Bo-Jo the Ho-Ho was up North again last week, snubbing Mrs. Fish's invitation for a chat, and stalwartly refusing to self-isolate despite being in close contact with a Covid positive person. That's probably because he knows the isolation gimmick was part of Project Fear and was all made-up-news-and-shit. And he's had it. and got better. He only stayed two days, fortunately for the popularity of the Conservatives in Scotland: in fact, it is amazing that he ventured north at all, given his near death experience during his Scottish holiday in Applecross last summer, with his baby, his dog Dilyn and some random teenage boy, here pictured holding the prime ministerial dog:
In news hot off the press, the nation was told that BoJo went paddleboarding out to sea a year ago. WrongWay Johnson's protection officers swam out to rescue him, but he rescued himself. A nation mourns.
Prime Minister Doesn't Drown.
Unlike the prime minister who did drown. Or something. On 17 December 1967, Harold Holt, the Australian Prime Minister, disappeared while swimming in the sea near Portsea, Victoria. He liked swimming. His wife, Zara, reckoned he enjoyed his swimming tripettes as it allowed him to spend time with his mistresses, one of whom, Marjorie Gillespie, was on the beach being impressed by her 59 year old lover's swimming ability, when he disappeared under the waves and was never seen again by Australians. A popular explanation for his disappearance was that he was a lifelong spy for the People's Republic of China, that he faked his own death in order to defect to China and was collected by frogmen who swam him safely to a waiting submarine. Zara dismissed this theory on the grounds that her husband didn't like Chinese food. Another theory had it that he had committed suicide, because things were not going well politically. Zara (really getting to like this Zara) said that he was "too selfish" to commit suicide. In 1968 The Sunday Observer reported that Holt had been assassinated by the CIA because he intended pulling Australia out of Vietnam (any thoughts on that, Zara?) In August 2005, State Coroner Johnstone opened a formal inquest and concluded that Holt had drowned and been eaten by the fishes. Despite that, Australian rhyming slang commemorates the conspiracy theories in the phrase to do a Harold Holt (to bolt). And this has to be the most fabulous piece of irony:
Orkney, being an archipelago, has lots of beaches and lots of sea. This fellow, with his thousand year stare, forever gazes out to sea:
Glossary:
SAGE Scientific Advisory Group for Emergencies: It provides scientific and technical advice to support government decision makers during emergencies. Its acronym suggests wisdom. It has the following subgroups:
SPI-B Scientific Pandemic Insights Group on Behaviours: It provides advice aimed at anticipating and helping people adhere to interventions that are recommended by medical or epidemiological experts. Think Nudge Theory. Think Clapping for Heroes.
SPI-M Scientific Pandemic Insights Group on Modelling: it advises government on infectious disease modelling and epidemiology.
PHE Serology Working Group: provides oversight on sero-epidemiology on the extent of transmission of SARS-CoV-2 and its changes.
CO-CIN Covid -19 Clinical Information Network: it collates information from the health care records of all admissions to UK hospitals.
EMG Environmental Modelling Group: identifies and steers the role that environmental modelling, data analysis and environmental sampling plays in understanding Covid-19 transmission routes and behavioural interventions and mitigations at a mechanistic level.
TFC Children's Task and Finish Working Group: provides advice on the transmission of Covid-19 in children and in schools, feeding into studies and new funding.
HOC Hospital Onset Covid-19 Working Group: provides leadership, analysis, policy change and interventions to reduce the rate of HOCI
ES Ethnicity Subgroup: advises on COVID-19 risks and impacts for minority ethnic groups.
SCWG Social Care Working Group: provides modelling and evidence review to support policy decisions to limit the impact of COVID-19 in social care provision.
Crossword clue:
"Grown-up gets blame in absurd senile
plot." (11,5) (mr. verge)
........................................
Nothing Changes - in fact, it gets worse.
