NEWS REVIEW. OSCAR NEWS. GOVE INSANE, YOU'LL NEVER SQUAWK ALONE.

Good Afternoon,  this is SkyNews,

 

 with me, Kay Burley.

 And we're taking you straight away to Sky's Jeremy Filth in Pistoria, where he is covering the trial of Oscar Testosterone, the legless runner, spoiled brat, celebrity and gun-crazy psychobastard who murdered his harmless, gentle, beautiful, undisabled, gold-digging trollop, Wotsername, Rhona,
 is it,

 Rhona Steamkettle?

 Jeremy, what's been happening today?

Thanks, Kay and Good Evening from  Pistoria where it has been another dramatic day with the  murderer being cross-examined by State Prosecutor, Mr Harry Knobkerrie. 

 

 It's just been one dramatic interchange after another, with the murderer sobbing his socks off, vomiting and pissing himself as he has tried to deflect the questions of ace state prosecutor Harry Knob. This is from this morning,  just before the judge adjourned proceedings for the vicious mutant to compose himself:

I put it to you, Meesta Testosterone,  

 

that there were no intruders and thet you jest shot the bitch for badness, jest to show her who wes boss. She wes dissing you, wasn't she, the dirty sleg, mebbe admiring a proper man with both legs, end you killed her, didden you? 

 

She ren into the shithouse, locked the door end then you shot her four times through the fecking door end now you come here with all this bollocks about fecking intruders end fecking ladders end fecking dancing magazine racks when in fact all thet heppened wes that you were pissed at the bitch end you chased her and fecking shot her fecking arse off, 

 

end, Mahlaydee, her fecking head, too, shot her fecking head off, is whet you did, why don't you jest fucking admit it?

 Feck me, Mahlaydee, weth the greatest respect, her fecking brains was all over the fecking shop. Tell the court, Meesta Testosterone, how you came up weth all this shit about burglars when every fecker end his fecking dog heard her screaming for you not to shoot her and you just kept on firing your fecking gun at her like a fecking lunatic.

That's not true, Mahlaydee,  I did jest shoot the bitch bet I didden know it wes the bitch when I shot her,  I didden  know et was four shots I fired into the bitch, I jest sort of  fired accidentally, Mahlaydee, eet wes the most terrible thing even though it wes accidental, it wes deliberate, too, but in self defence,  when you consider thet it might have been heavily armed burglars hiding in my shithouse like they was silly totties, instead of it being en actual  silly totty, I mean my beloved Wossername, who was actually very comfortable in our relationship,  Mahlaydee,  end thet wes why she wes cowering in the shithouse with the door firmly locked end screaming her fecking head off for me not to kill her, even though I couldn't hear the bitch because I wes repeatedly firing my weapon accidentally end I couldn't hear nothing, end everymorning I pray thet you will let me off shooting the bitch, which I didden  do enyway, or if I did, I didden mean to, in fect, es I have said to Mr Knob, I thought she wes a gang of armed robbers end I definitely didden mean to shoot them with my weapon...... Oh, oh, I thenk I am going to be seck. Bluuurrrrrrgh.........

And it was like that, Kay,  you there, Kay?...

 all fucking day long, cunt was screeching and throwing-up like a virgin at a News Of The World gangbang.
You there, Kay?


Yes, Jeremy, still here, I was wondering about a facelift, what's your take on that?

Well, as you know, Kay, I always think you look great.  Rough as a bears arse mind, but great, all the same.  And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of the old PolyFilla mightn't go amiss.

Another Murdoch bint in plastic surgery viewer fraud.

But what else is happening in Pistoria, Jeremy?

Well, Kay, Bow-Wow, Whoosagoodgirl? No, only joking. Anyway,  for an expert view as to whether he's guilty or extremely fucking guilty I'm joined here by our South African legal expert, Lllllewelllyn KaffirBasher, 

a member of the South African bar. 

