Alastair Campbell addresses the party unfaithful.
Herr Goebbels, propaganda minister to the former Fuhrer, has spoken out against the creeping rise of democracy in the Nazi Party.
Alastair Campbell briefs Herr Blair
Spin doctor advises his client:
Und ze first sing, mein Fuhrer,
is get rid of zat fucking Clause Fier
und sell everysing off to ze SS.
Peepul ov Britun.
I simply say.
They have weapons of mass destruction.
We must launch a Blitzkrieg.
It is entirely legal,
even though it is illegal.
Remember, War is Peace.
People are vanting to elect an untermenschen to lead ze party, ze party founded by ze Fuhrer und myself
Campbell and Blair
remove banking regulations.
for ze historic benefit off ourselves und off ze high-ranking party members.
Early days of the New Nazi Party
Jawohl, ze Fuhrer may vell haff led ze nation into var after var und set ze whole fucking place on fire but at ze end of ze day
he only done it for ze money.
Und is nuzzink more important zan money.
Jawohl, ze Fuhrer may vell haff led ze nation into var after var und set ze whole fucking place on fire but at ze end of ze day
he only done it for ze money.
Und is nuzzink more important zan money.
Vot? Cook ze documents? Me?
Nein, nein, I simply tell ze Abwehr vot to say.
Matey John later Sir John Scarlett
of the Abwehr,
took dictation for Dr Goebbels'
sexy dossier.
And they call cunts like this the security services.
Jah, und copy some scheissen from ze internet und make it look good.
Jah, veapun off mass destruction. Is good schidt, nein?
Dr Goebbels.
Und every bastard get rich. Apart from some millions off non-persons vot don't matter a fuck.
But zis cunt, von Corbyn,
ist bad news, vot mit vanting to tell ze schmucks ze truth. Lessbeclear, mein herren und damen, ze Reichsfuhrer, mit mein assistance,
Blair, Campbell and the NewLabour Cabinet.
spend thirteen fucking years telling ze schmucks lies, und General Snot, he spent five, und Field Marshal Cameron, he carry on ze project.
Jah, jah, zat project,
ze arbeit macht frei project, jah,
ze hardverking families project, doing ze right thing,
all zat schidt
The parliamentary Labour party.
Steven Dumfuck, MP.
ist bad news, vot mit vanting to tell ze schmucks ze truth. Lessbeclear, mein herren und damen, ze Reichsfuhrer, mit mein assistance,
Blair, Campbell and the NewLabour Cabinet.
spend thirteen fucking years telling ze schmucks lies, und General Snot, he spent five, und Field Marshal Cameron, he carry on ze project.
Jah, jah, zat project,
ze arbeit macht frei project, jah,
ze hardverking families project, doing ze right thing,
all zat schidt
The parliamentary Labour party.
Steven Dumfuck, MP.
Vell, if ze party members think zey have a say in ze Fuhrership election, zey are, 'ow you say, fucking bonkers.
Ve, ze MPs, ve vill decide who shall lead.
Und who shall be for ze Russian Front.
Mrs Dumfuck.
Nah pay't daft bugger no mind.
E's only gorra tiny one.
Ben PrettyBoy Bradshaw, MP.
Vell, iss ok, really, ze party members, zey are kinder, jah?
Und just haffing ze emotional spasm.
Especially ze ones vot is joining-up.
Kinder.
Und morons
Und heart attack patients.
Und zat is vy zey should vote for me as Deputy Reichsfuhrer.
But even zo, if zey vote for ze old man ze vote it vill not count.
But if zey vote for me
it vill.
Jah. Is Labour democracy.
Sieg Heil.
Und Gay Marriage uber alles.
21 comments:
Mad, murderous liars all of them, Mr I. It is genuinely startling, though I suppose we shouldn't actually be surprised, that Campbell dares to open his mouth in public given the horrors he wilfully unleashed. Blair is entirely beyond the pale but I have always found his consigliere the more appalling figure.
And the fact that no-one in MediaMinster, then or now, has ever called him out, not even Greg Dyke. What does he have on them all, even Adam Lard of Sky, married to some NuLab totty is frightened of Campbell, a dipso, a depressive, a bully and a pornographer emeritus. It only needs somebody to punch him hard in the mouth, for the Iraqi children, or for David Kelly, just the onc punch and he'd be in therapy for the rest of his rotten, shit-eating life.
It is a wonder to watch the buggers squirm. This is so definitely an off-message event. It has now become the wrong sort of democracy. We did not mean that you should join us and help to choose; we did mean that the people who would choose the right answer would be allowed to join. A terrible echo of the EU "democratic" referenda of years recent. The Other Three are now moaning in unison about the unfairness of it all. Poor dears! This the I-know-bestism of the ruling class. Know your fucking place and be told. Well, do you know, I don't think that I will. Thankee, gaffer, though for the offer.
I have been in Edinburgh and nearby this last few days, Mr I. The SNP drama wanes. At least to my eye and to ear it does. The ultras are trying to keep it right up there in the news but Comrade Corbyn might come and steal even some of that too on his tour.
