''Allo, good evening and welocme to Celebrity Chase with me, BradleyWalsh, the oldest Butlins Redcoat in the business......
First up today is Tracey May from Maiden'ead; now-now, it's a place, y'know, as well as that uvver thing.
Lovely t'seeya Tracey my love and whaddayou do fer a livin'?
Well, Broderick, I'm the prime minister
Prime minister?
Right, an I'm the Pope, yeah?
Right, an I'm the Pope, yeah?
Well, girl, if you wanna call yerself the Pee-Em then that's fine wiv me, luv.
Tracey, my dahlin' what would y'do if you was to win some money on the show today?
Well, Brindley, I'd give it to my husband,
Mr Askey.
Wot? Arfur Askey?
My child'ood comedy 'ero? 'Se still alive then?
Cor, stone the blooming crows.
I fang yew, I fang yew, I fang yew,
that was 'is catchphrase.
An' what would Arfur do wiv the money, then, Trace?
Well, Brindley, he'd put it safe in a tax haven, overseas somewhere, it's what he does..
Wot? An' not pay no tax on it, for schools an' 'ospitals?
Well, actually Brady, we have no children,
although I tend to think of my shoes as my children
and we only go to private hospitals,
so why on Earth should we pay tax?
OK Tracey my love, if you say so.
Here goes, then, with the cash-builder round.
Ya ready?
Well of course I'm ready, don't I look ready?
Cor, blimey, love,
ready for a straightjacket if you don't mind me saying so.
But 'ere goes with your first question, for a thousand pounds: What does Brexit mean?
It means whatever I say it means.
And I say it means Brexit.
Need more'n that Tracey........It means, Barnaby, that my job, entrusted to me by Brussels, is to fudge, delay and complicate what Brexit means until people are fed up with the whole thing and demand a second referendum in which we will change their minds for them so that eventually NoBrexit means NoBrexit. Just the same as Brexit meant Brexit, even though it meant the opposite.
You what?
Run that by me again, Tracey, never had an answer like that before.
What yer sayin, luv, is that reaiity is the opposite of whatever you say it is at any given point? But even though everybody knows that you insist on saying that you mean what you say, it's just that people fail to understand the true meaning of it?
Which is that Brexit means No Brexit.
That when the nation voted to leave Europe it actually meant No for fucks sake, we wanna stay in Europe.
This is pure comedy gold, Tracey, pure gold.
Yes, that's it, luv, you go an' 'ave a nice lie down, in Europe somewhere, you've earned it girl, you really'ave
After the break the rest of the team, Jake Mogg, Jerry Corbyn and Boris Cockson will be seein' if they can succeed where poor Tracey, well, didn't. Unless, actually, she did. I mean, by now we was supposed to've left Europe an' 'ere we are, 'olding elections fer anuvver gang of freeloaders.
Stay tuned, we'll be back.
25 comments:
Peel off that face, remove the comedy hair and threads and what would remain? She is the great bureaucratic vacancy and will be reabsorbed, whirring and clicking into nothingness. Terrifying, the monsters they set upon us, while they last.
Lovely piece Mr I.
It was mr tdg, I think, who prompted my re-examination of Snotty Brown - was he victim or agent, could he be both mad and bad? It is a conundrum, certainly his measurable legacy is a career of befriending the unGodly in order to gain power with which to abuse the poor, whom he thought and his party he owned whilst demonstrating on many occasions clear symptoms of mental disorder.
Is Tracey, mr bungalow bill, mad or bad? She clearly has an unnatural capacity for humiliation as well as a blindness to her serial failures in government, where, worse even than Kenny Clark, everything she has touched turned to shit. She seems congenitally estranged from the idea of self respect, shimmying about like a mad, drunken granny on the pull, dressed, often, like a Shirley Bassey nightmare.
I think you are correct, she was thrust upon us, a Remainer, to carry out the instructions of a Leave majority, a more mature nation would've taken to the streets
..he snd his party owned....
