From the Filth-O-Graph clickbait section
Rula Lenska flipped car with grandson, three, in back after shot of vodka with builders. Actress banned for 16 months after admitting drink-driving when she hit parked car after downing spirit with Polish builders to celebrate new fence.
(that's right, to celebrate a new fence; she'd be drunk for months should a new carpet arrive)
Rula Lenska!
My Pussy-Mummy!
My Comrade!
My Co-Star!
One of my many co-stars on the long march to Celebrity.
And Freedom, of course.
Rula Lenska, and his late excellency, Mr Saddam.
I salute your indefatigability!
I salute your revolutionary pisshead-granny drunken driving with a kid in the back heroism.
And we do, too.
And Granny Rula is the real victim here. I mean let's face it, who hasn't, at one time or another, got pissed and taken an unsecured infant for a drunken spin and turned the car over. It's actually the sign of an excellent grandparent. And maybe the Metropolitan Police should be tasked with investigating the Wimbledon Magistrates Court, sounds like they've developed some very Portuguese practices down there.
And Granny Rula is the real victim here. I mean let's face it, who hasn't, at one time or another, got pissed and taken an unsecured infant for a drunken spin and turned the car over. It's actually the sign of an excellent grandparent. And maybe the Metropolitan Police should be tasked with investigating the Wimbledon Magistrates Court, sounds like they've developed some very Portuguese practices down there.
Goddamn you,
Wimbledon Magistrates Court!
Wimbledon Magistrates Court!
I love you, my flame-haired Polish princess!
Goddamn you Dennis Waterman!
Cor, take it easy, George, me ole china,
weren't me driving pissed, I carn't even see over the bleedin' steerin'wheel, can I, that's why me an' my guvnor, Jack Reagan, always 'ad drivers, in the Sweeney, like, for the chases. An' any road, she ain't achelly me trouble'n'strife no more. So you 'ave 'er, if you fink yer man enough. I know I fuckin' weren't. Mad Polack dipso.
You can't sing! You can't act. You are a worthless. unmusical hatless, beardless dwarf!
Goddamn you, Dennis Waterman!
I'll sue you, that's what I'll do.
I'll sue your worthless dwarf arse.
Everybody knows I am the most artistic ex-parliamentarian, the heir to John Lennon, the revolutionary thinkers' Bob Dylan.
(sings, in guttural, hostile Glaswegian)
.........Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace, you
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
But I'm not the only one
(the phrase: I'm not the only one, is registered as being the intellectual property of Mr George the Hat. Although he very probably is.
The only one.)
But you, you are just shit, Dennis Waterman.
You were unfit to be married to my fiery Polish Princess and co-star.
I would marry her myself,
I would marry her myself,
if I wasn't already several times married.
And Goddamn you, Coronation Street.
'Ey-up, chuck, howsabout we neck a few more large vodkas, load't gran'kids in't back't motor, like, and go fer a spin, down't smoke, like, round Wimbledon,
You people at Coronation Street, you're all women-hating homosexualists. It was you lot, Goddamn you, who led my Rula into the ways of the Infidel. I, I, Imam George Mohamed el Hat, I have never taken a drop of alcohol in my entire blameless life.
And Goddamn you, David Cameron, I call on you, from here, from the true People's Parliament, here, in Studio Sputnik of the Democratic Russia Today TeeVee Network,
I call on you to end these show trials, to close these kangaroo courts, and without delay, Goddamn you, to appoint me to sit as Allah's Stipendiary Magistrate with two or three of my eminent Muslim brethren. We'll show you what true justice means.
And tell me, brother, are there enough stones lying around the streets of London for us to administer proper justice to the filthy adulterous whore bitches?
Fucked if I know, pal.
I only travel by helicopter.
London Transport's all clogged-up with nig-nogs.
26 comments:
I can't believe that gorgeous George doesn't have a hidden stash of aged single malts.
Comedy gold, Sir. Piss funny :-)
I think you have captured George in all his gorgeousness Mr I. I wonder about the teetotal business too Mr Mike but then again maybe George is fully intoxicated with himself and requires no further assistance. Your piece reminded me of this Mr I, a gem from from Chris Mullin's diairies (as reported by the Filthograph and ripped out by me - they can try and hunt me down if they can be arsed...) with apologies if I have raised it before, back up the road somewhere - I forget...
