I am travelling at present, en route to the Royal Brompton hospital for a private consultation and talking of royal have just watched Prince Brian's half-brother make an even bigger cunt of himself than he was hitherto perceived to be. I have paid for this oily, pampered bullyboy buffoon to receive the best education that my money can buy, yet here he is, aided, counselled, shepherded, lawyered-up and bowed-down to and the worthless, bloated ponce can't frame a sentence in English; he can weave a garland of barrowboy cliches, an extended clunking solecism of The Reason Whys and fire a twenty one gun salute of Don't you know who I ams? but he is thicker, even, than his half-nephew, the whining, ginger git playboy, Harry Fuckwit Hooligan.
Cloaking his paedophilia in some bizarre, underworld chivalric code, Prince Shithead sighs that if he has a fault - and it is a big if - it is that he is too honourable; he must be the stupidest individual ever granted so much airtime by the nation's spiritual paedophile home, the BBC and if Jerry Corbyn had an ounce of courage he would be calling for a national referendum not on Brexit which we have already held but on Republicanism; funny how he's all for it when sought by Irish mass murderers and torturers and butchers but keeps his powder dry while the wicked, old crow, Brenda and her vast, parasitic House of Ruritania shits in our faces and those of trafficked youth, everywhere. If the degenerate, corrupt, inbred Windsors are maintained in luxury we must hold to account not the Tories,whose colours are known to be nailed to Aristocracy's greedy mast but the simpering, cowardly duplicitous vermin currently cladding itself in Equality's tattered robes.
Fuck free broadband, Jerry, you are bowing the knee to deeply institutionalised child sex abuse; grow some, you weaselly little shit.
51 comments:
I couldn't watch it all, Mr I. It was the most God-awful thing I have ever seen or heard. The "too honorable" blather would have shamed Eric Morecambe. Sickening hyocrisy. Just vile. And then he doesn't sweat because thirty years ago, the Argies put the wind up him. As I asked on the toher thread, how bad must it be that he took this terrible risk? Whoever thought this was a good idea is now hiding under the bed. I hope. Just too horrible. Koo Stark had a lucky escape.
Good luck with your mission, mon vieux. We'll all have our fingers crossed.
Just a consultation, thanks, mr mongoose, the Brompton is the field leader. Overnighting in Harborne, appointment is in Kensington, 7.00pm, tomorrow, maybe I will get a chance to piss on Andy's brogues. The interview was unredeemed catastrophe, oleagenous mayhem, the Ruritanians must be loving this general election diversionary shit. Time'll tell who has fell and who's been left behind.
I bet the chinless inbred who advised this public humiliation will now be congratulating HRH on how well he did, speaking to the proles, in their own language. And now that's cleared the air, put it to bed (so to speak), we can all carry on as usual. They don't have a clue.
Can't wait to vote in our referendum as soon as Brenda kicks the bucket; but I dread the soap opera and all-round arse licking that will come first. The BBC will already have a script for the funeral and be rehearsing a Dimbleby - oops nearly type dingleberry.
Of course, Mr Mike, the ink is not yet dry and photos abound of the arse drinking and sweating his way around the shit-holes of London after his divorce. Not only horrible but too stupid to let out on his own.
Talking of the ginger divorce, so awful is the imagination that I sometimes wonder if maybe it wasn't Hewitt who fathered Harry but Fergie. It would explain a lot.
Fergie: from my time working in the City, I was reliably informed Fergie got around quite a lot before she was married. Her nickname was "goldenbush". You may be on to something.
Mr I: faultless appraisal. Just one very minor request. "Windsors" - they should be correctly addressed as the Saxe-Coberg-Gothas of Germany.
There’s not much honour among thieves Mr I.
Brompton via Harborne from Orkney - that’s a long roll of the dice - but I have placed a bet on it turning up at least one six for you.
I suspect the lost souls who crew these broken ships don’t sweat much these days either...
https://www.royalnavy.mod.uk/news-and-latest-activity/news/2017/november/03/171103-enterprise-scans-hms-coventry
And as for Jezza, McDo, ‘Becca et al - a bunch of cheap spivs - that’s all they are and will ever be.... Thank God - if they were anything more they’d be dangerous..
