SWAMPY GETS A BOLLOCKING
HM Seckatry of State for War and Torture
War Minister, Mick "Swampy" Fallon, was today bitch-slapped by his boss, Bullingdon snooty-punk, David, Thick as Two Short Planks, Me, Cameron, who said in the Commons that his right honourable friend, actually, in his Rivers of Blood speech, was talking like a cunt
and might like, in future, Mr Tiny Speaker, to consider what was coming out of his stupid gob, before putting his foot in it.
I made him, Mr Tiny Speaker,
and I can break him.
Swampy Fallon, a Tory Mr Angry type, resembling a cock-waving spiv estate agent from Midsomer Murders, was said to be incandescent with wotsaname and likely to declare war on, well, anyone really.
And will this reach Downing Street?
Yes, yes, a head shot, that's the thing.
Quite how this deeply barking redneck became War Seckatry is a matter of bewilidered conjecture among seasoned MediaMinsterites.
And will this reach Downing Street?
Yes, yes, a head shot, that's the thing.
Quite how this deeply barking redneck became War Seckatry is a matter of bewilidered conjecture among seasoned MediaMinsterites.
I mean, Huw, he's raving fucking mad, said the PBC's political editor,
Mr Nick Toenails,
even by the standards of this fucking place.
Are you saying, Nick, that Swampy Fallon is a dangerous lunatic....? Nick, you there, Nick.....?
Sorry about that viewers, we seem to have lost our link with MediaMinster.....
OSCAR NEWS UPDATE.
Mr Hairry Knob, state prosecutor in the trial of Mr Oscar Testosterone, has announced that he is to appeal against the convictions and sentences handed-down by thet med old fecking witch, Her Leddeeship, Mrs Justice Thokazile Wossaname.
I mean, feck me rigid, I never heard sech fecking rebbish, this med fecking besterd shot the bitch through the fecking shithouse door four fecking times with fecking dum-dum fecking bullets end then he comes in here, puking and fecking slobbering end dribbaling end expecting us to believe thet he's the fecking victim here; not his fecking brains all over the shithouse floor, wes it?
Not his fecking hips end fecking shoulders all smeshed to fecking splinters, wes it? Man's an arse, thet's whet he is. End es fer Her Leddeeship,
well, if she believes all thet shit, that he knew there was some poor besterd in the shithouse, thet he knew what the fecking dum-dum bullets would do to any poor cunt who got hit by them but thet he's not responsible for firing the fecking gun four times, if she believes thet shit, she'll fecking well believe eny fecking thing. No, et's like that bloke Ishmael, sed, the prosecution must appeal, end we are.
Are you saying, Nick, that Swampy Fallon is a dangerous lunatic....? Nick, you there, Nick.....?
Sorry about that viewers, we seem to have lost our link with MediaMinster.....
OSCAR NEWS UPDATE.
Mr Hairry Knob, state prosecutor in the trial of Mr Oscar Testosterone, has announced that he is to appeal against the convictions and sentences handed-down by thet med old fecking witch, Her Leddeeship, Mrs Justice Thokazile Wossaname.
I mean, feck me rigid, I never heard sech fecking rebbish, this med fecking besterd shot the bitch through the fecking shithouse door four fecking times with fecking dum-dum fecking bullets end then he comes in here, puking and fecking slobbering end dribbaling end expecting us to believe thet he's the fecking victim here; not his fecking brains all over the shithouse floor, wes it?
Not his fecking hips end fecking shoulders all smeshed to fecking splinters, wes it? Man's an arse, thet's whet he is. End es fer Her Leddeeship,
well, if she believes all thet shit, that he knew there was some poor besterd in the shithouse, thet he knew what the fecking dum-dum bullets would do to any poor cunt who got hit by them but thet he's not responsible for firing the fecking gun four times, if she believes thet shit, she'll fecking well believe eny fecking thing. No, et's like that bloke Ishmael, sed, the prosecution must appeal, end we are.
25 comments:
I like Mr Nel. I wish he would come over here. I feel that there is much work for him to do.
Sent with the assistance of Bletchley Park.
Yes, and Judge Masipa is just the right sort of person to head the Brittain Enquiry - well, yes, the home seckatry may well have destroyed documents incriminating himself and his friends but that is no reason to believe that because he destroyed documents likely to incriminate he and his friends he was destroying documents likely to incriminate himself and his friends in order for he and his friends to escape incrimination by documents which. incriminated he and his friends.
An excellent choice Mr I. However I feel that Mrs Mandela would be better suited to the role. Now there is someone who is well connected and also knows how to position a necklace...
MR I, I reckon the recent death of the South African national team goalie and team captain has just handed ol' Oscar all the justification he needs.
We've had the 'better have it and not need it..' discussion and he will simply (and rightly) point to the poor outcome for this unarmed goalie as justification for being properly tooled up in the rainbow nation.
BBC reckoned 17,000 a year are murdered in SA. We, with a similar population, manage around 550.
