Sunday, 31 July 2016


This is the story of the Tranny who came to tea.

Once there was a little girl and her name was Sophie.
Sophie and her Mummy were in the kitchen when there came a  very loud knock on the front door.
I wonder who that can be, thought Sophie; 
it can't be Daddy because he has his own key and would just come in.
It might be the man from Amazon. 
But usually he just leaves the parcels in the rain, to get damaged.
 And it can't be the au-pair, because Mummy sacked her for in-in-in-a-something behaviour with Daddy, inappropriate, that's it.
I wonder, thought Sophie, who can it be?
And so Sophie went to the front door and standing there was a great big hairy, ridiculous,  perfumed, made-up Tranny.
Well, thought Sophie, this must be one of those great big hairy Trannies which Radio Four says I must respect and look up to; I'd better invite him in.
Do come in, sir, she said, politely.
Oh, but Sophie darling, said Mummy, he's not a he, he's a she. 
I mean she's a she, even though she looks like a he.

Good afternoon, sisters, said the great big hairy Tranny,
I've just dropped-by for some GirlTalk.

But you're not a girl, hissed Sophie, somewhat Trans-incorrectly, you're a man.

No, darling, said Mummy, that's very Transphobic of you.

Very what, asked Sophie.

Very naughty, very very naughty, said Mummy sternly. 
And if you don't immediately apologise to the nice gentleman, I mean lady, you will go and sit on the Naughty Step, until you learn some manners.

But Mummy, said Sophie, he's a big ugly man, anyone can see, he has stubble, and an Adam's thingy, and he's wearing a wig and his hands're all rough and his feet are too big and he's just perfectly horrid.

I am so terribly sorry, sir, I mean madam, said Sophie's Mummy to the apparition at the door.

Thassalright, luv, said the big, hairy Tranny, only I cooden 'alf manage a cup a tea, an a siddahn, me plates're fuckin' killin' me. 

Plates? Said Sophie. 
What does he mean, Mummy, plates, his plates're killing him?

Plates a meat, dahlin', said the great big hairy Tranny, feet, it's lorrydriver's rhymin' slang, wot we use in the trade, like, plates a meat ryhmes wiv feet, whistle and flute ryhmes wiv suit, apples'n'pears ryhmes wiv stairs, geddit? An' Berekely 'Unt, ryhmes wiv......

Never mind, I think we understand, said Sophie's Mummy interrupting.  
What the gentleman means, darling, is that his feet are hurting.

But you said he was a lady, said Sophie, somewhat mystified.

Well, of course he's a lady,  don't be so difficult. I mean, of course she's a lady. And a lady in distress. And we must all do what we can to help, we are all women together.

Gawblessya, Mrs, an' I fink the problem's these fackin' six-inch stilletos, fair cripplin' me, they are. You int gorra paira flatties I could borrow, 'ave yer, luv? Worracould try-on?  Jus' till I sort meself aht?

And so the great big. hairy Tranny came into the house.
 He went up to Mummy's bedroom, and he tried-on all of her shoes. And he tried on all of her underwear, all of her lingerie, and all of her frocks.  
And he tried-on all of her business suits, all of her ear-rings and necklaces. 
And then - and he said this was the best bit - he made Mummy apply to his stubbly face, all of her make up - lipsticks, powders, eyelines and mascara. 
And then he danced around Mummy and Daddy's bedroom , on his big feet, pouting hideously, squirting himself with all of Mummy's perfume, singing, I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty.

And after he'd left, Sophie and her Mummy tidied-up and then went online to Amazon where they  bought some larger sizes of underwear and replenished all of Mummy's perfumes and make-up. Just in case the great big  hairy Tranny ever called again. 
But he never did.

A few days later, though, a social worker called and took Sophie into care and the police arrested Sophie's parents and charged them with raising a child contrary to the provisions of the 
(Protection of) TransGender LorryDrivers Act, 2016, commonly known as the Dave'sRight2BeSusan Law.
Sophie was adopted by a gay couple, under the Sir Elton John HeteroBashing Act and her former Mummy and Daddy went to a Transphobics' Correction Prison for a very, very long time. 
And serve them right.

Night-night, children.


Alfons said...

We live in a very sick world, Mr Ishmeal.

Anonymous said...

We live in capilistic society

call me ishmael said...

It is just |The Tiger Who Came To Tea, m alphons, a lovely story, brought up to Ruinous date.

call me ishmael said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
call me ishmael said...

.Post-capitalist, mr anonymous. Capitalism involved the possibility of risk and loss; now loss is nationalised, as with the Banks and Austerity, whilst only profit is privatised. Capitalism could be refined and humanised a bit, and most imoportantly, taxed; the current global economic system is just organised crime, the idea of the nation state fanciful.

SG said...

I'm thinking about getting one of those BFO LGBTVs. However, I'm confused by the diversity of these things - plasma, LED, LCD, LSD - fuck knows what's best...

call me ishmael said...

