Wednesday, 3 February 2016

THE GREAT GAY BAKE-OFF.


He has never been short of courage,  

 

Peter Tatchell, and I suspect that had he not been so vilely treated by Straight Simon Hughes and the shit-eating, dog-shooting, child-molesting  Liberals, way back,  his presence in parliament might have delayed its descent into the filthy shithole which it has become.  

Maybe confronting the hypocrite in his lair is just his stock-in-trade, what he does, but he does it consistently and boldly. As well as his contretemps with Mugabe, I saw him wrestled to the ground by Dame Portillo's goons, 

 

merely for asking a question which might have embarrassed the slimy wretch - although judging by Portillo's TeeVee career he is beyond embarrassment;  MediaMinster, what are they like, this most reactionary, right-wing of Tory ministerial thugs feigning Everyman on a train, licking up all sorts of insults from Andy Neil, just for a few quid.

Tatchell, anyway has come out, so to speak, this morning, against the New Puritanism - which, I think he realises, he has helped spawn - specifically in criticising the pursuit through the courts of the Ulster bakers, those who declined to bake a cake promoting gay marriage on the quite reasonable grounds that it was against their religion to do so. 
 I come from an Orange, Presbyterian Ulster background, some of my father's kin were even missionaries, in Africa, and on the wireless, bringing Christ to the Nations, and from what I know of them they were a hissing, tight-fisted, tut-tutting, judgemental, hypocritical, po-faced, miserable Godlessheathenbastard  pain in the arse, and maybe these two are as well but that should not be a matter for the courts.

 

 And this affair was not against their religion in the sense that they wanted to stone faggots to death for disrespecting Allah, peace and blessings ironically be upon His name, just that, y'know, we really don't believe in this, we cannot in conscience fulfill your order, why not take your business elsewhere?  Seemed perfectly understandable, it is not yet compulsory to support same sex marriage and if an evangelical Christian is affronted by it, well, tough shit;  I'm affronted by it, too, I am affronted by so much that I could be here for years, have been here for years,  scribbling the chronicles of Ruin on the cyberwall, whistling them on the cyberstreet corner. I am affronted, for instance,  by the absurd notion that cutting off his cock and balls and stitching part of the remnants into a fake vagina makes a man a woman;  that people insist I believe this garbage is the true offence here, to logic, to women and to sanity, they can all fuck off, the trannies, live in Hebden Bridge if they want, the town of the perpetual flood, give 'em something to moan about to the lesbians. The gay cakeists, they can fuck off, too, find someone who wants to bake their stupid, childish  cakes, instead of screeching hysterically about those who don't, wasting my fucking money, dragging them into court.

Tatchell, this morning, made the perfectly reasonable point that tolerance is a two-way street,  the blessed thoroughfare of a civilised society.  The New Puritans, however, are not interested in tolerance, just in a kind of  fascistically enforced, scabrous Rabelaisianism, a paradoxical society wherein a difference of opinion becomes an offence in itself, even when that difference is offensively created, highlighted and exaggerated  in the first place by those now seeking remedy in the courts. 



It was this guy who deliberately provoked the incident  which he now claims discriminates against him. 

 

 Silly cunt should buy himself some children, down Mexico way,  bring 'em back here, he'd find himself having something better to occupy his time with than going around waving his poxy arse at people who're  just trying to run a business and practice their faith, one established a good deal longer, by the way,  than matey's hysterical New Puritanism.

The appeal judges should find for the bakers, uphold their freedom to live their lives.  

51 comments:

Alphons said...

Perhaps it would be a profitable scheme to enforce, by fiscal means, the wearing of clothing which adequately indicated the wearer's sexual allegiances. It would make life easier for most people.

call me ishmael said...

I believe they are no longer called allegiances, m alphons, but are characteristics determined at birth, or before, by Mother - or Father - Nature. Whether or not this is true I am unqualified to say - although I suspect it is fucking nonsense in all but a tiny minority of cases.

Anonymous said...