Don't know who the geezer is, but he's the perfect counterpoint for Tracey. Can't remember getting up (early) each morning to read the UK news with more enjoyment right now than on the 24th June 2016. I read that a private City exit poll puts Sid at 40% in England. Possibly higher in Wales. Don't know about Scotland. Sunday (or Monday our time) can't come soon enough.
My jury's out on Tracey - whether she is just plain mad, or in the pay of a third party. She's definitely autistic as well - not even Adolf had such bad press, and it drove him to suicide. Major, Blair, Brown, Cameron, now Tracey. What has the country done to deserve this?
They all lack a soul, Mr I And Mr Mike. However, you define it, they don’t have it. No saving sense of irony, no humour, no shame.
Sid’s a wrong’un too but there’s a hint of a pulse and I hope those exit poll figures hold up. It’s all we have.
She’s just the fall guy, though.. really, isn’t she?
We got used to Blair, Brown and even Cameron acting like they knew what they were doing. There was the illusion of purpose way about them.
Just that that purpose was the bidding of their masters.
May has the look about her that she’s clueless as to what is going on round about her.
She’s still doing the EU’s bidding though.
That and practicing for champion gurner of the year.
It is what the posh boys and girls used to call cognitive dissonance. Theresa is obstructing Brexit using two, soon three, of the three ways that the EU obstruct everything: make it sound complicated, call it something else, make them vote again. That this is using her up politically confuses her but it shouldn't. Likewise that we are not falling for it confuses the EU. It is very nearly the same confusion that the Big Orange Donald exploits in the US.
Their mistake was to let us join in the first place. De Gaulle was perhaps right on that. It i ending in tears.
Mr Doug: she was chosen precisely because she was useless in the Home Office and she was a Remainer. Her job was to fuck it up, willingly or just through ineptitude. Which she achieved in spades.
Now the unintended consequences are what is interesting. Sid threatens to pull the house down. Abolish the House of Lords, break the 2 party cartel, etc. Like him or not, Sid could be doing the country a massive service, and making history. The stinking system has to change.
It looks surprising that paranoia is such a common character deviation until you realise it is merely extrapolation, into unwarranted space, of common notions of causality that are heavily projected anyway. The reality is that little of what happens in life is intelligible within a causal nexus simple enough to specify. There is no explanation, as explanation is properly understood, for having a prime minister as spectacularly maladroit as this, nothing one could set down as a serial set of conditional steps inevitably leading to it; this is chaos breaking through the illusion of order, advance disaster foreclosing all possibility of success. All we can do is repair to the nearest ivory tower, and watch the ash settling on the ground.
As you say, mr tdg, no explanation per se, there is, however, an all too discernible, toxic soil in which these creatures flourish: they are bred, live in and excrete poison, filthy old nonces and criminals moralising at the rest of us, our natural and manufactured treasure stolen by political spivs and fenced to organised crime; diligent enquiry into horrific crimes sidelined snd suppressed; it is like the layers of a diseased onion, peel back one and there is another one, equally rancid, the whole rotten commerce mediated to us by worthless, gossipy hacks. Your observation that Trump's was thr Obvious America might indicate the inevitability of the surging, contra-spiv, Farage. As well as Chaos breaking through Illusion we might be seeing Accidental Light shone into Darkness.
The BBC is already wringing emotion from May's ghastly announcement, producing on-the-spot soap opera. I hope the EuroFarce election results give MediaMinster a shocking, sickening kick up its arse.
I thought you had the Chase show down under, mr mike, it has gone global, although Bradley Walsh hosts only the UK version. He's an old pro, done Coronation Street and cop shows and like all his/ our generation is a bit of a song and dance man. He is sublimely appropriate for this quiz show, being gifted with effortlessly sharp but compassionate wit and flawless comic timing and he is never, ever patronising to the contestants, unlike for instance, that hideous old freak, Brucie. Brad's career choices since the Chase have been disappointing but if you ever see any UK Chase re-runs, down there in the Republic check him out.
