NEWS REVIEW. JOB OPPORTUNITIES, CHILDMINDERS WANTED FOR BUSY, HARD-WORKING PARENTS ON THE PROPERTY LADDER, MUST HAVE RELEVANT DEGREE AND POST-GRADUATE CERTIFICATE IN EDUCATION

This is the PBC lunchtime news with me, Jayne Tits, and the top story of the day is that decent hard-working working parents all over the country have been forced to look after their own children, themselves.  For more on this story, over to Birmingham, where Samantha Tits has the latest for us.

Fifth columnists, marxists and paedophiles gather in Brum to molest children and undermine long-term economic reform and  growth and whatever.

Thanks, Jayne, and yes, that's right, this is the news that communist teachers, many of them of interest to the security services, have betrayed those many parents who expect teachers to do as they're told by the gabshite, mutant  lunatic,

Mr Spit, the education seckatry.  

I wrote the Bible, you know, children. Let's see, now....
  Chapter one, verse one, in the Beginning there were  Free schools.
And God looked on Mr Spit and was pleased.

Mr Spit has, today, reiterated his delusion that it is quite clearly the teachers' reponsibility, first and foremost,  to look after other citizen-suspect's children for them, while they, the hard-working parents, pursue their rewarding and important careers down Tesco or in the call centre. If it wasn't for their child-minding capacity, said the diminutive education seckatry, why, I could dispense with them and teach the nation's children myself, via television screens in their classrooms, bedrooms, nurseries, prams, buggies and so on; just imagine,  a constant LoopOfLearning,  A nineteen-fifties curriculum, for which we are all so nostalgic, for which the nation cries out  to me; me, Mr Gove, the nation's teacher.

  And I am joined now, Jayne, here in - whereisthisplace? - here in Birmingham's Victoria Square  by a local grandmother, Mrs Maxine Cough. 

Maxine, you're a local grandmother,  tell us what this strike has meant to you,  how has it impacted you? 


 How'sitwot, love, impacted me? 
 No, Oi'm a bit old fer that lark, me, bein' impacted.  Although there's them as does say, loike, that there's manys a good tune what gets  played on an old wossaname. But no, moy grandchildren, luvemtobits, me, doanyfinforem, 'snuffin's too good for 'em, phones, games, chips, pizza, if I got 'em, they got 'em; what's their names? Well, there's Delroy, loike, an' Winston an' Chardonnay an' Kylie an' Jason an little Manjit, only he lives wiv 'is dad, loike, in Pakistan. Never could take to 'im, Manjit's dad; nuffin' against them people, honest I int, right 'and up to God, so 'elp me, I int racialist, no way, Jose,  but they smell different, knowharramean, love, different than what we do.  Must be all them spoices, loike, what they 'ave in their dinner, Oi mean, you wooden wanna go in the smallest room, not right after Manjit's dad's been in there, prayin' to Allah, so to speak, break the 'eart of a bleedin' wheelbarrow, it would. Gorra face as  long as bleedin' Livery Street, they 'ave an' all, most on 'em, all beardy an' wearing frocks, loike, over pyjama bottoms.   An the blokes is just as bad. But 'ark at me, here's you wanting to know about the school stroike and I'm  gooin' all around the Wrekin, moaning about our Tracey's last husband, partner, achelly, don't seem no point in 'er marryin' em any more, all ends in bleedin' tears, dunnit ? Well, what can Oi tellya, love, it ain't roight, is it, them teachers'm  s'posed to look after the little uns, int they, I mean, swot we pay  'em for, innit?  Take me, Oi should be at 'ome doin' me online Bingo an' instead I gorra go traipsin' over to Druids 'eath and help our Trace out wiv the little darlins, and she ain't used to bein' up so early, at lunchtime, loike.  Diabolical liberty, 'sworrIcallit, them teachers gooin' on stroike an' expectin' us to do their work for 'em, idle bleedin' gits. That Nigel Fruitcake bloke, 'im wots on the telly, wiv 'is pint, loike, an'  puffin' on his B an' Haitches, he'd soon sort 'em out, send 'em all back where they come from, shouldn't wonder, send 'em all back to TeacherLand, or wurevver it is.

