Tuesday 12 July 2016

L'IMPRIMATUR DU SNOT



Scene:

 
 In the store room of a Kircaldy Oxfam Shop, a heavily-medicated former politician is doing his shift,

 

 an  activity arranged for him by medical staff and community social services, 

Gordon spends Tuesday afternoons folding dead men's shirts and trousers, donated to the shop by widows and families. 

 
It gives Gordon a sense of self-worth and most importantly gives his pretend-wife, Sarah, some respite from him.
That's what they call it in the trade, respite.
It means having a break from an otherwise unbearably burdensome relation.

 
We're in fucking Auschwitz. 
And  my husband's signing his fucking autograph.
Talk about showing a girl a good time.

Unknown to Gordon, after four o'clock, when he has been collected by his care worker and driven home in the minibus, his carefully folded items of clothing are put in bags marked Incinerator.  
Like most of Gordon's working life, his afternoon shift has all been make-believe, someone has always come behind him, clearing-up, discarding his efforts. Today, though, 

 
he strides around the store room, 
side-to-side, side-to-side, 

 
grinding his jaw, clunking his nail-bitten fist down on  cupboard-tops and  ironing boards, sometimes ruminatively picking his nose and meticulously eating  its contents; sometimes he wipes his fingers on gentlemen's ties, awaiting display in the shop, other times, he simply licks them.  


Gordon is quite mad, 

 
suffering paranoia, delusions of grandeur and anxiety;

 

 he thinks that no-one takes him seriously, when it is he, in fact - or in his poor, mad mind, anyway - who knows what's the Right Thing For The Country, the Right Sol-You-Sun.

Mr Tiny Speaker, he says, 

 
to a pile of dog-eared Tom Clancy paperbacks, 

 
the right honourable lady for Maidenhead, Mrs May,  is exactly the right person to lead the Labour party.  She has a mandate from myself not to go to the country upon assuming the Emperor's throne. 
There is no need for the right honourfable lady to have an election, ever.  This is where I went wrong. In allowing dreadful, bigoted old ladies to vote on things they did not understand. Not that Mrs May is a dreadful, bigoted old lady, although she is. 
I meant, Mr Tiny Speaker,  that dreadful old woman up North, a ghastly, but all too typical  Labour voter who didn't want to welcome a few hundred thousand Bulgarian muslims into her health centre. She cost me my throne, you know. There was a time when our voters did what we told them.  But I am still hugely popular in my homeland of Scotland.

No, Mrs May need not seek the endorsement of the electorate for her betrayal of them. 
Not, Mr Deputy Speaker, when she has mine.

Back at home, Mrs Gordon tucks Snotty up for a long night in the arms of Morpheus.  And  Largactyl, assorted Benzodiazepams; Loxadine, Risparidol, Clorazil, Amitryptiline and a beakerful of  Laxido ( laxido-do-do, helps you do you poo-poo-poo, gives you healthy number-twos, drink up your Laxido-do-do.)


And I like to masturbate furiously for an hour or so, before going to sleep, Mr TinySpeaker.
 Just in case I explode.

18 comments:

SG said...

It is most encouraging to see that former Prime Mentalists are so well looked after 'in the community' Mr I. It does you great credit to run heart warming, 'good news', stories such as this, in contrast to the heartless MSM channels, who, lets face it, have barely given the unbigoted Mr Brown a mention in recent times. I am sure that, in the fullness of time, a certain other former PM can look forward to similar rehabilitation and exoneration...

Mike said...

If he were an animal they would put him out of his misery. Do the yanks still pay half a mill to hear him speak?

Oldrightie said...

Loved the Auschwitz "good time" phrase. Hilarious. Ironic the furore over Corbyn when the clowns sucked Snotty's bum for years.

call me ishmael said...

Well, the one psycho, mr sg, has 24/7 armed close protection, wherever he goes in the world and the other one gets care in the community, a mulit-agency, multi-disciplinary approach to crippling psychosis. Worth fighting for, the NHS & social care. Bitching aside, he was always barking, wasn't he, Gordon; I blame his parents, hothouseing his education and whispering grandeur in his sleeping ear, Even so, he's a cunt.

call me ishmael said...

orthe every cent, mr mike, considering the fortunes he made for them in Afghanistan, in the Wootton Bassett Showbiz Wars. Christ they pay CIA drug dealers more than half a mill, Egyptian torturers. I think Snotty's been short-changhed, Especially when you remember how he saved the world, him and Alastair Darling and Mr Yvette Cooper. The UN must raise a statue.

call me ishmael said...