On the 5th August 2021, it was estimated by the Press Association that there had been more than 10,000 migrants crossing the Channel illegally into the United Kingdom. Travel restrictions, obviously, not being applied. This contrasts with the 8,500 migrants the government estimates as having entered the UK illegally in the whole of 2020, despite Priti Patel having undertaken to make the Channel route "unviable" and proposed legislation to reform asylum rules and impose lengthier prison sentences for people smugglers and the migrants themselves. In February, 2016, Simone Hericourt described conditions in Calais, where a transit camp called "the Jungle" had grown, occupied by migrants waiting to illegally enter the UK. She said: "They smash cars with iron bars. They assault people, they even assault children. They rob and they rape" One of her sons was assaulted by three men and hit with an iron bar. Migrants damaged a statue of De Gaulle, scrawling Fuck France on it before displaying an ISIS flag. The following piece was written by mr ishmael when that news broke.
ANARCHY'S MESSENGER. 14/2/2016
We
don't know if what this lady says is accurate and truthful. What we do
know is that we have seen thousands of people unlawfully storm border
crossings, refuse to co-operate with lawful requests for identification
and attempt to illegally board a British vessel. We have seen thousands
of people attempt to enter the UK illegally. We have seen tens of
thousands of people who have cynically used their notional refugee
status not to claim refuge in the first country they visit but to insist
that they travel without let, hindrance or documentation to wherever
they chose. Even without Mme Hericourt's revelations, the so-called
Jungle is an affront to law-abiding citizens across Europe; its raison
d'etre is the determined pursuit of illegality and yet the authorities -
the miserable Frankie Hollande's and our own - response is to support
and resource it, instead of dismantling it, breaking-up its gangs and
dispersing its population.
Our own witless fuckpig, Cameron, despite taxing us billions for the Ruperts and the Navy, whimpers, Oh, fuck me, matron, HM Armed Forces simply cannot defend the Chunnel and the Channel against a few thousand angry Muslim civilians, better vote as I tell you or we'll be invaded, yes, the fuckers'll overrun us completely, with their phones'n'scarves'n'stubbly chins; yes, I know Winston didn't think like that, but I'm not Winston.
I mean, there is something very wrong here, isn't there, when the prime minister admits he cannot defend a single point of entry to the United Kingdom, unless we vote stay in the European Union?
Mme. Hericourt lists, also, the failures of French police and politicians and when we compare them with similar behaviours here, at home, there is nothing extraordinary or unbelieveable in her claims. Northern cops and filthy councillors and MPs have conspired in a far more grievous fashion against indigenous communities than have les flics and le parlement Francais.
It may be that Mme. Hericourt is another Diane Wotsit, of the Poundlanders, another Suzy UKIP, a chancer, looking for a seat in some incoming le Pen senat or assemblie, maybe even a gig with the dwarf, Sarkozy, should he win, let's face it, if he employed crooked old Chrissie la Vache, he'll employ anyone. We cannot know, save that she was produced by an organisation called Counter-Jihadi, a group to which, on the face of it, no-one should object, although apparently they do.
At the very worst she is a counterblast to the listeners of Any Questions who insist - or used to - that we should open not only our borders but our homes to a hostile and alien culture. If her account of life in Calais is true then her view that this is the end of our civilisation seems less racist hyperbole, more a warning from someone who's been there, done that, got the burka.
Our own witless fuckpig, Cameron, despite taxing us billions for the Ruperts and the Navy, whimpers, Oh, fuck me, matron, HM Armed Forces simply cannot defend the Chunnel and the Channel against a few thousand angry Muslim civilians, better vote as I tell you or we'll be invaded, yes, the fuckers'll overrun us completely, with their phones'n'scarves'n'stubbly chins; yes, I know Winston didn't think like that, but I'm not Winston.
I mean, there is something very wrong here, isn't there, when the prime minister admits he cannot defend a single point of entry to the United Kingdom, unless we vote stay in the European Union?
Mme. Hericourt lists, also, the failures of French police and politicians and when we compare them with similar behaviours here, at home, there is nothing extraordinary or unbelieveable in her claims. Northern cops and filthy councillors and MPs have conspired in a far more grievous fashion against indigenous communities than have les flics and le parlement Francais.