As I said, mr mongoose, this outrage perpetrated by the workers' champions cannot but tarnish further the image of MediaMinster, at home and abroad and is enough to make a unionist secede; little known among you Southern swamp dwellers is the fact that another anaodyne pair of mewling suits is fighting for the leadership of JockLabour, a rabble of crooks, thieves, drunks and child molesters which has made itself contemptible yet still feels it can pull the wool over people's eyes; there is a Bubblesalike and a Kendallalike, each trying to soundbite the other but in the best possible taste and for the benefit of we, who only stand and pay. They should be doing a turn in that dreadful ArtsFest, along with every other wannabe in the land and from the colonies. You and the young mongeese aren't doing a turn there, are you, snake swallowing or something, whatever it is at which mongeese excel?
Christ, imagine living in Edinburgh. And you can't step outside without some cuntish English stand-up unfunnyman accosting you; must be like living in Mock the Week, with that fat fuck and his smirking stooges. We have festivals, here, all the time, in the Summer - folk, blues, rock, classical and the only one worth attending, the Science Festival. All this tourism, it just has to stop; everything will get worn-out. Some, here, are finally questioning the worth of mega-liners docking here and disgorging thousands of gawpers fof the day. Theirs is a brave voice, as the council is connected to the few businesses which take money from the SagaCruisers and the liners' harbour fees will swell the council pension pot; the hospital, too, is a regular stop for tourists, last time I was in A&E, a week or so back, there was a pair of Swiss teens, just getting something checked-out, while they were here and staff tell me that the usual cruise liner demographic is such that the hospital is kept busy, tending to foreign silver surfers, living the dream. And getting their angina treated. The size of these fucking boats, you think there'd be a sickbay aboard, to mend Hiram J Cheeseburger the Third's piles or Olaf Olafsensen's varicose
veins.
Labour, though, it really is exposing the rottenness of party political democracy as a career and no matter how angry they make me, the noo, things'll never be the same again. Fifty-six Tribesmen in MefiaMinster, four million Poundlanders and a million paid-up Corbynites; I wonder how Stuttering John Mann and Steven Dumfuck propose to put them back in the box.
I normally stay, Mr I, at very little expense in a rather nice walk-up flat hard by the Cathedral. At this time of year though, and not knowing I needed to go until short notice, it was a Leith bedsit box-room with the door previously jemmied by either a dealer - or the Drug Squad. Anyhow I survived. There was indeed at Ocean Terminal, is it, a huge vertical liner - a white gin palace to the greater glory of Saga. It fair blotted out the Kingdom of McFife.
I was cornered in town by a bastard in a mobile mime-and-comedy idiocy. An eejit related a supposedly humorous monologue and a pair of face-painted gurning fools as a faux happy-and-sad audience retreated before him like Ben Hur's horses but backwards. The two would try to capture a passer-by and make a three. Were they part of the Festival, or semi-attached buskers, or perhaps just locals out for the day? Who knows. I escaped without violence.
My SNP friend was earnestly trying to assure me that the next referendum "has to happen. It cannot be avoided now." Yeah, yeah. We don't care. Honestly, we really don't. Only you care. And the wintertime is coming, and with it Comrade Corbyn On Tour. Get the popcorn in.
BTW Tom Watson has written to me today asking for my support in the Deputy's Election. Fat chance, Tom!
Not when Angela Eagle and Pretty Boy Bradshaw are running, anyway. Wonder who pays all the postage; somehow, it will be you and I.
Yeah, soon, down there, they'll be painting the passports brown; a vastly over-rated destination, I think, Edinburgh, the Royal Mile is interesting and parts of the city resemble Bath or Leamington but its streets teem with professional Edinburghians, snooty women and bright, shiny lawyers in Crombies, as bad in its way as the Septic Square Mile, thieves, slags and ponces. And tribesmen, sharing their canny grasp of political science - made-up grievance, from the Big Mel Gibson Book of History.
I heard from Trougher Watson this morning. He says he will make prosecuting dead paedos a government priority. No mention of gangs of rapist taxi drivers currently operating in a city near you.
He also brags about the time he got a haircut and a new pair of specs and was a bit rude to Murdoch on the telly
I don't think that those specs are the right choice for Britain.
Isn't he from the days of stanislav, Watson? I dunno, ms lilith, Don Foster AND Tom Watson, hard times in the West Country.
I saw Bubbles getting an easy ride from some arselicker at the PBC - Thanks, Andy, for coming in and sharing your time with us, tell us some of the ways in which you're wonderful........Well, I came into politics to change people's lives, I never forgot me roots, I was never a part of that Westminster Bubble. No, being a cabinet minister on three grand a week, with everything paid for by the taxpayer didn't remove me from me roots, just ask me parents, they'll tell you I'm an ordinary bloke, like, from Up North, not like the resta them politicians. No, no, I never resigned over North Staffs, what we needed was a full and far-reaching cover-up in which anyone found to have behaved badly was given a golden handshake and allowed to start with another hospital trust the next morning. I though it was vital that I oversee that very painful process for senior managers. It's just not like me to run away from tough choices like that. I mean, at the end ot'day, like, anyone can resign, it's just that them lot in parliament never do. And nor do I. S'there you have it, what you see is what you get, just a decent, Northern lad who wants to help people, Nothing like a NewLabour cabinet minister desperate to be prime minister.