Mr SG: my wife's cousin was on HMS Sheffield when it was exoceted; he was 18; his best mate died in his arms, guts over the deck. He went through the rest of the war without a scratch, but on return sustained a broken nose playing for the Royal Navy v the Marines at football. I recently met him on a visit to England (for a funeral). He said he was about to go to a reunion dinner in Plymouth with his old ship-mates. I warned him that would be very dangerous. He didn't mention any issues with sweating.
Them were strange days Mr Mike. I’m glad your wife’s cousin lived to tell the tale... I was the same age at the time but still at school - but I remember Ian McDonald’s deadpan briefings on the BBC - somehow it all seems much, much further back in time than it actually was -according to our chronometers...
Great piece Mr Ishmael. Good luck.
We must hope that the cousins subpoena his arse and put him in the box, although he probably has diplomatic immunity from child rape. His opinion of himself and his special merits was oddly fascinating, if representative of the whole crew then re-education is nor an option and I hear my young friend, stanislav, shouting,exasperatedly, Up against the wall, motherfuckers! It really is the only language which they understand; summary execution, fair's fair, it's how they arrived at their own happy station, dressed up, jewelled, gilded and ribboned, in slaughter robes.
Stanislav had the right idea (he usually did) - only maybe for Saxe-CGs a deferential allowance for their station would make the rub-down not with an ordinary housebrick but a nice slab of Balmoral granite (which Professor Google tells me comes from Finland - there's some poetry in that.)
Hope your Brompton consultant is sound, Mr Ish.
v./
Yes to all of the above and to your fury, Mr I. This is dynastic abuse, of course, handed down for millenia and one of the seigneurial droits. Flesh of the peasantry, just something else to feast upon after a straightforward shoot.
Wishing you well with the doctors.
I loved that, Not a party, no, certainly not, just a straightforward shooting weekend. Getting pissed and killing things, the very highest standards of behaviour and wotsanames, Emily.
Hereupon London, mr bungalow bill, the Brent Cross Travel Lodge and it's all .junkies, whores, pimps, terrorists and the criminally insane -or so it appears to this countryboy. We are booked for the night but might just, after the hospital, hi-tail it for, what's that place, Hatfield and the North?
There was a woman, last night, at our friend's house, Oh, London? You must, you simply must use Uber, It's all so frightfully clever, you just download the app and you virtually don't even have to speak to the driver. She's a retired solicitor and obviously though she was addressing the Bench. And those black cab drivers, simply thieves, the prices they charge; anyone'd think they had families and mortgages to support. No, I simply shan't leave until I've downloaded the Uber app for you.....
Have Mercy, I cry, city, you're all upon my mind
I am told that he and his crew, mr verge, are so solid.
I wouldn't spare them a moment, just Up against the wall.
Everytime I see that nasty, crabbed old woman, daubed in paint, draped in gaudy silk and dripping vulgar jewels, peering out from her encroaching doom, I see her pure hatred for us and her resolute defence of her vicious, doltish sons and their vicious, doltish sons, a long line of doxies gleefully married into Luxury, and her insistence that they must have it all whilst other families go without.
Off with her fucking head, I say, never mind a quick rubdown with a house brick. Y'see that cunt Andy, last night, she's his fucking mother.
Phil the Greek wasn't well enough to be consulted about the wisdom of Pork's see-Emily-pla episode, apparently, so we may be expected to mourn his ass first. I'd forgive the BBC a lot if they broadcast the Windsor equivalent of Election Time's Brenda-from-Bristol when the time comes - you can be sure that every other random passer-by vox-popped would say something along the lines of "so what?", "good", or "who gives a fuck." But I doubt they'd have the nerve to air it.
"The House of Saxe Coburg Gotha", Mr Mike may be pleased to hear, anagrams to what must surely be a lost Vivian Stanshall composition entitled "The Foxhounds' Garbage Housecoat." Not the scurrilous obscenity we might prefer, but surreal ridicule is a worthy back-up.
v./
The last proper king we had in this country was probably Aethelstan. It's all been a bit downhill since then - power-crazed diseased buffoons, madmen, cretins, rothschild placemen - and women, LGBTQWERTYIUP every other generation - culminating in the appalling crew we suffer and pay through the nose for today. Perhaps after Phil da Greek has finally been escorted to the City of Dis and Brenda follows on (much to the grief of a nation, of course) the House of Windsor will retire from public life to spend more time with their money. And less time playing to the gallery like the talentless mummers they are.