It may be that Mme. Hericourt is another Diane Wotsit, of the Poundlanders, another Suzy UKIP, a chancer, looking for a seat in some incoming le Pen senat or assemblie, maybe even a gig with the dwarf, Sarkozy, should he win, let's face it, if he employed crooked old Chrissie la Vache, he'll employ anyone. We cannot know, save that she was produced by an organisation called Counter-Jihadi, a group to which, on the face of it, no-one should object, although apparently they do.
At the very worst she is a counterblast to the listeners of Any Questions who insist - or used to - that we should open not only our borders but our homes to a hostile and alien culture. If her account of life in Calais is true then her view that this is the end of our civilisation seems less racist hyperbole, more a warning from someone who's been there, done that, got the burka.
CRUELTY TEEVEE.
A SELFIE FROM SODOM AND GOMORRAH
There's
an awful lot of immensely popular TeeVee which I've never seen: West
Wing, Downton Abbey, the Simpsons......there's no particular reason I've
missed these shows, I don't believe that popular culture is
automatically bad, far from it but even when it is bad it can be
compelling. I am currently watching, fascinated, NCIS, an American cop
procedural in which the cops are actually US Navy Special Agents - Feds -
investigating crimes perpetrated or suffered by serving or former
sailors and marines, their friends, families or anyone they ever met.
The head of the Washington-based team is seventy year old Leroy Jethro Gibbs, a former crew-cut psychobastard Momma's boy gunny sergeant sniper who has metamorphosed into the parfit gentle knight; it is a characterisation originated by Clint Eastwood who has played it as both Gunny Sergeant, Thomas Highway, in Heartbreak Ridge and 'Frisco cop Dirty Harry Callahan. Like Eastwood's outlaw Josey Wales, Gibbs lost his wife and child to bad guys and is now
taciturn, watchful, cool and deadly;
suspicious of his superiors,
Special Agent Gibbs is the archetypal rogue within. The Navy, the Congress and the President would rather have him in the tent pissing out and killing the bad guys than outwith the tent pissing in on the good guys.
Gibbs' team of smiling, sexy assassins and MIT-educated techno geeks
can, within a second, access the financial, educational, employment, marital, telecommunications and criminal records of everyone on the planet and call down a drone strike to kill them. The show perfectly metaphorises Uncle Sam's vicious Exceptionalism, its out of control privatised penal and military-industrial complex and its racist LawnForcement agencies. Everybody in NCIS is WASP, aside from the Director who, as is the case in US cop shows, is a shiny, angry black man and Gibbs, a true patriot, is quick to threaten anyone defying him with a one-way ticket to Guantanamo Bay, Torture Capitol of the world. The NCIS show is twenty seasons of Savagery Ennobled.
No business like showbusiness.
Aghast and open-mouthed I can watch all sorts of shit on the box but I have never been able to tolerate Cruelty TeeVee.
I guess it started in this country with nonce-lover Esther Rantzen, and her hideous smirk-show, That's Life,
this below, from Victor Lewis-Smith in the Evening Standard
It's significant that the first word in the opening titles is "Help" because Esther and her catatonic catamites desperately need some. For twenty-one years they've been getting away with murder - shamelessly repeating the same shallow format of vulgar misprints mixed with tales of stupid people who've given money to clever people - but now their show is on Death Row, with the execution date already fixed. On Saturday night, the Patron Saint of Patronisers appeared, wearing a startled expression usually only seen on the faces of blow-up sex dolls, and dressed in a yellow number that made her look like a tube of mustard surmounted by Shergar's teeth. She'd even chosen to make her entrance through the studio audience; presumably, she thought ordinary people might like a last chance to touch the hem of her garment, before she departs at Easter.
The head of the Washington-based team is seventy year old Leroy Jethro Gibbs, a former crew-cut psychobastard Momma's boy gunny sergeant sniper who has metamorphosed into the parfit gentle knight; it is a characterisation originated by Clint Eastwood who has played it as both Gunny Sergeant, Thomas Highway, in Heartbreak Ridge and 'Frisco cop Dirty Harry Callahan. Like Eastwood's outlaw Josey Wales, Gibbs lost his wife and child to bad guys and is now
taciturn, watchful, cool and deadly;
suspicious of his superiors,
Special Agent Gibbs is the archetypal rogue within. The Navy, the Congress and the President would rather have him in the tent pissing out and killing the bad guys than outwith the tent pissing in on the good guys.
