Wednesday, 20 January 2010


It's easy, you get used to it after a while; trust me, I'm a snot-eating lunatic. And I love you, Sir Edward.

Prime Minister Snot has been a lifelong admirer of the late Ted Kennedy whose forty-year Senate seat fell, yesterday, to a redneck; Brown has sponged holidays, most years, in the Kennedy compound and made a much publicised visit last year when Ted was dying and managed to confer on his chum and mentor a British knighthood; Snot-watchers in this side of the Empire know that good wishes - or worse, a personal visit - from Snotty doom any enterprise or sporting fixture to failure; the Republicans' capture of the safest Democratic seat in the Union, was, after Snotty's high-profile visit, entirely predictable.

Ted Kennedy was the son of a prominent US Nazi-supporter, the repulsive Joe, who was once Ambassador to the Court of St James and determined to buy the Presidency for one or other of his sons; alas, the family was cursed, few of the Kennedys evading grief and scandal, booze, drugs, philandering being family traits, often kept secret by a compliant US media and civil service, happier to toe the GoldenBalls line, gifted young men, anxious to offer public service; Camelot, they called the travelling Kennedy knocking shop.

A millionaire, wife-beating, cock-waving drunk, who had never done a day's work in his rotten, pampered life, Ted had everything Brown could admire, including heaps of Brown's trademark personal characteristic, cowardice, running away from his submerged car, leaving a poor wee girl to drown, emerging twelve hours later to report the accident, having been closeted with the family lawyer, sobering-up, Kennedy's association - and abandonment to drowning - with Mary-Jo Kopechne scuppered his hopes of what he and the clan thought was his entitlement to the Presidency but otherwise he got off Snot- as we say, free;

an utter bastard, a rotten husband, a sexual predator, Kennedy's conduct set the tone for the likes of Spunky Bill Clinton and his wanton abuse of power with young Monica Lewinsky and so many others; like all the powerful in the home of the brave, like George Dubya Bush, Kennedy was given special treatment by what Uncle Sam calls Law Enforcement, steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you a King, all his crimes and misdemeanours brushed-away and of course, in a population happiest wallowing in sentimentality the brother of the slain president could do no wrong, no matter who he fucked, no matter how drunk he was, no matter how he tried to stitch-up State legislation to ensure his own Senatorial permanence and a smooth succession to some toadie. Generations of rancid career politicians all sought Kennedy's bogus imprimatur, his link with the dead Emperor. Father of the House we'd call him here, in the protectorate of Air Strip One. Cunt.

Happily, post-Obama Massachusetts has pissed all over Kennedy's grave, maybe they've just seen through the big-haired, Botoxed, bought and paid for, pseudo liberal slags, pimps and whores who make up the Democrat party; maybe Massachusettsians are up to their tea-partying arses with Obama's relentless speechifying, his ghastly, didactic pomposity and his ubiquitous, grinning, shimmying family. Whatever it is, for Bostonians to prefer the Republican gangster riff-raff which permitted George Dubya's Reign of Terror to the party of Joe and John and Bobby and Teddy Kennedy, and mustn't forget Jackie O, too, is little short of a miracle, a bit like Kensington voting for George The Gob Galloway. Here, we must rejoice that this virtually anarchic behaviour on the Eastern Seaboard must distress, must tarnish by association, were he not already so lacklustre, the snot-eating, bad-tempered babyman, Gordon Brown and reflect that maybe the slogan Yes we Can, is rebounding on SundaySchoolTeacher, Now-Listen-To-Me-Children Obama. Massachusetts gone redneck; Fuck, Yeah, we can.


Dick the Prick said...

Have you seen Team America? It's made by the South Park people I think and one of the songs is 'America, Fuck yeah!' and very amusing it is too. Kim il jung sings, 'lonely, I am so lonely' but they've given him a lisp. Sir, I highly recommend it.

Anonymous said...

Poppa Joe was a rum runner ae well you know. As in show me an honest millionaire and I will show you a fucking liar.

call me ishmael said...

I haven't, Mr DTP, seen Team America, although I do feel I might have invented the motherfuckers, over the years, I will have a look.

Is that Dragons' Den programme proof of what you say, Mr anonymous? You may be in Cincinatti for all I know and never see this gang of oily UK millionaire bastards being cruel to would-be business giants but if they are emblematic of rich people in general you are certainly right.

a young Lithuanian said...

McSnot only visited Martha's Vineyard so he could spend the summer playing Arthur to the young men who had been laid on, so to speak.

call me ishmael said...

Yes, drinks in The Gay LobsterPot, wanker.

Long time no see, mr ayl, been visiting the old country?