THE DECEASED WITH SIR JAMES SAVILE.
THE DECEASED WITH GENERALISSIMO TORTURE,
AUGUSTE PINOCHET.
AUGUSTE PINOCHET.
THE DECEASED'S REFORMIST POLICE FORCE.
THE DECEASED WITH LORD WILLIAM MISCARRIAGE.
WHEN 'E WERE NOBBUT A LAD, LIKE.
THE DECEASED'S SON, VISCOUNT THIEF, CONMAN AND FAILED COUPSTER,
LEAVES COURT, AGAIN.
I guess that Lord Michael Spiv's
Fuck me, is it my turn next ?
WOULD YOU BUY SOME USED FURNITURE FROM THIS OIK?
was the blow which most hurt Whisky Maggie and that after his flouncy betrayal and her concomitant, thwarted egomania, everything else - birdbrains like Cameron, for instance - was just Life's toilet flushing her away; mad and increasingly powerless, counting as her friends only filth like the Barclay ZombieTwins and the infinitely self-effacing Lady Sir Charles Moore, in her dotage she could hardly even have taken comfort in the measures of her children, both of them gabshite thickoes - Carol even managing, uniquely, to lose a berth at the BBC, and fuckwit kaffirbasher, Mark's, name a byword for cowardice, greed, thievery and ineptitude. David Beckham would of loved to of been her mate, him and Victoria but rich or not he's too vulgar even for this most vulgarian of prime ministers, God rot her black soul. And may her co-spivs from all branches of MediaMinster swiftly find their arses, too, embracing Satan's special poker. Amen.
From his Praetoria bedroom, the next Greatest Living Dead Human Being, Nelson Mandela, said that he had always told Margaret Thatcher that she was a few mealie beers short of a booze-up but that she hadn't paid him any attention and that now, unfortunately, she would not be joining any of his famous parties with the Beckhams, Naomi Campbell and fuck knows what other filth he could invite. All sing: Nkose sikelele Africa, Maggie-Maggie-Maggie Out-out-out.
She is now.
LEAVES COURT, AGAIN.
I guess that Lord Michael Spiv's
WOULD YOU BUY SOME USED FURNITURE FROM THIS OIK?
was the blow which most hurt Whisky Maggie and that after his flouncy betrayal and her concomitant, thwarted egomania, everything else - birdbrains like Cameron, for instance - was just Life's toilet flushing her away; mad and increasingly powerless, counting as her friends only filth like the Barclay ZombieTwins and the infinitely self-effacing Lady Sir Charles Moore, in her dotage she could hardly even have taken comfort in the measures of her children, both of them gabshite thickoes - Carol even managing, uniquely, to lose a berth at the BBC, and fuckwit kaffirbasher, Mark's, name a byword for cowardice, greed, thievery and ineptitude. David Beckham would of loved to of been her mate, him and Victoria but rich or not he's too vulgar even for this most vulgarian of prime ministers, God rot her black soul. And may her co-spivs from all branches of MediaMinster swiftly find their arses, too, embracing Satan's special poker. Amen.
From his Praetoria bedroom, the next Greatest Living Dead Human Being, Nelson Mandela, said that he had always told Margaret Thatcher that she was a few mealie beers short of a booze-up but that she hadn't paid him any attention and that now, unfortunately, she would not be joining any of his famous parties with the Beckhams, Naomi Campbell and fuck knows what other filth he could invite. All sing: Nkose sikelele Africa, Maggie-Maggie-Maggie Out-out-out.
She is now.
16 comments:
No doubt she`s already handbagging Lucifer around the Pit....wonder if she`s had a catch up with Jimmy Saville yet ?
Not quite as alive as you or me, eh, Mr I.
I've been on the dole just once - 1982 - a few months, and a kid without outgoings really - and the Milk Snacther did it to me. But perhaps the Sainted Maggie's real sin was that she smashed the buggers - and they know it. Even their blasted JCR sons knew it. And now their Channel 4 grandsons. Thought it through, planned, set out, took careful steps, retreated after she tested the water and found it too hot, got saved by the mad Argies - how she must have laughed! I'll bet she rang up yon Pinokiller and split a six-pack on it - built up her coal stocks and then routed her enemy when the time was right. The Battle of Orgreave? Looked like The Baggies v United to me.