It's when the plasma runs off the screen an down your leg that you have to worry, mr sg. I Believe, anyway, that they are now LGBTQVS; queer, once was lost but now is found. Oh, what would Quentin Crisp make of all this stuff, he'd be ostracised, I expect, by those now Gender Fluid.

Mike said...

I'm confused; I don't know whether to laugh or cry?

call me ishmael said...

Aye, that's the rub, mr mike; the story could so easily be true, besieged, as we are, by marauding degenerates4socialjustice; much worse, this gang, than the infamous Paedophile Information Exchange; as mrs woar indicated, this is pure hatred of women, disguised as a liberation movement, the norm is now the enemy; how dare these fucking nutcases call me straight?

SG said...

Plasma running off the screen and down my leg Mr I... Now that triggered a memory. Do you remember that old David Cronenburg movie "Videodrome"? Dang me if ain't reared up and come to life....

SG said...

P.S. I forgot to say "long live the new flesh"!

Woman on a Raft said...


Michael Rosen observed that the tiger always remains a tiger.

Thank you.

mongoose said...

We don't care, do we, if Mr Bloggs decides that really he's Miss Bloggs or vice versa or some inbetweenie of the two. Or that any one of them wants to get down and dirty with any one or more of the others. This isn't any of our business, is it?

The only aspect worthy of attention is the increasing number - it seems anecdotally to me but it might just be newsworthiness - of quite young perishers who put the wrong hand in life's dressing up box, and ten minutes later find a right-on Guardian-reading surgeon is taking Black & Decker kit to their undercarriage. Whether this facetious example along the spectrum of diversity is a recognition of a right that is inalienable, I do do not know, but I reckon being left alone certainly until and probably for one's teenage decade or thereabouts - to work out what is real and what is not - might be of more value in the long term.

call me ishmael said...

I think the LGBTV has eaten all my broadband, using the iplayer, and I have no speed, mr sg, to look at that clip. the noo, it might be my router, fucked if I know, the man's comimg tomorrow, I'll ask him.

call me ishmael said...

I never knew the backstory of TTWCTT, mrs woar, until this morning. Rosen does seem to have attached himself to it but then one can forgive him most things, after No More Happy Eddie.

call me ishmael said...

That is the least of the problem, mr mongoose, for which we must fairly and squarely blame the luvem2bits, me, parents. The frightful business with Germaine Greer was something else,unless she agreed that a man was a woman - because he claimed to be - she would be banished from the universities.

mongoose said...

Yes, but Germaine sowed her own whirlwind, so fuck her troubles, eh?

We have mentioned before - why all of a sudden does every subset of human existence require tearful acknowledgement and salute. in every jurisdiction, in every walk of life. Why am I required to give a flying proverbial?

In the USA, police are mowing down blacks and now blacks are mowing down policemen. Is this not more troubling? More urgent just the noo?

walter said...

A good site about american cops.

Anonymous said...

she is, of course, a repulsive narcissist, Gerry Greer but she may not be forced to kowtow to petulant Absurdity, in the form of some wretched little polytechnic students union.

As to your second sentence, mr mongoose, I remember that being started by a runner, Linford Christie, demanding that we all respect him and not disrespect him, because he was black. And a runner. Cheeky tucking bastard.

It is only the lives of the second set of shooting victims which matter, as any fule know.


Doug Shoulders said...

An statement like that, Mr Mongoose, could get you being accused of intelligent thinking. Enough right thinking people and we could establish a minority.
Everyone loves minorities.

SG said...

It seems that your 'tiger' is on the loose and, bizzarely, seeking admission to the Orange Order:

According to the PBC he was 'living as a man' as if he was a woman all along and had merely been disguising herself / himself as a man...

SG said...

I'm not one for claiming credit but:

But then again, its probably just the bleeding obvious...

Anonymous said...

Wierdos, wets and fatties, running the show. How did this happen?

SG said...

I've eschewed the Olympic razzmatazz in favour of PBC 2's - 'Highlands Scotland's Wild Heart'. Magnificent cinematography with tolerable, in fact quite good, narration. Like the Telegraph obituaries some things seem to be remarkably resistant to the forces of Ruin which seem to have overwhelmed so much in recent times...

call me ishmael said...

A rare hand at that camera, mr sg; every frame a work of art, the whole a triumph of logistics, the squirrel, the osprey, the deer, the capercaillie and especially the dippers; how on Earth was it all planned and filmed? I don't normally care for wildlife stuff, too faint-hearted for the inevitable predatory moments but because this was shot on my doorstep I gave it a chance, suppressing, also, my distaste for that horrible sermonising prick, Ewan McGregor, and for the hideous Scottish traditional music nouvelle. This was exquisite, breathtaking television, Still on the ithing, for anyone interested in movie-making.