SCOTLAND. BEST PART OF ENGLAND. SHERIDAN GAGGED.

SHERIDAN MUST SUCK HIS OWN DICK FOR SIX MONTHS, RULES SCOTTISH PRISON SERVICE.

Scottish firebrand politician, Tearful Tommy Sheridan, is to be released on parole after serving one third of the  three-year sentence, imposed  upon him for his principled fight against  the evils of capitalism in all its forms, apart from in  the sex clubs, brothels and drug dens of the North Western England.   The only catch in the early release deal is  that Sheridan must shut his gob for six months, in public, at least,  and not go banging-on about the injustices of his life, his position and the failure of Mr CallHimDave to be held to account over l'affaire Coulson - or, Tommy, one might add, sotto voce, anything else.

 Not usually known for its generosity of spirit,  the Scottish Prison Service inadvertently  does the nation and the aural environment a temporary and all too brief  service.  To be spared, even for six months,  the sexist, incoherent, foam-flecked, fist-waving demagoguery of Mr Tearful Tommy Sheridan is, in these hard times, a welcome blessing, one tempered only by the knowledge that  Mr Sheridan's fellow celebrity and his advocate, Mr Aamer Anwar, will,  in his uniquely outraged and tongue-tied manner,  be self-righteously filibustering his way around the TV studios, ranting about his client's purity and dedicarion to public service.  Even facing this self-serving onslaught we might find some relief in the fact that Mr Anwar may not be simultaneously engaged in  vigorously applauding the abolition of the double jeapardy legislation - one of the citizen's few protections against the over-reach of the state's criminal law.

For  the illumination of those living outside this blessed land, perhaps poncing a living off Mr Salmond's oil reserves,  we should mention that Mr Anwar

 is one of Scotland's most prominent celebrity lawyers.  Pushy, showy and woefully inarticulate, even for a Scottish lawyer. Mr Anwar, a civil rights enthusiast,   has recently been trumpeting that the abolition of the double jeapardy protection means that those whom " everybody knows to be guilty" should be convicted forthwith;  breathtaking stupidity, even from a shit-eating Sheridanite. I tell you, friends, the fifteen-minutes long BBC Scotland Newsnight features a tiny, regular cast of some of the dumbest, ugliest, stupidest and  most repellent  assholes in the country, Anwar being the unlikeley and ludicrously unsuitable default setting choice to pontificate about civil liberties, he's like the Imelda Blair of Jock jurisprudence.

Tommyists around Scotland  - sadly, poor wee crossdressing wifebeaters,  confusing opposition to their hero as endorsement of skymadeupnewsandfilth - insist that the campaign for Salmondism, I mean Independence, must hear the ranting,  tobacco-rasped  voice of Tommy, and no doubt the saintly Gail, too, if it is to mean anything at all.

Mr Sheridan and his media-legal stooges have already hijacked and torched the Left in Scotland,  that they wish now  to cavort in, make Scotland host to a bizarre and  corrosive Celebrity Big Brother Independenc Referendum  House is a self-indulgence too far.  If Mr Sheridan himself has voluntarily  agreed to the terms of his parole -  he could, acting in principle, have served the rest of his sentence - then that should be the end of the matter; principle,  for the baying Sheridanites, however,  is shouty and bullying in its noisesome evangelism and infinitely elastic in its meaning. We must look forward, therefore, dolefully, to Tommy and Aamy berating the nation about its failure to properly honour the coke-snorting prophet in its midst and demanding that the terms of his parole are an affront to human decency.  As if we didn't have enough shot to sidestep.

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.
(IN A McGAY LIB SORT OF WAY)

Glamourpuss Tommy, bless, reclining in his macho sunbed,
models his tee-shirt for his avid wee fans.

Next week,  in our Gay Heroes of Scotland series: entertainer and traveller, Mr George Gallowbum tells readers: Why I should be the first Socialist Emperor of Scotland.

 

 A man  peddling Freedom in order that he might enjoy a cushy living

would better starve.....

                                                                                           from Tasty McFadden's Corruption Blues 

THE THINGS THEY SAY.

 

WHIMPERING ED MILIBAND, THE  MURDOCH-SLAYER,

"  Look, I am the guy who took on Murdoch, "  Miliband said on Friday. "  That was a decisive thing to do. I am the guy that has said the rules of capitalism as played in the last 30 years have got to change. What is the most important thing for a leader of the opposition to have? It is to establish an argument about what is wrong with the country and what needs to change. I have a very clear plan and I have set out very clear themes. "

Poor, whimpering deadbeat, what he means to say is: What is the most important  thing for a leader of the opposition to do?  His very clear plan and very clear themes obviously do not include the cultivation of grammatical consistency in his public whimperings.

