Sunday, 26 July 2015


This is the Six o clock news from the PBC, with me, Martine Thicko 

and the top story in the world is that a British man has won the Tour de France, twice, despite being soaked in FrogPiss, thrown at him by,well, Frog spectators. Cycling is of course owned by Sky News and we don't know very much about. But I am joined here in the studio  to discuss this major news story by Rolling Stone, Sir Keith Richard. Sir Keith, what's your take, as a cyclist,  on the great news from France?

Oh, wow, man, like when me an' Ronnie are on stage it's like weaving, man, 

you kno-o-o-ow, weaving the Blues, in and out, like, phew, wow, man,  it's like 

knit one, purl one.....
or is that knitting, man......?

That's great, Sir Keith, but what about the cycling news?

Cycling, man? Oh, wow, man, I don't do cycling,
 that was just a photo shoot, there was cats like holding me up, bin airbrushed out. 
No, I get, like,  chauffeured around, y'know, man? 

In a life-support vehicle. With defibulator-shit and adrenaline and oxygen and lawyers,  Oh, man, gotta have lawyers, man, in this life.  There was this cat, man, Warren Zevon, he was a junky, man; like who isn't, yeah?  But he wrote this great song, Send Lawyers, Guns and Money, The Shit Has Fit The Fan, it was called.  Oh yeah, me an' Sir Mick, 

we tried to copy it into somethin' else, man, like we do,  like, that's how it goes, man,  with the blues, rich cats like us rip-off poor cats that ain't lawyered-up but, like,  Zevon was a proper kno-o-o-ow.......trained by some classical cat, namea Stravinsky  or something. Oh, wow, man,  like, you know,  some days I can't even remember my own name, how'm I s'posed to know who some cat was who taught some other cat his chops, man ....and it was, like too advanced for us, so we didn't.  If we hadda managed to copy that shit, man, it woulda been Send Lawyers, Guns and Money AND Life Support Equipment. That woulda been cool, you know? That's my trip, copying stuff.  I copied Ry Cooder back in the 'sixties  and I been getting rich off it ever since. But cycling, no,  I don't do cycling, man, that's crazy shit. But I see where you're coming from, babe. It's like the cyclist,  man, doing his thing, he like does the same thing over and over and over again, it's like being in a groove,  that pedalling shit, right?  Too much, man, too fucking much. But that's what we do, in the Rolling Stones, right,  play that stuff just over and over and over and over; Brown Sugar, Hinky Pink Women, Satisfaction, yeah, babe, there's loadsa the fucking things,  an' we been playing them for half a fucking century. Most times, on stage,  I don't even play 'em no more, we have this banda guys, offstage, where you can't see 'em, they do all that shit. It's just not my thing, man, not my gig.  Fuck, man, 
you seen the state a my hands. 
That's some heavy shit, man, that old age.
No, what I do do is like, I don't do that playin' shit, I  prowl the stage, bending down and then kinda standin' up, with a Telcaster  around my neck, making like gestures with my arm, man, doin' the Old Geezer Blues, but like in a spiritual manner, like all them old blues guys. 
Only they were poor.
And they had the Blues.
But what about him doing it twice, this cycling chap?

Doin' it twice?  I already told you, man, we musta done it a million times.......
And what about the allegations that he was on drugs?
Now you're like talkin' my language. What was it? Smack? Coke? Morphine?  Morphine's really cool shit, man. I hope he was on Sister Morphine.  Oh, man, I love this cycling cat, cycling all around France on Morphine.  It's a wonder, man, he didn't fall asleep, like I've been, for forty years.   


Donchoo, step on my blue suede shoes.
Or my lawyers'll come and kill you, man. 
Or my accountants. 
Or my security team.
Or my record company.
Wow, man, that Elvis, you kno-o-o-ow,  he was really, like,  where it was at.

That was Sir Keith Richard, there, talking with Maxine about cycling. Yes, I know, pathetic, the way we chase Sky. 
But at least we're not a public service broadcaster.

Over to the weather now, with Jayne Tits.


DtP said...

Cyclists freak me the fuck out. I live and grew up in the Pennines and cycled loads as a kid 25-30 years ago before cars with only "be back for your tea" as guide book, yet these fucking nut-jobs do it for a living! Fucking nutjobs. I doubt you've watched this year's Tour much but for all the talk of drugs and stuff, what has been apparent from Sky's 3 wins out of 4 has been their tactics, organisation and yeah - physicality. Bradley Wiggins got taken round by Froome in 2012 and Ricky Porte and Gerraint Thomas have taken Froome round in his both but Wiggins never thanked Froome - sorry, Sir Bradley fucking Wiggins. Even if the guy didn't mean it - "this cunt's been on my back since day 1 and clearly wants my job but I've won this Tour, a decent gold medal and blagged a knighthood only for some dizzy cow to run me over in a Leicester garage but cheers Chris, cheers for proper fucking helping me win the most impressive fucking stupid event known to sport, ya cunt!" Seriously, it's not that difficult.

My mum's been doing family history shit and we're vaguely related to Stephen Roache who arseholed the Tour in 1987 and that was the absolute heyday of drugs. There was an Alp stage and the last 2 minutes was a sprint to the top which he arseholed - 'yeah, yeah alright, nothing to see, second wind dontchaknow?'. Fuck me, it was impressive - curiously shite next year - whodda thunk?

Even to do the Tour and finish the bastard is a guaranteed kudos if yer ever meet one of the loons but considering their life expectancy is about 55 and they've got flat testicles there's a diminishing likelihood.