Do I think Oscar is fucking nuts? Fuck, yes. Most probably because of the monumental amount of steroids all these fucking 'athletes' seem to ingest.
Do I think having a pistol loaded with dum-dums is irresponsible in SA? Fuck no. It's rock solid sense. These fuckers will kill you for the change in your pockets. Or, in the SA goalie chap's case, for the resale value of his mobile phone.
You can castigate (rightly) Pestorius' story but, if he genuinely did believe he had a burglar on the premises then you cannot second-guess his response in SA. Too fucking right. Empty the fucking magazine into the fucking shitter. Then reload and empty that too.
Under the law of that land, shooting with the intention to kill is murder even without knowledge of the victim's identity. He escaped only because the judge decided the range of possible identities in his mind excluded the actual victim. So while he could have intended to kill anyone, the one person could not have intended to kill is her.
The obvious implausibility of the entire story aside, it is not a distinguished contribution to case law.
But, mr jgm2, he wasn't being burgled was he? He was actually running towards the thing which he claimed terrified him, without having checked on the wherabouts of the person he claimed to be protecting,he, quite obviously, didn't challenge the person or persons he claims he thought were in the toilet and aside from all that common sense stuff, it doesn't matter a fuck how violent the society is you simply cannot have people loosing off their weapons and then puking up and saying Oh, fuck me, your worship, I was frightened.
No, he murdered her, he's probably insane by means of testosterone and fame and maybe he was, as far as he was concerned, just teaching the bitch a lesson, didn't necessarily mean to kill her but he did, doesn't matter if he was in Dodge City or Khe San, you can't go around fucking shooting people. You managed to live in Fucking Scotland didn't you, without a bloodbath?
Not distinguished is one way of describing Masipa's judgement, mr tdg but if she is reversed, as she should be, that, too, will add to that country's woes. I am confused by her on the grounds, also, and contrary to her treatment of Oscar, of her sentencing a non-homicidal offender to two hundred and fifty years imprisonment.
Ooose een theere? Bang bang bang bang..
You coom oot heere. I went to tek to yah...Bang bang bang bang.
Seems to me one of the above scenarios fits.
I usually argue, mr doug shoulders, that people should have less prison, not more but since South Effrica IS sentencing people to jail it seems fantastical and intolerable that a rapist receive 250 years and a killer five, although You coom out here....bang-bang-bang-bang made me laugh as much as did the toilet sign: Toilet in Use, please don't shoot me.
It's a bottomless pit this comparitive justice, Mr I. If just one bastard gets off lightly or one Harry gets too harshly dealt with then the whole house of cards comes crashing down. We just have to savour each gobbet of fairness as it comes along.
You know, of course, that I am a liberal, to a degree, but my dead old mate from Joburg was card-carrying. He was a boy crime reporter down there one day in the Sixties when a man was convicted of a particularly vile child rape and got sentenced to death. Our reporter retold the story of the cheer that went up around the whole building as the poor sod got his sentence and the news spread. "And pause to imagine, mongoose, my lad, if you will, what went on in that place day and night for a century. Nonetheless monster and monstered alike were united in a savage joy." (With apologies to Jim.) Our arch-liberal, civil rights activist even in the face of Vorster's goons, an all-around good guy was appalled that he had found himself cheerful there and applauding too.
But I wouldn't have been cheered and nor would you, and that's what counts, not unless you've been lying to me, all these years.
And I have never suggested that the boy-man, Oscar, be harshly punished but he needs to serve long enough to help him change his way of thinking, make himself a different set of rules, put his best foot - as it were - forward, stop being influenced by fools.
He needs to serve three to five years of fairly hard time, his days at labour, his nights in penitence, in order that he puts some distance between what he has become and who he might be. No Chris Huhne-style pretend prison, but breaking rocks. The penitentiary, that's the place for Oscar Pistorious, the place he needs.
Did you stay friends, you and the man from Johannesburg?
Indeed mr ish.. 250 years for rape placed alongside 5 years for killing someone boggles the mind as to what kind of justice system is running there
It might serve him well for a few years hard…but doubtful that he’ll be breaking rocks.
If this is to be a showcase for Saff Efricen justice, he’ll be training all day
It is probably, as far as a certain kind of criminal is concerned, the very worst aspect of prison, the opportunity for vanity work-outs, down the gym, topped-up with squats and what-nots in the cell. That last but one cop killer, up North, forget his name, the one they shot near a river bank, he was one of those, a muscle-bound neanderthal.Let them break rocks on Dartmoor, let there be some purpose to their narcissism, take them out to rebuild the country's drystone walls, it need not be degradingand with just a little thought it can be escape-proof, tags, thermal imaging, how hard can it be?
Yes, I didn't mean to inidicate any thirst for excessive punishment on your part. Such is not your way.
