GNASHER SETS OUT HER TERMS
FOR A POST-ELECTION PACT.
SEE YOU, EDDIE?
Haggis boiling out of her ears, Gnasher Sturgeon arrives as the five-yearly festival of competitive promising comes again upon us; all its dire celebrants,
the ponces and pimps
Adam Lard, here, of sky news.
I know everybody.
I'm actually married to most of them,
anybody who's anybody.
All you nobodies,
you should stick with my election coverage.
PBC's quarter million pounds a year politics hustler.
My sources say such and such but I couldn't possibly tell you who they are.
and the carrion dogs
I'm Kay Bully with sky news, stay tuned
or I'll bite your face off,
you fucking bitch.
In the red corner, Brawling Burley
It takes a lot to laugh, it takes a train to cry.
they have all started their scribbling and gibbering, hoping to engage us for a season, not in the carnival, itself,
Oh, do keep up, it's not Newsnight, you know,
I'm doing this one for Sky.
No, of course it's not my take on World War One.
It's the election, which some say is the most important since whenever.
No, the PBC is dreadful, much better working for that Australian,
Murdoch, is it, damned decent chap.
Pay's a darn sight better, too
but in them, in their worn, jaded monkey-thoughts, pilfered, one from another, some of them passed, like holy relics, from one generation of compliant monkey-broadcasters to another and like all the previous festivals of lying which I have witnessed in my lifetime, this, they all do insist, is the most important, ever;
roll-up, roll-up, the magical mystery tour is coming to take you away - your pensions, anyway, your jobs and your health service; gotta be fit for purpose, gotta move with the times.
Actually, as two-and-a-half party politics eats its own putrefying corpse, this is probably the least important such election, it's purpose being little more than the reading of its own last rites; nineteenth-century parties are irrelevant to all but themselves and their symbiotes, GlobaCorp, in the case of the Tories and the besuited, hundred-grand-a-year faux socialistes union managers in the case of Labour; I dread to think what is the natural constituency of LibDemmery; a party enthralled by the likes of David Laws, Danny Alexander, Straight Simon Hughes, Chris Huhne and Nick Clegg must consist only of the smug, the degenerate and the unwholesome. Besieged and berated by their own dying memberships, gnawed upon by their own fretful backbenchers, ignored by the NewPeople and loathed like never before by the rest of us, the only deathbed turn they can make is towards each other, honouirable and right honourabling themselves into oblivion. These institutions, as if we didn't already know, are revealed by the current PBC show, Inside Parliament, is it, Inside Westminster, whatever it's called, it demonstrates what a truly ghastly bunch of fuckpigs wind-up elected, what a crew of sycophantic dimwits - from the cleaners to the doorkeepers to the ludicrous, overpaid, jumped-up fathead, Black fucking Rod, I ask you, Black fucking Rod - serves them and how utterly up its own arse is the entire legislature, its customs and practices, its nauseating self-regard and its luxuriously pampered and insulated existence. Were there a need to amplify MediaMinster's rottenness the case of Huhne serves that purpose; a man who very recently served a prison sentence for lying to the cops, to the Commons and to the nation has been given back his parliamentary pass, entitling him to heavily subsidised haute cuisine and Napoleon Brandy in Westminster's bars, restaurants and knocking shops; to free use of parliament's facilities, the library, the gym, the terrace but most importantly Chrissy has full frontal access to every single member of our all-too-corruptible legislature, he can now bribe them at their own place of work. Now, I'm liberal but to a degree. I believe in my bones in the rehabilitation of offenders but Chrissy doesn't think he's done anything wrong, apart from getting found-out and neither, in the light of his readmission, does the House of fucking Commons. Cunts, all of them, every last one of them; why aren't they rioting, over Jailbird Huhne?
They are all just in it together; Ed Balls has far more in common with George Osborne than he does with you or I, they are acts on the same bill, unless they hang together they will hang apart.
But they, like many of us, are overtaken by a technological and concomitant informational revolution far beyond their ken. Oh, they tweet and email and are seldom without some device which we have bought them, keeping their idiotfinger on our pulse, as they would have it, even though most of them don't know what technological day it is.
Witness this. One of the NewPeople, a young male, still experimenting with facial hair, tried to boobytrap Sid Faridge of the Poundlanders, outside his own ReichsBunker; it was part of a documentary for the Kids' Channel, PBC3. He went along, Jolyon Somebody - what sort of a name is Jolyon, anyway, I wouldn't call a dogbloke Jolyon - he went along with a fake lie detector, hoping to embarrass Sid, as he exited his HQ, with some questions along the lines of Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Nazi Party of Great Britain?
Driven by his personal bodyguard, Sid's blacked-out Leader-Rover made several attempts to collect the Leader from the front door of Berchtesgarden, W10, but Sid was too canny to allow himself to be asked fool questions by a juvenile on his doorstep. No, he launched a diversion, sending some mad old biddy down to engage the child in matronly badinage whilst he donned BobTheBuilder camouflage - honest - and slipped out through another door.