" On a parliamentary visit to Vietnam Mullin and Galloway were entertained at Ha Tinh by representatives of the local People’s Committee. American bombers had destroyed everything in the town during the war. People lived underground and came out at night to tend their crops. Mullin continues: “Almost everyone at the table had lost a member of his family. One had lost four brothers. This didn’t stop George regaling them with tales of ‘my first injury in the struggle’, which turned out to be a kick he had received from a police horse during the 1968 anti-war demonstration outside the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square.”
The next day, at lunch with more local officials, “George again regaled the assembly with tales of his long service to socialism. The district chairman, a canny old boy, listened politely when George again referred to his ‘first injury in the struggle’. Then, without batting an eyelid he inquired: ‘And what was your second?’ ”
Yes, that is lovely, isn't it. Shame that after being a proper journalist Mullins became such a NewLabour socialite. I heard that prick, Bob Marshall Andrews,QC, the other night, braying on the radio, another champagne warrior. There're so very many of the fuckers that one wonders how anything ever got done. Parliamentary visit to Vietnam, aye, right; fact finding, no doubt.
I and a workmate went to an evening with george at an aberdeen theatre several years ago,he continuously paced about the stage told a few jokes , made a few innuendoes about someones sexuality,fawned to the press in the audience, when someone asked him a pertinent question he said he had good lawyers. at the end of the performance he signed books one to my mate as follows "to johnny from gorgeous george ga****** mp. he was very well dressed, and looked in perfect health i could see why he was attractive too women.
"If it's sumthin Ah wint then it's sumthin Ah neade,
Ah wisnae biwt fir cunfert Ah wis biwt fir speade!"
-George Galloway.
I saw GG on YouTube hand a US Senate investigation their arses on a plate and he was erudite with a commanding presence. Yet he finds it acceptable to mince about in a pitiful, embarrassing display of how to not be.
In my opinion this suggests that he's a brilliant actor with no sense of self and it takes his intellect to make decisions that allow him blend in. On this leotardinous and perverted occasion the chameleon well and truly mis-matched himself to his political habitat. He can't be able to realise instinctively that what he did was shameful. I suspect that such beings, outwardly human, have to remind themselves - by a metaphorical post-it note stuck to the sleeve - not to chat up female relatives of the deceased at funerals.
-richard
My neighbour, across the bay, is an English hobby farmer who has always presented himself as a self-appointed custodian of our timeless landscape but when the windmill carpetbaggers arrived Gentleman John was the very first to plant one, almost right on the shore, like taking a Stanley knife to a Constable, the worthless, greedy bastard.
I am sure that I am in a silent majority which believes that there are more important things than money, my neighbour John, however, and Imam George plc are not in its company.
George is a businessperson, mr walter, as you indicate, showbiz, punditry and litigation his mission statement, masquerading as socialism. The man's a cunt, no-one should be dazzled by him. I could wipe my arse with a gang of rotten US senator-criminals, and I am sure that you could do so even more thoroughly, mr richard, if invited.
There was a hint of justification in Enoch Powell representing the Ulster Undertakers Party, Galloway representing Bradford Asians is just pure, exploitative racism. I will be your voice in the councils of the Big White Chief, for none of you, my brothers, are able. What a cunt.
His political train has crashed, can't even manage a Respect seat and he'll see out his days blowharding, for money.
http://thequietus.com/articles/19835-tony-blackburn-radio-one
This long-ish and thoughtful piece is also a retrospective of the last umpteen years.
