DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO PATRIA INCENDERE
If we would know our rulers - in all parties and in all media - look no further than the TV interviews given recently by Armed Forces Minister, Bob AInsworth, MP, on the subject of the Melted Cavalryman.
Bob the Wig, famous for dismissing squaddies' concerns as absolute bollocks, fought bravely himself in the dangerous world of trade union sinecures before donning the Blair Kneepads in 1997. A coarser, crasser, stupider version of Stephen (There's A Good Boy) Pound, Ainsworth is another class traitor in the mould of the cock-waving, thieving bastard, Prescott
On the business end of an RPG, this ungrateful soldier, anyway, was awarded a hundred and sixty grand for receiving seventy per cent burns, his face melted, his ears burnt off and years of agony to come; he came by this shocking set of injuries defending Haliburton's stolen oil in Tony Blair's War for Peace in Iraq and Afghanistan (and other locations, to be announced, as the Great Peacemaker weaves his spells) and Ainsworth, who yearly draws about a hundred and thirty grand in "expenses" - his safe Coventry constituency being thousands of first class miles from London - deemed that a hundred and sixty grand was appropriate compensation; Tony and Imelda have had seven million so far, or is it ten, and never even got near the shooting, although they probably did some hot praying.
Ah, but, whined Ainsworth in his best, know-it-all Brummie, peepul don't rea-loyse, we're paying this man a pension, too, you have to look at things in the round. Yes, minister, look at things in the round, easier when you have no ears. The Opposition of Hooray Henrys don't jeer this worthless piece of shit, Ainsworth, because they, too, are more concerned with their own pensions than in even trying to ameliorate the lifetime of horror faced by this lowly lance-jack, cruel disfigurement and agony and sorrow wrought in a worthless invasion and occupation that they all voted for; micromanage the economy like a good 'un, can George Osbourne but Alistair Campbell shouts WMD! and the boy shits himself. War? Yes, fuck me, I'll vote for that. Maybe, now, instead of embarrassing decent people with his mangled face, Tommy'll just fuck off and die while BoyGeorge and DaveCallMeTony play at being grown-ups, useless pair of truculent, mouthy public school pansies.
Ever loyal to his men, concerned for their post-conflict welfare, General Gabshite Dannant is too busy getting his nose browned, up the Royal Familial arse, too concerned with his own pension and peerage and so it fell to another melted hero, Simon Weston of the Falklands to raise this latest Whitehall obscenity. One melted man speaking up for another, because none in parliament - showering themselves, their families and lovers and rentboys with pensions and expenses and honours and perqs - will. Jesus wept; such filth, lording it over us.
In Scotland a little while ago the Lab-Lib coalition, led by the staggeringly incompetent prick, McConnell and the grinning clown, Wallace, in an attempt to shut down a Scotch criminal justice system scandal, awarded a former wpc a sum of three quarters of a million pounds, £750,000, not for wrongful imprisonment, she was never locked up; not for injury, not a hair on her head was damaged, let alone her face all melted away like wax, no, Shirley McKie was embarrassing the entirely rotten Scotch system of jurisprudence and they wanted her to shut up; McConnell and Wallace, then leader of the Scotch Toileteers' Party and Justice Minister, ensured that Ms. McKie was paid this money to compensate her for her "hurt feelings." Honest. Not invent. Hurt feelings.
Our rulers plunder limitless amounts of our money to ensure their own political survival or the commercial success of their friends with dodgy IT companies, or rubbish banks but they put up this charmless, uncouth, bewigged, jobsworth poltroon, Ainsworth, to chide and pennypinch and force the hideously wounded to beg at the bar of public opinion for a square deal. Thieving, cowardly scum; steal from Tommy and shower the prat Kinnock and his whole gahstly tribe with gold and honours; that's what they're like, that's what they do; is it any wonder they are all so wrong about everything else?
Given some of the anger expressed by disillusioned servicepersons, Ainsworth might well take care in his own luxurious retirement; his own pension, of course, will be armour-plated, but his fat, cowardly arse won't. One night, with any justice, maybe walking his wig on Hampstead Heath, he will hear an angry whisper in his ear, Up Against The Wall, Motherfucker.
ON THE TODAY PROGRAMME THIS MORNING GENERAL DANNANT WAS CONFIDENT THAT THE FAMILIES OF THE EIGHT BOYS MOST RECENTLY KILLED WOULD TAKE COMFORT FROM THE FACT THAT THEY DIED GLORIOUSLY SO THAT SOME TINPOT BANDIT COULD WIN A RIGGED ELECTION IN A FEW WEEKS' TIME.
thanks, lilith, for finding this.
21 comments:
good piece.
now provide justification for your mate making threats to me?