Gibbs' team of smiling, sexy assassins and MIT-educated techno geeks
can, within a second, access the financial, educational, employment, marital, telecommunications and criminal records of everyone on the planet and call down a drone strike to kill them. The show perfectly metaphorises Uncle Sam's vicious Exceptionalism, its out of control privatised penal and military-industrial complex and its racist LawnForcement agencies. Everybody in NCIS is WASP, aside from the Director who, as is the case in US cop shows, is a shiny, angry black man and Gibbs, a true patriot, is quick to threaten anyone defying him with a one-way ticket to Guantanamo Bay, Torture Capitol of the world. The NCIS show is twenty seasons of Savagery Ennobled.
No business like showbusiness.
Aghast and open-mouthed I can watch all sorts of shit on the box but I have never been able to tolerate Cruelty TeeVee.
I guess it started in this country with nonce-lover Esther Rantzen, and her hideous smirk-show, That's Life,
this below, from Victor Lewis-Smith in the Evening Standard
THAT'S LIFE!
In life, there are some certainties. Tributes always flood in (they never trickle), lucre is always filthy, virtues are always extolled, rises are always meteoric, gauntlets are always run. And on That's Life!, no matter how pitifully tragic a story they might be relating, you won't have to wait long for a gratuitous mention of either willies or titties. This week we had both.It's significant that the first word in the opening titles is "Help" because Esther and her catatonic catamites desperately need some. For twenty-one years they've been getting away with murder - shamelessly repeating the same shallow format of vulgar misprints mixed with tales of stupid people who've given money to clever people - but now their show is on Death Row, with the execution date already fixed. On Saturday night, the Patron Saint of Patronisers appeared, wearing a startled expression usually only seen on the faces of blow-up sex dolls, and dressed in a yellow number that made her look like a tube of mustard surmounted by Shergar's teeth. She'd even chosen to make her entrance through the studio audience; presumably, she thought ordinary people might like a last chance to touch the hem of her garment, before she departs at Easter.
Since deifying herself the mangy old crow has claimed that when she was sucking Sir Nicky Fairbairn, MP's cock she didn't know that he rammed it up children, was a child molester and maybe much worse. Well, how would she?
Ratso Rantzen, had not at that point opportunistically developed her self-glorifying, phoney Childline persona and the ability to spot a nonce at a hundred metres, unless it was Sir Jimmy Savile,
I can do this to your cock.
No, you're alright, love, a bit old for me; twelve, thirteen, that's my top limit.
or indeed any other pushy, showy pervert fingering, buggering and murdering his way through a gilded showbiz career in MediaMinster.
Rantzen's That's Life schtick was as Lewis-Smith describes, the cruel and spiteful presentation of the foibles of the poor by the mocking rich. The flea-bitten old slag can take credit not for helping children but for inventing Cruelty TeeVee, a genre in which people who have been to university, people who have the good fortune to receive a bit of education, mock, lampoon and ridicule those less fortunate.
Arise Dame Esther.
The format, of course, is now global and often driven by female presenters, notably Bob Maxwell's office fluffer, Anne Robinson's Weakest Link. She was truly corrosive, I remember at the time, hearing teachers complain that the playground, already a killing field for the more vicious little darlings had become even more lethally toxic after the kids had seen the Weakest Link, a show where producers whispered gratuitous insult and humiliation in the moron Robinson's earpiece so's she could apparently spontaneously abuse her guests. Robinson, clad absurdly as an elderly dominatrix, winking and dribbling, really did seem to relish her incessant humiliation of ordinary people. I hope her arse falls out and she slips on her innards, breaking her scawny neck.
This cheap and nasty approach to one's fellow man has spread to other formats, Big Brother, I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, the various Simon Cowell-inspired talent scam shows, the Masterchef and Sewing Bee series; there's Bukkake Boy, George Osborne's, best friend, the repulsive screeching Queen of Venom "Judge" Rinder, basing himself on America's hideous Judge Judy. In all these shows, the crucial elements -
or indeed any other pushy, showy pervert fingering, buggering and murdering his way through a gilded showbiz career in MediaMinster.