That was Birmingham grandmother, Maxine Cough,  there, telling us what, frankly, Jayne, we are hearing from all over the country.  People are utterly dismayed at being dumped with the care of their own children; it's absolutely not what we had them for, complain many, to look after them,  that's why we have teachers in the first place,  as child minders, so we can go out to work to pay the mortgage; isn't that what the property ladder is for, isn't that where it leads, slavery?

Thanks, Samantha, that was Samantha Tits for us there, in Birmingham or Wolverhampton, one of those dirty places, anyway, but to discuss this crisis further, here in the studio, we have professor Germaine Drongo of Oxford University, the Daily Telegraph, The Sun, Nuts Magazinee, The Times Literary Supplement, Have I Got News For You, I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, Big Brother and Screw Magazine.

  
 Professor Filth, 

writing in the NewYork Quarterly Shrubbery Review,
c.1955.

Professor Drongo, you are a widely respected educationalist, drunk, gabshite and pornographer  who is addicted to appearing naked in public, even in your late sixties, and you have no children;

 what does this tell us about the teachers' strike?

Nothing, babes, sweet Fanny Adams, zilch. Teachers?  Fuck 'em. If they don't wanna get their kit off for the camera, pointin' it where the Sun don't shine, that's their problem.  But I love it. It's the essence, actually, of feminism. 

 Now, babes, what about you an' me slippin' outa here an' doin' some girly stuff to each other? 

 

I got loadsa fags and fuckin' cases fulla strong lager.

 How about it, bitch? 

  I bet  you bang like a shithouse door in a gale, sweet thing. What? Clive James?  What? 'Strewth.  I'd  fuck a kangaroo before I'd do that.


Well, we're interrupting the programme there because our political editor,  

Nick Toenails, 
is at the prime minister and that other bloke, the one who's always asking himself questions, at their press conference at the White House, I mean, in Downing Street. Just looks like the White House, with those flags and seals. Let's hear what the unelected prime minister has to say.



My fellow motherfuckers.
 And suspects, Yo, suspects, because that's what y'all are now. 
Lets be quite clear about this, we have to read all your mail and listen to all your 'phone calls because, well, just because I say so. I know it's illegal but I am a great respecter of the law, so that's why I'm doing this, it may well actually be illegal, but actually it's not. And as I never tire of telling people, only those who fear totalitarian dictatorship have anything to fear.  Would you rather that we appointed paedophiles to run the place?  What? Sorry? We already do? Always have? Mr Patrick Rock?  Well, Nick, I think you'll find that he never actually ran anything in Downing Street, apart from kiddyporn programmes on my computer, er, his computer...... no, no, neither of us's computer, your computer, you, the public's computer, you own it, paid for it.  Now, do you see why we have to watch you so closely? Over to you, deputy prime minsiter.



And look,  and I want to be quite clear about this, am I the sort of person who would see his party wiped-out in the polls just so's I could play at being deputy prime minister? No, of course I am. Am I the sort of liberal who would attack the poor, the old and the sick? No, of course I am.  Did I become leader of this great, tiny, shrinking party just in order to usher in a police state? Well, that's a question which modesty forbids me answering.  But yes, of course I am. You know, I didn't come into politics to do anything other than burnish my ego and line my pockets...wossat? yes, of course, and to bully people, taken as read, to bully people.  But let's be quite clear about this, liberal democrats, labour politicians, me and the other prime minister, we have all  had our struggles about this legislation


 but - and I stress this - if we want to protect the govament from you, the suspects, or the public, if you prefer;  protect the elect from the electorate, even, then  we simply must have the powers to keep a close eye on you in case you disobey me, I mean us;  this is a democracy, after all. 

Just ask yourselves, suspects. Would you rather my party fiddled its expenses,  stole housing benefits, lied to the public, lied to the courts, took bungs from dodgy donors, bashed queer people and covered-up sexual harrassment by our peers; covered-up the  noncing of the mentally ill and  decades of kiddybeasting by our MPs?  No, of course you would.

