Saturday, 8 November 2014

A UNIQUELY BRITISH PERVERSION

The late Mr Auberon Waugh, satirical journalist and Shire Tory, used to lament the insatiable British appetite for punishment; I wonder what he would have made of Teacher's Terrible Murder and its consequences.
 
mongoose said...
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. 

Pornsters, drunks, guardian's of the nation's morality; 
just look at them, filth, smirking,  on four legs.

Kelvin Patriot.
The nation's favourite editor.
Yeah, darlin', minute you're sixteen, 
I wanna see your tits in my 'paper.


There was a pre-tabloid time, mr mongoose, before teenage tits and redneck bluster lit our path, when youngsters behaving  like this lad were detained during Her Majesty's Pleasure -  a period to be determined by Authority  after which the needs of punishment, deterrence  and rehabilitation had been met, enabling the release of a readjusted young person, his or her privacy were generally maintained in the hope that good might come from bad. Now,  vengeful McKenzieism sits wigged and robed on the Bench.




There was a time, too, before Tony Blair and Jack Torture  sold it, that we had a professional probation service  dedicated to what it called the Advise, Assist and Befriend  approach to offenders,
I simply say, what's the point of rehabilitating people? When you can, y'know, torture them?
 I must say, prime minister, that I am minded to agree. 
And y'know, home seckatry,  there is a life after politics, and we could, y'know, join the board of GlobaTorture.
Yes, prime minister, and perhaps our sons could inherit our seats.
Now, home seckatry, that's pushing it a bit, even for us.

a realistically rehabilitative group of thoughtful men and women, so soft and lily-livered and namby-pamby that everyday they would - singly and totally unequipped - visit tough people in  hard locations,  where Old Bill would only go mob-handed and tooled-up;  all scorned, now, the idea of humane intervention and correction by example,  by ToryLabour, ToryLiberals and ToryPoundlanders,  that braying nitwit, Grayling,  demanding less humanity and more cost-effective, privatised punishment.


I was left speechless by this particularly vile  Mr Justice Slag, so stupid, so vain, so cruel were his crowd-pleasing jeers but I was also bemused by the victim's family  biting on its angry tongue, immune from, indifferent to  sudden Death's cautionary tincture - had Mrs Maguire truly been the angel whom they mourned would she have enjoyed the public destruction and torment of her former pupil and his seemingly blameless parents; would she really have endorsed this rank hatred;  would she not have seen that, through myriad portals,  a virus can enter not just some throwaway ouija-pad but the very mind of one prey  to fashionably  inculcated alienation;  poor lad, his head was fucked by Infotainment's undiscerning phallus and he had invented an identity to please his corporate violators;  would she have wished his crass vilification and his endless torture? I don't know but if she  had it would seem to be a betrayal of her  acclaimed patience and understanding and a failure, also, to understand the risks attendant upon even the glimmering stardom of the classroom.  

Teachers choose to occupy a fragile No-Man's Land between the cuddly infancy and the sharp-elbowed careerism of their charges, happy to fulfill a social worker's role for which they are unqualified, teachers are often at risk from child and parent alike and occasionally  one of them is picked-off. Magistracide remains, neverthelerss,  very rare, all the more reason for the state, in the form of Mr Justice Ramp-It-Up Coulson, not to ape Hanging Judge Jeffries but to seek a remedy of whatever it is which impels a child to stab his teacher over and over again with a breadknife and to find with each wretched plunge a  dark self-actualisation.  Coulson, one feels, would burn such children at the stake, the worthless piece of shit. He sentenced this child to twenty-five per cent longer than than the boy had lived and as if that was not enough goaded he and his parents with the barely disguised wish  that he be shackled and contained forever and ever, Amen.  Hanging, it's too good for Coulson. It's people like him make me want to go and live in Norway.