Rantzen's That's Life schtick was as Lewis-Smith describes, the cruel and spiteful presentation of the foibles of the poor by the mocking rich. The flea-bitten old slag can take credit not for helping children but for inventing Cruelty TeeVee, a genre in which people who have been to university, people who have the good fortune to receive a bit of education, mock, lampoon and ridicule those less fortunate.
Arise Dame Esther.
The format, of course, is now global and often driven by female presenters, notably Bob Maxwell's office fluffer, Anne Robinson's Weakest Link. She was truly corrosive, I remember at the time, hearing teachers complain that the playground, already a killing field for the more vicious little darlings had become even more lethally toxic after the kids had seen the Weakest Link, a show where producers whispered gratuitous insult and humiliation in the moron Robinson's earpiece so's she could apparently spontaneously abuse her guests. Robinson, clad absurdly as an elderly dominatrix, winking and dribbling, really did seem to relish her incessant humiliation of ordinary people. I hope her arse falls out and she slips on her innards, breaking her scawny neck.
This cheap and nasty approach to one's fellow man has spread to other formats, Big Brother, I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, the various Simon Cowell-inspired talent scam shows, the Masterchef and Sewing Bee series; there's Bukkake Boy, George Osborne's, best friend, the repulsive screeching Queen of Venom "Judge" Rinder, basing himself on America's hideous Judge Judy. In all these shows, the crucial elements -
the
watchers and the hapless participants, are not to blame; these people
have been impoverished, beggared, spiritually orphaned and culturally
outlawed by decades of Far Centre politics, Whisky Maggie and her spivs
and ponces, Tebbit, Heseltine, Portillo; by Tony and Imelda and the
thieving war criminals and torturers, Straw, Hoon, Ainsworth,
Mandelstein, Reid and Ainsworth; by Snotty Brown's disastrous,
egomaniacal, stuttering fuckwit incompetence.
........................................................
mr ishmael's essays today are:
ANARCHY'S MESSENGER. 14/2/2016
CRUELTY TEEVEE: A SELFIE FROM SODOM AND GOMORRAH
..............................................
It is now around ten months since Honest Not Invent was published. The anthology, as is Vent Stack, is available on Amazon, and it would help potential readers to have some idea of the treat in store if there were some reviews from those Ishmaelites who have read the book. For those who have not yet added the anthologies to your library, the cheapest way to obtain a copy is from Lulu. Register an account with them first, to save
yourself a couple of quid, as going straight into the link provided below seems to
make paypal think it's ok to charge in dollars, and apply their own conversion
rate, which will put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account
is set up, follow our link; a pop-up box asks for age confirmation - simply set
the date to (say) 1 January 1960, and proceed. (If you type the title, the
anthology will not appear as a search result until the "show explicit
content" box - found at the bottom left by scrolling down - has been
checked. You may also see the age verification box, as above, at this
point.)
The full title is "Vent Stack love from
stanislav" by ishmael smith, and the cover you'll see is red with white
titles and a picture of Buster the Previous Blog Dog having a green thought in
a green shade.
Link for the paperback:
Or...
shorter link, which might make it easier if you wish to paste it into an email and tell a friend:
Honest, Not Invent is available in paperback or hardback.
Link for Hard Back :
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/ishmael-smith/honest-not-invent/hardcover/product-njr7vg.html
Link for Paper Back :
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/ishmael-smith/honest-not-invent/paperback/product-wq2kpg.html
At checkout, enter TREAT15 in the coupon box, which takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up. With the 15% voucher, the book (including delivery to a UK address) should cost £10.89
29 comments:
The scamdemic is looking dodgier every day:
https://www.rt.com/news/531451-andrews-covid-wastewater-victoria-fakepoos-lockdown/
Needless to say, no mention of this in the Aussie press. The fear campaign is a level 11. Massive push for vaccination, but many Aussies (like me) adopt "wait and see".
