GNASHER SETS OUT HER TERMS
FOR A POST-ELECTION PACT.
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 hobgoblins,
the ladymen
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.
Sgt Robinson-Bilko
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
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
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.
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.
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
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, 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.
Lots.
31 comments:
You had better get used to the bitch, Mr I. Its more than likely she will become the most powerful woman in the UK, nightly dispensing her wisdom on the TeeVee. Holding court on matters both national and international. And other stuff way beyond her ken. Mr Henry's friend Shakespeare could write a tragedy on lesser subject matter.
Mike - it's not often I disagree with you, but I would respectfully take issue with your description of That Person as a woman. A Woman - to me, at least - is someone I would gladly open a car door for, or to whom I would offer my jacket on a chilly morning. I regret to say that I would be hard put to perform these simple acts of chivalry for this strident hag. She has a voice like someone sawing up old aluminium and all the economic wisdom of Billy Bunter taking large sniffs outside Ginster's pasty factory.
I often live in the hope of things blowing-up in the faces of the likes of Gnasher, mr mike, and sometimes they do. Those fictional questions. attributed, here, to Neil, a majority of people in Scotland are asking them, whatever the polls are saying; especially people in Aberdeen.
Yes, Gnasher as de facto PM, with Mrs Balls as de facto Chancellor - they seem like kindred spirits - progressive 'sistas'. They could tour round in Sista Harperson's pink bus, reaching out to the sistahood - 'woman to woman'. Fuck, Salmond seems almost benign by comparison.
Way to go, King Caratacus, it's not just the sound of her voice, but its unstoppable I Know Bestism, the grr-grrs cannot replicate the irritation she causes, North and South.
You can see why Blair sacked Hattie, can't you? That pink bus, it's so offensive, on so many levels that one doesn't know where to start. Perhaps best to say just that Labour abandoned wimmen only short lists when it came to selecting Hattie's hubby, Jack Dromey?
Mr Caractacus - point accepted.
Its a feature of politics here, Down Under, with PR (though in 20 years I still can't understand how the system works) that we end up with some individual holding the balance of power in the Senate. (FYI the Senate has managed to hold up the Govament's budget for over 12 months - how are we functioning?).
Anyway; the individual in question used to be some midget from Tasmania - the intellectual equivalent of the Stoke Manderville games. Now we have some fat guy who mysteriously made lots of money and sleeps through sittings in the afternoon. Like the Oracle of Delphi they are nightly consulted on their views, and literally hold the sway over life and death.
This is the direction you are heading. You had the trailer with Clegg. Now you get the real deal. The next Parliament will be a shocker.
I am quite warming to Gnasher as panto villain, Mr Ishmael, but then I am safely down here in England. It is though like being scolded by that great aunt from the sticks - the one you only ever see at weddings and funerals - who asks for sherry although no sherry has been consumed by anyone since 1972. It is though becoming clear to me that SNP economics is just Luvvie economics but written in crayon - those big wax jobs one gives to toddlers.
The oil price is a shocker, of course, for the McFree, as we have rehearsed before, but maybe worse than that is the looming unravelling of the wider EU fixes. The Scottish gravy tram may be heading into a siding. Our noble Greeks are doing Gnasher no favours.
Luvvy economics, written in big wax crayons. Lovely.
It may well be the prospect of Gnasherdoom that propels the Tophatters and Labour into some kind of GNU, Mr Ishmael. As you rightly say there`s fuck all between them, all austerity fetishists and when threatened they laager the wagons against us.
The Guild, is how Osborne calls the trade union of politicians and for once Pansy Face is right. A secretive, self serving closed shop. If Jug Ears was still in Parliament then I`d say it`d be a racing certainty he`d end up presiding over a GNU of the Guild. But these things can be arranged. Pansy Face and Wysteria admire him and no amount of possible Chillcot exposure as a knee pads Quisling will embarrass him or them. Since when did anything ever embarrass them ?
I followed your example and e mailed the Greek Embassy wishing them luck. I also repeated my advice to flog the debt on to Bad Vlad. No doubt coincidentally the Greek Defence Minister said they might get help from Russia or China. There`s still time for the descendants of Alexander to thrust a fucking great nine foot hoplite spear through the Hall of Magic Mirrors and Money before we are permitted to offer our thoughts on the Westminster seating plan.
Sold their souls to the devil and the devil is globacorp
Noses at the trough while preaching temperance to others.