Perhaps, and no joke, this was her real sin. Too complete a victory looks like something too close to something too close to dreaming. Too harsh. Too tidy. Why close all those pits so fast when they were going to close anyway after the union was broken. Magnanimity in victory brings a bit of elbow room. She wasn't the iron lady for it but there was room at that time to ease the edge off it. A touch of a wee plane to make it less cold. Instead we got the chillingly accurate but politically idiotic poll tax.
Once there was a time, I used to think, that large scale manufacturing could be saved. tried my best in my own way. Of course, it could not. Not at our prices. Where in Europe is serious stuff manufactured without subsidy? Nowhere. Even Germany cheats ist numbers. Look out over there, Angela, for it's going to get ugly. And so if relatively less-wealth-creating people cannot make stuff, how can they support themselves in post-industrial western Europe? [Discuss.]
Alas, the Left has ever been trying to find an answer, since The Fall, to this, and to the other thorny problem of just what is it now, Comrades, for which we can stand? Or shall we fuck off home and by another holiday home in Croatia? Been down so long, after all. And what we have to see is Blatherism, not-drowning polar bears, millionaire luvvies bleating about tax cuts to the rich but not mentioning that they are the above-mentioned fat quackers, faux bedroom taxes, and just fucking absurdities like arguments about Effing Shazzza's opinion on policing. Good God, I have lived too long. Perhaps the day will dawn when a figure of conviction will find a thought in his or her head to give us a principled alternative to these sorry parallel roads to perdition.
Good to see you back to the breach, Mr I.
You, too, mr mongoose, and good stuff, as ever.
AS to discussion thereof, it would seem a fool's errand to argue against the necessity for global government - management and share of resources and control of the environment, a Post-Money Survivalism of some sort - but try telling that to, well, almost anybody.
National governments, or groups of national governments, owned as they all are by pigthick greedy bastards, will or already have destroyed the infinitely fragile life support systems. Whilst almost everybody bleats for Growth.
I've said this before, I'm sure, but when the day comes that a Chancellor of the Exchequer stands up and says Last year, I am pleased to say, we had no Growth - no lethal pollution, no waste, no planned obsolescence - and that everyone in the world can get a clean drink of water.... well, we might be a little more optimistic. Instead as you see all across the Telegraph, mr mongoose, you and I and the rest of we grown-ups, here we are, pissing in the wind, whilst intellectual beggars lionise a dead monster. EarthCrime, that's the charge.
Do these fuckers not know that there isn't enough water to go around the teemming billions - or new markets as we call them - or that there is simply insufficient land which can be brought into food production; that the ice caps are melting, that marine life chokes on plastic refuse ? Are they all really so fucking stupid as to think that planetary survival depends upon all alive satisfying the insatiable greed of a bunch of criminal bastards, or the markets, to give them their preferred name ?
Thatcher, above all else, above her madness and viciousness and spite and jumped-up Hyacinth Bucketness, her wicked chums and her vile children, was the agent not of freedom and democracy but of cynical exploitation to no other prupose than greed, no other ultimate purpose than EarthCrime.
I fondly imagine her and Ronnie Reagan, down there, together, dribbling, incontinent, babbling and roasting. Fuck her, fuck her admirers, fuck her heirs and successors, whomsoever they may be.
Roll on the same for the rest of them - the ghastly Tebbit, the ponce Heseltine, the international thief, Hurd and the wretched cockscomb Lawson; how sweet to see this filth purged, dead and rotting.
The older I get, the more I rejoice in Gauguin's dictum - Life being what it is, one dreams of vengeance.
bienvenida de nuevo MrIshmael
Good to see you back.
Ah, but there is plenty of land. It happens to be forested or poorly irrigated. It awaits the hand of man to become productive. Same with water, it's noticeable from space and not scarce. Blue planet etc.
As for Mrs T, and" Fuck her admirers? " No, it's easy to project our inadequacy onto a strong leader - which she was - unless we are exceptionally self-aware, cautious, and somewhat awakened to our true status. A general curse is therefore unworthy. We continue to vote for these horrible people. Mrs T. was a merely a symptom of that propensity.
Nice to see you back, and in such good form.