There are two aspects of this case, apart from the spiteful premeditated antagonism by Mr Nancy Boy, which are:
1. No poof was discriminated against because Asher's wouldn't have made the cake for anyone, independent of their sexual preference.
2. It's a matter of property. If you own the cake mixture and icing sugar then it is up to you what you do with it. But if you can't control how something is used by someone else then it isn't really yours. It looks as if the Court owns all property as they can decide that, for instance, someone has to make cakes whether they like it or not. This is a truth manifested at it's worst in military conscription, a rude awakening for those foolish enough to think that they own their person.
Anyway I hope Asher's win their appeal as they did not refuse service from spite, but the order was, it seems, placed in the hope it would be refused and become capitaliseable upon.
What would Jesus have said?
"Any man can get their mum or auntie to ice a cake, or find a shop that'll do it without fuss, unless they're trying to be a cunt."
-richard

call me ishmael said...

Yes, mr richard, I do believe He would've said something like that, and He, too would've had me lolling out loud.

Mike said...

Thankfully, it seems that some common sense may have been interjected; the NI DPP, or whatever he is, has intervened and the case has been put back, possibly sine die, as me learn'd friend would say.

The main issue for me is that so much of our lives are being taken over by an increasingly bossy state. Democracy my arse.

call me ishmael said...

You should have seen Bossy Dave, on the news, defending his EU triumph, he looked like a mad, angry
old lady.

Mike said...

I would be pissing blood if I lived over there, Mr I.

To think the future of a once great country rests in the hands of the good people of Sheffield, and their like around the country. I'd volunteer for the manned mission to Mars.

Dick the Prick said...

I read a quote from Joe Orton along the lines of Western civilisation is fucked because there's nothing left to conceal and you can see in that gay lad's eyes he just goes round getting offended over fuck all. When there is genuine discrimination, of which Tatchell and his local A&E dept know much about, getting offended and then litigious because some cunt doesn't bake a fucking cake kind of pisses on the dead bodies of Syrian benders introduced to a pavement from the 5th floor of the municipal kiddy fiddler emporium. But it's not, in my mind anywho, these actors in this play de nos jours that is of the main concern but the 1st official on the scene who didn't just wander away, aggravated, after kicking off stating 'I really, genuinely, legitimately have work to fucking do, ya wankers - bake the cake, don't bake the cake, I couldn't give a shit'. And then up the chain it went.

I was chatting to a dude at work today, slating our incompetent and lazy big cheese whereby it occurred to us that if we were on £100k+ for just turning up then it could be an easy travail down Ruin's causeway to focus far too much deceptive energy on the most irrelevant of shite because doing anything else would be just too damned hard. Why bother working, why bother trying to fix stuff when it just increases risk? Ruin has become embedded - from Cameron with his soiled bog roll of a renegotiated EU contract which sells Blighty's citizens out rather than bother his European peers and old Google school chums to these bun fuckers; the zeitgeist rewards spineless, workshy, pass me the fucking vapours, infantile pussies. And the kick in the nuts that forms the cherry on the gay gateaux is that these fuckers win - almost every time, these fuckers win. It's almost fucking demented if you've got something to lose fighting this shite.

I would say fair play to the God botherers but it's just a fucking cake. It's like every single one of the cunts in this story was Derren Browned into doing exactly the opposite of what they should have done - I duuno, it's been going on for a couple of years so let's say 1,000 opportunities for someone, anyone, to just say 'stop, fuck off'.

SG said...

Yeah, it is difficult to see how justice is served here Mr I. The Leviathan of State crushing a minnow at the instigation of a provocateur. What happened to common sense and a sense of proportionality? This 'protected characteristics' stuff has got out of hand. A 'Gay' couple turn up to a Hilton or a Marriot and get turned away, that's an issue. The same two turn up at a two room B&B and get turned away - tough! That said, if it was a remote location, there was nowhere else and the weather was rough, well, if it was mine, I'd let them in... Jesus - I still remember the days when a 'tranny' was a radio...

SG said...