So "he is really no different to the rest" is what you are trying to say?.
people who spy (ie. carry out secret surveillance on others without admitting to the practice) are bent on accumulating excessive individual power - covert or open. only those who know themselves to be control-hungry and exploitative would feel the insecure need to snoop on those who have no design on or demand for power-superfluous-to-ordinary-daily-requirements.
I watched Brown’s interview on News at Ten and the Rammell interview on Newsnight. I listened very carefully, but in neither case did I once discern anything that might, even with an enormous amount of goodwill and a following wind, come close to being a truthful account of the past, present or future conduct of the Afghanistan campaign.
What I did hear were half-truths, evasion, statistical sleight of hand, deceit and outright bare-faced lies and the telly can thank it’s lucky stars that it lived, somehow, to see another dawn.
Absolutely classic was Brown’s response to being asked why, in 2006, after being told by the National Audit Office that the Army was severely under-resourced in helicopters, did he then cut £1.4 billion from the helicopter budget?
“I can only refer you to the men in the ground - sorry, sorry, - did I say men in the ground, I meant, of course, the men ON the ground, who have today said that those casualties suffered in the recent period of time, who were on the ground, but only briefly, were then off the ground and will shortly be in the ground, only not yet as we haven’t finished sweeping up all the doings, let alone got round to planting it, would not have been avoided by more helicopters.
Do you see what I did there, Alistair? I took a statement by Lieutenant Colonel Poor- Bastard, the Army media spokesperson, who is of course under strict orders, on pain of court-fucking-marshall, not to criticise tactics, strategy, equipment, manning levels, government policy or especially me, the Prime Mincer, and who is under constant personal bombardment from my own battalions of No 10 spin doctors just to make sure he knows on which side his bread is buttered, and I conflated it with a decision I took three years ago to deprive the Army of the helicopters it clearly needed, but which I was determined to deprive them off in an act of petty juvenile spite against that cunt Blair. This is what passes, in what I am pleased to describe as my brain, for reason.”
We have 18 year old kids being blown to bits thanks to being starved of the manpower and equipment they need and deserve and these cunts are playing word games. Reality doesn’t interest them, public perception - that’s the ticket. Not a shred of decency, courage or honour between them; utter, absolute scum.
Vintage Stan. You are so fortunate to be of his acquaintance Mr Ishmael.
Seems that way to me too, Daisy.
He comes and goes, lilith, comes and goes.
I simply can't watch those Brown set-pieces anymore, it is a mental illness, in which those you chastise all collude. One can render them darkly funny and hope to illuminate their absurdity, as you do here, Mr Daisy, or you can quietly and with dignity try to side-step it all, which is what happens with these impromptu gatherings in Wiltshire, these are a form of protest, by decent people, hi-jacked by PermaNews and sold as something else, something transcendent, poetic but just as sixty is the new fifty, so eighteen is the new ten, these are children being butchered in far Afghanistan, to the glory of Obama and Brown and Blair and their threadbare puppet, Kharzai.
One tries to understand all, the personal fuck-ups which drive people into politics, the fiendish ambition which drives government, the cultivation of the lawyerspeak in the faint hope that the lie will lead to a greater good but empathy and compassion wither and the thought ever, like some Zen solution, bubbles-up, bright, in God's neon: Up against the wall, motherfuckers.
Next time you hear some Nu Labliar cunt blathering on about 10 billion investment in the armed forces, remember this chart. (from Burning Our Money) Remember that they have about 8 (probably dangerous)chinnooks in Helmand and the others are locked up in the home counties being butchered for spares to keep those 8 flying. We are not being lent nor are we leasing helicopters from Nato or the USA. So the boys n girls travel in tinfoil landrovers and get blown to bits getting to the waterlogged trenches.
Considering you wrote it in 2008, Mr Ishmael, you were right about Bob Ainsworth: from the Telegraph summary of MPs expenses.
Salary £141,866
ACA £23,083
Bob Ainsworth, the Defence Secretary, claimed nearly £6,000 for the redecoration of his designated second home.
The claims included the cost of rebuilding his fireplace and fitting oak beams in to his ceiling.
He also tried to claim £2,225 for a sofa and £1,000 for and LCD television, both of which were reduced by the Fees Office.
He wrote to the fees office to explain why he was claiming so much for a sofa "If you feel this is excessive" he said, "can I say that due to the size and layout off the room a normal three-piece suite will not fit. This 'corner group: fits perfectly and maximizes the space." However, and official told him again that the claim was greater than the 'recommended maximum'.
In 2007 Mr Ainsworth switched the designation of his second home to a flat in London, which he rented from Lady Grylls, the mother of adventurer Bear Grylls.
Source: transcribed from Telegraph summary of MPs expenses publication.
Presumably this was at the time we were failing to buy boots, armoured cars, helicopters etc and spending it on ornamental beams for Bob Ainsworth. Hope they are strong enough to take his weight when they kick they chair away.