An interesting piece, Mrs Raft. Today, the very same organisation claimed that the EU has closed the Balkan 'migration' route when it has done nothing of the sort. Its Fuhrer has given no such orders. Rather, other actors such as Austria and Macedonia have taken matters into their own hands. Regretably I think we must see much of the BBC's output in the same light as other state controlled broadcasters such as Russia Today - which at least, is controlled by the entity that funds it - but who's in charge at the PBC? Disciples of the Dark Lord maybe... (with apologies for invoking the 'Daily Hate'):
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3479763/The-question-isn-t-listen-spiv-like-Mandelson-EU-s-Parliamentary-authorities-aren-t-investigating-dubious-affairs.html
Meanwhile, on the subject of PBC DeeJays, here's a lost episode of 'Top Gear' - from 1968 (sorry, Mr I, just can't seem to shake the 'Captain' out of my head...):
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ojQ-ljdn6Yw
Well I read it, mrs woar, through the veil of a long, black coffee and I fear that we differ; the author, stumbling through illiteracy's swamp, makes for a sea in which he wants to swim and feed as well as report upon. You know me, I'm not an apostrophe jihadi, if people bave something to say, that's what I want to hear; those pretending to essayism, however, to a brotherhood of letters, should eschew the repetition of, just for instance. The Reasons Why; not as bad as an Education Czar, recently telling the commons select committee: So, the reason why is because of......My sticking point with these matters is not sharpened by snootiness or condescension, it's just that I cannot, any longer, endure people who loftily express themselves clumsily and lazily, while expecting others to take them seriously - if they don't even know how to say it, why should I pay a moment's attention to what they are talking about?
The injustice of Blackburn's sacking has been widely and properly damned, to make of it a spurious lamentation for a living legend, is too eggy a pudding for me; he's a tragedy, perhaps, Blackburn, of his own, relentless framing. The Gods would say, serve him fucking right, all this shit happening and I suppose that rationally I would say much the same thing - there is no business like showbusiness, a maxim now learned by Blackburn better late than never. To add to his marital bitterness he now takes to the tomb the bitter taste of betrayal, for fifty years he had jibbered like a lunatic, by turns name-checking himself and Wonderful Rafio One, the Station of the Nation, and now someone's pissed all over his cheesy narcissism, hinted that he be Beastly. If there were an ounce of Blackburn not steeped in coarse vanity and vulgar self-promotion one might call this farce Wagnerian, instead of greatness cast down, however, Blackburn and all of his fellows are like those plates which variety artistes you used to spin atop bamboo canes, and when the spinning stops they fall to the ground and shatter, not before time in Blackburn's case, Radio One and Rupert Murdoch share top-billing in the coarsening and commodifying of the nation, that rumour and sigh and rivalry now colour Blackburn's dotage seems only fair to me, here on the Breakfast Show.
In other celebrity news, it has emerged that Donald Trump's missus anagrams as "prim anal mute." Classy.
v.//
A bit harsh, Mr Ishmael. What has TB ever done to us? Apart from yatter about pop-pickers and be endlessly cheerful and inane? We must keep our ammo for the wrong uns andleave the also-rans and the tedious to their looming graves. It is a rum do though. There was no need for this. Which leads me to think that they are trying to silence the lad, or pre-taint his evidence. Which amounts to the same thing.
The BBC is all over the place at the moment. Deference has fled and they have no idea what to do. A phone-in woman asked to comment on Mandelson's pro-EU prattle today said that he would say that wouldn't he given that his EU pension has a loyalty clause. The dick questioner obviously knew this but was astonished that some pleb listener also knew. He almost called it unfair before silencing himself. And her. At sea too over the fucking horrible Trump. And Greece still. There'll be plenty of nameless washed-up bodies to count before referendum day. And, Lord love us, may it pass quickly, Father, the anniversary with rebel songs of the one true Apostolic and Holy Roman Easter Rising. Fuck me. Plastic paddies will abound this coming month. And not just me. What will the Beeb say if the New Reformed Provisionally Provisional Reborn IRA zaps a prison officer or two? Just for old times sake.
Well, mr mongoose, just as long as you don't tell me that A Day In The Life is the pinnacle of popular music, as do so many, then I'll focgive you anything, even Blackburnilia.
The historical truth is, though, that Radio One and all its generations of ghouls and beassts and moro0ns was the creation of the Blessed Tony Benn, who state-ised the very airwaves and criminalised the pirate radio ships. I never forgave him for that. I can just remember Radio Caroline, in the Irish Sea, almost creating the pop single,calling it into being, after the dreadful Musicians Union dross of the Light Programme, Billy Cotton and Jack jackson and Family Favourites, the ships were littered with crazy bastard entertainers like Emperor Roscoe and Oh, fuck, I dunno who else, Johnnie Walker was on one of the ships - interested parties can wikify the subject - but they were lively, stagily anarchic but most importantly they kinew of and played good pop music. Some sour-faced missionary of state control, like Benn, then postmaster-general, was ever going to stand for that. No, no, no; if the young people want to hear popular music then we shall offer it to them as part of the BBC, properly regulated of course, as everything must be, and of course the producers, generally decent Oxbridge chaps, like m'self, they can devise playlists, so's the disc jockey people, is that what they're called, very well, then, deejays, although I must say that I do deplore this trend towards abbreviation, never happened when I was in the RAF, I mean the Royal Air Force, course I do. But no, as a christian socialisr I really must stand up for the state's right to stop people having what they call fun, but which is achelly, as I say in my diaries, especially so when, as with these pirate ships, they are not paying the govament for the privilege. I mean, I have to look out for the interests of future generations, my lad Hilary, for instance, jolly decent young man, by the way, and his children, whoever thay may be, they must be entitled to rule others, mustn't they? I mean, that's why I renounced m'peerage, after all.
