HI, BIGBOY, WANNA LICK MY ASHTRAY?
DAME ANN LESLIE, OBE.
ONE OF THE MOST INFLUENTIAL JOURNALISTS IN THE WORLD.
She's been rabble-rousing for the Daily Mail since God was a boy and has reported on wars and stuff in seventy countries; Leslie, however, disproves the maxim that travel broadens the mind, her jaunts to what we impertinently call the Third World have persuaded her that we, what with dwindling human rights and an increasingly privatised wefare state, are pampered, mollycoddled by our masters; if only our children had to walk three miles each morning to fetch water then our societtal malaises, our brokennessews would disappear in an instant.
It is a Daily Mail mindset - not all have pensions, therefore none should have pensions, Malawians don't have plumbing, therefore none should have plumbing, makes Ann's croaky old chest fill with pride, it does, when she sees little picanninnies walking six miles to school, in the baking heat, our children could learn so much from those mistreated by headchopping, gangster tribal politician-witchdoctors. And of course they could, but there is no need for us to embrace the nineteen thirties, as Leslie and her deadbeat crew insist we must.
The refrain goes, the private sector has been making huge profits for decades, now, as wages have been suppressed, subsidised by nomoreboomanbust Snottism, phantom equity taken from artificially inflated properties to fuel the High Street Trash Bonanza, beloved of the likes of Currys and Marks and Spencers and of Wotsisname, that gabshite who keeps on re-inventing his onetrick pony, cylinder of shite vacuum cleaner, Dyson, the great patriot who shipped his rubbishy business overseas where he could use cheap wog labour. These profits, anyway, had been so vast that by the time the directors and shareholders had been troughed-up to the nostrils, there was certainly no money left for employees' pensions, fuck me Jesus, no way, Jose, ergo, and obviously, there should be no pensions at all in the public sector, either, level playing field's what we need, an old age of poverty and neglect for all, well, nearly all. Trickle up economics they call it, zombie economists like Will Hutton and Murdoch's Barrowboy, Jeff Randall, of skymadeupnewsandfilth.
One of the creepiecrawlies on last week's Any Questions, I believe it was Doctor Mr Evan Harris, formerly an MP for the ShitEaters but now sadfly unseated, mused that the Chinks won't "invest" in Europe because the populations there are made slothful and inefficient by the welfare state, Spot-On, cackled Dame Ann.
The Chinks, who execute burglars and charge their families for the bullet before flogging-off the deceased's organs; the Chinks, who set tanks against unarmed demonstrators; the Chinks who force peasants to work unpaid and unprotected in Hellhole, shithouse factories and deadly dangerous construction sites, the Chinks who run a one-party fascist totalitarianism, the Chinks,wheezed Ann, beatifically, they can show us the way.
With any luck the wicked old boot'll be dead before the Coalition brings about her ideal society of obedient, hard-working serfs; on the other hand, though, it may be much nearer than we think.
DAME ANN LESLIE, OBE.
ONE OF THE MOST INFLUENTIAL JOURNALISTS IN THE WORLD.
She's been rabble-rousing for the Daily Mail since God was a boy and has reported on wars and stuff in seventy countries; Leslie, however, disproves the maxim that travel broadens the mind, her jaunts to what we impertinently call the Third World have persuaded her that we, what with dwindling human rights and an increasingly privatised wefare state, are pampered, mollycoddled by our masters; if only our children had to walk three miles each morning to fetch water then our societtal malaises, our brokennessews would disappear in an instant.
It is a Daily Mail mindset - not all have pensions, therefore none should have pensions, Malawians don't have plumbing, therefore none should have plumbing, makes Ann's croaky old chest fill with pride, it does, when she sees little picanninnies walking six miles to school, in the baking heat, our children could learn so much from those mistreated by headchopping, gangster tribal politician-witchdoctors. And of course they could, but there is no need for us to embrace the nineteen thirties, as Leslie and her deadbeat crew insist we must.
The refrain goes, the private sector has been making huge profits for decades, now, as wages have been suppressed, subsidised by nomoreboomanbust Snottism, phantom equity taken from artificially inflated properties to fuel the High Street Trash Bonanza, beloved of the likes of Currys and Marks and Spencers and of Wotsisname, that gabshite who keeps on re-inventing his onetrick pony, cylinder of shite vacuum cleaner, Dyson, the great patriot who shipped his rubbishy business overseas where he could use cheap wog labour. These profits, anyway, had been so vast that by the time the directors and shareholders had been troughed-up to the nostrils, there was certainly no money left for employees' pensions, fuck me Jesus, no way, Jose, ergo, and obviously, there should be no pensions at all in the public sector, either, level playing field's what we need, an old age of poverty and neglect for all, well, nearly all. Trickle up economics they call it, zombie economists like Will Hutton and Murdoch's Barrowboy, Jeff Randall, of skymadeupnewsandfilth.
One of the creepiecrawlies on last week's Any Questions, I believe it was Doctor Mr Evan Harris, formerly an MP for the ShitEaters but now sadfly unseated, mused that the Chinks won't "invest" in Europe because the populations there are made slothful and inefficient by the welfare state, Spot-On, cackled Dame Ann.
The Chinks, who execute burglars and charge their families for the bullet before flogging-off the deceased's organs; the Chinks, who set tanks against unarmed demonstrators; the Chinks who force peasants to work unpaid and unprotected in Hellhole, shithouse factories and deadly dangerous construction sites, the Chinks who run a one-party fascist totalitarianism, the Chinks,wheezed Ann, beatifically, they can show us the way.