Sorry, I should have inserted a 'probably' in the above. I might draw the line at some of the specimens you've displayed here Mr I - they can take ther chances..

Alexius said...

Another gem, Mr Ishmael. I once read an article in ``the `Spectator` in which Tatchell described going running in the hills in California and coming upon another runner in great difficulty. He described - with due modesty - how he had helped the man down the hillside and concluded his article with some tips on mountain running safety. He added that following these rules would prevent one suffering the worst fate that could befall a macho man - being rescued by a poofter! I laughed out loud at that and have had a soft spot for him ever since.

call me ishmael said...

Alaska looks good, mr mike, mad old bastards building log cabins in the wilderness, using every tool in the De Walt warehouse, everything run off generators. Looks like Heaven.

call me ishmael said...

Thanks, mr dick and I think you're right about the shared blame, except that the gay man started it and once started I think that for the reasons mr richard lists the bakers should prevail; it IS. their flour and sugar and oven. There whas a time when regustrars or recorders or judges woul not have heard this nonsense but the New Puritans have made every petty slight actionable and called it Equality.

call me ishmael said...

I don't wish to be indelicate but I can see how some B'n'B proprietors might wrinkle their noses at certain sexual practices, their impact on the linen and matress, maybe that is unreasonable but I can understand it. My own default position, these days, mr sg, is that if traders don't serve me courteously and promptly I'll go somewhere else, however far away it is.

call me ishmael said...

I hadn't heard that one, mr alexius, very nice. I always thought him wrong-headed on the age of consent, but in a principled rather than a predatory fashion and I do believe it's a crying shame that he was shafted by the Liberals and abandoned by his own Labour party. Corbyn should put him in the Lords. Cry Havoc! Let slip the dogs of queer.

Mike said...

Please forgive the impertinence, Mr I, but observing the bowels of human kind, on a daily basis, I hope your spirits might be raised by the voice of an angel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMaLhIbYJoM

Doug Shoulders said...

It is so Mr Ish. That some folks have the temerity to insist that one should approve their life choices and pay taxes to support them.
Quentin Crisp would be spinning in his grave. Even if Tachells’ argument is disagreeable, his mettle is something to be admired…didn’t come cheap. Who else in the meedja has conviction enough to take a burst nose for it?
The couple, who run (Or ran?) the bed n’ breakfast…refusing to board a gay couple…probably lost their livelihood over it. Would that have happened if the couple had been male and female but not married? I think not.
The discrimination is against those that don’t hold the point of view of those screeching the loudest.
As DTP alluded to, some cunts have too much time on their hands.
If only…if only…”Well the real reason, your honor, that I didn’t bake the cake was, because I thought the poof was a cunt”.

Rightwinggit said...

".. using every tool in the De Walt warehouse,.."

Working on it...

mongoose said...

As I understood it, the bakers did not discriminate against the customers. they discriminated against the cake.

call me ishmael said...

Yes, that's the point, isn't it. It's like demanding of your local joiner that he come and build you a torture dungeon, him telling you to fuck off, and you claiming that he is violating the rights of the community of pussy-whipped, flogged, electrocuted, nipple-clamped sado-masochists. By you, I mean one, of course. Although you do, mr mongoose, seem to engage yourself in a number of timber-based activities and fuck knows what mr rwg is up to with all those power tools. No matter, it's none of my business what people construct in their basements, whistling to themselves, perhaps, If you can't beat the one you love, beat the one you're with.

Doug Shoulders said...

Hah... such a turn of phrase Mr Ish.
Tis a gift

call me ishmael said...

There must be a Quentin Crisp left somewhere, mr doug, a proper queer, not a gay activiste, demanding to be straight; there must be a proper Otherness, an Underground, the protection of which all might fight for and cherish. Maybe Brian Sewell was one of those but he's gone to the great cottage in the sky; could never see Brian taking a husband, buying some children, becoming an Anglican vicar, and touring the country looking for a service provider to take to court, insisting all the time that he was perfectly normal and that it was the vast, overwhelming majority that was fucked -u.

call me ishmael said...

up, fucked-up.