Here he is, the leader of the Poundland Party, in cammo, fleeing a kiddy-journo with a toy lie detector.
And this cowardly arsehole wants to be an MP. He has all the makings. Gorris 'and on the nation's pulse, has Sid.
As much as anything else, the popularity of Sid Faridge illustrates how utterly redundant and contemptible is parliamentary democracy, how out of touch its practitioners, how venal its purpose. For many, Sid is the answer; how unthinkable must be the question, how vile must be incumbents whom some would replace with the likes of this?
Enough of the scum, augmented by new scum, Greens and Jocks and Poundlanders, will cling-on and form some sort of Govament of National Unity. There is fuck-all separating most of them, a windmill here, a border crossing there, a seventeeth-century nationalism across the road. All of them hate us - probably, given our forebearance of them, rightly so, for as long as we participate, even one of us, in this black charade, we deserve the shit they so enthusiastically spatter in our faces. I'm with Wussel Bwand on this, rather, he's with me, I was saying it before he was born.
Well, never mind all that Ishmaelian cynicism, where DOES he get it from? Welcome to some real commentary. And here on the Daily Politics, we're joined by Scotland's First Minister, Ms Gnasher
First Minister Gnasher, you lost the referendum, didn't you?
Well, Andrew, I think we won but that's a debate to be had. But not here.
Why not here?
Well, Andrew, as I said, and as the Scottish people so clearly said, in the referendum, that's a debate to be had but not here.
But they didn't....
They didn't what, Andrew....
They didn't say anything about a debate to be had, not now, not anytime. You lost the referendum...
Well, Andrew, that's a debate to be had. Un-preeec-edented numbers of people voted for Independence, un-preeeec-edented numbers...
Yes, but more voted against Independence. Doesn't that mean anything to you, the fact that you lost?
Well, Andrew, lose, win, that's a debate to be had but not now.
Woddawoodsay, though, Andrew, is that, setting the result aside, the numbers of votes, we clearly won the referendum, un-preeec-edented numbers of people voted for Independence and it's only people like you English who refuse to acknowledge that fact.
But I'm not English....
Well, Andrew, let me put it like this. Did or didnae ye vote for Independence?
I didn't have a vote. Either way. The SNP didn't allow me to vote. Nor millions like me.
There ye are, Andrew, that makes ye English by my reckoning. In fact, woddawoodsay, Andrew, is that anyone who isnae in the SNP is English and therefore not entitled tae vote in the next referendum.
(breathes heavy sigh) I'm too old for this nutter shit.
Alright, then, you're not gonna answer my question. What about the oil price, you all staked your political souls on the fact that it could only go up. It has gone down, massively, the economy of Aberdeenshire and indeed of the whole of Scotland is tanking. Do you wanna take this opportunity to apologise?
Well, Andrew, that's a debate to be had but, quite frankly, now is not the time to have it........
Are you, First Minister Gnasher, are you unable to apologise?
Well, Andrew, not only can I but I can't, gggrrrrrrrrrr, not only should I but I shouldn't as well, it is a debate to be had but not here, oil is just.....ggggrrrrrrrrrrrr, gnasshhhhh gnassshhhhh, ggrrrrrrrrrrrrrm, grrrrrrrr.... nhs scotland in meltdoon, ggrrrrrr, gggrrrrrrr, ggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, SNP ruling for some but not the majority, grrrrrrr-gggrrrrrrrrrrrrr, Trident, over my deid, nasty, wee body gggrrrrrrrrrr-grrrrgrrrrr, coalition wi' Miliband ggrrrrrrrrrrrr not only will I but I won't, yadadadadada, I demand a half a per cent per whatever increase in whatever to bring aboot nae austerity, ken, aye and balance they books ggrrrrrrrrrrr-grrgrrrgrrrrrr aye, an' Scottish votes on English matters gnashhhhh-gnassshhhh-gnasshhhh, the Scottish people voted in un-preeec-edented numbers for Independence and it is only the frankly discredited Westminster politicians, Andrew and lickspittle journalists like yourselves who are denying us our historic ggrrrrrrrrrr......ggrrrrrrrrr
That was First Minister Gnasher, there, and as we used to say in Glasgow University, did I mention I went there, as we used to say, she's as well raving there as in bed, because she'd only fall out of bed. And Oh, that lipstick. Looks like what sticks out of a dog, sometimes, Gnasher's gob.
I'll be here this evening, with the Weekly Daily Politics, tomorrow morning, tomorrow evening, the day after that, the day after that and on Sunday, with the Sunday Daily Politics. And I'll be flying somewhere exotic to make a documentary about something.
It's what they pay me for.