I was the man's friend, Mr I. Insight from darker times, telling the story against himself, illustrating deliberately the coarsening effect of horror even on himself, a pioneer of anti-apartheid reporting when such went unnoticed over here and was more than a little dangerous over there. Working in the same building, hanging around with those jackbooted bastards, swine engaging him, civilising family anecdotes, tailed home every day by the not-so-secret police, violence on every corner, folk dragged around behind police vehicles. Sitting all alone in the back of a pick-up driven out onto the veld by a pyschopath policeman now nursing a large rifle, and nobody for miles and miles to notice the is-it-going-to-happen disappearance of a troublesome young hack. Shall we stay or shall we go? "Don't do anything silly like trying to run for it, Jim." You gotta have eyes in the back of your head, mongoose, or the fuckers will suck you in. "Ripped that baby apart with his dick, Jim. Gotta string the fucker up. Yes...?" And before you know where you are, there you'll be. Just another mindless fucking waste of space sneering and clapping as the tumbrils draw up. Doubles all round! Good for fuck all but the ground.
I sometimes wonder if that is revulsion, mr mongoose, that blokes so loudly express, or if it's something else, something recognised. It is so far away from sex, baby-raping, that it must be a sickness. Mustn't it?
I fear that Banker Farage and his fools will yet see us cheering the hangman, as he ministers to the sick.
The gym narcissist might well be able to shift, up and down, and up and down, pints of sweat and 50,000Lbs of cast iron per hour in an air conditioned suite. Get him out on the moor, lifting rocks up to waist height and cantilver them over onto the top of a dyke and you’ll see just how useless all that muscle turns out to be.
Knowing one of those blokes, a while ago, I pondered whether he was incapable of cognitive thought before the muscles or if in fact the steroids had turned his brain to mush. He was a mammys boy. They all are. Couldn’t do a day’s graft if their life depended on it. Shifty bugger he was too.
There was a pistorious docu on the teevee the other night. On a different channel was the cycle cheat Armstrong.
Fame, notoriety or otherwise is the holy grail of our times. Armstrong won stuff, fought cancer and shit but became a bigger celeb by doing penance on oprah, acting contrite and fucking over anyone who questioned his sincerity. .Cheered everywhere he goes for cheating and cheating again.
Any kind of atrocious behaviour can get you a book deal.
If death could be made invisible, procedurally, some strange intervention that stochastically caused the victim not to wake up from sleep we would be much less fussed about it. For death is not an event in life, and hence ought not to move us so. That it does is an anachronism of biology.
We are making progress. A man was just found impaled on railings across the street from me. The police say there is nothing suspicious about the death. Perfectly natural to impale yourself on railings, on a grey October morning.
If we believe the Jihadi warrior poet, mr tdg, death is an anachronism of Infidelity, as well as or instead of biology. It is a loss to which I can never be reconciled for in an instant, at the micro-second of Eternity's power failure, everything I have learned - and everything you have learned, which is probably a good deal more - will be irretrieveably lost; all of us, inevitably, sons and daughters of Ozymandias.
Nice neighbours you have, there; here, on my barren isle, people do suicide by driving off Yesnaby Head.
It is much misunderstood, strength, mr doug shoulders, musculature, athleticism and competitiveness rarely husbanding wisdom and compassion, think David Beckham, John McEnroe, Andy Murray and those awful Williams sisters. I have managed never to see Ms Winfrey but I have heard enough to be very glad of that, even more nifghtmarish than Michael Parkinson, isn't she, her customers more self-reverential than Billy Connolly, escapee from ignoble shipwrighting to a life spent telling poo jokes.
Re: yer man on the railings Mr tdg - he wasnae just across the road from a kirk was he?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZLaDps7oLk
And now we have a fifteen-year-old kid whose - admittedly vile and stupidity-filled - crime of violence has him denounced as hopeless and not fit perhaps ever to be released. (I would have thought that a juvenile cannot be banged up forever, m'lud, thank-you.) And this apparently bright young man should be among the easiest to be made to realise his error and to get back on track. Tabloid justice once again.
The strangeness of our justice system is the way that the victims dependants are left to flap in the winds of fortune whilst the murderer lives on.
Would it not be more appropriate, and a bigger deterrent, if the murderer was made to support those dependants "for life", however many there were?
What you would do with the murderer after all the dependants had gone could be decided by a committee of chimpanzees or retired MPs.
You seem to have gone off air Mr I. I hope all is well. Meanwhile I spotted an interesting piece on Kitchener and his Orkney connection in the FT this morning. It is a Paxman effort but none the worse for that:
http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/f3760af0-6545-11e4-91b1-00144feabdc0.html#axzz3ISsHD23x
It may be sat behind the paywall but you can access a few articles for free.
I often drive past the site of the Hampshire's sinking, mr sg, and wonder was this Churchill, up to his Peaky Blinders' manouvres. It is certainly, in local folk memory, an extremely dubious series of events which still arouse anger, grandfathers prevented at gunpoint from assisting the ship's drowning crew. As with the strange death of Princess Dopey Diana, our masters will never permit us to know the truth of that sinking.
It is the right direction, mr alphons, restoration rather than just merely symbolic and useless punishment and one that is, I understand,followed in other cultures, getting jurisprudence to behave sensibly, though, that's another thing.
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