"Covid, the gift that keeps on giving."
Covid has been dominating the news all week - so nice for the news people not to have to bother with investigative journalism or report on anything else. I am very tired of it - principally because I had my Covid vaccination yesterday and I am subsequently dog-tired - don't expect anything of me today. I'll let you know if my arm drops off. I just want to curl up in front of my fire with my dog and watch old episodes of Dick Shitshow Strawbridge sorting out his Chateau in France.
He's very spry for a sixty-year old with a monster 'tache and an amazing avoirdupois that carries all before him. He has an enormously comforting aura - no wonder he keeps getting all these shit-show gigs.
STANISLAV, A YOUNG POLISH PLUMBER, EXAMINES THE YORKSHIRE RIPPER'S REQUEST FOR RELEASE 6/3/10
If stanislav in Broadmoor official government nuthouse had been for nearly thirty fucking years, listening to Grade A criminal lunatic in group therapy session, all addressing offending behaviour issues, ie violent noncing and baby raping and granny raping and dog raping and getting wet-towel treatment off psychobastard sadistic screw then him asking can go home now please would be top of fucking list and no fucking mistake is. I mean, can only fucking ask. Sometimes even in real life and not nuthouse the place can seem like fucking bedlam house of fun, filled up with deranged lunatics - Mrs and kids and telly, can be enough to trigger psychotic episode; fuck me, Jesus, what like it must be in real top jolly nuttiest nuthouse in the country, filled up with crazy bastards and more coming every day; inmates is nuts, headshrinkers is up on fucking ceiling, screws is nuts, visitors is nuts, governor is nuts, food is shit and laced with lithium and same is every fucking day for thirty fucking years, only difference is some days get extra kicking off psychobastard screw. And can't complain, wossapoint, nobody gives a fuck about Peter Sutcliffe.
You there, Officer Cunt, have you been assaulting this inmate, Sutcliffe, the filthy bastard?
Governor, Sir, I cannot tell a lie, I have been kicking the bastard up and down the ward, Sir, he deserves it, Sir, and it's part of my calling, Sir, as a psychiatric nurse, Sir.
Jolly good show, man, give him one for me, eh, carry on.
Not even Howard's League for Cushy Jails and treating Convicts like Real People, not even Probation Service or entire federation of Methodist and Quaker smirking do-good vegetarian bastard prison visitors with bad breath is going to complain on behalf of Peter Sutcliffe, bastard killed thirteen women and even though they was prossies and probably asking for it, thirteen is a lottta Toms to be offin'.
'Ow you is feelin, today, then, Sutcliffe, you bastard?
Oh, you know, I'm nuts, me, killed thirteen women, what can I say?
Aye, Sutcliffe, but 'ave you been addressing your anger management issues?
Nah, can't be arsed, boss, gets on me tits. Y'know, thirty years in here, bit hard on the equilibrium, I mean, if I wasn't barking before I come here, y'know, ten years'd do it to any bastard. Put the Archbishop of Canterbury
Is big story about Yorkshire Ripper and tale of our times is. First off, is not a ripper, not like Mr Jack of the Royal Family and General Medical Council, Yorkshire chap didn't go pulling ladies' insides out like in Freemasons Big Book Of Whore Punishment but was more like Mr Maxwell, was actually Yorkshire Banger and not Ripper, just sneak up behind lady sex worker and Bang-Bang, Sutcliffe's silver hammer down on her head came and then more Bang Bang made sure she was dead and never go sex working no more and upset decent God-fearing lorry driver stroke raving lunatic. Didn't select liver and kidneys and whip out, like for breakfast. Just was bang-bang on head. With hammer. Alright, still brown bread is and clogs plopped, but no surgery, no ripping. Everybody knows, even Jerry Clarkson off Top Gear, you know, cars going sideways round corners with tires smoking and big fag screeching Ooooh, my hair is in fire, this best car is, In The World, even he knows that could solve mystery of every disappeared teenager in country if lorry drivers was all arrested and confession beaten from in best tradition of British bobby but without tapes running. Mr Sutcliffe didn't carry away body parts in cab of lorry, didn't even slice open poor Mrs sex worker and have shuffle around so is not proper Ripper. But journalist is lazy bastard, good for fuck all only getting pissed and telling lies, is not worth waste of bullet on shitbag rubbish journalist and instead roasted at stake should be with unsold copies of In-de-fucking-pendent, load of old bollocks with Fatboy Johann Hari and revolting greasy, old, social climbing baglady Yasmin Alibhai Muslem, stinking of fucking mutton and scabby old toes sticking out from tights. My son is a lawyer, Bismillah and I am the most important Muslem baglady in the whole of the country. Apart from Mrs Keith Vaz. Anybody here read that fucking rubbish? Yabbo and that know-it-all poof? May as well fuck off and see Mrs Cardigan's Diary of Nothingness or Col von Fawkes from PizzaHouseOfBabyBlood and no point is in hanging around here, waiting for pretend journalism or stocks and shares report. Fucking hate journalists, here, never mind pretending to be one; is fuckery, innit. Is just good thing that Ripper didn't, after police fuck-ups, become RipperGate. Ever since President Tricky Dicky burgled Democrat offices in Washington every fuck up ever written down by journalists has Gate stuck on behind. But the lazy bastards love a dead hooker. If one sex worker is killed in line of duty is always screaming headline, Prostitute Killed, like prostitute was all there was to poor dead lady, maybe only did prostituting one night a week to pay off overdraft from rotten banking bastard and having all our money right thing for country is, according to snot-eating, arsehole-licking, one-eyed mutant, Brown. And prostitute? No, never, am fucking presbyterian, ask any bastard who knows me, I would never go with a prostitute, never, says First Lord of Snot, well, not a lady one anyway, ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you how normal I am, can't get no more normal than one-eyed, gibbering son of fucking manse and national fucking embarrassment, can't even fucking add-up two and two four makes without having argument with self and fight with staff. In Brown world, anyway, prostitute is called Ree-Surch Assistant or Special Advisor, and is generally bloke. In dress.