THUG, BULLY AND DRUNK, JOHN SEE-YOU-JIMMY REID,
IS CHAIR OF GLASGOW CELTIC SECTARIAN FOOTBALL CLUB
AND FIFTY GRAND A YEAR DIRECTOR OF A SECURITY FIRM WORKING IN AFGHANISTAN, IN WHICH, AS DEFENCE SECRETARY, HE SAID TOMMY WOULD BARELY FACE A SHOT FIRED IN ANGER. REID ALSO DRAWS A SALARY AS AN ABSENTEE BACKBENCH MP. NO WONDER THE LITTLE BASTARD IS GRINNING LIKE A FUCKING APE.
LIKE SO MANY IN NEWLABOUR, REID IS A FORMER TROTSKYITE, NOW REVELLING IN THE REWARDS AND BRIBES OF UNBRIDLED CAPITALISM. THE TURD WAY.
IS CHAIR OF GLASGOW CELTIC SECTARIAN FOOTBALL CLUB
AND FIFTY GRAND A YEAR DIRECTOR OF A SECURITY FIRM WORKING IN AFGHANISTAN, IN WHICH, AS DEFENCE SECRETARY, HE SAID TOMMY WOULD BARELY FACE A SHOT FIRED IN ANGER. REID ALSO DRAWS A SALARY AS AN ABSENTEE BACKBENCH MP. NO WONDER THE LITTLE BASTARD IS GRINNING LIKE A FUCKING APE.
LIKE SO MANY IN NEWLABOUR, REID IS A FORMER TROTSKYITE, NOW REVELLING IN THE REWARDS AND BRIBES OF UNBRIDLED CAPITALISM. THE TURD WAY.
HERE ARE THE REMAINS OF FIVE OF THOSE WHO WOULD NOT FACE A SHOT FIRED IN ANGER.
The thinking segment of the nation must be sick to the back teeth of Major-General Rupert Jockstrap-Golightly, or some other career Rupert, banging-on about how many Afghani girls are now in school, how democratic the current shower of thieving, robed and turbaned puppet bastards are, the reformed bandits holed-up in Kabul, acclaimed by each other and by the GlobaCorp bandits in Washington, detested by the peasants; how Westminster-style democracy (thieving, degenerate bastards shitting in the people's faces) is just another few hundred mangled squaddies' bodies away. Rupert can go and fuck a polo pony, their is no strategy, no agenda in Afghanistan worth dying for and if there is some nobility of purpose let's see dopey Will Straw or drunken Euan Blair getting their plutocratic arses blown off.
These campaigns are political gestures made by Tony and Imelda Blair and their chums in order to secure their US pensions,;that such a horrible, cheap, hustling, warmongering bastard as Imelda sits as a judge in English courts says something very telling about the extent of our Ruin; the fact that Blair-Booth, up to her fat arse in Iraqi blood, torture, rape and mayhem is hailed, also, as a human rights lawyer, leaves one breathless. The nerve of some people, who do they think they are.
Human rights abuses abound, all over the world, much closer to home than far Afghanistan, graveyard to countless impudent invaders. We do not invade or seek to police Mugabeland, even though we could; Rupert does not deploy his squadrons to pluck young Indian widows from the funeral pyres of their husbands, instead we hail India as the newest, greatest Democracy, launching rockets as it's masses crawl over rubbish heaps for a scrap of food, many Un-fucking-Touchable, cheeky fucking bastards, the Indians, UnTouchables, indeed; the architects of tens of thousands of deaths, countless episodes of torture, arson, maiming, cruelty, extortion, mincing, slicing and burying fucking alive, killers with immeasurably more deaths to their credit than the Talimen have wrought, ponce about in Stormont Castle and at Westminster, Peace ProhCessing; Chinese thugs are invited to manhandle our citizens on our own streets in front of our own TV cameras, whilst Prime Minster Snot applauds them, wanly, as they shove him around his own front yard, as big a spectacle of nonsense as his snot-eating in parliament, before the whole world, the useless fucked-up, megalomaniac, Presbyterian, fucking bastard. But fuck me, look, some Afghani girls are going to school and that's the main thing. Fuck off, Rupert.
It is not a conscripted army dying in Blair's wars but even so there is no need to treat them as mercenaries, dispensable, worthless, they signed-up, they knew what they were doing, all that stuff. Volunteers or not, they are, as are we all, owed a duty of care and their lives and limbs should not be so worthless, so squandered. Should another Peace ProhCess develop, eventually, in Afghanistan and Tommy's killers join the parliament as valued members, who will tell his orphans, maybe in their mothers' arms today, watching a convoy of coffins, that his death was glorious, valiant, patriotic, when in fact it was pointless, all down the line, to the greater glory, only, of scum like Reid.
Another football man said that football wasn't a matter of life and death, it was more important than that; the sectarian nutters cheering-on Reid's Celtic FC, the number of goals more important than the number of dead Jock squaddies, are, in their cowardly endorsement of this nasty, drunken, little arsehole, of like mind.
The thinking segment of the nation must be sick to the back teeth of Major-General Rupert Jockstrap-Golightly, or some other career Rupert, banging-on about how many Afghani girls are now in school, how democratic the current shower of thieving, robed and turbaned puppet bastards are, the reformed bandits holed-up in Kabul, acclaimed by each other and by the GlobaCorp bandits in Washington, detested by the peasants; how Westminster-style democracy (thieving, degenerate bastards shitting in the people's faces) is just another few hundred mangled squaddies' bodies away. Rupert can go and fuck a polo pony, their is no strategy, no agenda in Afghanistan worth dying for and if there is some nobility of purpose let's see dopey Will Straw or drunken Euan Blair getting their plutocratic arses blown off.
