There was a rugby player, back in the Dizzy days of Di. We do not know if he was, so to speak, HRH-ing her. Granted, he was neither muslem nor medico but like her husband he was nosebleedingly, congenitally stupid, so he was in with a chance. Unfortunately for humanity, indeed the Cosmos, Diana was taken from us before this particular rugby scandal and thus robbed of her opportunity to selflessly go and rub noses with the sick and the crooked, for which, in her time with the Firm, she had developed all the right skills.
A proper, knuckle-dragging, brawn-bound, charmless orangutang of a man, this sporty type was. DeLollypop was his name, I believe and what happened was that one of Murdoch's bumboys pretended to be a celebrity in search of Bolivian Marching powder, could DeLollypop help? Help? I can get such good Charlie that you'll all run Hadrian's wall in about fifteen minutes, doing deals and networking and all masturbating like thirteen year-old
boys. But sadly for thicko DeLollypop, it was a sting.
The world of celebrity rugby, though, soon rallied round. Entrapment, they said it was, Good Old Lollypop didn't deal drugs. Only when people asked him to. And that's a whole nother thing. A massive effort was made to rehabilitate the involuntary dealer and since he was a jolly good chap, a good all-rounder, enjoyed a pint or two with the lads - only not a line or two - and had been a great national captain, the shameless, snivelling arsehole was soon back up there, doing charity work and collecting gongs.
Decent, hardworking proper drug dealers are still, incidentally, goung to jail, whilst their clients - people like young parent, Lady Sir Elton John, are soireed and Sirred in Downing Street by filth like Tony and Imelda. It is only poor people or the unconnected who cause the drug problem. Had the oaf, DeLollypop, been some oik off the street, of course, he would have got maybe seven years, theoretically fourteen but All's Well That Ends Well. That's how it is in the world of ShowBiz, the world of Savile and his many chums.
Paddy Mercer must be hoping for an equally shifty disposal of his case; he, too, claims that he was entrapped, entrapped into trousering money that he knew he shouldn't have touched and entrapped into violating the trust placed in him by foolish voters. But even though these were big bads, the fact remains that he was entrapped. And that is why he will cling on to his seat and pay and expenses, smokescreening and huffing and puffing about his great lifelong commitment to public service.
As Cameron says, he has done the right thing, for himself. You have to wonder, actually, if one so easily bent by a few quid, so slatternly, so contemptuous of parliament and electorate ever once did the right thing.
I always wonder when I seee pictures like these, of some poor arab hobnail-booted to death by a gang of screeching Tommy psycho-fairies, I wonder just what the fuck their officers were playing at?
None of these men were combatants, not as if that would have made this better. They were just unlucky enough to encounter members of HM Regiment of Sadists, getting their kicks. In the Army.
But you only need to see a few seconds of the Mercer tape to realise what their officers were up to. I suppose that if they were any good, their men wouldn't have scurried out of Iraq and Aff-gan, yes and Ulster, beaten and ridiculed, yet home to a drummed-up heroes' welcome
The man's a piece of cheesy filth, Mercer. He sould lose his job immediately and have his collar felt. But seeing what happened - or didn't happen - to rogue ministers, Liam Fox and William Miscarriage - he won't. It's almost enough to make me write to my MP but he's at least as bad, if not worse. Just like yours.
This is a bit of selective fun and mischief from the Filth-O-Graph and the PBC, as if either of them were in the position to lecture us on right and wrong. When they expose the whole rotten shitbag of Mediaminster, well, that'll be the day.