It was the Melted Cavalryman idea that bugged stanislav so about Ainsworth. One can see at a glance what sort of person he is, not his class, his appetites and his values but even so his crassness in that matter was breathtaking and now his applied oak beams, therefore, come as no surprise - I think that, somewhere else, stanislav had him suspended in a gimp outfit. Now there's a thought for bedtime. That and kicking the chair away.
That chart, the one lilith cites, is telling, people should look at it, takes a moment to sink-in but every picture tells a story.
And finally, for tonight, mr spark-up, I don't know who you are, what you do, where you blog, if you blog; you have not to my knowledge wronged me and I can imagine no way in which you might; I have no mates as you put it and such friends as I have do not threaten people, even cyber people, like you. I cannot, therefore, provide justification for somehting of which I know nothing. I am not part of any cabal or organisation or alliance, I do not meet or know other bloggers; I have no grudge against you but I must say that I find your periodic belligerent outbursts to be groundless and obnoxious. I really don't care if you are as mad as a fucking hatter, you are welcome to comment here with great license but believe me, like most people, I have enough shit to ponder without you coming here fantasising about threats. Not another word of it, now, or you'll go on the naughty step.
Daisy,
I have half-inched a couple of your comments for the Daily Politics.
Yours as well Mrs Raft.
Dear Mr Bob,
Have you been taking lessons from Mr Old Holbein?
The only reason I comment here, and nowhere else, is the safe and certain knowledge that no more than about three people will ever read it, and one of those is Mr Dyers Garden, who doesn't count.
Mr Ishmael could have told you, had you asked him, that I am a very shy and retiring sort of person who would really prefer to avoid such exposure.
I know you mean well, but no more, thank you.
Dear Mr Daisy
I am sure Mr Swiss Bob was only re-posting you out of admiration and accord and had the decency to advise you, albeit posto facto fragrante delentarum est, Mrs, as John Prescott might say; you have, incidentally, rather more readers here than you might suppose from the frequency of comments; Let that not stifle or subvert you into absenting yourself. Again.
Daisy,
I'll not use your comments again.
Dear Mr Ishmael,
I do hope I haven't hurt Mr Bob's feelings, I honestly meant no offence.
No excuse, but I have had a slightly trying day. At around nine this morning one of the dogs took exception to a cat appearing on the patio and took off, like a bullet, after it. Straight through a 6'x3' supposedly "toughened" double glazing unit as though it wasn't there. She must have hit it with her teeth or something because the bloody thing just exploded with a noise like a grenade going off. She was last seen disappearing through a hedge about 400 yards away, still in full flight. She came back about an hour later, with blood, fur and gore all over her face, tongue hanging out, having obviously had a whale of a time.
Meanwhile, I'm 580 quid worse off, which I've worked out will take her, by eating only the cheapest generic dog food, only 5.6 years to pay off. Bet you don't have these sort of problems with Buster, eh?
Dear Mr Daisy
I am sorry to hear all that. They are a terrible worry, the dogblokes; it's not their world.
By the way, when some angelic, white haired little old lady come a-knockin, asking if I've seen a ginger and white cat, any suggestions as to what I tell her? "I'm terribly sorry, the dogs have eaten it" doesn't seem to cut it, somehow. Next thing will be a heart attack and I'll have a corpse on my hands.
supposedly "toughened" double glazing unit
Dear Mr Daisy
I've seen toughened glass do that before, but in smaller quantities on an oven door and a chopping board. It might not be the dog's fault, or rather, any minimal tap at that time would have caused it. It breaks in to a trillion blunt gems, right? You can hear it going tinkle like ice cracking after the initial burst.
This article reckons it is down to "swelling of the nickel sulphide inclusions does generate cracks in the glass and any small crack in the tensile zone will cause catastrophic failure".
That is, a microscopic crack or a potential one is already there, and the tensile strength inside the glass is greater than the surface tension. A tap on the surface causes the crack to open and the tensile strength inside the glass does exactly what it is supposed to do in the event of say, your head coming in to contact with it - it shatters in to safe fracture dice instead of the long knives that other glass makes.
There's no way of knowing when the burst will come, but putting it unsentimentally, better the dog than you.
Great comment about helicopters, btw, made sense of a lot of things I didn't understand.
Many thanks Mrs woar, I might consider cancelling the cheap Doggymix.
Daisy, unlike your dog I don't bite but feel free to communicate through Mr Smith, I'll just assume you're a bit touched like so many around here.
It's a shame you don't write more, the piece had a great response.
Mr Smith, that spark up bloke is back.
Yes, Mr Daisy , Mrs WOAR is right, I had an oven door go a while back, just exploded in trillions of bits; good job it was only me.
You also said it well here: http://order-order.com/2008/03/12/mps-5000-food-allowance-should-be-taxed/
That was your original rant which was quite awesome!
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