When I was a kid, a copy of Catcher in the Rye sticking out of one's blazer was all it took to define one's rebelliousness;  now, yoof is bombarded, seduced  by pixcillated existential angst, participates in graphic hunt-and-kill XBox adventures,  has simple, unfettered access to the bleakest human imaginings and enactments, his ouija-phone not, as simpering parents insist, a means of keeping in contact with their Luve Em2Bits, Me brats but exposing them to the dark universe of 120 Days of Sodom and encouraging them to participate. Today's Bash Street Kid  is  also bullied, brainwashed  and hamstrung by what they call social media, the cashcows for  smirking, bullet-headed American misfits, like Mark Zuckerberg and his vile FaceBooking nonsense.  Yoof is told by cynical fascists like Fat Alec Salmond and Gnasher Sturgeon that even though it doesn't know its arse from a hole in the ground its vote is crucial to a properly-functioning  democracy; just as long as it's cast for the right organised criminal clique.  Exploited and corrupted on every front, our youth; how long until we see US High School-style massacres?

Until we cross that happy event horizon we must, meantime, droolingly relish the witch-hunting viciousness of  the oafish Mr Justice Coulson as he damns one of our  thoughtlessly damaged fruits


 and calls him all the Names of Wickedness.


.......if you cried, you know you'd fill a lake with tears.

22 comments:

Bungalow Bill said...

I came here after the short recent hiatus because I had to record my urgent wish that somebody, somewhere might shoot Russell Brand in the head. Having noted that marginal point, I am exhilarated by this defence of intelligent, humane rehabilitation or, if the child is a psychopath, of ( by implication) humane treatment and best support. None of which forgets the victim or ignores the crime but which hopes instead that the horrible evil and poison may be redeemed. Were we so minded, we might almost call it Christian. No wonder that godforsaken grotesques like Coulson put on the black cap. Auberon Waugh: as we have said before, now there we suffered a loss.

Alphons said...

"Bungalow Bill said...

I came here after the short recent hiatus because I had to record my urgent wish that somebody, somewhere might shoot Russell Brand in the head."

He has nothing in there to shoot.
He has developed the trick of talking out of his arse.

Caratacus said...

Can't remember where I read it but it went something aong the lines of, "... he was shot in the head but fortunately the bullet missed any vital organs".

Anonymous said...

"If you're feeling sad and blue,
Stab a teacher; it's the thing to do,
Blame it on society it's not your fault,
There's sympathy for when you're caught,
The muddle headed wring their hands,
Believing that their cure will stand.
The best in counselling care and aid.
A newer you will be displayed,
Then feeling better and now proved sane,
You're free to kill again and again."

A poem for those unfortunate souls who have had a terrible childhood but manage to rise above it and become decent human beings.

Baron

Rightwinggit said...

Baron,

Senfuckingsational, as my dear old Granny used to say.

tdg said...

The judge's failure would have been irrelevant had the psychiatrists done their job. The boy clearly had a psychotic belief about this woman, there is no other plausible explanation, but because he does not tick all the other boxes in the silly criterial assessment unskilled psychiatrists do he has been labelled sane. We have talked about encapsulated psychoses here before; the archetypal evil murderer, Sutcliffe, was so afflicted, but he is rarely described as a patient.

call me ishmael said...

He is here, mr tdg, has always been; the court's insistence on his sanity being one of Ruin's calling cards, the need for vengeance trumping all else. I hope someone appeals this case, shames this wicked judge.

call me ishmael said...

As for mr baron and mr rightwinggit, well, people of the right needs must remember that maybe the God they've been praying to might just as easily give to them what they have been wishing on someone else. I mean, if we can do this to a child of fifteen, who knows what we might do to a couple of old codgers like you.

If you buy your criminal justice system from Poundland you will find, when you get it home, that there's more crime in it than justice.

call me ishmael said...