There’s not a one amongst them has a gram of integrity.
Only have ourselves to blame I suppose. Voting or abstaining the bastards in.
How can a civilised society allow itself to be ruled by such garbage.
The answer must be that we’re not civilised after all
What I said about Balls'n'Osborne extends, I think, to Cameron and Gnasher - or if not to Gnasher then certainly to Alec the FatCrook, who learned his trade in the bars and kiddy-knocking shops of Westminster; Gnasher may well be entombed inside her teenage, misunderstood Marxism and her infantile nationalism but a word from her plump mentor may bring her into the fold of MediaMinster proper, at which point, as mr mike says, above, she will be as radical and Austerity-opposed a people's tribune as has been Mr Clegg; the vocabulary is already there - minimising the otherwise brutal excesses of my bloodbrother, Mr TopHat blah blah blah; Gnasher believes that if she just talks fast enough and is insistent enough on her IKnowBestism she can fool all of the people, all of the time, conflating verbal flatulence with statespersonship Gnasher only needs to be challenged by a proper commentator and her balloon will burst. And that is to say nothing of mr mongoose's perceptions of the Greeks, who, not bearing gifts, may derail the Jock gravy tram.
I mentioned previously that I know of plain, simple, modest Presbyterian folk, here, who are enraged just by the sound of Gnasher and they, I feel, are characteristic of the people who actually won the referendum. I do not know how their general election votes will be cast but we might see a widening, Londonesque gap between Gnasher's deprived Central Belt yahoos and the rest of us, in the country proper, in Scotland, best part of England.
continues....
continued...We might see that Gnasherism not only catalyses GNU but embraces it, mr yardarm. You, of all people do not need reminding that all parliamentarians are filth, all councillors crooks; expecting, therefore, that their stated principles might prevent them climbing into bed with their notional opponents is too benign an understanding of their purpose, too generos a reading of their quality and a revelation of the national cowardice, against which, mr doug shoulders, following you, above rages,
Having thought more about a formal GNU since we last discussed it, a while back, I can see Gnasher more as its beneficiary than its opponent, what better way to silence the stupid cunt than by giving her a personal cubicle in the Great Latrine of State, grrrrr, grrrr, 'snot as though she gives a fuck about Scotland.
Great to be reminded of the KneePadders. Sir Michael Kneepads White, he was the first, archly reminding the upstart Colonel von Fawkes that he, White of the Guardian, had sucked more cheesey political cock than any man alive; why, he even had his own 10 Downing Street embossed kneepads and as a member of the exclusive, journalistic Lobby, had worn them with distinction in every toilet in MediaMinster.
I rarely encourage civil servants or diplomats and wouldn't speak to a politician but I don't think it can do any harm to voice support for the Greek fightback, only takes a minute. Well done. Thermopylae, that's the spirit.
It is a Thermopylae moment, isn't it? And look what happened to them. The recent film, and I digress, was odd. Why was Leonidas a midget and Xerxes an NY bath-house giant? Mr Herodotus never mentioned that.
There is every sign however that the German/Greek fix is in. The strain though on the Euro and some of the other peripheral currencies is brutal. If I understood enough of Scaninavian economics, for instance, I think I would be worried. I remain convinced that there is not enough true value in the Euro to cover all of these adventures. A currency reflects value; it cannot truly create it. What those giants of the Athens of the North, Messrs Hume and Smith, would have made of all this is something to ponder - destroying the people to protect the gold seems so counter-intuitive. But if the gold is broken, and it is, then McGnasher is correct - even if she is so by accident, her broken clock being correct twice a day.
Ho hum. It will end in tears and an early bedtime.
The Resistance often fails, mr mongoose, whilst inspiring; be it doomed we should applaud it, perhaps moreso than should it succeed.
What the Enlightenmenteers would have made of all this - worthless, fictional fiat currencies, casino banking and zombie economics, well, that's anyone's guess.
Herr Hermann's response to le maquis was to torture and shoot not only its members but also lots of uninvolved bystanders; he should not get away with it, again, the fat pig - neither he nor his hausfrau.
And since we are on the subject, these past five ruinous years, of everything being returned which was owed, why shouldn't Stavros demand war reparations off Hermann; why shouldn't everybody? See what mein banking Herren make of those angry string quartets.
Gnasher may be correct but she probably read it here, first, or somewhere like here, Fuck the Banks is not usually part of the Tribesmen's catechism; the FatMan is, after all, their creature and supplicant.