Half way through the golf I flicked over to the tennis Davis cup and Murray did well which is a good thing, apparently, but then flicking back to the golf with Alliss talking bollox, Ken Brown fucking about with rubber ducks and knowing every single one of them makes more in a weekend than a professional cyclist makes in a career - well, pass the Charlie, the whores and the secret camera - kiss and tell on yourself becomes an option!

Just re-read it - cycling freaks me out for sport but what the fuck these amateurs are doing in cities is total mong behaviour - it's not cycling, it's transport the wankers.

SG said...

Another 'arse and elbow' problem methinks. You've really got to wonder what sort of selection process is used to employ 'journalists' these days...

call me ishmael said...

I only ever saw Sir Brad one time or two, mr dick, and thought that he deserved a knighthood about as much as all the other tossers. Any government of which I was a part would strip all these thieves and luvvies of knighthoods and peerages, a knighthood for bicycling, for singing Summer Holiday, for play-acting at James Bond, for being given your very own beasting hospital, no wonder the country's ruined. As for bicyclists, they have as much of a place on a modern road as does a horse and trap or a penny-farthing, it is all as bizarre, cyclists whining about their special safety needs, as the gay marriers, demanding the right to be straight, fucking lunatics; if they don't wanna get run over by an evil-bastard lorry driver psychobastard they should just stick to cycle tracks and if there aren't any cycle tracks they should fucking walk, not run, fucking self-obsessed fucking bastards. We see loads of them, up here, skeletal little white haired men and scrawny women, cause fucking havoc, they do, wheezing and gasping their way up the hills, at war with their hearts, lurching up the A9, three abreast. At least the muscular, crop-haired German lesbians ride big fuck-off BMWs, with Liebschen Heidi, ze little minx, on ze back; the bicyclers are just joyless, miserable bastards who hate everybody else; fuck 'em, I'd lash them to a fucking windmill blade
in a gale and watch their crazed brains dribble out of their ears. And why is it that they are entirely unregulated, uninsured amd untaxed yet feverishly lecture normal people about responsibility? Oughta be a law against them coming around.

And Team Sky, which was the point of the post, is just a vehicle for Porno Rupe and his shitbreath agents; if the PBC. had to report this nonsense at all it should have been a bit measured, some Kenyan, pretending, for Murdoch, to be British, fuck him. he'll be a walking advertising board for Santander, next week, have their name on every inch of his mutant body. Knighthood seems about. Order of the Moron.

call me ishmael said...

Journalists? I just saw Jon Sox saying that Lord Slapper might be ex-communicated, from the House of Lords.

walter said...

Mr ish I own a mtb, a velomobile, a recumbent trike, a tricycle a tandem, a folding bike, an electric bike and two racing bikes, yes i am a nutter ps i own a volkswagen polo

call me ishmael said...

mr walter, there are no house rules in Ishmaelia, save that of Present Company Excepted, said rule invoked should visitors inadvertently and through no fault of their own, find themselves unintentionally to have mistakenly aligned themselves temporarily with a belief or practice which has momentarily and for purposes of discussion excited the ire of your host or other contributors.

DtP said...

Porte is Tasmanian. A really good chum flew into a tight descent at 14 - proper legs broken - called him Tommy Tumble until about 19. To be fair, your neck of the woods should be reasonable. I remember lugging 30lbs bikes around - old gits like Corbyn so it's cheaper than social ridicule and then shadows of Dignitas.

SG said...

It's funny (peculiar), I'm beginning to warm to the guy - even if he is one of Blair's Boys (there'll be a medal for that a few years hence...). His remarks about Blair, Cameron et al could have come straight out of here. As for his misdemeanors, well, at least he paid for them - albeit with our money (fucker so he is - in every sense of the word....). Doing a line of coke off of a hooker's tits? He's in very good company with that one is he not and certainly not a disqualification for high office (my earlier comments notwithstanding...)? All in all it seems like pretty tame stuff compared to the activities of other Noble Lords and Honourable Members that we've discussed here et passim. Damn I must cut down on the cynicism pills...

call me ishmael said...

It does seem like small beer, doesn't it? And in the States he'd be shouting sbout entrapment. One is tempted to feel that this is just a bit of a diversion, y'know, from Dolphin Square, the Welsh Office, the Palace. I think it's more of a health issue, silly old git, snorting coke at 69. As for the attendance allowance, well, they all do that don't they, not normally an issue for the Sun.

DtP said...

Wrong time of season and such low rent. There was a dude on Westminster Hour mentioning Privy Council and I got a bit vexed. Who do these people think they are kinda stuff? Labour's going on internal recent, bit of space won't hurt.

SG said...

Well it could have been worse, or better, depending on one's perspective. He could have done crack from crack - maybe that came later?Perhaps he's doing it for health reasons - a last 'cosmic roll of the dice'? Yeah, the attendance allowance is 'have I got old news for you' shit & certainly there's something of the sideshow about this...

mongoose said...

Do we care? Except that we are probably paying for the coke. And the hooker. And the flat in which to do it all. Let's hope he didn't take a cab or we'd have to call the TPA.

And not to forget, that be he Lord whatever, my cat has achieved more in its life than that useless bastard would in ten goes.

call me ishmael said...

You would think that Rupert's arse-fleas could organise this sort of thing at any time of the day or night with any number of filthsters, all of them, probably - members, peers or bishops, princes, cardinals, Lord Justice Slags and Chief Constable Gobs; why this one, why now? Murdoch-generated news, it's the path to the future.

His Lordship said we are paying for the coke, as is entirely right, for noble members of your Lordships' house. Cunts, all of them.