AS you say, yourself, mr oldrightie, this is industrial-scale treason which crosses all parties, Whatever momentum is building behind Corbyn and Trump, also le Pen, is the only force which may topple them, mockery, otherwiswe, is our only pitchfork against them. Snotty over Auschwitz, it was nauseating.

Woman on a Raft said...

And yet it was Brown's dogged refusal to go in to the Euro which means we stand half a chance of surviving when that currency blows up in the next five years.

I don't suppose his reasons would stand up to scrutiny but it ought to be recognized that his obstinacy has made it possible to leave the EU.

mongoose said...

As mad as a mad thing was McDoom.

I do not think, Mrs Raft, that there was ever the slightest chance of the UK joining the Euro. It has been, I think, the most stupid political project since the end of WWII. Words fail me. I cannot begin to express how hopelessly wrong-headed the whole enterprise was, and still is. And it will not just break within the next five years - it is broken already of course - but it will bring down the EU with it.

SG said...

I'll say one thing for the outgoing PM, whatever else he may be, he is no psycho. One thing in his favour perhaps? I'd not seen the new PM's hubby until now - a 'deadringer' for Arthur Askey in my estimation...

SG said...

Mr I, the new Government, I feel you have been handed some very rich material. Rejoice at that news!

yardarm said...

Yes, Mr S.G. Merge Askey with Woody Allen and you`d have the husband. A banker, of course.

SG said...

A banker too - Jesus, it just gets better and better Mr Yardarm...

SG said...

BTW, I think we should give Ruth another chance. This, ripped from a secondary source, ripping her twitter feed (whatever the fuck that is...)

"About four weeks ago...I’d had a phone call from Craig Oliver (Mr SG - who he?) saying he’d like me to do the Wembley debate. 

"'The Labour party are putting up Angela Eagle', he said. 

"I said: 'That’s great Craig, I’m more than happy, as you know I always love a fight but are you absolutely sure you want two short-haired, flat shoes, shovel-faced lesbians with northern accents. This is a whole UK-wide debate and that’s narrow casting'.

So far so good... At this rate I'll be sending her a love threat! Time to review my portfolio of medications I think...

Caratacus said...

If the eyes are truly the windows of the soul (“the light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light” Matthew 6:22) then we have every reason to be a bit pensive as we look into the pitiless voids of Theresa Klebb as she proceeds about her business in the coming days ...

Having said that, I am taking some small comfort to learn that Mrs. Osborne's little boy has been rudely cast into the nettles where he may better explore at his leisure the true nature of his considerable shortcomings. The dusty-nosed little squit.

call me ishmael said...

Beat me to it, mr sg and mr yardarm, I've just been pissing myself all night, watching those two. It's like Maggie and Dennis, all over again.

call me ishmael said...

Aye, king caratacus, a good job she has no stamina and will implode. Sixty year old newly-diagnosed Type 1 diabetic fuckwit, who can't count immigrants, trying to tame a nest of vipers AND bamboozle the whole country, she'll need the kind of SatNav which doesn't exist.

call me ishmael said...

Either it will fall, as you suggest, mr mongoose, or it will have to set the troops on its own citizens. Wouldn't be the first time, I suppose.

call me ishmael said...

My instincts, if not my vote, mrs woar, were always Labour - welfare state, free education, national ownership of resources, infrastructrure and utilities, a nationally-owned health service, funded by fair and progressive taxation. That those things are now history is entirely the responsibility of the Gang Of Four - Blair, Brown, Mandelstein and Campbell, there are others, the list is endless, Patsy Hewitt, Blind Boy Blunkett, Alan Milburn, Jack Straw, all Tory opportunists, scores of the bastards, hundreds of them; New Labour was a plague of ruinous vermin. If Gordon Brown kept us out of the Euro it will have been in the nature of one of his many homo-erotic tantrums, and not from acumen or far-sightedness.