I think I have always recognised the threat which Sid poses to them although I recognise equally his own greed and ego and dishonesty, I really do hope he does well but for reasons of Chaos rather than Sidism.
Her ghastly doorstep exculpatory whine, mr doug, reinforces your every word.
De Gaulle was a fucking ingrate, mr mongoose. My parents went without so that, pseudo-victoriously, he could flounce down the Champs Elysee in his fake uniform and start oppressing and neutralising the real French heroes, the Marxist Maquis who had stayed at home and fought a vicious occupying force and not fucked off to London to live like an Emperor in exile. Vive le Jackal, that's my take on the phony old ponce.
I must be one of those old-time posh boys, used to bread and milk to us here, the concept of cognitive dissonance.
Paranoia is a protective function of our heritage, crocodile brain - an extension of the fight or flight mechanism, which constantly scans our horizon for threats to our survival. We are vigilant for peril. The greater the stress, the higher the stress hormones and we become hyper-vigilant, or paranoid, watching out for the sabre-toothed tiger that we just know is lurking around the next bush - otherwise, why would we be so strung out on stress hormones? Substitute politicians for sabre tooth tigers and who can be surprised that the nation's arteries are blocked with chlosterol? Fats and sugars are the muscle-fuel released to run away from the sabre-toothed tiger. Impotently sitting on the couch, shouting at the telly, doesn't burn up that fuel, but deposits it in the arteries.
I liked Theresa's speech. It was nicely written by someone and she delivered it beautifully, complete with tears at the end. I like the idea of creating a nation that works for everyone, not just the privileged wealthy. I like the idea of job creation and making sure that there will be no more Grenfell conflagrations to burn up inconvenient poor people and foreigners. It just has nothing to do with Conservative thinking, history, privilege and recent achievement.
Ah well - must watch out for that sabre-toothed tiger - I know he's lurking somewhere near, because I have this pain in my chest and an urgent need for a Mars bar.
Good to have you back, Mr. I, your pen dipped, as ever in oak gall and vitriol.
Diluted though, ms agatha, thank you, with fellow-feeling and compassion for the sat-upon, shat-upon and ratted-on. As much Heartache here as Hatred.
...used to BE bread and milk to us....
I need to go and sit up to my magic Apple keyboard, writing on the ipad touch screen keyboard is lunacy, like the New People do; someone should come and take me away, ha-ha.
Maybe the Terror will be lessened, mr bungalow bill, by a Chaos which only martial law, supported by a fraternal EuroArmy, could contain.
One of William Burroughs' axioms was that paranoia means being in possession of all the facts.
(And for what it's worth, cognitive dissonance is an anagram of connective diagnosis.)
v./
No arguments from about DG generally, Mr I, but he tried his best to keep the Brits out.
Poor old Theresa. You'd have to have a heart of stone not to laugh. Barely a word of truth in the speech though. If there was, she is truly bonkers. Sickening creeping and crocodile crawling going on while the corpse still twitches. Yeck.
Sorry, not having the “emotional” departure speech, no fucking way that that was not learned behaviour, as mr Mike has said, she’s not right between the ears. Psychopath.
The tears, the breaking voice, the curled lip where only there at the very end; then a quick about turn and through the door, before anyone could shout questions at the barren, dry old hag.
Good riddance.
Its 3.30am down here. I don't usually drink at this hour, but a glass of shiraz is called for. They need to make sure Tracey doesn't do a gottendamerung and take it all down in flames with her.
Too late for me, Mr Mike. I've thrown another telly out the window into the street. I'm off to the pub.
(Eng v Oz warm-up game at Southampton for me and the lad tomorrow. Early night! Got to be fit to sledge those cheating convicts.)
we will come to the Emotional Quotient soon, mr inmate.
Best thing to do with the telly, mr mongoose, I find.
So half past six here is half past three in the morning, in the Republic of Oz, always wondered, mr mike. I can't help but think that they will make such a shitfest ot TraceyGate and the Siddish consequences of the EuroVote will make a general election unavoidable. They'll be like rats in a fucking sack, all of them, biting each other.
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