It must be Christian, mr bungalow bill; they are Her Majesty's courts, and as we saw in the ghastly Festival of Killing, last night, she and God jointly run the show, how can either be absent from Justice; her members and ministers pray to God at the opening of every parliamentary day and we are cudgelled regularly into the cry of God Save The Queen. Why is God's only begotten son so absent from her Court, sidelined by devilsperm like Coulson? Fucking beats me why all the bishops in the land aren't up in arms over this child mistreatment.


Mr Brand was the cause of some dispute here, a few years back, between mr tdg and your correspondent, he spotting the falsity of it all, I being charmed by his then comedic novelty and courage; seems that I was wrong and Brand has been no more able than any other to extricate himself from the web spun by Showbiz around her practitioners, her threads of narcissism and greed. Yes, fuck him, bullet in the head, too good for him; take comfort, soon he will have shot his bolt and perhaps follow his idol, Robin Williams, to Vanity's grubby destination.

Jonafun Woss, though, he's a cancer which just keeps on growing; where once he merely asked his female guests if they liked it through the back door, missus, he now casts himself as drug therapist and life skills coach to the poor, gaudy strumpets; stroking his cock under the desk as he congratulates them for being clean for, what is it now, Linsay, thirteen months? Big hand, ladeezangennulmen in da studio, for Miss Linsay Lohan, who has been clean now for over a year. Yeah, let's hear it.....

tdg said...

Broadmoor is a great deal more comfortable than a prison, but the infinite elasticity of tenure cannot be easy on the spirit. At least that way he knows for certain he will be out one day, even if to a world he may no longer recognise. Perhaps that is why the defence was so reticent.

call me ishmael said...

I have never visited Broadmoor but I have seen the insides of a few prisons and whether they be modern or Victorian they are comfortless places for anyone and for the lifer they all represent a daily minefield whose dangers shift and multiply with each new screw or assistant governor or welfare officer or convicted new kid in the block, any of whom may jeopardise one's furture release on license; imagine, you may simply rub another the wrong way and see your hopes of freedom spitefully dashed. I have known more lifers than most and I would put it a bit more strongly that that, mr tdg, a bit worse than not being easy on the spirit. It must be an unimaginable torment of paranoia and authoritarian whisper. Better a fixed sentence than twenty years' jumping through imaginary hoops. Although few lifers reoffend, few are well.

I thought, in passing, that membership of what we call Europe would automatically see this case as an example of cruel, unusual and unnecessary punishment; life - whether the accused is sane or not - for an offence committed at fifteen seems barbaric.

Bungalow Bill said...

Yes, what a nightmare we inhabit when Brenda is eulogised for her heroism in placing a wreath "under the threat of terrorist attack" while her courts damn a plainly deranged child out of sight. Incidentally, I see that Tony Murderer has been caught taking the Saudi Dollar again (many of them), as if we didn't know. Now, there is a proper psychopath and see how he is sentenced, see how Her Majesty and Her Majesty's fat judges show him their displeasure.

call me ishmael said...

There is an antidote to all this warmongering, mr bungfalow bill, and I am in the basement, mixing-up the medicine, one which on this occasion contains your own preferred ticture of melody. It will be ready in a while.

It does get harder and harder to stomach, Brendaism, so much so that one chokes on the passing cordial respect one is accustomed to showing the elderly.

Anonymous said...

"As for mr baron and mr rightwinggit, well, people of the right "
"If you buy your criminal justice system from Poundland "
"who knows what we might do to a couple of old codgers like you."

I too could respond in the same jingoistic way if I had lack of knowledge of the people I was intent on putting down if they didn't agree with my convoluted thesis.
But I shan't because I can handle your opinion without attacking the messenger on a personal manner just because he states a different perspective.

Baron

tdg said...

Broadmoor is rather like a boarding school without perfects, and with girls, whom one may meet socially now and again, though I imagine contact is carefully supervised. Or at least that is how it was when I was shown round it in the nineties. I suppose the state does not need to worry about punishing the truly damned.

call me ishmael said...