-richard
Thanks, mr richard but I fear we disagree. You know how you can watch something on the box and be utterly convinced of the rightness of it but the next day cannot remember the points in detail - an emotional reaction, I suppose, rather than a wholly analytical one, that and the fact that you probably just continued watching whatever came on afterwards but whichever it was, my conviction that there is not enough land to feed an unlimited population remains. It wasn't just forestation or irrigation, there are vast tracts of unfarmed land which are unfarmed because they are unfarmable and not susceptible to irrigation, fertilisation, tree clearance, terracing or any other improvements, nothing will make them farmable. Additionally there is the massively wasteful business of farming livestock, soon, I guess, or relatively soon, to become unviable; scientists in Holland are doing massive ree-surch into bug farming as a means of providing environmentally -do-able protein - cricket and locust burgers, at a fraction of the cost in cereals and grain of raising sheep and cows and what have you.
I partially agree with you inasmuch as Yes they are all wretched, those who stand for office but that Thatcher and her spivs were unusually, exceptionally ruinous, vandalistic, unprincipled; that she and hers were both anti-social and anti-societal, to put it mildly and that it was she, filth like Kelvin McTurd, Trevor Beardie, Danny Finkelshit and countless other Murdochite vultures who so debased the public discourse that trash like Blair and Brown, Campbell and Mandelstein so easily hijacked the Labour movement and continued Thatcher's ruination.
Me and my young friend, stanislav, have ever, in an entirely non-partisan fashion, raged at the unneccessary gracelessness, vulgarity and cheapness of public life and of their resultant coarsening of the public discourse. Thatcher and her gang, including Murdoch, The Barclays, Conrad Black, Andrew Neil, Kissinger, Pinochet and the rest of the filth created the opportunity for Blairism and now for this despicable bunch of spectacularly incompetent chancers, the so-called Coalition. Although I take your main point, I blame the voted-for rather more than I blame the voters.
I feel, finally, that all the social blights and poxes which form the subject of these and so many other commentaries are directy attributable to the ThatcherMisfit phenomenon. I am glad that she is dead, I hope she and her family suffered - although I doubt that Viscount Mark ever spares a second's compassion for anyone but himself and I hope that soon she will have much agreeable company, down there, amongst Satan's Chosen Ones.
Thanks for taking the time to reply, Mr I. You are right about insects as a tasty, cheap and efficient source of protein, I have sampled some myself. Whether people in the West select them is a different kettle of mealworms, as Prince Charles et al munch on their organic Aberdeen Angi as they tell us to be austere.
We must cordially disagree about the land. Nowhere is unfarmable except the Polar regions. England, which is still only 8% built-on,
used to be thick forest with wolves, and even steep mountains can be terraced as the Incas proved.
We agree about the politicos being vile, but they can only pain us because we vote for them instead of seeing them as psychopaths and ignoring them. BTW I watch little TV and then only with my critical faculties engaged. It's mostly shite anyway.
Best regards and it's a pleasure as always to read your words.
-richard
Well am I pleased to see you back. I began to think we had lost you altogether.
Lang may yer lum reek.
I think that one thing that is overlooked, in all this saving the planet/humanity/wildlife/world, is the fact that if one inoculates a petri dish full of agar broth with a bacterium, the dish will eventually be full of dead bacteria. They will have eaten themselves out of house and home.
Modern mankind has just as little survival sense as the bacteria, but has a greater sense of greed and is infinitely more devious.
Great nature planted different types of humans in different parts of the world (and painted them different colour to identify them). They were programmed to exist in their particular environment.
They would have continued to do so if they had been left alone to get on with it.
Thanks, mr rufus and everyone else, for the welcome. I will write my sick note another time. I wish my young friend, stanislav, was still around, he'd have a ball with it.
My late brother was touched by, I dunno, some Otherness. He was as precise as some of our scholars, here, mr tdg, mrs woar, and others of course, we're all scholars of Ruination. Joe was always too preoccupied with the Wrongness of it All to actually go to work and he knew the Child Poverty Action Group Handbook on Welfare Benefits inside-out. I suppose that was a labour in itself but for a Grammar School Boy - Methodist Colleg, Belfast - a bit of an underachievement, as we now say of the doings of Oddballs. It was only in his final years that I actually got weary and irritated by his benefits career; the rest of the time I always felt sorry for him, felt Fuck it, it's ok if some people can't get it together to go to work. He wasn't lazy, he worked hard, just not at paid work, he felt that the communist manifesto would be enacted tomorrow, or the day after. At his funeral, his sons told me how much they loathed abd despised him, especially his economic unproductivity, whilst with them I noticed their imherited, almost courtly good manners, patience and diffidence. An economic outlaw himself, Joe had trasfused to them, to their profound advantage, one of his own survival lubricants. They, of course, were blissfully ignorant of this, their inheritance, assuming, I huess, that they were born polite.