With any luck the wicked old boot'll be dead before the Coalition brings about her ideal society of obedient, hard-working serfs; on the other hand, though, it may be much nearer than we think.
11 comments:
There's a nice article in today's Grauniad that states pension fees have gone up so much you'd be better off just chucking your cash in the bank and fucking off pensions altogether - quelle surprise.
Hats off to you though Mr Ish for having the masochistic stamina to listen to that shite on a weekly basis.
What a ghastly creature.
Is cuntess a word? Or is it a bit tautological.
Dear Mr Scrunt, hard to say. "Not to mention paraleipsis" is a good way to remember what tautology is.
Whereas a cunt is a cunt is a cuntess.
She has a holiday home here in the original dog shooter land. Saw her stocking up in Tesco a couple of years ago and that pic you display Mr Ishmael testifies that whoever does the makeup is a master of the embalmers art. I regret to say I picked up a packet of frozen fish that had fallen from her trolley and handed it back to her. Now I`d leave it for her to slip up on: the fuck you Jack attitude can work upwards, as well as down.
Sometimes, up all night, leaning on the windowsill, I look at the Mail Online and am reminded that it didn't all start with skymadeupnewsandfilth; the Mail has been a pollutant forever, pandering to and drumming-up bigotry, racism, hatred and envy for over a century, Paul Dacre and the likes of Dame Ann only the latest in a long line of gobby filthsters. I hope when- as it surely will - lung cancer takes her to its toxic bosom that she goes private and that it still doesn't cure her, that the embalmer proper gets to work his dark magic on the horrid old boot.
One expects better of old people; the welfare state which she shrilly decries will have nurtured and educated her and her kin as much as it has the rest of us and for the filthy old wretch now to applaud totalitaianisme orientale is contemptible; why doesn't she fuck off and live in China? Fat chance.
Better off, mr dtp, buying gold or silver, or guns and drugs. Pensins could only ever work for a minority - supported, as usual by the majority; the arithmetic simply does not support universal employment related pensions.
Curdled the milk in me coffee that one did. The Daily Mail website is a laugh if one is amused by bile and stupidity. I caught her on Any Questions - before I signed the pledge - and she was a nasty piece of work then. She and Hitchens are, of course, peas out of the same gob-open pod, although she is half as bright as he was. If bright is the right word, and it isn't. I am amazed that people are impressed, and the English especially so, by twats who can fire off a stream of unkind invective. This is not intellectual ability you are hearing; you are hearing cunthood and braying. It may have long words in it but that does not make it worth anything. I have one in my local pub. Every now and then I take him up on one of his stupidities and rip his gizzard out. It's not nice but it keeps the oaf on the back foot when I am about, and that reduces the volume a bit. Arsehole needs a Dignitas gift voucher for Christmas.
I, too, am pledging my time, mr m and mr dtp, to things better than AQ and QT, which is almost anything, but it was just on, like Muzac, and all in Ishmaelia had, we thought, tuned-out but leapt on Leslie's faux pas, her lack of patriotism, her entire, unspeakable ahittiness; she, of course, would call her stupidity Telling It Like It Is, Dearie, like some old whore, mumbling, toothless, 'neath Money's red light.
She is just one of the pack, of course. Opinion formers. And they are scarily effective. The further in time and space I move from my erstwhile work in the inner city the more I seem to know increasing numbers of people who have their opinions formed for them by the likes of Ann Leslie. Trouble is, these are people in a position to influence the way that society develops. It is not just a matter of sitting around a dinner table,or the water cooler, braying away, (although, god knows, that is bad enough)- they vote, they have influential relatives and friends, and, by waging war on the disadvantaged population of this country, they are misdirecting their energies. Time was, there were philanthropists, people who used their personal wealth and energy to improve conditions for those born less lucky. Now we have the complacent denizens of somewhere called Middle England (a bit Tolkeinish, but without the charm, whose every utterance and action is directed to justifying their privilege, hanging on to every penny and ensuring that the poor stay poor and don't threaten their position.
Does anyone know what is happening to our citizens in the Malvinas? The BBC is giving scant coverage to the situation, focusing their news time on whipping up public sentiment to justify yet another bloody Middle Eastern war to secure, presumably, our oil interest.
It is this swinehood, Ms Agatha, that separates us from what we were. There used to be generosity - a responsibility to be kind, even - but now there is just grasping and the-Devil-take-the-hindmost. The urchins were earlier doing what they do these days - watching crap on the telly, QI it was, people making fun of each other and braying. So I got bored and advised the young people that true wit lay in making fun of oneself or circumstance so that other people could safely laugh. Being rude to someone, causing them discomfort, and then taking joy out of it being the mark of an arse and a fool, or of Ricky Gervais. They did not understand. So I pointed to my 14-year-old's proto-moustache and asked him if he was growing it for a bet; pointed at the 12-year-old's spotty forehead and asked her if she had decided on names, and then (clearly running short on inspiration) advised junior that she was beyond humour or parody of any kind. I am glad to say that they understood - sort of. Why is it that it is OK to be so bloody horrible to each other?
You wil enjoy, then, all the more, mr m, young Amstell, further on up the road, himself, properly, the butt if his jokes.
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