Tuesday, 9 February 2010


The idea of an Iranian being the pin-up of the black coppers' guild is absolutely beautiful, rather like former commander Ali Baba, himself. I suppose it wouldn't be stretching it too far to have a chink branch with rastas in it, or a fatsos old bill society with anorexics; since when were Iranians black, by what sophistry do we connect slave descendants with middle-class arabs, other than that the latter probably owned some of the former?

What these fuckers don't realise is that, whatever they are, whatever ragbag of freaks and complainers, black-lesbian-gay-and-transgender-probation-officers - honest, google them - they serve not unity but discord, do exactly what it is that they complain about from the man or the pig or the filth or the system - operate a closed society purely for the benefits of its members.

But the black coppers thing is beyond parody. Nobody but nobody ever got on in the police without walking past a cell in which someone was getting a kicking, without corroborating some thug CID monster's verballing of a petty thief, without turning a blind eye to sticky-fingered, oppressive, sanctimonious fuckpiggery by brutes, bullies and psychopaths in uniform. That's how policing works.

But as far as the black coppers are concerned, oppression and brutality only count when practised against fully-paid up members of their gang, and fuck the woman brutalised in a rape suite, she's lying, probably asked for it; fuck the Brazilian, his head colandered by psyched-up nutters, shouldn't have run from armed men in plain clothes and fuck the Irishmen wrongly banged up for sixteen years by the force's and the legal profession's finest, he's probably guilty of something.

And now they screech and howl that one of their (adopted) own has been nicked and sent down just because he's black, which he isn't.

Give me a dyed-in-the-wool, grafting, thieving, lying, bullying sonofafuckingbitch right worshipful fucking brother, sucking his Masonic brother's cock down the Lodge - only not on Ladies' Night - rather than any of these, black, gay, sensitive freaks. At least you can bribe most of them. And at least they won't apologise when standing on your throat, and claim that Tasering you is good practice.

Here's a message from Ishmaelia for anyone young, meek or naive enough to give the black coppers' association a moment's credence; the old ones are the best, phrases become cliches because they're the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth -


even the part timers HT Mrs woar


Reginald said...

I knew one who did actually have a father who was married to his mother. I know that is a bit of an antique situation, but it is true.

call me ishmael said...

Was he a special constable?

woman on a raft said...

May I apply to have that annotated to include PCSOs, please.

A trawl through the PCSO boards will persuade you that at least our regular police officers have a command of English (only not Ali) which is of a merchantable quality. The PCSOs can barely string a false confession together.

Having a sort round to demonstrate the inadequacies and unsuitable people the PCSOs are recruiting, I came across this.

The job also attracts rather too many people who have a thing about handcuffs. Indeed, one board had to be locked to members-only after a number of PCSOs enthusiastically agreed that rape victims who were out at night deserved all they got and should be held responsible for inflaming the passions of their attackers.

Coppers may well be bastards, but PCSOs give them a run for their money. Fantasist bastards and obnoxious with it, they have a very poor grasp on reality and combine ignorance with pomposity in supersize-me quantities. When I'm in charge of the world a few will be properly trained and made in to proper police officers while the others will be thanked for their efforts then dismissed.

Thank you.

mongoose said...

First copper I ever spoke to lied to me. Seventeen years old - driving my mother's VW Polo. I overtook a tractor. Bastard stopped me and said that I had crossed the double-white lines. Not by a fucking hundred metres, did I. Alas, I said "I did not" and bang went any chance of a clean licence. My old dad later informed me of my error. "Just say 'Yes, Officer. Sorry, Officer.' and you might get away without being done." Bastards.

And banging up the PC Ali-whoever made my day. And let's have the pension too, shall we? I bet they don't but we live in hope.

PT Barnum said...

My entire view of the police was born out of living two doors down from a police house during childhood. Between my house and the police house lived a domestic thug who also enjoyed taking his aggression out on other people's children. Of the four or five different officers who occupied that house, not one ever intervened to rebuke this individual, let alone restrain him. That was left to our fathers and mothers.

Useless, idle, ignorant, arrogant, strutting bullies - nothing in my subsequent experience has changed my distrust and contempt one iota.

call me ishmael said...

With the first girl he loved, Mr Ishmael was at the Isle of Wight Festival, helping Bob Dylan sink it, the island and the festival; a niggardly hour or so of croaky crooning, fleshed-out by The Band on terrific form, was a lousy exchange for all the travel and money involved and presaged a lifetime's fuck 'em attitude at the Minnesotan Dwarf's concerts, if such they may honestly be called - Oh, it's okay, mr elby and others, I have seen Bob give truly magical performances, but this wasn't one of them.