And let me just come back in, here, Nick,
 

 and remind people that,  as with bringing Mr Murdoch's obnoxious  deviant thug,  Mr Coulson,

 whom I have never actually met and will never meet again,  into  the centre of govament, ignoring the irrefutable  evidence that he was a crook, 

well,  just as with that, if it turns out that these security measures are undemocratic, alien, unconstitutional, improper and wholly illegal,  I will of course apologise and take full reponsibility. And what does that mean, you may ask.  Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing, it means nothing at all. Except that, well, nothing really, it means nothing. It's like the Deputy Prime Minister says,  if any of us wanted to be held accountable - for anything -  this is the very last place we'd be. Let me be quite clear, doesn't matter what we do;  just because we pass the laws, doesn't mean we have to abide by them.  I'll take some safe questions from safe journalists,  Nick Robinson, of the BBC.


Prime minister, what do you say to the charge that historically your party has been a hotbed of child sex assault, torture, even murder...?

Historically, did you say historically, Nick, I think you'll find that it's a bit more.......whoops, got my wires crossed there, Nick, but look, we were both at Oxford, let's not make a mountain out of a mountain, eh?  There's a good chap.  No, I think you'll find that that nice actor chap, Mr Nigel Havers, 

WHY THE GOVAMENT IS EXACTLY RIGHT.
BY SOME REVOLTING OLD TORY LUVVIE.

yes, him  off Coronation Street, he's bang on the money.  No, no, his Dad was a great guy, a simply great guy, 


 
 a great govament law officer who simply wouldn't let his mate off  a charge of noncing, and even if that is what he did, which it is, he never told his son about it, so, obviously it can't have happened, can it? If the man from Coronation Street says he doesn't know that his Dad had a rewarding career as HM Nonce-Protector General, 
 then that should be good enough for ordinary people, who aren't in Downing Street, I mean Coronation Street.  And I would remind people that his aunt, Lady Coronation Street, 

whom I have appointed to head-up this very important, full and far-reaching cover-up, Mrs  Butler WhiteSchloss, is lovely, too, her nephew said so,  and furthermore she actually never met her brother, 
 
his Dad, never met him once, so how could she be compromised in investigating him?  I mean, and let's be quite clear about this, Lord Havers and  his sister, Lady Butler WhiteSchloss,  were only brother and sister, it is not as though they were related or anything.  Look,  to be quite frank, they never even met, let alone spoke to one another.  Yes, like myself and Mr Coulson and myself and Mr Rock. No, I think the nation will thoroughly admire the cut of Mr Nigel Havers's jib.
 
  I mean, it's not everyday a man stands up so impartially  for his own family, now, is it? 
 I think the very least we could do for him is a knighthood, he is one of us, after all, not that that would influence his judgement, of course. Just because a man loves his aunt, that's no reason not to give him a second chance.  Not that he does.  Not in that sense.


And what happens, prime minister, if she, if Auntie dies before accomplishing the desired whiteschloss, I mean wash, forgive me, been reading that ishmael chap....no, no I don't think you should;  what would happen, were her Ladyship to die before finishing the whiteschloss, damnit, wash,  the whitewash?

Well look, Nick, it's quite simple.  If Dame Not-Actually-Related-To-Her-Own-Brother should pass away, which, let's be fair, is highly unlikely,

not as though she looks like Death warmed-up, is it, 

and she's only in  her eighties, if, however, she should croak, well, then I will accept full responsibility for appointing her and, should I still be prime minister, appoint some other old coffin-dodging lawyer to start all over again, with  a safe, if shaking and palsied pair of hands.

But prime minister, this enquiry could take years.
 
Yes, Nick. 
And years and years and years.

And finally, if I may say so,Nick, to you and your colleagues, it's not us, the rich and powerful, that you should be investigating. If, despite Francis Maude's best efforts, you hadn't noticed, the fucking teachers are on strike, yes I know they only teach in ordinary schools but even so, And the strike is entirely legal.  It's the teachers you should be attacking, not, if you don't mind me saying so, not harmless old gentlemen, generally from good families,  whose only crime is buggering a few children to death, whilst laughing their heads off. Long grass, Mum's the word.