Doug Shoulders said...

Tatchell may be the new Crisp. How dare he tell the Nugay to calm the fuck down with the demands for more rights the royal family.
Fuck me they’ll be asking for female hormones to be put in the drinking water next.

Anonymous said...

Already there, Mr Shoulders - contraceptive pill and HRT wastewater recycled and fed back through the taps. What was it WC (ho ho) Fields said about water? Never touched the stuff because fish fucked in it, or something.

v.//

Funnily enough, Mr Ish, there's a scene where a joiner is consulted about some SM furniture in a recent film called "The Duke of Burgundy", which is a pastiche of 70's eurotrash softcore (apparently) and a strange, funny, rather touching romantic SF fable to boot. It stars the Danish PM from "Borgen".

call me ishmael said...

I must be channeling Mr Fields, mr verge, I live a few metres from the shore and I wouldn't set foot in the sea for those reasons; I like being on it but swimming in fish shit's not my bag, man.

May be an urban myth but we used to hear of fish which fed close to sewage outlets becoming hermaphrodite for the reasons you mention, waste water hormone levels. And that's to say nothing of the unmentioned epidemic of premature male
baldness. It is an example of the anthropobscene, mutation a price we are happy to pay to Big Pharma.

call me ishmael said...

That link didn't work for me, mr mike, just tell me the artist and the song and I'll find it.

Anonymous said...

Elina Garanca - I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls - Balfe

call me ishmael said...

Yes, that is very sweet, I had never heard of it or her. I'll raise you, though, you'll need to have alook at the whole one hour video for the extracts have been removed from youtubre but you can either watch the whole thing or speedview it, the soprano is jaw-dropping, Katherine Battle, Herbert von Karajan at the Vatican, 1985, Mozart's Coronation Mass. Bertie's company produced the gig so God and the Pope play second fiddles. The band, the choir and the quartet are mesmerising but it was written for the soprano, her control and projection are skills which few of us master; proper human magic. And Mozart'll be doing a turn, up there, in God's music hall, twice nightly, forever and ever.

mongoose said...

Posting all this stuff twice is getting irritating. Blogger acting up again, Mr I?

Early evensong for the weekend.

Woman on a Raft said...

The Wakefield War Office agrees with Mr Ishmael that facial hair can be a worrying sign. Note how nicely shaved Tatchell is. They have produced a graphical guide.

Wakefield War Office Public Information Wall Chart

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cabr7BLWIAAEdAL.jpg

call me ishmael said...

Gosh, mr mongoose, how come I done never heard of Mr RL Burnside?

call me ishmael said...

I'll take a look when I can get on the laptop, mrs woar, can't get there from my ipad.

mongoose said...

He was one of Mr Lomax's trawlings for Congress, I think. Long dead now for sure.

Bungalow Bill said...

Ms Garanca has a lovely voice indeed, Mr Mike. So does Mr Burnside.

Mike said...

Thanks, Mr I, I listened to Kathleen Battle. She does indeed have a very clear voice. And the acoustics at the Vatican add an ethereal quality to it.

Bungalow Bill said...

The Spatzenmesse by Mozart is also wonderful. A thousand years ago I sang as a treble in the cathedral choir here (I was never knowingly molested) and the Gloria from the Coronation Mass was exhilarating even at the age of 10. So much church music is incomparably beautiful I think, no belief being required. The stupendous gathering at the start of Zadok The Priest was another one that always lifted your head from your shoulders. And so, gloriously, on.

Mike said...

Re the cake: if I had been the baker, I'd have been tempted to add a little extra into the mix.

call me ishmael said...

Not a requisite, mr bungalow bill, belief, but it may be a side effect. The Rembrandts in Amsterdam had the same terrifying impact on me, twenty years ago, those hands and eyes, so accomplished, now coffin dust; some of the furniture, too, dovetail joints as slight and fine as prayer, effortlessly locking together together wayward timbers. Maybe that's why the NewPeople have such appetite for trash, it reflects nothing of its makers, heralds, from the instant of its acquisition, only its obsolescence, nobody will dismantle this ipad, seeking its assemblers initials, messaging the future, in joiner's pencil.

call me ishmael said...

