit complains, why should we even try to play fair? Playing fair and Blatcherism are antithetical, money-grubbing and taking advantage, as personified by the loathsome Tebbit but by all politicians post Thatcher, the Hyacinth Bucket of Westminster, are at the root of our troubles, current and recent; why not add to them with a bit of nail-pulling, waterboarding, bastinado?
Tebbit was an early Murdoch stooge, claiming, in the Page Three debate that it was a jolly good thing to see teenagers' tits in the newspaper over breakfast, good clean fun. Aye, right, Norm, get yer cock out fer the girls, willya?
This greedy old bastard should be ashamed of himself for his former licensing of greed and stupidity and at his time of life he should be contemplating Justice, not Vengeance, he should be preaching to his readers that Torture, once given a foothold, makes large, swift strides, instead, as ever with spivs, it's a few quid in the old skyrocket off the bloke at the Telegraph. Tebbit, he was always a cunt.