Hope all went well with the sawbones, Mr. I.
Except that it's not their money, your majesty, it's our money.
I suppose Phil can console himself with the fact that the Honourable Shithead is not his, mr verge but some horse-fancier's. Not that there's much difference, Anne, Brian, Edward or Porky, y'pays for your rifle and y'takes your choice. Alan Titmarsh, the nation's undertaker, he'll miss them, almost one of the family he is.
I just watched it. Even if everything he said was true, it didn’t play well. Reminded me of that old adage - “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt”. That shifty sideways glance at the very end... The tatters of his reputation have been shredded. I can’t see how he can come back from this one, though I suspect that he will manage to avoid participation in any judicial process relating to the Epstein case. The ‘Firm’ have quite a damage limitation problem on their hands and I’m not sure that they are up to it - not fatal for now, but I don’t sense that they have the capacity to ‘re-invent’ their way out of this environment. Trump begins to look like a class act by comparison...
I hope London and the Brompton weren’t too much of an ordeal Mr I and that some useful diagnostic insight will ensue!
The DoY is fucked for sure. Even Brenda and Phil are being distanced from the eegit. From hsi decision to do the interview, in truth, but it is the same thing now. As mr sg says, better to be silent and thought a perv.
Dumb as a rock, as the cousins say. Finished. And not a single tear shed by anyone except himself.
And I read another bucket of legal shit is about to be poured over his head in the US.
He can never again go to the US, Mr Mike. He would be a minor political crisis away from doing a distractionary perp walk.
And do not tell me that MI5 do not know his whereabouts to within 10 metres at any given moment. Jeez, I wouldn't be surprised if the git wasnae chip'n'pinned like a poodle.
And inevitably, lots of sweaty pics now emerging of HRH partying post-divorce with semi-naked chicks. The best thing he could do is now lock himself in The Tower with a red hot poker.
Harold Godwinson gets a bad press, Your Maj. A forced march to Yorkshire and the slaughter of the viking force - including the personal promise of seven feet of ground to the invader - and then another forced march and a close-run thing on Senlac Hill a week or so later. A couple of week's of strengthening and good food, and maybe they'd have stood on that hill an hour longer.
Not three hundred metres from where I sit, a traitor then let William across the flooding early winter river to the London side. Such was European politics in those days. Now we rip ourselves apart over Brexit while the global players pass our children around on Caribbean islands.
Did consider Harold G, mr. mongoose, but there was the small matter of him promising on oath to do one thing and then doing another. Which would have been fine if he'd won the battle (victors write the history and so forth) but sort of went tits up when he lost. But they do say he was a sound fella - large, blond, virile, up and down the country promising all sorts according to who was listening ... oh, wait :-)
Harold was half Dane, I think. And William the Bastard promised his French and Norman supporters a share in the loot if they won. The Honours List of 1066.
He was, mr yardarm and Your Majesty, and he did for his brother at Stamford Bridge. The "royal" families of Europe then much like them now - intershagging and unspoken allegiances existing completely independently of our Toytown democratic efforts. Even the Kinnocks are at it - euro-shagging. The machinations and PR campaigns this very day are being used to promote one WIndsor sibling and branch ahead of the other. A wicked, cheap horror.
Stigand, it was, the bastard who let them across the river - Archbishop of Canterbury and an old chaplain of Cnut (sp?). I have long thought that the two invasions must have been as close to coordinated as was possible in those days. Nor(se)men about their conquering business. The family firm, as Mr I would have it. And still Harold was almost there. If he had lasted the day, William would have been marooned in winter England. They'd have died in the hedges by the thousand. Maybe the world would have been different.
Ho hum. Who won the debate? The Magic Grandpa looks quite ill in the newspaper pictures, the poor bugger.
Kinnock, his grubby doxy and his malformed son, the true spirit of the Labour party. Don't start me talking, mr mongoose
Dunno about the debate, didn't see it, here, in St Helens, Lancs, busy watching Special Agent Gibbs, of NCIS; seemed like a better bet; can't bear that hag, Etchingham, a Kay Burley clone, the inquisitorial Gob for all seasons. I hope Jerry Weasel is ill and his mates get a proper leader installed, the former state prosecutor, for instance, or Lady Thornberry. My instinct is that Labour will get enough of a kicking nationally to enable BoJo to cobble something together; I don't think that this is the usual four yearly festival of competitive promising, more an airing of the collective contempt for parliamentarians and wider MediaMinster, one which will blow more briskly through former Labour heartlands.