Thanks for the link, mr mike - "the premier stressed that the non-existent Covid wastewater in Wangaratta was “not the only reason why people are locked down across the state.”"
Hmmm - what are the other reasons? The same reasons, we surmise, whatever they are, that have inspired Project Fear in the UK. Mind you, there is covid in the sewer water across the UK. They've been testing throughout the pandemic.
SAGE, SPI-B, SPI-M, PHE, CO-CIN, EMG, TFC, HOC, ES, SCWG
Hence why it is all buggered up beyond comprehension, mrs i. Nobody could get coherence out of a gaggle of interest and pressure groups like that. Put a couple of half bright folk in each and you have a recipe for a clusterfucked tangle that could never be unravelled. They are now, of course, completely FFS.
It seems to be common knowledge now that the jabs do not stop infection or transmission. Only a mild amelioration of symptoms - or the risk of symptoms - can be expected. There is also some informed feeling starting to be expressed in microbiological circles that a good many infections of the jabbed could be very much worse and permanently debilitating come the autumn resurgence.
Mongosling1 currently has the rona - for the second time - and considers that this should provide him with sufficient protection now against any further symptomatic visits from the lurgy. I think that that is probably a wise call.
I do not know what's going on down in your neck of the woods, mr mike, there being no covid in Oz to speak of and UV pouring out of the sky at a cataclysmic level for any wee virusy bad boys at large about the place.
Mr mongoose: we have had bugger all cases down here - but realistically, it was only ever a postponement until the rest of the world got bored (which it has now) and we had to open our international borders.
Now we have a few cases (small by international comparisons) and we are in panic. Now this idiot in Victoria locks down rural Victoria on the basis of a lie, and refuses to apologise.
Its getting harder and harder to not believe the conspiracy theories.
My older daughter, who lives in Bali, is just recovering from her second bout of Covid. So much for antobodies - although she says the second time its just like a dose of flu. She is not vaccinated.
Mr verge: just received my Vent Stack today (9.8.21); I had forgotten to order, but placed the order on 31.7.21 - so very fast turnaround. I had intended to order the hard back, but mistakenly ordered the softback. Alzheimers. AUD 21 incl delivery. I must say the quality of the production is excellent. Settling down now for a good read.
Thanks, mr mike, that's good to know. I hope you enjoy it. Progress on Ishmael's Blues is steady & slow, well worth the candle, watch this space.
v./
t's all mad, mr mike. A bit of science from a real doctor:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auSox6ybZD8&t=402s
It's only 6 minutes but it puts a great deal to bed.
Mr mongoose: the problem we all face is that the more we research this, and as more experts start speaking out, the more doubtful we become of the official narrative and the proposed vaccines. BUT, the problem we face is that without having a vaccine passport forced on us by the same officials, we are basically stopped from doing what we want to do. I cannot see how this will be resolved?
“I cannot see how this will be resolved” Mr Mike: NO is the answer; No to testing and the pandemic will, like magic, disappear. No to masks and the fear will, like magic, disappear. No to vax passports, like the frogs n eyeties are doing, and they will never appear.
By all means take the vaccination, if you wish, if you believe it helps you, or saves granny, or protects others, or you believe it’s the right thing to do. I haven’t got a problem with people getting the vaccinations, however, the tests are the problem, without tests there is no virus.
Turn off the BBC and Skymadeupnewsandfilth. See if you can find the new King of Scotchland, Niel Oliver on GBNews, he’s on the youtubes, talks a lorra sense.
The CCP is the template that the West is desperate to inflict upon us. UBI, fixed incomes for the plebs, social credit and 24hr monitoring, you know it makes sense, for the good of the nation, ‘s the right thing to do. The final solyoushun.
I can’t wait to see the faces of the Iknowbesters the owenI’malmostgayjoneses, the alkypornocambells, the femisorrys, thenoncingmonsignors and childmolestingbishops, the racebaitingfuckpiglammy, the welovediversitybutnopakisblacksirishorahrabs in our street, no thank you; the useful idiots are in for a shock, a bullet and a ‘bill’. Bring it on, the sooner the better, I ain’t got many more years to put up with this shite, the POA is sorted, just gotta sell my tools n motorbikes, let war commence, fuck’em.