That film was fucking rubbish, better off listening to Knocked Out Loaded and that, as you know, is saying something.
Oh yes that 300 thing - I'm surprised you watched it Mr I. You're right - rubbish - all beefcakes n' freaks. I don't think the Frank Miller treatment lends itself to the Greco-Persian Wars. That said there is something to be said for Sin City with its corrupt and perverted politicians, cops and priests. They should have given the Nonce-Finder General job to Marv. He's well qualified: not part of the UK establishment; effective, if brutal, interrogation methods followed up by swift and efficient administration of justice.
It's mutant capitalism that we suffer from, it's gone all meta and virtual and post-modern, but it's the same fuckers and fuckees. The political idiots now shitting on us are just somewhat more contemptible because they have such bad taste in all things.
My Marxist soul still craves a convulsive purge but I no longer have faith; it's more Zen as I get older (though not alas Presbyterianism), paying attention to the right things and the right people, even (perhaps especially) at a micro level. I think that's the hope we have.
I just saw parts of it, mr sg, 300. I suppose Hollywood eventually comes to piss over the entire history of Western philosophy; Greeks and Persians just like cowboys'n'indians, a shame.
I saw bits of Sin City, too, and resolved to see it in its entirity.
Yes worth a spin through Mr I. As is the sequel. Reminded me of 'Streets of Fire' if you remember that from the Eighties.
The phrase was coined one night in hospital; the admissions nurse was asking my religion and I just grunted. Is that C of E, then? Well, actually, it's more Zen-Presbyterian-Marxism. You what? We get all sorts, Jedi knights, everything, but I never heard of that one, howdyaspell it?
I hadn't really meant Presbyterian, it was just shorthand for the Sermon on the Mount, the discourses, the Beatitudes, the path to perfectability, Presbyterian scanned better. Matthew's distillation of Christ's teachings could be transposed to the key of Paying attention to the right things and the right people.
I think we are all Zen-Presbyterian-Marxists, mr bungalow bill, we are all Spartans, all niggers.
I wish I could get to the cinema more often, mr sg, there's only one here and the Mr Turners are a rarity, it's mostly shit.
You seem like a buff, ever see The Navigator? My friend, Hodcroft, took me to see it in a Birmigham arts cinema; majes most if the films we speak of look like they were made by clumsy children.
Hmmm... The Navigator, I know of it but can't recall seeing it - I will look it up sometime. I used to love the Cinema back in the days when there were intervals and the girls appeared with ice creams and Kia-ora orange. But these Multiplexes just ain't the same. So I barely go anymore. All those people crinkling packets and stuffing popcorn, stinking ping food and the like - my tolerance has long gone. Generally I wait for stuff to come out on DVD. Will probably switch to Netfix when the long promised Superfast Broadband shows up in my suburban village dystopia. BFO Flat-Screen TVs are cheap as chips now & knock most modern cinematic experiences into a cocked hat in my book - though there seems to be a revival of old style cinemas happening in some places so there is hope...
I blow hot and cold about a huge telly, seems a good idea, if you watch a lot of films; most of the time, though, I just want to throw them all out, fucking place is infested with them.
Oh I agree Mr I. I just keep the one - mainly for films - the TeeVee being shite for most of the time. I started watching Newsnight this evening, thinking I'd give it a go now that Paxman has fucked off out of it. They were debating the hot topic of tax evasion (yawn) with some Tory MP I've never seen or heard of before (fair enough) - on the dark side of the force, of course. And, on the side of the 'ordinary' PAYE tax payer - the little person - Dianne fucking Flabbot, for it was her. It was a good job I wasn't eating any chips... It seems that she not only occupies the moral high ground but is also an expert on fucking everything judging by the range of issues that she is asked to opine upon (and like as not at the tax payers expense). If I believed in God I would ask him to save us!
The reparations thing was a cheeky if inflammatory move to further corner Hermann. But it is true. What is debt if German debt can be forgotten but Stavros must pay to the penny? Whether that tactic is actually clever in the long run is something they could think through a bit more deeply, I fear. What is the endgame? The New Euro - in whatever form the zombie takes - must be different for the prudent, hard-working, all-in-this-together families of the north and the workshy, alcoholic, fat, tax-avoiding, addicted and scrounging gypoes of the west and south. As the prudent north comprises Germany and a few of its beholden satellites, that means Germany and German wealth rule. It will really be the deutschmark now with a raft of little euro labourer economies pegged to it in some fudge and fix. The workhouse will be on housing project hill with vouchers for the company store. A useful buffer zone to keep Ahmed safely at arm's length from the honest citizens of the contracting lebensraum. The experiment is lost. The wintertime is coming. Time to put up the shutters and repair the town walls.