When you look back at them, now,  the Labour leaders, well, since Wilson and Marcia, anyway, you see that they are all delusional nincompoops, just like this one, good for fuck all, and that any good which has emerged during their tenures has come from outside parliament, travelling inwards and not, as this  creepy, malformed  bastard suggests, outwards - it is not about "what is wrong with the country and what needs to change," it is about what is wrong in MediaMinster and who needs hanging-up from a fucking lamp post and what needs burning to the fucking ground.

EVENSONG. A VELVET OVERGROUND. Sheryl Crow & Emmylou Harris (Live) : Pale Blue Eyes

DIVIDED WE STAND.

Of course, by sending my son to a private school I am not seeking to set him apart from the riff-raff, workshy, fatherless, drugtaking,  black children in my shitpoor constituency and ally him for life to the children of rich people.  Only I am. That'll be a thousand pounds please, Andrew. And at least if they do sack me from the Front bench of Oblivion I'll be able to come back on the show every week.  Instead of that cheesy old minge, Jacqui Schmidt.  Or Alan Johnson, yes, the one whose missus was banging half the Met.  And him home seckatry.  Well, of course it's not for me to comment on colleagues making themselves look ridiculous but really.....

ON THE FEAST OF STEVEN.

The idea of victims' justice is something which civilised societies rightly abhor.  Uncle Sam, of course, with his Bible-thumping barbarism, is uncivilised, along with China,  the Indian sub-continent, parts of Africa, parts of the former USSR and countless other states, notably in the Middle East,  where the state or the theocracy casts itself as the victim of all crimes and extracts a deadly and wretched  compensation from offenders  - or those said to be offenders by proper offenders, generally men, often holy men, utter bastards, in other words.

Victims' justice belongs far in the past, along with the likes of Benjamin Netanyahu and Barack Obama, proper societies have a system of blind, impersonalised justice, detached from the offence but connected to the society in which it occurred and driven by considerations other than solely vengeance;  how else can it work? Unless we are prepared to condone one crime leading to another, probably worse; to condone a fatal escalation of inter-citizen violence as burglary leads to murder and murder leads to torture and murder, unless we want blood and limbs flowing in the streets we must consign the dispensation of justice to professionals, with whom we will often disagree. Because they are all bastards, too.

The selective abolition of the Double Jeopardy rule was one of NewLabour's darker achievements and we see that controlling impetus everywhere, now, in politics;  the Irish Referendum on Europe is a fine example of state - or pan-state -  lawlessness, you keep on voting until you give us the answer we want or, as in this case, we keep on trying you until we get a conviction, it is  one of those slippery slopes beloved of NewLab bullyboy, Jack Torture, simpering learnedly, the rotten fucking bastard, about human rights whilst extending the rights of the state over the citizen; as Foreign Seckatry Straw lied his face off to the United Nations, in order that his masters in Washington might bomb the beJasus out of innocent Iraqi children;  today, in the light of the Lawrence verdict,  this monster will be toasting himself, even more than usual. It is better that a thousand guilty go free than that one innocent  be incarcerated or executed and fuck DNA evidence and fuck scientific advance and fuck clozeya for victims' families. The ability to try and re-try is the work of the Devil which we shall all come to regret, all of us, that is, save the lawmakers and their agents, who, as we know, are far beyond the reach of the laws they visit upon the rest of us.

Another NewLabour solecism - along with the creation of Holocaust Day  - was the idea that killing some people was worse than killing other people;  that, if you killed a ginger person you should get a sterner bollocking off the likes of Coleman Treacey than you would if you just killed someone who was, say, brown haired.  And so now we have gingerly-aggravated killing, unless, of course, at the earliest opportunity you express remorse for hating ginger bastards.  Once upon a time, killing anybody was bad shit, but now if you kill some bastard because you don't like him, well, as we see, hanging's too good for you.  A black person, you see, or a gay person, is uniquely, when killed,  more dead than a non-black or non-gay person. ( I wonder, in passing, if, had Steven been killed by a Yardie and his killing effectively overlooked by the Met, would we be banging-on about it nearly twenty years later,  would it be less of a tragedy, less of an outrage?  Where does the racism really lie in this?) Now, if I was a white, straight person, I'd take serious exception to this shit because what it means is that if someone is sat at home thinking about killing someone else he is very likely to think, Fuck me, I wanna kill some bastard so bad, I wanna knife him and kick him and set fire to him, maybe not knife him, because that carries a bigger sentence, and certainly not shoot him because they'll throw the fucking book at me and it better not be a black person or a brown person or any kinda coloured gay person, or a Muslim  or Scotchperson;  the bastard'd certainly better not be studying for A levels or we'll never hear the end of it.  Who does that leave me, then,  to murder?  I'll just have to find someone who's not now and never has been a member of any minority group whatsoever, because that'd be HateCrime. And all I wanna do is murder some bastard.

