Steven Purcell, newly disgraced former leader of Glasgow Council was the darling of the media; he could speak, you see, unlike so many of his canine colleagues, peers, chums and co-accused in Jock politics. But Steve's verbosity, beloved of Jock Newsnight, was unnatural. WotsEon? was the query in Ishmaelia, every time he was seen speeding all over the screen with his huge plans for Glasgow. Maybe folk on TV are all so off their faces that they don't notice that their interviewees have a nostril-centric delivery, an over-confidence which belies their meagre personal qualities, still, who cares, at skymadeupnewsandfilth they do what it says on the tin, why worry if the politicos are making it all up, too?
Purcell was JockLabour's shining star, a recently out gay he was credited with bringing some sports shebang to Glasgow, to the enrichment, doubtless, of well-connected builders and designers and others in the charmed circle and very probably to the detriment of Glasgow's taxpayers, but like Kirsty Wark of the half billion pound Holyrood Building debacle says, Fuck them, eh?
He was a gobby prick, Purcell and when the cocaine hit the fan last week he came over like his fellow Jocks, Gerry and Cilla McCann, hiring a PR team and with the help of infamous Scottish lawyers Levy and Macrae - still advising their former employee, now Justice Secretary Kenny McCaskill, MSP. on how best to obscure the Noncing of Holly Greig by various sherrifs, cops and advocates - firing injunctions around, so that those who have lost their jobs and the many more who will, as a result of him taking hugely important decisions while off his face, the cunt, might not learn that this sixty grand a year overdressed, useless cocksucker had been fooling all, especially the media.
JockLabour shitbags are now running for cover, leaving Steve hanging out to dry whilst he and his spread that old Iris & Peter Robinson shit over the land - y'know, personal tragedy, suicide watch -enough of it will fertilise useless journalists' imaginations to ensure that the adage of our times obtains, rich junkies go in rehab, poor junkies go in jail.
Six months in Barlinnie is what he needs, if it's good enough for the NEDS in Govan, its good enough for him, maybe he'll get to spend time with his fellow political parasite and cokehead, Tearful Tommy Sheridan, should that bastard's incarceration cheer this blackguarded land.
It raises another concern, though, this mouthy jacknapes and his impudent attempts to keep us from the truth of his misconduct; looking at that fucking horrible bastard Brown, lsat week, Chilcotting, his nailbitten hands locked unnaturally together, his rehearsed, psychotic attention to script, regardless of questions and his evident relief that by a shameless series of evasions and irrelevancies he had avoided telling the truth - and that was all that counted - one had to speculate, similarly, WotsEon ?
Considering how PharmaCorp has colonised so much of our lives is it not reasonable to assume that it ministers also to Brown's paranoid, delusional megalomania, enabling him to present a facade of normalcy to those who, like his mates in Westminster and Mediaville, are too careless or too medicated themselves to look closely? How many of these bastards are off their heads while burning our money, enslaving our children and selling us into Lord Mandelstein's New World Order? How many in the London BBC are as indulgent of ministerial substance dependence as are Gordon Brewer and Glen Campbell in relation to Steven Purcell on Jock Newsnight, Ian McWhirter on the Herald. You don't need to be particularly bright to spot a cokehead, now, do you, especially not if you are a highly trained and observant journalist, like they have at the BBC.
If you have to take random drug tests to drive a tube train, visit a prison or play fucking football then why not before you declare or prolong a war, a recession or even a run of the mill Act of Parliament? Why are they immune to this, as well as to so much else?
11 comments:
And yet if you read the papers today, it is as if nothing has happened this century except the Ashcroft business. Don't get wrong, Ashcroft will be dangling under Blackfriars Bridge with his money stuffed into his pockets just as soon as I am in charge. Jeez, there'll be a forest of them the very first morning.
You can imagine until recently innocent we were down here of the preposterous level of corruption up there but this bastard's name passed across my eyes a few weeks back. Some ghastliness beyond the normal sparked my interest. What a horrible, horrible, career fuckpig we have here. What is it with the Jocks that they put up with it all?
suicide watch" Really? Great will it be pay to view, prime time I will watch if its not an attempt, cry for help and why the fuck not just cry"help" save a lot of messing about. Any chance of Dorris Nadine first up as I hate the cow?
They'd put up with Hitler, just because he wisnae English. Told you, mr m, look at Scotland Against Crooked Lawyers, for the whole horrible truth.
It's like Eastenders writ large and more northerly. Granted, perhaps the storyline is a bit old hat, passe, so typical of what 'Heat' durges out these days, but still, a worthy attempt by a young, jobbing scriptwriter on their first gig into the BeeBeeCee you jimmy.
I did have a look at the SACL site, Mr Ishmael but became sick to my stomach after a few of the stories. That thieving and rent-boy chasing and bullying and corruption exist up there is beyond dispute. But, Christ, the scale of it is just depressing. I first sort of realised that something was up when they built the squillion dollar parliament building. Knowing something of the trade, there is no way even the incompetent can pay such sums for a simple building. Two-thirds of that money must have swilled its way around Edinburgh in kick-backs. Theft - pure and simple. Bring me the project accounts and I will find the names of the guilty for you.
I hate to tell you Mr Mongoose, but as a public service they track some of our daleks too. Much is explained by Mike O'Brien's inclusion.
As to the current trougher; he may have had a dab of marching powder but I do not believe that is the underlying story.
For one thing, he just doesn't look like he's done serious quantities and secondly, even if he had, that is politically survivable. Heck, even I can spin that so it comes out as 'My warning from coke hell" says repentant pol.
No, this is about money and sex. Since nobody resigns over money any more, that leaves just sex.
Precisely so Mrs WOAR - money and sex. Where did he get the money for this kind of habit?
But even more interesting is the timing of McCavity's most recent disappearance. What better way to pressurise the cokehead than a picture of him with a fellow guest's knob up his arse in the Glasgow Hilton?
Mooching about I found the Fraser Enquiry website. "They'll have the costs on there", I thought. Inquiry Objectives then caught my eye... Not a sinlge freakin' objective is there to be seen. The worthless bastard. Abandon hope. Twelve grand per square metre, eh? There's posh.
design by the late Enric Miralles"
Look on the bright side of life at least the fucker won't be designing anymore shit like this. Ooops forgot there is always another twat waiting in the wings with a radical new design.
an infestation of pigeons
I shouldn't laugh, but I can't help it. They have such a way of making their feelings known.
Ms WOAR,
Quite so. You could not make it up!
And part of the load-bearing roof structure has "slipped". In this concrete and steel age, that's engineer-speak for falling the fuck down. I despair. Almost half a billion pounds for a piece of crap. And it looks too like a bus depot in Bournemouth. Hang them all. Leave none alive.
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