Norman Tebbit, meaner, sourer, more skeletal than ever, is popular, what with his racism and bigotry and the endless praise of his own larcenous career as one of Whisky Maggie's chief spivs, one of al Fayed's chief spivs, one of Telecom's chief spivs, one of, apparently, the only people ever to have been blown-up by Kneecaps McGuinness and his chums and now grubby, pinstripe purveror of slime for the Bizarro Twins, owners of the Filth-O-Graph and sworn enemies of Democracy, just like it's previous owner, the repulsive criminal, Conrad Black, pimping, still, a stable of right-wing nutters like the preposterously gobby Mark Steyn, bought and paid for, cheerleading graft and corruption for all he's worth, as though they were the founding principles of human progress. Boris Johnson, the dodgy - how does he get away with it, maybe it's becos 'e's a Landunner - cock-waving Bullingdon freak, unaccountably Mayor of London, is paid, quite openly, a quarter of a million pounds a year by the Bizarros for his juvenile Filth-O-Graph rants, just as though there were not, here, a blatant conflict of interest and dereliction of mayoral duty and the wider commentariat loves him, because even though, by Cameron's standards, Bo-Jo is slumming it, with this journalism rubbish - can't his family afford a merchant bank? - the bottom feeders in the Street of A Thousand Arseholes feel an aristocrat has come amomg them, and that they are the better for it, touched by his bogus classicist's glory. It's the same pretentious horseshit all across the paper, columnists scribbling what they are told, specifically or generally, to scribble; front pages hot from Tory HQ, bits os pseudo science, celebrity news and as many pictures of nubile sixth formers as possible, page three on page one.
You know what your getting with the Sun, you're getting skymadeupnewsandfilth, its illiterate bilge written by Murdochees in the States and printed here under the pictures of grubby nobodies like Kelvin McKenzie and his poxed-up, scabby successors, pornsters, hatemongers, rabble rousers for hire. The Filth-O-Graph's crew, though a little more wordy and a good deal more sanctimonious, also never pretends to journalism, not when tittle-tattle, teen porn, shopping and obituaries will do nicely, thank you, and they were rejoicing, last night, as "the net tightened" on proper journalist, Julian Assange; gosh, can't have these cyber chappies publishing real scoops, now, real exposures, can't have him embarrassing or derailing the Clinton-Obama political careers and potentially upsetting the workings of the GlobaCorp Slavery Foundation - or endangering the lives of innocent people, especially not when that's clearly Uncle Sam's number one business.
It really is nauseating, how the giants of the British press are happy to publish the WikiLeaks leaks whilst damning their editor-in-chief; head-up-arse and cock-in-mouth, the contortions of the well-heeled coward. Par for the course, really, especially the Telegraph; how can we forget the undignified, prolonged feasting of Benny Brogan and Co. over the Westminster expenses story, handed to them on a plate by another whistle blower, when a cub reporter aged eighteen should have been able to flush it out, decades ago.
Time has o'ertaken us and Assange is now in custody awaiting Sweden's pleasure, and possibly, probably Uncle Sam's, too and while we hesitate to entirely endorse John Pilger's view of this situation we must, nevertheless, fear the worst, the very worst. But then that is just what Assange has been telling us to fear. Lock him up, quick.
This, from the Asia Times Online, is something different, and something we will never see in our own fourth estate; these wogs, eh, they'll print anything.