There are any number of those timelapse animations of the borders of Europe over the last thousand years and it is instructive to see the tide of economics wash back and forth across Europe leaving the stable NW untouched but not what we now call Germany. They so want to be part of that stability that they pretend that they are already but Germany is a young place with even city states yet a hangover from earlier times. Germany isn't mentally and socially attuned yet to the role of Uncle Fritz, the kindly one in the corner paying for the experimental foibles of the wilder branches of the family. Frau Angela will stick it together until she retires in a wee while and then we will see. The house of cards though might not even make it through a Greco-Ukrainian summer.
And if you think 300 was crap, you should see the sequel!
Yes, thanks, mr mongoose, very good. Too many wheels and springs in this mechanism for me to understand, no watchmaker, I.
It is a state of mind, Germany, yes, one littered with large areas of amnesia- don't, liebschen, mention ze vars, none ov zem. Britain, too, is a state of mind, but one more settled, until recently, anyway; there is nothing in our national memory quite as bad as the events for which Hermann remains, quite rightly, unforgiven and while Stavros' claim for reparations may be seen as chutzpa, it is nevertheless, as you say, perfectly logical and ethical, if anyone is to be buggered by faux capitalism, let it be Hermann, who has so benefited from it, cheeky fucking bastard. Debt? He doesn't know the meaning of the word.
You will know the cross of nails, in Coventry Cathedral, Father Forgive, it says, meaning let Hermann off the hook of his Blitzkrieg crimes. Fuck that, not while he acts as Usury's bagman. If he's looking to get silly, he'd better go back to from where he came, examining his morning turds, like a fucking savage, to the sounds of the Moonlight Sonata.
Was it 1953, when the Greeks forgave German reparations ? No doubt others as well.
Merkel`s bum is beginning to twitch, telling the Greeks to play by the rules: to adapt the phrase Mr Mongoose used down the threads, if the Greeks shout the Emperor is billy bollocks then the Portugese, Irish and everyone else might shout it too and Magic Money Land will vanish and we`re back in October 2008. Although we have never left it, the filthsters just tell us we have. Truman Show economics.
If so, then the GNU looms larger.
It`s possible the EU will vanish faster than a poundlander`s wank fantasy or mutates, as Mr Mongoose reckons. We`re such austerity fetishists in this country, ecstatic over people being tipped out of their wheelchairs onto the dole queue, we could offer Germany refuge in a sterling zone.
That film you mention, Mr Ishmael, The Navigator. Was that one from the nineties, about a boy leading his village from Black Death England, tunnelling through the Earth to modern New Zealand ?
Aye, the power of faith and dreams, black and white 14th century Cumbrian miners digging their way to modern Technicolour New Zealand, there to perform an act of faith, to spare them from the Plague, back home, a Mediaeval Odyssey; that's the one, mr yardarm, astonishingly, shockingly innovative cinema. Never seen anything remotely like it.
The collapse of the EuroProject, that would trigger a national emergency response, a GNU in which every shade of filth could patriotically participate, in our interests. A babel of Cleggspeak drowning us out, urging the beating of our wheelchair rims into Tasers.
I don't know about that, Mr Ishmael. There are all sorts of opaque goings-on um, going on. It ill behoves the monsters of the US banking system to lecture everybody else about stability and risk. Bastards.
It's true that the banks completely colonised the White House back in Spunky Bill's day and have since paid him over a hundred million bucks for his trouble and Goldman Sachs have run Obama since day one of his Yes, we can't presidency. Indeeed I watched a lengthy interview with Coh-lin Powell's former chief of staff, some mad-eyed redneck colonel and he said that Spunky Bill may have said that he wanted NATO and the EU extended for Freedom's sake but it was really so's that Remingtin and Co could sell them all weapons; he also went on to say that he could vote neither Republican nor Democrat, they were all up to their tonsils in bankerarse and that President Hillary Trousers would start a war with anyone, just to sell arms. And he was a redneck.
Independent candidates, he said, was the only way out, claiming that 55 per cent of Merkins were actually Independents, forget all this shit about the two main parties.
A bit like here, I thought, only one main party, really, its members just playing musical chairs.
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