The event, nevertheless, was an amazing display of what has become rather tawdrily known as Peace and Love, people left their belongings, cameras and stuff, guitars, just lying around, untouched, while they hiked half a mile to the bog, people shared their dope with complete strangers, the records most frequently played between acts were Hare Krish-a-na, Hare-Krish-a-na, Krishna-Krish-an-a, Hare-Hare and Honky Tonk Women, Gimme-Gimme-Gimme The Honky Tonk Blues. Sat in the middle of a half a square mile of strangers Mr Ishmael and his small party, felt wrapped in the bosom of Abraham.

Despite the brevity of Dylan's set, hundreds of thousands of people made their way happily to the ferries at Ryde, happy, tired beatific, you shoulda seen them, just around midnight.

On reaching the pier we found it roped-off with a small regiment of police on the other side.lest the weary crowd storm the ferries. My young, primary school teacher asked the nearest copper if she might just pop under the rope and use the loo; she asked him just like you would, polite and, as one human being to another, indicating that her need was urgent, the bog was just a few yards away. Fuck off ya hippy slag, you can fucking piss yourself, you dirty bitch.

She was a nice middle-class girl from a Shires village, barely drank, didn't do dope, just commenced a teaching career.

The next time her headmistress suggested she have a police officer in the class to lecture the kids about cycling proficiency she explained to the head that so traumatic had been her encounter with young plod at the Isle of Wight that she couldn't possibly entertain a policeman being near her or her pupils. She kept it up, the years I knew her and eventually became a head, herself. Now I don't know if she maintained this posture for a working lifetime but I wouldn't be surprised.

And I have often wondered if that obnoxious young prat ever had any idea of how profoundly he so carelessly wronged a fellow citizen that she denied his colleagues, forevermore, access to her classroom.

We all have these stories, don't we, mr mongoose? There is no excuse that the odd one is heroic, and the odd one is, for sure. But the heroic one would have let a young girl go to the toilet.
I don't know about her but nothing in my life, either, "nothing in my subsequent experience has changed my distrust and contempt one iota."

It's like a rite of passage, realising that law enforcement is just about enforcement, it's like finding-out that Santa Claus doesn't exist, but worse, and far more dangerous.

Anonymous said...

middle-class arabs, other than that the latter probably owned some of the former?" Yeah and sold a lot more.

call me ishmael said...

Yes, ludicrous, isn't it, that ineffable Grievance makes such preposterous bedfellows. Fuck 'em all, gobby morons.

mongoose said...

A sadness, Mr Ishmael. An end of innocence. Long ago said - "who will guard the fucking guards?" I cannot overstate the immense understanding of a ruined world that that copper's smug face gave me through the window of my mum's car. "Oh yes you did, you twat, because I say so."

call me ishmael said...

That's right, innocence fucked up the arse, the cops, the priests, the lawyers, the politicos; but at least now you can go on your way accordingly and know you're not alone.

Elby the Beserk said...

Mr. Smith. I agree entirely with the mildly expressed sentiments of this post, but must correct you - the Iranians are not of Arab descent.

call me ishmael said...

I just watched a delightful ninety minute BBC Four programme, last week, about Iranian-Persian culture and assumed, with the Muslem majority - although having Jews, Christians and Zoroastrians - that it was a largely Arabic sensibility. What is it then, mr elby ?

woman on a raft said...

Colour perception. I've been looking at the photo again and I've realized that previously I imagined him as darker than he really is. It's hilarious, I've been persuaded that someone is BME when it is bloody obvious - but only when Mr Ish points it out - that it is all in my head and nowhere else. He's got a conk on him, but then so have many Frenchmen.

Do you think he's wearing make-up? There is a touch of Andy Bubbles around the eyes. It looks like somebody may have been in with the tweezers, highlighter and eyebrow pencil. There is a bisque blush on the cheeks, like in old engravings or that style of idealized painting that the Hindus and Buddists enjoy but which can make blokes look girly to Western eyes.

We know he had a string of women, but there is a hint of simper playing round those full lips.

Anonymous said...

ishmael forty years ago i spent summer on a campsite in guernsey , with a load of ulster students, one called smith its not you is it

Anonymous said...

sorry about , syntax ,punctuation verbs whatever

lilith said...

Wiki says

The Persian people are defined by the use of the Persian language as their mother tongue. However, the term Persian has also a supra-ethnic significance and has been historically referred to a part of Iranian peoples. The origin of the Persian people is traced to the ancient Indo-Europeans (Aryans), who arrived in parts of Greater Iran circa 2000-1500 BCE. Starting around 550 BCE, from the region of Persis in southern Iran, encompassing the present Fars province, the ancient Persians spread their language and culture to other parts of the Iranian plateau through conquest and assimilated local Iranic and non-Iranic groups over time. This process of assimilation continued in the face of Greek, Arab, Mongol and Turkic invasions and continued right up to Islamic times.[28][29]

lilith said...

If you want to annoy an Iranian, call him an Arab :-)

lilith said...

I don't really know how annoyed he'd be...I imagine at least as annoyed as a New Zealander might get at being called Australian...but perhaps as annoyed as a Pole might be to be called German.