These campaigns are political gestures made by Tony and Imelda Blair and their chums in order to secure their US pensions,;that such a horrible, cheap, hustling, warmongering bastard as Imelda sits as a judge in English courts says something very telling about the extent of our Ruin; the fact that Blair-Booth, up to her fat arse in Iraqi blood, torture, rape and mayhem is hailed, also, as a human rights lawyer, leaves one breathless. The nerve of some people, who do they think they are.
Human rights abuses abound, all over the world, much closer to home than far Afghanistan, graveyard to countless impudent invaders. We do not invade or seek to police Mugabeland, even though we could; Rupert does not deploy his squadrons to pluck young Indian widows from the funeral pyres of their husbands, instead we hail India as the newest, greatest Democracy, launching rockets as it's masses crawl over rubbish heaps for a scrap of food, many Un-fucking-Touchable, cheeky fucking bastards, the Indians, UnTouchables, indeed; the architects of tens of thousands of deaths, countless episodes of torture, arson, maiming, cruelty, extortion, mincing, slicing and burying fucking alive, killers with immeasurably more deaths to their credit than the Talimen have wrought, ponce about in Stormont Castle and at Westminster, Peace ProhCessing; Chinese thugs are invited to manhandle our citizens on our own streets in front of our own TV cameras, whilst Prime Minster Snot applauds them, wanly, as they shove him around his own front yard, as big a spectacle of nonsense as his snot-eating in parliament, before the whole world, the useless fucked-up, megalomaniac, Presbyterian, fucking bastard. But fuck me, look, some Afghani girls are going to school and that's the main thing. Fuck off, Rupert.
It is not a conscripted army dying in Blair's wars but even so there is no need to treat them as mercenaries, dispensable, worthless, they signed-up, they knew what they were doing, all that stuff. Volunteers or not, they are, as are we all, owed a duty of care and their lives and limbs should not be so worthless, so squandered. Should another Peace ProhCess develop, eventually, in Afghanistan and Tommy's killers join the parliament as valued members, who will tell his orphans, maybe in their mothers' arms today, watching a convoy of coffins, that his death was glorious, valiant, patriotic, when in fact it was pointless, all down the line, to the greater glory, only, of scum like Reid.
Another football man said that football wasn't a matter of life and death, it was more important than that; the sectarian nutters cheering-on Reid's Celtic FC, the number of goals more important than the number of dead Jock squaddies, are, in their cowardly endorsement of this nasty, drunken, little arsehole, of like mind.
9 comments:
It would appear that you do not care much for him,Stan.
How very singular.
Good one, Ishmael. 'The Turd Way' indeed. Vainglorious politicians should be shot, slowly, inch-by-inch.
They sneak away, don't they, to graft and blood money and the news circus moves on and they get away with it; the knights of the press had enough to sink this little bastard and they didn't, the Dawn Primarolo story, had it been Prescott, would've been front page; being drunk and brawling in the commons should have buried him and the dope in the drawer would have damaged someone else, somebody loves him, or fears what he knows.
Thanks Mr Ishmael, great stuff, especially the Poets Corner thing a bit back - Gray's Elegy, wonderful ('twas all he wish'd).
There is a curious article on Afghanistan by what must have been the loosest cannon on the deck of MI6 since Guy Burgess...
http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n13/stew01_.html
Mr Smith might find it suggestive in all sorts of ways.
Thanks, Mr The Dyers Garden, I had already read it, coincidentally, just before your post arrived and thought much the same. It is good to see one's own instincts vindicated by a so-called expert but Oh, the length of it. Right and Wrong need no such exposition and the trouble with dons and brasshats is that inevitably they descend, in their curious, macho, one-upmanship way, to Ah, but the Devil, as ever, is in the detail; I hear what you say, but; and best of all, We Are Where We Are and the original whitewater impetus, in this case of Rory's piece, is dammed and diverted by a logjam of nitpicking motherfuckery.
It is a generational Buggins' Turn thing, each crop of celebrity thinkers entitled to elabrate, reframe and extend an axiomatically open-open-and-shut case. I don't know how we escape the tyranny of the charmed circle of celebrity and it's stranglehold on our public discourse, or if we can. Like many, I sickened of it all long ago, the assumption of professorial authority, and my aversion was reinforced by the appointment of Tony Blair as regus or emeritus or visiting or whatever they call the horrible bastard at one of Uncle Sam's so-called Ivy League joints, my Kissinger-getting-the-Nobel-Peace Prize moment.
Having said all that, anyone with an interest and twenty minutes to spend would profit from making the link you posted. THanks again.
Your observations are sharp as ever; I was actually wondering whether Rory - soldier, explorer, diplomat, conservationist and now, overnight, academic - is playing an elaborate joke on us. We even have the "Ryan Family Professor of Human Rights" implicitly concluding that they are not universal after all.
You would have thought the likes of Burgess would have made the establishment wary of the "gifted narcissist" (Rory, of course, would retort that is a contradiction).
Mr Black Hole Sunset
"Gray's Elegy, wonderful ('twas all he wish'd)."
Ishmael senior, a working man with a small collection of Everyman Classics would recite it to me, in his later years from memory, raging quietly, fatalistically, in between, about the cops and the governmenr and the bankers and the lawyers.
The ghastly Snotman's cack-handed, shallow and stupid attempt to highjack it to his own megalomaniacal, felonious and homicidal cause enraged me and is emblematic of his ruinous rottenness.
Complete agreement here Mr Ishmael, and with Ishmael senior, Brown manages to offend with every word and gesture; his treatment of Gray's Elegy was wholy characteristic, the horrible grasping degenerate.
The Stewart article was interesting (and Degrees of Not Knowing), in the right direction at least.
Post a Comment