I think we could start, mr inmate, with the public execution of all people describing themselves as fact-checkers.
It is true that it is the pingdemic that is screwing the pooch. Although you only have yourselves to blame. Who in his right mind would have the app on their phone? Want to go to the pub? Scribble a name and a number on that beer-stained pad by the door. I am going to Lords on Thursday, mr mike, I bet that the palaver will be a proper panto still. Thousands of folk bathed in sunshine sitting in the open air re-breathing their own ick through their sweaty, week-old face-masks.
You know it's bad however when even Wikipedia let's the cat out of the bag:
"Vaccines are very effective on stable viruses but are of limited use in treating a patient who has already been infected. They are also difficult to successfully deploy against rapidly mutating viruses..." Doesn't everybody now know these things?
Still waiting for an announcement from the Chief Medical Officer here.
We were promised bodies piling up in the street and the NHS being unable to function.
What we did get was stock-piling of bog roll and the NHS carrying out some other function which seemed to comprise acting like morons for likes on social media.
A quiet withdrawal from society draws ever near. Fuck em.
Mr mongoose: did you enjoy you day at Lords? I watched at the start, but it strated to rain, then I fell asleep.
mr ishmael's answer to most of the world's problems was to nuke China. Might sound a little drastic, and it would have to be done in a totally unexpected, all out strike in order to allow no possibility of reprisals. World overpopulated? Nuke China. Global Warming? Nuke China. Yet another bat-shit crazy virus? Nuke China. Rising sea-levels? Nuke China. Global banking crisis? Nuke China. Too many farting cows? Nuke China.
I know, I know - just think of the devastating hardship to millions. Think of the grief, the humanitarian crisis as the flood of cheap textiles and plastic goods dries up. But we all have to suffer in a common cause, advocated mr ishmael.
I would never dream of saying such a thing - just presenting the ishmaelian world view here, which, I have to admit, was a tad Orkney-centric.
And now I come to think of it, there's a lot of U.S. troops with little to do after The Great Withdrawal.
Talking of which, Radio 4 (the prime British propaganda organ, according to some) seems to be whipping up popular sentiment (well, not that popular,as,according to mr ishmael, a teeny tiny proportion of the population knows how to tune in Radio 4, has never heard of the Archers, the World at One or Jenny Murray)- to continue, ahem; whipping up its teeny tiny right thinking woke audience into demanding a resumption of the never-ending war on the Taliban, calling in aid women's rights, female education, floods of refugees fleeing the Black Turban, British troops escorting out of the country translators, taxidrivers and journalists who collaborated with the Afghan government. Hard cases make bad law, and I really think that Afghan needs to sort out its own troubles without Western intervention, which, I suspect, only makes things worse as conflicting ideologies and factions clash bloodily.
America, of course, will have to find another war - or theatre, as they so tellingly call it, in order to support its military-industrial-economy and to fuel the Hollywood machine, which would be lost without Jethro Gibbs, NCIS and the rest of the bang-bang-shootemup-rape-some-women product.
Did anybody solve mr. verge's crossword clue?
Answer on Sunday, unless anyone wishes to venture their solution in this comment thread.
Come on, its only one clue. I managed to solve two clues in the current Private Eye crossword: sycamore and stum.
"responsible adult"
"mr ishmael's answer to most of the world's problems was to nuke china."
no, the answer to all the world's problems is obviously to fly jamaican-british criminals 'back home' by the over-publicized plane-load.
grand-standing tory bitch, t'rass
grand-standing...?
moi?
if the cap fits...
ram it where the sun don't shine, devi
It rained a soft rain off and on for the first hour or so, mr mike, but we got the full 90 overs in - ending well past 7pm, almost an hour-and-a-half late. We sat in the new Compton Stand - right at the top in the sky behind long off. Which seemed an error as the drizzle fell but was fantastic in the evening sun - the ball visible against the pitch all the way down. The Indian top order played out of their skin though I reckon England bowled a half-yard short most of the day. (Much of that put right today though Indian noses still a tad in front.)