Brexit was never going to be permitted but the contempt portrayed for the vote was the more visible among the PLP, who should all join the LibDems in squalid, tit-waving infamy.
Whisper it, Mr I, but rumour has it that Lady Emily's seat is not safe under her.
Brent Cross and St.Helens, Mr I. You spoil yourself.
Inverness, now, mr bungalow bill, an improvement and almost home.
It was actually great to see how little difference there was between Kensington and Brent Cross, it was like two ends of the same slum, both airless and anxious, overrun by cars bouncing off speed humps to the irritation of an angry, multicultural population but with one end having grander buildings, with iron railings.Millions of people make their lives there so I shouldn't be snooty and maybe if I had more strength I would find it invigorating, it's just that I never have.
I think snootiness gives rise to bronchial problems through the required snorts of derision. You wouldn't want clean nostrils unless there's a canary or a lib dem to test the pollution. I work in Bradford and every 3 or 4 times a year the smell of the rendering abattoir seeps down into town and induces gips immediately. That's got fuck all to do with Jonathan Meades or Venice or climate change or even the Vikings - it's neanderthalic - don't burn shit all over an entire city. It calls itself a city but that's just an accurate definition - in reality, there's 434 people there and at least a third of them play frogger with double decker busses.
All the best xx
DtP
thanks, mr dick, always an antidote to those in showbiz who would filter our perceptions for us - Meades, Graham-Dixon, Sebag Montefiore Tubby Ramirez and Alice Bondage-Roberts. Sometimes I think there's only Waldemar Jabberwock who's worth watching, and even then not always.
Bradford, eh, mrs ishmael went to St Joseph's, a sort of abbatoir for catholic girls.
All the best to U2.
Groundhog Day, mr ishmael. Rampant Tories, dipole election. Can the boundaries advantage work enough to limit the scale of the Tory victory? It did last time. The only chance is that the Dogshooter's support evaporates in the last three weeks and the ones who'd never vote Tory come home to Grandpa. It doesn't look that unlikely actually but it will probably not be enough. So we will have Boris and his majority and a Brino beginning. There will be immediate jostling for next time. By then the Tories will have been in power (or coalition) for the best part of a decade and a half. The third such stint in a row by one side or the other. "Change" will be the mantra. That double-barrelled plodder will be the leader by then.
The Reform Party? I'd vote for it in a heartbeat - if reform was its intention. This would be where people of left and right and up and down and Leave and Remain can come together and vote for honesty and mutual respect. For good sense politics and economics, and liberality instead of dogma and dog-whistle drivel. Oh, oops, that'd be the Liberal Party of old. Will it happen? International Socialism and the long march did for them a hundred years ago. So, nah, probably not. We'll not see it but I'd vote for it, and hope that it might come about for the kids to enjoy at some point. The industrial left is done - they're voting for Boris. We need soemthing else.
How goes the Orcadian winter? It's bloody cold down here. Although, I am off to Vietnam, for my sins, and might even miss the blasted election.
Its a funny old election, Mr mongoose. Everyone voting for another party they don't believe in, because their usual party is shit. I dare say is there was a pedo party led by HRH they would get a good slice of the vote.
You are best off in Vietnam. Remember Pho Ga for breakfast. I like to add a spoon for fresh chili as well.
You are a savage, Mr Mike, or is this breakfast of yours really a brunch? Mine takes place at 5 or 6am and so I will usually have a plate of fresh oriental fruits, possibly two plates. I did try the Hanoi take on bacon and eggs once but it came out very oddly.
Its definitely a breakfast dish in Vietnam. Its been adopted by the metrosexual trendies as a brunch thing. But the ingredients are much better in Vietnam. Its quite delicate and soothing, also very nourishing. Definitely go chicken, pho ga.
I reckon, Mr Mike, that the cricket boys probably had chicken pho ga for brekkers yesterday.
Watched the last session live streaming. Great bowling & catching from the kiwis.