Now, the individuals convicted  for the murder of BrightAlevelStudentStevenLawrence do present as pretty unpleasant and despite the botched evidence of the Met's scientific teams, the jury felt that they were guilty of a terrible deed, spontaneous, although apparently in character;  a couple of knife thrusts and a shared jubilation.  And now, for some, the state's retribution - those calling, incidentally, for a longer sentence have clearly never spent a week-end in the cells, have no concept of what fifteen years' incarceration means. I am no armchair jurist and I don't know - beyond a gut feeling of "probably" - the truth of the matter. And if I blame anybody, I blame the parents.  And, of course, their parents.  There's no shortage of people to blame.  Just as long as we don't blame our representatives in MediaMinster.

But I do know that criminal trials are not, or should not be held to burnish, belatedly, the reputation of a palpably corrupt police force, to vindicate the drunken, amoral splutterings of the wretched, anti-democrat Paul Dacre of the Daily FilthMail, nor should they be held to bring clozeya to Mrs Lawrence, people who speak in such terminology betray not their compassion but their imbecility. Mrs Lawrence is a true vexation to the spirit, for one can be sure that before her personal loss she discounted all the police wickedness visited upon other, less "bright" black boys;  her son, doing A levels,  wasn't he actually gonna be an architect, almost a proper white  man.  Nothing that happens, in or out of  the criminal justice system will bring clozeya to Mrs Lawrence. Nothing except Forgiveness. But she is clearly an unforgiving woman and her wretchedness will yet sell many more newspapers as anniversaries roll around and - in the distant future -  parole applications are heard.  I am doing a life sentence she will howl;  yes,  she is and only she can free herself; although we know that Grief's celebrity-noire is a tenacious monkey on the back of the unwary -  once there saddled by skymadeupnewsandfilth, he is hard to unseat.  Here Mrs Old Lady, here's a coupla hundred quid, tell us, tell our readers, how much you hate Ian Brady and Myra Hindley for killing your son;  thanks, love, seeya next year.

But the trial wasn't about Mrs Lawrence - but don't tell her that -  it was about an act of random, racially inspired murder, like the one of an Indian student, just committed in Manchester - undeterred, you see, by the great efforts made by our masters, hatred stalks us, still;  and who knows when others of similar mind to the Lawrence killers may strike again, maybe in solidarity with their jailed comrades.

Mr Justice Coleman Cuckold Treacey is a man made mean by his disappointments and we may be sure that he has dished out as much prison as he could, consistent with the career implications of a high profile case such as this and few will complain that he was over-harsh although, as we see, some are of the view that hanging's too good for 'em, life should mean life and so on.  There may be room for another court to give them an extra year or two - even though Treacey's doses of porridge are just a minimum, the Parole Board and Home Seckatries are well-attuned to the public mood in such cases and these two should not hold their breath, awaiting release on the dates specified by the Court,  they could well spend their lives in prison.

The institutionalised villains of the piece of course are feasting, too,  along with the drunken bum, Dacre, along  with every half-witted race relations activist  and with every veneer-scratched Guardian-reading fascist in the land.

DAC Clarissa Gob was good, nice mixture of smug satisfaction and regret that it had taken so long for her mob to do the decent thing;  Clarissa, it was, who masterminded the emptying of a magazine into the head of poor young JeanCharles de Menendes, before he was swiftly slandered by Sir now Lord Ian Blair,  then  Commissioner of the Filth;  unlike the unfortunates sentenced yesterday,    Clarissa was immediately promoted, it's how they do things in the police.  And all,  the entire revolting Gabshites Chorus,  have been singing the praises - although  they didn't  at the time - of the MacPherson Report, as though the images of women being dragged around the cells by their hair, batoned in the face by psychobastard coppers-without-numbers and of Ian Tomlinson being killed, right  before the eyes of the   world and his killer being cynically protected by the entire law enforcement system had been apparitions, visible only to the sceptical, the naysayers. visible only to those who say that all lawyers are scum, all politicians are shit-eating hypocrites,  all journalists are filth and  - l'axiom des toutes axiomes - all coppers are bastards.  That some cops have been dragooned into prosecuting their spiritual homies does not alter the fact that those who, at the time, protected the killers, will have been, what's that phrase, in FilthSpeak, allowed to retire early, on health grounds

The feasting,  therefore,  friends, the Feast of Stephen, is of thin gruel, bread and circuses, a good, self-righteous, tub-thumping, self-writing  New Year's story to gladden the hearts  and divert the attentions of the braindead.

The final word should go to the Met's chief sociopath, wotsisname, Baden Powell, Hogan Powell, who knows,  so rotten is the barrel from which their bosses  emerge that even the most blatantly criminal organisation in the country can't seem to keep hold of one of them for more than five minutes.

COMMISSIONER HAGEN-DAZ

Those involved in the killing of young wotsisname, the black lad, they shouldn't sleep easily in their beds.  Those involved  over the past decade in the killings of three hundred and fifty people in their custody - ie us - we can sleep as soundly as we like.

Always remember,  there is only a thin but excessively well-armed blue line protecting you from  an outbreak of complete Decency.