The match is now tight, mr mike. Fifth day tickets are twenty squids. Get on a plane asap. It might be a classic.
Mr mongoose: I'm currently prohibited from moving more than 5km from my home.
I'm reminded of a visit to Lords in the late 1970s for a one-dayer against W Indies. My pal came to London, and we had a boozy lunch, and decided to take the afternoon off work. We strolled to the ground and went up to the gates to buy a ticket and see the afternoons play. We were told the ground was full. Emboldened by Youngs special, we walked around to the St Johns Wood end of the ground. In those days Lords was surrounded by brick walls about 12 feet high. We found a convenient tree by the wall, and climbed over. On the other side was an old chap guarding the green seat cushions. He showed us through and we were in one of the main stands and we got a seat a few rows from the front. Unfortunately, I fell asleep almost immediately, and only woke up at the end when the crowd were pouring onto the pitch. W Indies won if I remember. Happy days.
with due respect for the right honourable prickli petal and the late left-wing eccentric mr ishmael, it is clear that the only answer to the world's problems is to charter an airbus 380 and then deport all 650 criminals who are currently squatting in the house of commons...
despatching the cunts not to the sunny caribbean, but someplace a little cooler - such as siberia or the antarctic - where they can await the rapid redemption of carbon-dioxide-driven climate-change to warm their über-privileged toes.
the second favourite answer to the world's problems is of course to charter another airbus 380, and duly deport to somewhere rather chilly the palace of westminster's remaining criminals-in-residence, the 791 lords - who are equally having a laugh.
now, i'm sorry if this deep democratic cleansing of the poolitical stables might lead to the expedient expatriation of a few windrush-generation-jamaicans, but fuck it, this seems a small, ethnically proportionate price to pay for the emancipation of britons from globalist slavery, and for our nation's eternal salvation from the deadly ethical endemic of neo-liberal establishment-corruption...
in any case, such equal opportunity expulsion would serve those collaterally damaged collaborators-of-colour bloody-well right - for their immoral acceptance of an all expenses paid, fur-lined membership of the neo-imperialist, and not notably nigger-friendly, british establishment.
an honourable exception to the above-outlined emergency-extradition-measures could, naturally, be granted to send-'em-home secretary ms prickli petal, who should be equipped with a plastic paddle and summarily caste adrift off dover's white cliffs in some form of inflatable - preferably a bouncy castle...
however, if none of this blue-print for building britain back better in fact proves practicable, mrs ishmael, then by-all-means please just go ahead and nuke the crap out of parliament.
i beg to differ, mr ultrapox, because as chief medicated officer, i am duty-bound to inform you that the answer to all the world's problems is in fact to jab everycunt in the arse with a six inch hypodermic.
i'm awfully sorry, mr ultrapox, but as a fully committed eco-conscious liberal, i simply can't concern myself with the state's systematic oppression of the jamaican-british community, because i have to spend all my time worrying about geronimo the alpaca and the totally fictitious climate-emergency.
my advice, mrs bird-brain, is not to trust a climate-scientist unless he is wearing his wellies
yes, your powers of political prognostication are indeed redoubtable, dame dubble-dollop, for given the present panoply of unfolding johnson-fiascos - ranging from the socially self-destructive phantom-pandemic, and the mushrooming hinkley point money-cloud, right through to the great hs2-robbery of middle-english countryside and the public purse - it must be conceded that the incoming - if not prevailing - conservative mood is definitely one of 'anyone but boris', and i therefore fear that, in the hallowed howligan-havens of soccer-stadia up-and-down the nation, we shall - sooner-rather-than-later - bear witness to the ironic spectacle of shaven-headed dm-shod football-congregants solemnly taking the knee in assiduous anti-immigrant veneration of their darling devi of deportation, ms prickli petal - who i have no doubt already has the keys to number 10 valhalla securely stashed away in her blue placcy carrier-bag.
with reference to my comment of 15th august 2021 - entered at 23:26hrs - i believe it would confer my meaning with more precision were i to describe ms petal's channel-ferry as "an english bouncy castle".
Post a Comment