True but v poor batting, Mr Mike. And the pitch was a road. Anyway, it is difficult to win away at Test cricket these days.
The good news is that I will be back in-country in time to register my spoilt ballot paper here in true blue bandit Country. I shall see you all soon.
Are we all going to vote for St Jeremy after the awesome performance last night when he tore Brillo a new arsehole..not.
P’raps it would be the right thing to do, he’ll drive out all the employers, the 4X2s and the Royals. No more jobs, no more anti-semites, no more Ruritainian child abusers.
Everything’s ‘for free’ just don’t expect to hand all your hard earned on to your offspring cause they don’t fuckin deserve it.
Anyfucker who owns their own property will hand it over to the state at retirement to pay for the un-funded Waspi n Whitehall pensions, to nationalise the rails, the energy co’s, the Royals and keep the E.U. bureaucrats in the style they’ve become accustomed to - they are your betters - dontcha know you plebs.
Oh, an if your not that bright or poor, or a Jew, the state reserve the right to abort your kids, right up until the day of birth, saves dolling out all that free stuff to the undeserving. Cunts.
Destroy it all Jezza, everything, eveyfuckinthing, maybe someday lessons will be learned.
Remember: it’s cool to be poor.
I am afraid, mr inmate, that you are absolutely correct. Although I agree, in principle, with his redistributive instincts I am not sure that he does and I am very confident that his shadow cabinet is not only breathtakingy incompetent but vicious, too, Himmler was a chicken farmer, Jess Tits a gabshite, career union official.
I watched BoJo in Cornwall, today and at least he was affable, his opponents, however, on all sides, are cold-blooded, hissing serpents and if, as they should, they lose the election, the snowflake chorus will erupt : Not my prime minister; we demand a recount; what about the losing minority, shouldn't they really be in charge? It's the Yoof, mr inmate, thanks to Tony'n'Imelda they have shit for brains, and they may fuck us all.
Neil’s interview with Sturgeon is worth the watch if you ain’t seen it - he pretty much leaves her position in shreds especially re: the ‘indyref2’ and the SNP record in government. Glad to see you’re still in the fight Mr I!
Ha, Doris, I’m as fearful of him just as much as Jezza. He’d fuck anything with a pulse an he will fuck us all with WA2.0 brexit in name only.
It would appear that their banking friends have given access to the Magic money tree, on condition that we stay within the grip of the E.U. there’s never been so much funny money being promised.
I completely agree mr I, we should redistribute more of the wealth of the nation, but instead we reward the landed gentry with subsidies for useless wind farms and not to grow crops, allow big developers to buy and ‘bank’ land, just who do they buy it from? God? a fucking scandals wot it is.
Fraid I’m gonna have to hold my nose and vote for Sid’s BXP in the vain hope of removing the corrupt fucker who’s presided over the complete destruction of this northern working town; he’s been troughing here since the son of Satan brought the great terror in 1997.
I hope you received some good news from your travels to London.
Yes Mr Inmate, Boris is a shagger, a Charlatan, a stranger to the truth, a failed Foreign Secretary and failed zip-wire artist. This perfectly qualifies him for the job in hand. I shall be casting my vote in his favour, or at least that of his representative, here in the newly liberated seat formerly occupied by the former Speaker. In your shoes, I might well be tempted by the BXP too - I hope a few tactical deals have been done behind the scenes to facilitate... Damn shame they demolished the Trinity Square multi-storey - otherwise you could have thrown that ‘corrupt fucker’ off the top - Cliff Brumby style!
I only meant that he was affable, warm, funny albeit a crook, as opposed to Granddad's well rehearsed, cynical and icy ...But Andrew... calculation.
Thanks,mr inmate, I'd do just the same although here the choice is between the tribesmen and Big Al, of the LibDems. What a choice, eh? In the scheme of things one less LibDem is more to be desired than one more tribesman is to be feared. The Scotch Tories would've done well had Ruth Boy Davidson not had a hissy fit. It is an endless parade of scatty lesbians, Scottish politics, Krankie included, hers a Salmondesque marriage.
Hope all goes well for you Mr Ishmael! And St Joseph`s girls rock! (I was at BGS)
Alexius
Thank you, mr alexius, mrs ishmael is gratified.
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