PRINCE HOORAY THRILLS CANADIANS WITH BILINGUAL SPEECH.
ER...UM...OKAY, OUI; N'EST CE PAS?
The Filth-O-Graph reports His Royal Gormlessness and Kate Middleton are delighted to be visiting Canada together; maybe, in an editorial oversight, the Barclay piggies have forgotten that Flying Officer Wills and Wotsername are now actually married, and that she is the Duchess or Countess of some vast acreage of mediaeval thievery and no longer plain Kate Chav. Never would have happened in Simon Heffer's day.
Heffer, sacked for anti-Daveism.
I mean, the Filth-O-Graph has had its head up Royalty's arse for so long that it should at least get the titles right. Jon Sox got it right on C4 News, where he has a job4life, the smug, worthless shit, he was all over the fact that we have bought the Cuntess, I mean Countess a hundred and fifty outfits for her trip, chosen for her by her team of personal shoppers, in order to fly the ragtrade flag over there among the fat, stupid, French Eskimos, inbreds and fucking morons: And I'm joined here in the studio by Charles Knob, head of KnobFashions.... Sir Charles, What does this mean for the British fashion industry? Well, Jon, Kate is just wonderful for our industry because.... Thanks for that, Sir Knob but over now to Becky Slut, our Incest and Humiliation editor who has been at Wimbledon, Becky, what about Andy Murray, what can you tell us.....?
Well, thanks, Jon and that's right, Incest and Humiliation were the order of the day, here,
as the Dago, Nadal, kicked seven kinds of shit out of Scotland's - or Britain's - Andy Moron
and the scruffy, sulky prat crashed, grunting, out of yet another semi-final; I caught up with the arsehole after his defeat and this is what he had to say:
Well, it's tough, you know, I mean, I'm twenty-five, and every day my Mum comes to work with me. How would you like it? 'Sno wonder I'm a total fuck up; other players look up there, in the Bimbos Box, and they see their own expensive Bimbo, all long hair and Botox lips and hundred-pound sunglasses, I look up and see me fucking mother, scowling, sour as fucking vinegar, face like an arse,
no wonder I can't keep a bird, no wonder I can't win fuck all....
And I'm joined now by Dr Raj Persaud, television's famous, discredited pop psychiatrist.....
Dishonest Raj, off the Richard and Judy programme.
Raj, what's your take on all this? Well, Becky, as I say in my new book, Tennis Incest, Pushy Mothers & Strategies For Coping, this is what we famous, discredited professionals call a classic case... ....
Raj, we're running out of time; can you sum it up for us in ten seconds, what's your professional opinion on Judy Murray? That's easy, Becky, she's a horrible cunt. And her son, Andy, what effect has all this had on him? As I said, it's a classic case; he's a horrible cunt, too.
That was Becky Slut for us there and now back to the Royal Triumph and I'm joined in the studio by the BBC's Royal Correspondent, Nicholas Witchell, who's travelling with their Serene Highnesses, Prince and Princess Gormless.
The BBC's Royal Editor, Nicholas Witchell, gets to grips with some right Royal dung.
Well, Jon, I must say, it's been a right, Royal triumph, everybody, especially me, loves His Royal Highness, everybody, especially me, loves Her Royal Highness, Catherine the Great, as she is becoming known, by me, anyway, and Her Majesty the Queen, too, I love her so deeply I could shit; and we mustn't forget the First Gentleman, His Excellency, Duke Philip, who, let's not forget, is celebrating his ninetieth year of pointless idleness, even as we speak. Will Brenda jack it in when Phil croaks, abdicate and go and live in Scotland with Billy Connolly? Who knows, Jon; royal sources say she might but they're a load of drunken old queers, so who cares what they say, my best guess is that either she will abdicate or she'll stay on the throne, either until she dies, or until some point before that. And our thoughts, too, must go out to our most gracious Prince of Wales, the Heir to the Throne, as he enjoys a well-deserved break before his next holiday, in the arms of the delightful and ever-popular Queen Camilla Lungface.
The groom's father, worthless, idle bastard and heir to all our stolen money and land and treasures
displays some of the honours given him by his domineering mother; Andy Murray, eat your mother out. I mean your heart.
And of course neither should we forget the unforgettable Princess Di, who would have been celebrating her fiftieth birthday, doubtless by banging a few Muslim playboys or heart surgeons, as only she knew how, if she hadna been bumped off, that is, just in the nick of time, or, if you wish, been the unfortunate victim of a common or garden traffic accident, which ended any further embarrassment to anyone and neatly dropped her seventeen million quid divorce bung right back in the royal coffers. Didn't leave a fucking brass farthing to charity, she didn't, nothing at all; still, they don't, do they, the royals, give to charity, or any thing else, for that matter, must be hard for them, having to go against what must be their natural instinct, to give all they have to the poor. And while I'm on the subject of noblesse oblige, one is always struck by young Wills's nobility and compassion - I mean, if my old man had shit all over my old lady from Day One of the pretend marriage, and then, as soon as possible after her death, married the dirty old slag who caused her so much pain then I'd punch his selfish lights out, I mean, he wasn't much better than a nonce, was he, she was only a child when they married, and he just treated her like shit, fucking spoiled bastard.