Thanks, Andy, thanks for sparing us the time.....
I have just re-read The Saga of Gordon the Ruiner and it was I feel a little bit laughed out. Sir, I have joyfully followed you around this webby space and giggles.
Yes Mr Smith, Trougher was on Gordon Bruin's black ops squad tasked with getting Blair out and the economic genius in.
As ever Mongoose you speak truth.
In the days of old, when we dug up the gold, mr dick.
They play a long game, ms lilith, or they used to, when there were still safe seats. Just show up at election time, and then plot and scheme in their own projects until the next election. I never cared for Watson but I don't care for any of them. I have paid no attention to the deputy leadership event but surely it has better than Watson in it. Maybe not.
Indeed they are all better than Watson but none of them are better than anyone else at all.
Dear Mr Smith
I do feel a bit of guilt as to 10 years of shite ahead but the alternative was too ghastly to allow. I feel mightily relieved. I am, however, really quite disgusted to my very core at the way Bukkake Boy is treating poor kids - cheeky cunt - is he feeling threatened? He fucking should be. In his haste to secure and control his accession he's forgotten that some of us pikey, single mother offspring, economist, alcoholic, pot smoking, Peter Green lovin' cunts are already abroad willing and able to do 20 hours a day just to bring the pervert down. Who on planet fuck does he think he is? My mum would be upset if I didn't twat the imbecile in public and she's already nagging me about my kitchen so more ammo is the last thing she needs.
I hope all's well in the old health stuff. How was the meteor shower - i've got a ridiculous amount of light pollution ad chavvy neighbours and seem to have adopted their cat - malnorished little git, shits in my kitchen!
Popped Saga of Gordon on Capitalists @ Work and a guy said 'we have different tastes in blogging' - well, that's as maybe - daresay you can have different tastes in being alive but i'll stick to the binary option of being alive and the rest of the day tends to follow. You make blogging Art, Sir and as always
DtP
Too kind, mr dick. A properly gracious and gifted man, Maestro Green, too good for showbiz, but sometimes I hold him partly to blame for that ghastly Rumours phenomenon; I know he's not but I live in a world of what-ifs; can't help it, 'bout the shape I'm in........and when I talk to God, I know he understands............a little gem, Oh, Well.
mrs ishmael saw a shooting star or two; if you look at the very, very darkest parts of the night-map, that's where I live.
I saw the ice-pixie being feted by feminist Kirsty Wark and decided that I must be living in a land infantilised, how could this person ever have been a cabinet minister? Who, in their right mind would fall for her phoney little smile and her over-rehearsed meaninglessisms?
Oh he was defo responsible for Rumours - the bugger went and made them a tight band who could do just about anything they wanted and they came up with that! Mind you, it sold shed loads in Amureeka so it may have paid for a few skoolz and 'ospitals. Silver lining somewhere about the place.
I am happy to argue that one, mr dick. It was newcomers Nicks and Buckingham who revived the flagging FM and largely wrote the album, bought the coke and made rock consumeriste. The old boys, plus Christine, were, without Green, good for fuck all, still are. I mean, anybody can play the drums, look at Ringo Starr, Keith Moon, Ginger Baker; they are all stupid, mad and unwholesome. Good job we have machines, now, to do the job.
As for the hospitals, I'd rather everybody died than that we were beaming-out, across the eternal cosmos, Go Your Own Way, Don't Stop and Never Going Back. Fuck me, Jesus, what'll other civilisations make of us; not that here are any, no matter what Brian Cox says.
Just imagine, though, a hundred million light years away, some little green man, saying, Oh, wow, man, I really dug that Chuck Berry shit, it was the mostest, rock me daddy-o, (sings, in little green voice: Way down in Looziyana, close to New Orleans, back up in the woods among the evagreens, there stood a little cabin madea earth and wood, where lived a country boy, namea Johnny B Goode......) but a bunch of crazy old drug addicts, blowing cocaine up their arses, singing about everybody fucking everybody else's partner, no, man, that was a doomed civilisation.
Smackhead wifebeater, John Lennon, once said that if the Beatles had continued they would have turned into the Electric Light Orchestra, and who'd want that shit? Peter Green and perhaps Syd Barret, better that they went a bit mad, than continue in the bloated, paranoid, icy bombast of Fleetwood Mac or Pink Floyd.
There is a delightful instrumental version of Never Going Back by the divine Miss Sharon Shannon, to which, if it ever appears on the youThing, I will direct you.
Always good to remember the great Lester Bangs: If you got a recording contract, you are no longer in rock'n'roll.
Post a Comment