 Lllllewelllyn, how's it going, from your point of view?  Thenks, Jeremy and well, the bestard is geelty es fucking sin and we should jest hang him up by his goolies until he coughs, thet's how we used to do things in South Efrica, only mainly to darkies, but this git is helf way there, isn't he being  desabled, as they call it, fucking freak.  No,  Harry Knob is doing  a first rate job, tripping the bestard up, whether he hes his fecking legs on or not, a-ha-ha, give the fecker an even chance, sort of; mind you, the Judge is a fucking kaffir so there's no fecking telling which way she might jump.  Did you see her fecking hair, Jeremy,

 looks like a fucking savage, neh? Wooden be fecking surprised to see her coming to court with a fecking great bone in her fecking nose. I jest dunno how it came to this shit....

What shit's that, then, Lllewelllyn ?

How we heff ay fecking voodoowoman, setting up there on the fecking bench, like a proper judge. 

 I betcha, Jerry, thet she goes home at night to her fecking tent and instead of reviewing the evidence that says this fecking bestard is fecking geelty she slaughters some fecking chickens or goats or some sheet like thet and smears her fecking self wiuth their fecking guts end rolls around in the fecking dirt. 'Sjust the sort of thing they do, these fecking savages.

Thanks for that, Llllewellyn, that was Mr Llewelyn Curlewis there for us, and like all of us here and you too, at home, Mr Curwotsit is absolutely convinced of CryingBoy's guilt.   And it's back now to Kay in the UK where it seems the education seckatry has declared war on  Birmingham.

 

That's right, Jeremy, and we go over now to the Daily Filth-O-Graph's Toby Young 

who is, to Michael Spit-Gove what Adam Werrity was to Dr Liam Foxx............a sort of a, whatchamacallit, sort of, well, boy, yes, that's it, Michael Gove's boy,


 Toby Cock, one of MediaMinster's boys.

Toby, as a grotesquely pushy parent, a gobby, empty-headed self-publicist;  a grubby, seedy wanker on-the-make  and as an all round worthless piece of MediaMinster shit, what's your take on this quite extraordinary development, where the Education Seckatry has appointed the former head of national counter-terrorism to investigate a couple of school governors, meeting-up in Brum and dribbling over the Koran, like they do.

Well, Kay and thanks, by the way, for having me on the show again but if I might just, before I answer that question, correct a widespread misapprehension  that I am a pushy parent, I am absolutely nothing of the sort, it's just that I can recognise that my children are intensely special, not just to me, although of course they are, but it's more that I see them as an invaluable resource to the world and so in wanting the very best for them that someone else's money can buy I am being entirely selfless; frankly, Kay, the world needs my sperm, I mean my kids, like never before. And it is only by diverting resources from less special people's children to children of my own issue that we can make any, wossaname, headway, yes, that's it, headway.  And if you can call that pushy parenting, well, I suggest that you are entirely mistaken.


Yes, but about Govey, he's a bit of a nutter, 
isn't he...?

No, Kay, no, absolutely not, Michael has the very best interests of the nation at heart, 


Nutter Alert.

moreso, I might say, than does a closely-knit cabal of public schoolboys which I could mention and  he and wossername are great, personal friends of mine.


Mr and Mrs Spit-Gove, living it up.

But sometimes, you know, Kay, in the life of a great statesman like Michael,

 

 he needs to strike whilst the iron is wossaname.

Like invading Birmingham and executing school governors, you mean?


But Kay, if you don't mind my correcting you - even though I do have the ear of His Michaelness -  these people, these so-called governors are actually highly dangerous terrorists, dangerous to all out children but especially mine, I mean, just look at them.

One of the governors of Small Heath Primary School, 
Birmingham, 
(photo: Daily Filth-O-Graph, UKIP, DofE.) 

That was Toby Cock, there for us, shedding some light on events in the second city.

And now to showbiz,  And this is the griefparty at Anfield football ground, where former NewLabour minister, Andy Burnham addressed a capacity crowd about himself and his part in their whateveritis.