That was Nick WItchell there for us in Ottawa, or Toronto or whatever boring icy shithole they're in. And now for the business news, it's over to 'Nkwame-'Nkwame Blackfellow, another one of our C4News token coons......
Well, I apologise for that, we seem to have lost 'Nkwame-'Nkwame there and instead, and I'm terribly sorry for any offence caused, we had some anarchist most unfairly attacking the great financial institutions of our time but least said, soonest mended and now we bring you this from our chief defence correspondent, Alex Toad, at NATO headquarters.
Alex Thompson, C4 News's Chief Wotsit.
Yes, thanks Jon, and as you know, the big question among defence experts is how do you get to be the right kind of wog, the countable type? We deliberately didn't count them in Iraq, could be millions of them, dead wogs, all over Arabia - ancient Sumeria and Mesopotamia, the birthplace of civilisation, now just mass graves and killing fields, dusted with depleted uranium. And now there's Southern Asia, too, plenty there, nobody knows how many. They're not even politely machine-gunned by drive-by, helicoptering cowboys, psychobastard Mommasboy freaks but dronedead, killed anonymously by Uncle Sam's remote control, airborne niggerkillers,
Satan's vengeful aircraft, joysticked by a crewcut, gobby, flag-waving moron, jerking himself off, deep inside some paranoid, catastrophically expensive, CIA mountainside in Virginia; serialkiller Senators with no money for welfare, patriotically sucking the slant-eyed, Chinky money-cock, shovelling trillions into WarCorp, whilst shitting broken bottles at the very thought of a national healthcare system, a filthy, communist, un-fucking-American idea, if ever there was one.
Libya, though, they're being counted there, the dead wogs, even the babies, which no-one has ever bothered with before. Hague the Fag and Thicko Cameron and Sarkozy the Pimp are getting a daily feast of dead babies and bombed hospitals. All part of the UN Resolution to prevent civilian casualties, Jon....
But the dead wog babies, Alex, aren't they civilian casualties...?
Well, Jon, good question, but strictly speaking, these are casualties caused by us and so they don't count. Well, only to the casualties, that is; they are obviously the wrong kind of wogs. For them to have been the right kind of wogs, they would have to have been killed by Qaddafi; we're only there to prevent the killing of wogs by Qaddafi...
And so that means.......
Yes, that's right, if he kills his own wogs it's a war crime...
But if we kill them...???
Doesn't matter a fuck, Jon.
These civilian deaths are brought to you by United Nations Resolution 1973.
Dead babies? Don't talk to me about dead babies. My official wife, Ffffffion, has had more miscarriages than I've had hot cocks, I mean dinners. I can show you the X-rays if you like, she won't mind. No, it is ay matter of very considerable regret, the dead babies, but what would you have me do, admit that I'm ay pompous hypocrite, ay coward, ay windbagging gabshite? It is often remarked upon by we - if I may say so - gifted parliamentarians that all careers end in dead babies, but mine certainly isn't going to. We must hold our nerve and keep on killing civilians until Mr or should I say Colonel Qaddafi gives us all the oil and all the money and allows us to kill him, this, after all, is what UN Resolution 1973 is all about.
Alex Toad, there for us. And just to recap on the main stories. The Royal family is doing its very best for the nation, buying lots of clothes and going on lots of holidays. The bankers, the politicians and the media are rightly joining forces to condemn mob action in Greece and anywhere else that ordinary people protest against their so-called being robbed blind by pinstripe gangsters and brave NATO pilots are continuing to bomb defenceless schools and hospitals on behalf of the IMF, I mean on behalf of whatever it says in the resolution. There'll be more Channel Four News at lunchtime tomorrow and you can keep in touch with me on Twitter and Facebook and at our website - you need never be away from me, in fact. From me and Alex and the house niggers, goodnight.
Mr Jon Sox, owner of Channel Four News
And in tomorrow night's show, as the Newsnight anchorman grows increasingly irascible and incoherent I'll be asking, Is Paxman Mad, has he been in the job too long, might it be time for a new face at Newsnight, someone with a sound understanding of sox and ties? Tune in at seven o clock tomorrow, don't miss it.
And in tomorrow night's show, as the Newsnight anchorman grows increasingly irascible and incoherent I'll be asking, Is Paxman Mad, has he been in the job too long, might it be time for a new face at Newsnight, someone with a sound understanding of sox and ties? Tune in at seven o clock tomorrow, don't miss it.
11 comments:
Apparently (according to Alky Campbell, so err..probably bullshit) ToeKnee Cunt complained to Brenda about Charles being a cunt and meddling in shit which had fuck all to do with him and there's a story in today's Daily Angry that Charles the Cunt has 'summoned' 9 ministers to Clarence House to whinge shit.