Anyway one of the things Joe studied - as well as Lawrence Hill's organic allottment-keeping and the Doubleday horticultural Institute seed catalogues abd the I-ching and the recordings of Van Morrisson - was the written ouptut of early media scholar and futurologist, Professor Marshall McLuhan, the guy who coined phrases such as The Medium IS the Message and The Global Village and who analysed, categorised and explained media and technology as only being amplifications of existing - see Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man - bodily functions - hammer amplifies fist, saw amplifies teeth, wheel amplifies foot and so on, telescope amplifies eye is another one. But more widely McLuhan's work/s prefigured the collossal cultural impact upon hitherto local communities of what we now call clobalisation and what you refer to, mr rufus, as people being left alone to get on with shit.
In passing, I should mention that McLuhan predicted the Internet, or something very much like it.
from wikipedia:
Marshall McLuhan predicted the Internet as an "extension of consciousness" in The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographic Man thirty years before its commercialization. [5]
" The next medium, whatever it is - it may be the extension of consciousness - will include television as its content, not as its environment, and will transform television into an art form. A computer as a research and communication instrument could enhance retrieval, obsolesce mass library organization, retrieve the individual's encyclopedic function and flip into a private line to speedily tailored data of a saleable kind.[6]"
Joe's favourite quotation from McLuhan, however, was, "Individual Consciousness is an Evolutionary Dead-End."
The older I grow the more axiomatic seem those few words. Billions of individuals, every single one wanting his or her own shit, when they want it, where they want it, and all of them being told by GlobaCorp, Yes, have what you want, because you're worth it. How can this not lead to species suicide? Isn't it already?
I remember your words about being gathered round an oil-drum fire, with sharpened sticks. It was a homily to the ruination caused by G Brown the twitching lunatic. But men with nothing are still men, and the Globacorp madness is as fleeting as the empires that have gone before. Mankind is a tough old bird and like pigs, if released from the farm, quickly regrow bristles and tusks and survive. Half a million years on earth, with 4000 being told what to do. We survived an ice age, what"s a handful of cunts in suits?
-richard
I wish I shared your optimism, mr richard, some days I suppose I do but everything now is so fucking excessive, population numbers, armies and weaponry, the antibiotics revolution and our consequent immunity failures, the potential for multiple eco-catastrophes. I think that even given a planetary survival miracle the best we can hope for is for our grandchildren growing up second -class citizens, the smartest of them speaking Mandarin, the language of the New Empire.
i take your point about the Ice Age but that was smal beer compared to what faces is now, windmills or no windmills.
"Small beer" etc. I try not to think about this too much for fear of ending up permanently haunted by the likelihood that the shit we're doing may well end up hideously superseded by some shit that'll happen to us regardless. An extinction-level-event from outer space (the 1908 Tunguska Object was a ping-pong ball compared to what the planet's copped in its however-many-billion year lifespan) or a supervolcano (Yellowstone Caldera etc) or the lovely terrible bastard Sun going medieval on our collective ass...
...and speaking of the collective, that scary, apt Mcluhan quote makes even more sense if you tweak it to "Individuated Consciousness is an Evolutionary Dead-End." Because bland hive-mind homogeneity is already well-established...on the other hand it begs questions - no individuals without societal context, no society without component individuals, round and round we go. And what the fuck is consciousness anyway? Jury ever out on that shit.
My redoubt of comfort against planetary apocalype, mr verge,is akin to my strategy for sitting as a passenger in a vehicle driven by my friend, Mike the 'plane, a daemonically assertive driver. I just tihink to myself: he's been like this all his life; he's not gonna wrap-up the car, just becaus I'm in it. Likewise, I am only here for a geological eye-blink, why should a vengeful Cosmos chose this micro-instant to moltenise all our shit.
But I know just what you mean, too much science fiction at an early age.
It's a big chunk of Western Africa, falling into the Atlantic isn't it, as well as Yellowstone boiling up that's due to obliterate Uncle Sam, initially, and then the rest of us, especially we dwellers on the shoreline.
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