It threw up a lot of stuff of which I was ignorant, that link, mr mongoose. There's a lot of country and Delta blues I have heard of but never heard, but I never even heard of Mr Burnside. Shows the artifice of people like Eric Clapton, I think, not quite the refiner's fire which he considers himself, his an artificial, Eton Mess a blues.

call me ishmael said...

Must be the best gig in the world, mr mike, St Peter's Basilica, you and the Mensahib ever been?

Mike said...

I've been there several times - last time in 1988 during a 'work assignment' in Rome. Then you could just wander in and look around. No doubt now the queues and security would be a pain. Last year, for example, at the Duomo in Milan, it was guarded by the Alpini, with fingers ready on automatic weapons.

Its rather dark and dull inside St Peters (or was but my over-riding memory is of the Pieta by Michelangelo near the entrance. It has a very calm and still aura about it, almost reduced me to tears.

Mike said...

Just thinking of Milan and last year, one of the great things we saw was The Last Supper by Leonardo - located out in a nondescript suburb or Milan, in an old monastery.

Small groups are allowed in (15 or so) into what was the monks refectory. As you move away from the fresco the sense of 3D is amazing - how this was ever painted is a miracle.

Unfortunately the monks cut off the bottom, including Jesus's feet so they could enlarge the door to the kitchen - must be one of the greatest crimes in history.

Mike said...

Mr SG: if you haven't seen this, I recommend:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lK9aENxrtgE

Bungalow Bill said...

Lovely that about the Rembrandts, the phrase about the dovetail joints managing that very same thing. Mr Mike's recollections of the Pieta: he was the greatest of them all, wasn't he, Michelangelo? How did he do it, the physical feat, quite apart from the staggering art? I read this week that he was still working despite osteoarthritis in his hands. Some of his late, unfinished sculptures anticipate the contortions of modern art by 400 years. He was the favourite of our friend Brian Sewell which counts for something.

mongoose said...

All that stuff from Lomax is now online, Mr I, at www.culturalequity.org/. Which is a phrase you'll not hear escape George Osborne's lips any day soon, eh? I think the videos are actually housed on youtube or maybe they have been copied across. The audio archive is massive beyond understanding. There is also a photographic section - which thing I did not know he had collected. Seems he collected everything really. Crips packets and bus tickets too, I shouldn't wonder.

My father btw never used to erase a pencil mark. Lazy bastard, I thought then. He cut most of them off, though you'll still find them all over the blasted place - on a bit of old fence fixed, or the dozens of hours of cherry fireguard - pencil marks all over just the same.

call me ishmael said...

Oh, lucky man, mr mongoose, to have such connections; I have not any, nothing, not a book, a tool, a photograph, a piece of paper; just that infernal, internal didactic, cautionary monologue. I was forty before I stilled it even a little, pouring myself a Scotch, one time, that I really didn't want, wondering why drink and social drinking were so central to my life. It was my Dad's life, not mine, his script I was reading from, and from that moment I just moved it all over to the hard shoulder, where it remains, parked-up, abandoned Bacchanalia Mk 1.

If I was rich, like you, in touchables, proveables, I would be very different. It is a bit of an illness, stuff. Just been wandering around this big old house and it is jam-packed with stuff, books, music, bric a brac, furniture, photographs, paintingd, every last scrap of it weightily over-meaningful but it is my stuff, our stuff, mrs ishmael has some striking heirlooms, which exist independently and of which I, strangely, am principal custodian, polisher, sharpener, duster and glazier, without the generational continuity of ownership, everything else is worthless. I feel like Lord Mike Biscuits, a man damned by his Tory colleagues as Heseltine, a man who bought all his own furniture. If zi had wings and I could fly, I'd have me a cherrywood fireguard, made by my Dad.

