Sunday, 31 January 2010


Being in charge of the world
I have to keep fit

We like to dress down once or twice a year, I don't wear a tie and she doesn't shave her legs. Or her upper lip.

Daddy, Daddy, nobody likes me.
(voice from the Other Side) Piss off, you horrible fucking bastard.

You can't believe everything you read in the papers.

Actually, I'm a bit of a warlord myself, in my own country, England.

I come from a perfectly normal family, look.

And I think, Senator,when you become President Codger McCain, you should run America this way.

Is this the fruitcake, always jerking-off, escaped off the Northern Reservation? Wossat? He ain't even a proper Limey, a renegade Scotchman? Be like having a Goddamned Mexican sonofabitch in the White House. What's that thing he's doin', with his kisser, Fuck me, Jesus, looks like his whole Goddamned face is just gonna fall in half; ain't they got no doctors in Limeyland, sort this bastard out?

You have to grab the typists like this, by the tits,
otherwise they diss you. And then batter them with a mobile 'phone.

Gosh, you're handsome.
Would you like to be in my government
I could make you a czar of something?

And I understand some of you people
have them this big...I don't suppose..
No....well, no harm in asking.
If you say so, Honky.

I'll be going bye-byes now
but I'll be up at three-thirty,
thinking of new ways to do the right thing
for the country.
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Edgar said...

There is the occasional nuance in your effusion, Mr Ishmael, that leads me to wonder whether you are not entirely loyal to that champion of democracy and sparkling exemplar of the concept of serendipity, our esteemed premier.

Was it not he alone who, with surprising ocular acuity, saw the salvation of the financial institutions as synergistic with respect to the desperate needs of a fragmenting economy?

The unlimited scope for his achievements educe in us the hope for even-more-extensive, quasi-miraculous facienda. At the very least, we may expect that he will literally alleviate all of us by finally solving the problem of gravity, while the spirit of Einstein can but hang its spectral head in a befuddled mixture of shame and awe.

P.T. Barnum said...

Methinks the ponce of the manse has confused gravity with gravitas. Or gravy.

a young Lithuanian said...

How did we end up with a depressed and repressed scottish puffter in the highest office in the land?

And why was the Labour party - the laybor partee, as neil might have said - too frit to depose him?

call me ishmael said...

That, mr a young Lithuanian, will be a Scottish and an English poof. In charge of the Labour party. And blackmail will form part of the answer to your question.

You will have heard that one of the inbred Milliands has engaged the services of a 26-year old Godson of Lord Mandelsrein's as a political adviser; yes, 26.