It's just that I disagree with you, mr baron, and your rejection of social work theory and it's just that I worry that a right-wing hegemony will scourge you as quickly as I.

call me ishmael said...

Well, that's good to know, mr tdg, although Seckatry Grayling may yet rule it a regime too liberal by half.

My own electoral view vis a vis these matters is that bad as Labour is, it is its people who are wrong, not its instincts and I guess that makes it slightly preferable to any Tory/Poundland axis.

Anonymous said...

That's quite alright if you disagree with me. Like I disagree with you on this matter. However, it is not necessary for me to bring imagined personal details about yourself into the equation like you have in order to make my point.

Baron

call me ishmael said...

What imagined personal details are these, surely not an affectionate "old codgers"?

mongoose said...

It isn't just about the miscreant, is it? We do these things because they are the decent things to do. We are demonstrating civilisation to the uncivilised. This is strength and not weakness. Banging up some lad forever because we're cross just doesn't cut it I am afraid. Which is another reason why victims' statements and impact appraisals are a moral dead end IMO. We should not need to be told that the bereaved weep, nor how keenly, nor for how long. That's what judges get the big bucks for. Anyone's death diminishes us all - equally - and it matters not whether that lost soul is a blameless teacher with a mourning family or a mad apparent-cannibal tasered to death in Wales. (Those taffy coppers, eh? What are they like?)

And the lad isn't whining about his poor life thus far, is he? No, he's crowing like a teenage prat, like a moral toddler - which is what he is.

Anonymous said...

@ call me ishmael
"What imagined personal details are these, surely not an affectionate "old codgers"?"

Well seeing as you ask. I shall reply.

Obviously you can only handle people and their ideas if you can put them into pidgin holes:-
"people of the right"
I am neither rightwing, leftwing, batwing, left, right, front, or upside-down. I'm an individual who doesn't conform to any of these labels.
" the God they've been praying to"
I do not pray to any God. I do not believe in the control system of religion.
The "Poundland" reference is too deep for me.
Then the final "ageist" remark:-
"couple of old codgers like you."
Received as a put down not as an affectionate remark as the tone of your reply was disparaging.

You seem to believe that I lack compassion. Far from it. BUT I also believe in 'individual responsibility'.

Dear ishmael, If you only want comments that back your argument then put a notice at the top of each article. Otherwise don't be so touchy if people disagree and do try to treat 'individuals' with respect.

Baron



call me ishmael said...

Many here disagree with me,mr baron, many correct me, some instruct me, it is for such reasons that I post.

The God that you have been praying to is a metaphor, not a summary of your personal belief system..

The infantile poem, scawled by some Godless heathen fucking bastard is as right wing as it gets, nauseating but if I was the person you accuse me of being it would not still be here, it would have joined the other twenty or so deleted comments from a total of, I dunno, twenty thousand; deletion rate of a small fraction of one per cent, you arte right, this is the sign of a properly censorious demagogue.

The poem is pap and balderdash yet you claim bleatingly is heartfelt common sense when it is a dunderheaded stupidity which even mr mongoose, above, would sttuggle to illuminate; if you post and praise fascistic drivel you may not carp at being seen as right wing.

And in any event I don't care about right wing or left wing - mr old rightie, mr right wing git, they visit here because they know that my ire is at the careerist confected centre, that it is rotten to the core and must be described as such, in Chronicles of Ruin.

They don't give a fuck that I'm a Zen Presbyterian Marxist, they don't care about that, and I don't care if they polish the shoes of the Monday Club, although I am sure they don't.

Poundland refers to the habitat of Mr Farage's FruitCakers and their one size fits all, made in China, worthless policies. I am sure thay would sing your ghastly poem to the fucking rafters, right up their Street of a Thousand Arseholes, it is, cuntishness and hatred.

As for ageism, well, old man, I'm speechless at that suggestion.

Right, that's enough, if that doesn't soothe your ruffled feathers I suggest you visit the axchiungly correct commet boards of the Guardian. They are shit, though.