All neither here nor there but my question would be, 'why don't they just tell him to fuck right off and go and shag donkey?'
So very happy to be reading your purgative prose again, Mr. Ish (was getting worried there!). I had begun to wonder if the news I was receiving was being wildly distorted by my new medication. Now I know it's not an unlisted side effect. It's Them. The Ones who think this is all a form of sport, nasty little boys pulling the wings and legs off we mere insects.
Just returned from forrin parts Mr. Ish and more grateful than I can say that a sober, reasoned precis of recent events has been laid out for me.
One of the things I like as I get older is the different company I keep. I found myself in an archery tounament with some Ukrainians and we had a great time (3 golds in six arrows @ 100 paces - I'm not that fucking old ;))- but what really appealed was their take on world events. You would be amazed, Mr.Ish, at how closely they correlate with your own...
Glad you`re back, Mr Ish.
thank the lord.........yer back
aaahhhhhhh....thank God for that.
My invite to the Royal Wedding was quietly withheld. But I did end up with 'er-no-longer-indoors as the lead Richard Kay story in The Mail on 1 April.
Fucking result.
Missed you.
That's more like it. Glad to see you back, Mr Ishmael.
How's the whitebeam this year?
Regards.
Mr Caractacus, you said, "You would be amazed, Mr.Ish, at how closely they correlate with your own..."
I have been wondering recently if there is some correlation between a catastrophic disconnect of language describing events and the reality of those events, which in turn eventually leads to a type of collective madness where decisions and actions become increasingly bizarre and incomprehensible to a country's populace.
Mr Ishmael sees things in such a way because he sees the disconnects (especially the hypocrisies), and analytically and entertainingly deconstructs what is being 'communicated', via our language and in visual terms, from the reality under discussion. He is clearly frustrated, and it appears that we commenters, in the main, intuitively understand his frustration. So, might there be a generalised reason for this?
And could it be that, gradually, every single one of us is being caught in a bind, because those who aren't able to recognise this disconnect are going mad quietly, and those of us, here, who do see it, are going vociferously mad?
............................................
Here is a short quote from a longer comment by Dr Christopher Lamb (an effective campaigner for freedom of information) written in the Iraq Inquiry Digest the other day:
"The Iraq invasion was characterized by spinning interpretations from a selective reading of UN resolutions which were not backed up or authorized by the full text. This had the effect of contaminating and ultimately fettering altogether effective decision making within the Security Council."
Here, the disconnect goes deeper because there was a wilful divergence between the actual totality of the words (of the relative UNSC resolutions) - their 'reality' - and the way the words were subsequently chosen, piecemeal, to be interpreted.
.............................................................
Good to see you back, Mr Ishmael, and hope you are pleasantly refreshed.
I don't know about madness, mr anonymous, not in these quarters, anyway; I prefer Ruination - one of the consequences of which may, of course, be a collective madness, among both those shitting in the public face and by the shat-upon.
There is certainly no conscious attempt, on my part, to - other than in the loosest, most coincidental fashion - highlight what I have called the colonisation by filth of the language, I assume that all here foregathered know about that, nor to portray it as unique to our times; these commentaries are informed by, among others, Messrs Chaucer, Swift, Bruce, Cook, Hicks and countless others throughout history.
I grant you, willingly, however, that there is a maddening relentlessness to skymadeupnewsandfilth and its servants which wears one down and which is frustrating and which is only partially relieved by what Mr ptb warmly calls online friendships and communities - these, I feel, can also reinforce the original outrage, whilst simultaneously short-circuiting any direct action - when my young friend, stanislav, used to comment at Guido's PizzaHouseOfBlood I used to feel that if you could bottle the rage in those columns and ignite it you would blow down the Pentagon, but of course you can't. Credence, there, for your "...going vociferously mad." theory; whistling in the dark, pissing in the wind......
I may be entirely, optimistically wrong but I do think that the next few short years may see an outbreak of angry sanity among Consumerism's enslaved.
Thanks for your interesting analysis to which we will no doubt return.
Thanks Mr Anonymous. Lots to think about there. Your analysis depends, I suspect, on the continuing unquestioning stupidity of people who would just rather not think about these things. Or just rather not think. In the last few weeks I have had conversations with Germans, French, Russians, Ukrainians, Turks, Australians and Brits. The Germans and the French were complacent and arrogant - no change there... the Ukrainians, Russians, Turks and Aussies were well-informed and displayed a healthy scepticism about what is being fed to them by the MSM; they also make concerted efforts to try and find out what is really going on. The Brits ... breathtaking in their ignorance, naivety and willingness to be led by the bloody nose. The Russkies couldn't give a fuck as long as they have a wad of banknotes in their pockets and people willing to serve them.
Maybe it's just the company I keep....
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