MR ERIC PIES, MP
HM SECKATRY OF STATE FOR BULLYING
Mr Pies, above, an obscenely fat, simpering I-Know-Bester, is bent on attacking not his chums in the counting houses, the pinstripe spivs, the banker brigands but instead in personally attacking ordinary council workers, whose jobs, he feels, are superfluous, well, he would know about superfluous, the horrible bloated cunt.
Mr Pies, with an eye to the fucked-up sado-masochists who bethrong the Filth-O-Graph message boards - shame on you, Mr Dark Seid, shame on you - raging and drooling in paroxysms of hatred for niggers and wimmen, for children, for the old - as though, somehow, their own bilious fuckwit horde was not itself aged, sustaining itself only with scattergun rage and frenzied masturbation, you know them, all the heroic, scholarly he-men at order-order who wouldn't, bless their shrivelled little cocks, ejaculate over Jackie Schmidt no matter how she begged for their rank, putrid semen - this gang of pathetic, cowardly, moronic nutters, these freaks, these phony patriots, these keyboard warriors, sexist, racist Nazis, these tosspots are Mr Pies' constituency. And how they must love his vile, coarse idotic rabble-rousing.
This gross, revolting, contemptible piece of shit, shored-up - and at two or three times his proper weight, he takes some fucking shoring-up - shored-up by by Nicky Gimp's toilet men, this blubberturd has turned his ministerial fire on defenceless, ordinary people, enraged, he is, the greedy fat cunt, by some of the pointless jobs they do. He's going to name and shame them is Fat Eric criticising positions such as “audience development officers”, “cheerleading development officers” and “communications waste strategy officers”.
Anybody'd think these people had written ludicrous instruments of greed which beggared so many, only nor their authors, anybody'd think these people had got together with with banks and indistrialists and put their names oin the letterheads in exchange for a hundred grand or two, Mr Hague; anybody'd think that these people had gone on free foreign trips, not just once but countless times, exploiting their positionS as public servants; anybody'd think these people had insisted that they needed taxpayer-funded second homes, even though they didn't. No, these people did far worse than that, they applied for jobs which were advertised and did them. Fucking diabolical, qualiffies them to be among the NewJews.
Now I don't know about audience development officers but if we can pay that gobby wanker, Mark Thompson, at the BBC a million pounds a year, for him to pay Jonafun Arse SEVEN million pounds a year it seems quite reasonable that we pay a fraction of that sum to one whose task is to publicise and promote and facilitate public access to the wealth of industrial, artistic and cultural history contained in museums and galleries up and down the land; it's what I would call Civilisation, priceless, really. And even if it wasn't, it ill behoves a loathsome and utterly worthless parasite like Pickles to denigrate those whose only sin is to seek to work.
Pickles though and his gang of savage, pompous cocksuckers will happily see disabled people made more ill, the cold elderly made more chill; he and his volunteer crew will rejoice at lives shattered, hopes dashed and the lunatic wankers at order-order and the Filth-O-Graph will wet themselves in joy, until Pickles' remedies assault their own, turgid, wee realities. There are regiments of them, still prostrate beneath Thatcher's heel, still insisting she was a great influence, when she wasn't even a decent parent which is what, in this buggered, fucked-up, ruined landscape, the average “audience development officer” is trying to be.
wiki has this to say, inter alia, about the troughing, vindictive lard mountain, Pickles:
On 26 March 2009, Pickles appeared on the political debate programme Question Time in Newcastle upon Tyne. While discussing the controversy over Tony McNulty (who had recently admitted claiming expenses on a second home, occupied by his parents, only 8 miles away from his primary residence), Pickles admitted he claimed a second home allowance because he lived 37 miles from Westminster and needed to leave his constituency house in Brentwood at 5.30am in order to get to Westminster for 9.30am, given that he tended to get home at midnight or 1am, although the standard time for commuters from this region is usually ninety minutes. He went on to say that it was "no fun" commuting into London from where he lived. In response to Pickles's comments that he "had to be there [the House of Commons] on time", Question TimeDavid Dimbleby replied """ Like a job, in other words?"
prompting amusement amongst the audience.
There were also remarks from the audience about nurses and firemen etc. having to commute across London and get to their jobs on time and having to do without a second home.
You've gotta understand, I'm a fat greedy pig.