HILLSBOROUGH,
 KEEP RIGHT ON 'TIL THE END OF THE SHOW

What is it with Liverfuckingpudlians.? Instead of marching on South Yorks Police HQ and tearing it down, they all get together and have a fucking sing-song, waving their footie scarves aloft, naming, with great respect, naturally, virtually every citizen of the city.

I have been to three football matches in my entire life and on each occasion I was terrified by the potentially uncontrollable, drunken  vicious tribalism of the crowd, thousands of nincompoops alco-welded for a few hours into a juggernaut of reckless malice, fuck 'em, I thought,  they're all fucking mad, they deserve whatever they get.  And they got it at Hillsborough.

There's one guy, particularly, gets me mad, grown eloquent with years of self-pitying, he whines about his two daughters getting crushed to death, as though permitting two teenage girls to enter a stadium full of shouting, drunken neanderthals was the act of a responsible parent.  It is not something which I would ever have done;  those places were and are intrinsically dangerous.   Everywhere, of course,  is intrinsically dangerous in our infinity of paranoid possibilities  but sending your kids into football stadia has clear and present dangers;  regardless of the quality of policing, stewarding and constructional safety it is a chance you take with the lives of your children;  that all three were bad at Hillsborough does not relieve parents of their duty of care. 

Oh, there's no question but that Chief Inspector Filth


 is a lying, crooked, cheating  bastard but surely it didn't take Hillsborough to persuade people of that,  surely everybody knows that.  Doesn't everybody know that PC Plod sits with his mates and writes up invented evidence so's it all matches, just so; surely everybody knows  that his seniors call him in  for a quiet word


and tell him what to say in a big case;  surely everybody knows that governments will always side with the police against the citizen unless, of course, the citizen is Andrew Mitchell, MP and flogger or Nigel Evans, MP and predatory homosexual. 

 What is the matter with these maudlin, self-pitying Scousers that they'll sell their lost family members' memories for a poxy, meaningless, showy, full and far-reaching cover-up of an inquest, one which opens, disgustingly, with a name-check of every concerned participant? Do they really think that the filthsters who covered-up this cack-handed policing of a football match  and then slandered the dead


Kelvin McFilth, Hillsborough Sun editor, PBC pundit and Murdoch dingleberry,
 enjoys himself with Piers ShitFerBrains Moron.
( When is he going to jail?)

give a flying fuck for anything that this service of mewling and puking and this showbiz inquest reveal? They must all be pissing themselves, the cops and MediaMinster,  as Liverpool does what it does best, moans and whinges.

And as for this arsehole, well, there aren't any words which would do justice to his performance, unless they are spelt BAFTA.  Bubbles Burnham sank to the occasion. 

Repeatedly  linking himself to the very existence of the post-Hillsborough presure group, this smirking turd, this obnoxious, Oxbridge, career politico front-and-centred himself, spinning patronising yarns about Footie and Mams and shit.
We all know that shame and embarrassment are alien to the likes of he but this really was vintage, premier cru sick-bucket stuff.



I am humbled, Liverpool, before you, as you give me this opportunity to act like a give a fuck, you stupid cunts.  If it wasn't fer me mam, an' me loyalty to a certain other football club - giggles - and for the friendship of all these great, millionaire, gang-raping, coke-snorting, repulsive and vulgar sporting heroes, here today, I never would've been able to wash me 'ands, like, of the twelve hundred or so deaths in that Staffordshire Health Trust, what I was in charge of. 

Andy Bubbles Burnham, NewLabour scoundrel and the most dangerous health seckatry in history, takes a Staffordshire bow.

  
That, of course, should read Faculty of Death, 
prop HM Seckatry of state for health, Andy Burnham.

It is not for their meaningless crowd-sentimentality that I abhor this gang, it is not that I dismiss their righteous indignation, it is that, in exchange for Grieving's tacky celebrity,  they do.

Never mind singing You'll Never Walk Alone,  never mind applauding shit like Andy Burnham,  these people should have seen to it that Kelvin McKenzie, fatwahed,  left the country; should have pelted Andy Burnham with stones and should, even now,  be ripping up paving slabs.