I suppose that the role of the music archivists, like Lomax and Sharpe, is now largely redundant, with Google and youtube, even the utterly meaningless trivia contrives its own cyber-curation and I guess that with that phenomenon comes a levelling downwards, if nothing is duscarded then how do we determine the worth of anything.

I am on a purge, anyway, trying to shift thousands of paperbacks, in exchange for pennies, through one of those bar-code websites. I'd rather a small business made some money than donate my stuff towards the salary of the Red Cross CEO.

Thanks for the link, I have an incurable soft spot for Uncle Sam's roots music, be it African, Celtic or Presbyterian and I will enjoy it at my leisure.

Anonymous said...

First Ever Recorded Snow in Kuwait & Saudi Arabia Deep Snow/Hail | Mini Ice Age 2015-2035 (127)
you tube video... the earth is definitely warming!

Dick the Prick said...

I'm not sure that linky link works Mr Mongoose unless my 'pute be playing tricks on me.

IBU SALMAH said...

Saya IBU SALMAH ingin berbagi cerita kepada anda semua bahwa saya yg dulunya cuma seorang TKI di ARAB SAUDI jadi pembantu rumah tangga yg gajinya tidak mencukupi keluarga dikampun,jadi TKI itu sangat menderita dan disuatu hari saya duduk2 buka internet dan tidak disengaja saya melihat komentar orang tentan AKI SOLEH dan katanya bisa membantu orang untuk memberikan nomor yg betul betul tembus dan kebetulan juga saya sering pasan nomor di ARAB SAUD,akhirnya saya coba untuk menhubungi AKI SOLEH dan ALHAMDULILLAH beliau mau membantu saya untuk memberikan nomor,dan nomor yg diberikan AKI SOLEH meman betul2 terbukti tembus dan saya sangat bersyukur berkat bantuan AKI SOLEH kini saya bisa pulang ke INDONESIA untuk buka usaha sendiri,,munkin saya tidak bisa membalas budi baik AKI SOLEH sekali lagi makasih yaa AKI dan bagi teman2 yg menjadi TKW atau TKI seperti saya,bila butuh bantuan hubungi saja AKI SOLEH DI 082-313-336-747- insya ALLAH beliau akan membantu anda.Ini benar benar kisah nyata dari saya seorang TKI trimah kasih AKI wassalam.
KLIK DISINI BOCORAN TOGEL HARI INI




























Saya IBU SALMAH ingin berbagi cerita kepada anda semua bahwa saya yg dulunya cuma seorang TKI di ARAB SAUDI jadi pembantu rumah tangga yg gajinya tidak mencukupi keluarga dikampun,jadi TKI itu sangat menderita dan disuatu hari saya duduk2 buka internet dan tidak disengaja saya melihat komentar orang tentan AKI SOLEH dan katanya bisa membantu orang untuk memberikan nomor yg betul betul tembus dan kebetulan juga saya sering pasan nomor di ARAB SAUD,akhirnya saya coba untuk menhubungi AKI SOLEH dan ALHAMDULILLAH beliau mau membantu saya untuk memberikan nomor,dan nomor yg diberikan AKI SOLEH meman betul2 terbukti tembus dan saya sangat bersyukur berkat bantuan AKI SOLEH kini saya bisa pulang ke INDONESIA untuk buka usaha sendiri,,munkin saya tidak bisa membalas budi baik AKI SOLEH sekali lagi makasih yaa AKI dan bagi teman2 yg menjadi TKW atau TKI seperti saya,bila butuh bantuan hubungi saja AKI SOLEH DI 082-313-336-747- insya ALLAH beliau akan membantu anda.Ini benar benar kisah nyata dari saya seorang TKI trimah kasih AKI wassalam.
KLIK DISINI BOCORAN TOGEL HARI INI








SG said...

Out of curiosity I ran the above babble through Google Translate. It is Indonesian, apparently, banging on about migrant workers though its meaning is somewhat lost in translation!