And sio the very worst of the pirate entertainers, Blackburn, was chosen tyo headline the nationalisation even of pop music and spent decades introducing chosen-for-him, watered-down tripe but mainly talking about himself, as though he was of interest or merit and, worst of all, shamelessly plugging, as did they all, his evening and week-end appearances at night clubs and leisure centres, I'll seeya all in Swansea, tonight, down there in Shepton Mallet on Friday, and do try to make it to Exeter on Saturday night, and here's the great sound of Brotherhood of Man, with their latest record, storming up the BBC Top Twenty, yes, it's Chirpy-chirpy Cheep-cheep. Tony Blackburn for you, here on Wonderful Radio One, where we're all thieves together, milking it for all its worth.
No, sorry, mr mongoose, I depised him, Blackburn and all his chums, bunch of personality cultists, anti-life, anti-music.
I missed the Mandelson saga, I must look for it.
I roared my customary black laugh at the sight of Marty Kneecaps, abjuring violence. More later.
prime anal mute, eh, the mind fucking boggles, mr verge; you must have hard-core software doing these things for, no-one person can be so sick and yet live.
Yes, mr sg, Peel mapped out a part of my musical landscale, him and Alexis Korner, more then than now, though. I think those were vintage Beefheart performances, although to see him at all was like leaving the planet.
I just wish that that handful of genuine music lovers had played a bit of Byrd or Monteverdi, the world would be a different place.
Moving on, Mr I. I heard today that the 'fifth beatle' is no longer with us - alas... This calls for a commemoration:
http://www.avclub.com/article/the-beatles-just-got-to-go-18-anti-beatles-songs-75625
What a horrid old man I am!
No software, Mr Ish, just pen and paper and a clerkish disposition.
Googling the exact phrase "prim anal mute" yields no results, I just discovered. I fear this may change - the mind's eye conjures the Options Menu/Demeanour & Vocal Settings on a compliant robo-courtesan, free to all guests at Tramp Towers in 5 or 10 years.
Mr Mike may be able to enlighten us, but isn't "trump" Australian English for fart?
v.//
Mr Verge: I thought 'trump' was pure English, Chaucer perhaps? Off hand, I can't give you the fair dinkum Aussie version, but on a bus once I heard a loud comment that 'someone's dropped their guts'.
No such thing as pure English, Mr Mike, thank goodness.
"Dropping your guts" certainly gets right to the heart of the matter; I hope you were near an open window on that bus.
v.//
Yes, trump is Midlands English; in Belfast it used to be called "blowing-off" and "drop your guts" I used to hear all the time in England. So much Aussie slang has come back home in the recent Aussie Diaspora, I used to lol out loud as Barry McKenzie's Strewth, she banged like a shithouse door in a gale, and Crocodile Dundee of course had a library of euphemism.
One that always makes me laugh is Les Patterson, our cultural attache, describing his travels and bringing home duty free for his wife, and her "bugling the vody".
Yes, I like him but I can'r stand his sister, Edna, something too cruel about that one.
You still in Indo-China?
I agree, Mr I. That Dame Edna thing is cringeworthy.
Back from Cambodia now - very interesting place, friendly people shockingly treated in the last century, good food. Off again mid-May on the Camino.
Good, glad you're back safe. As we said, I dunno what Trump could do, these days, to put him in the same league as Nixon and Kissinger. Bush and Blair
Hugely popular here, still, Dame Edna, or at least that's what his friends in the PBC and the critics say. The truth might be that no decent person could stomach him/her.
Post a Comment