The Sunday Ishmael: 02/02/2025

 Yvette Wood, former Ice Pixie, now Home Secretary,

has caught the Starmerism. It seems to be horribly contagious. People who could previously speak English with a fair degree of inflection, animation and likeability, now speak from their noses with deadened affect, monotony edged with repetition, and, of course contempt. I noticed last week that Rachel Wood, Chancellor of the Exchequer, had succumbed. This week the Home Secretary revealed her estuary english for the benefit of Laura Kuenssberg on the Sunday politics show. Must be proximity to the Great Sir Keir Wood as they all scramble tonsils to Get the London Look. There are some people, abroad people, foreigners, like, who think that London is synonymous with Britain. And that at Christmas, it snows there. 

This is almost entirely an invention of Hollywood and snow machines.

You know, impossibly beautifully people, inappropriately dressed for the weather, licking fake snow from each other's bits. Or killing each other with extreme violence. 

Did you see Black Doves? Yes, I did, too. Maybe you can explain to me why it was that the assassin who had broken into Keira Knightley's house to do bad things, tamely walked into her garden shed to be shot because Keira didn't want to disturb her husband and children. If I was the assassin I would say go on then, shoot me in your kitchen, and by the way I'm going to scream very loudly unless you let me go now this minute and then you can explain to your husband, the Defence Secretary, that you are a secret undercover mercenary spy being run by Sarah Lancashire - her off Happy Valley - and  that you kick ass, run about in high heels and stay out all night covered in blood.

Sorry, got distracted. Back to the former Ice Pixie. My word, but she loves being called Home Secretary. She sort of purred when Laura addressed her as such. Maybe its because its been a long time in the coveting. Whew, got there in the end.  Back in 2013, mr ishmael told us this about her and her hubby Ed Balls:

Yvette Cooper
Job: Chief secretary to the Treasury
Salary: £141,866
Total second home claims
2004-05: £19,428
2005-06: £14,234
2006-07: £15,995
2007-08: £12,219
Ed Balls
Job: Secretary of State for Children, Schools and Families
Salary: £141,866
Total second home claims
2004-05: Not elected
2005-06: £13,618
2006-07: £15,979
2007-08: £12,219
At the time of the MPs expenses whitewash, these two cunts were also claiming £400 per month for food; Mrs Ice Pixie, the thieving fucking bastard, wants to be home secretary, whilst the fatman wants a full run - denied him by Alastair Darling - at being the banksters' friend. How dare they show their faces?

and on 4/01/2016:

 Leader of the Official MonsterRavingToryLabour party,  and commons' veteran, Mrs Ice-Pixie Balls, 

Shall I claim for lunch, doll, or shall you? 
I know, let's both claim.

said: in all my years of fiddling parliamentary expenses, flipping homes and betraying the core values of this great party, for which I have sacrificed so absolutely nothing,  I have never heard of Tories actually being in  my party, although they didn't actually need to be. Not with  us being more Tory than them.

Well, Balls didn't achieve his political ambitions - maybe his criminal record got in the way: he admitted using his mobile phone while driving during the 2010 general election campaign. In June 2013, he was fined for going through a red light. He admitted speeding in April 2013 and on 5 August 2014, he was fined £900 and given five penalty points for failing to stop after a car accident. He said he knew that the cars had touched, but did not stop to check. He now appears regularly on the telly as a genial, jovial presenter chappie on Good Morning Britain.

The expenses scandal didn't hold his lady wife back from achieving high office - well, it doesn't seem  to have done any of the troughing MPs any harm in the long run. mr ishmael wasn't exaggerating - if anything, he held back. Here's what they did, the honourable Balls-Cooper couple: In September 2007 it was revealed that they used MPs' allowances to help pay for a £655,000 home in north London. They bought a four-bedroom house in Stoke Newington, and registered this as their second home (rather than their home in Castleford, West Yorkshire) to qualify for up to £44,000 a year to subsidise a reported £438,000 mortgage under the Commons Additional Costs Allowance, of which they claimed £24,400. Both worked in London full-time and their children attended local London schools. Balls-Cooper claimed that "The whole family travel between their Yorkshire home and London each week when Parliament is sitting. As they are all in London during the week, their children have always attended the nearest school to their London house." Balls and Cooper "flipped" the designation of their second home three times within the space of two years. In June 2008, they were referred to the Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards over allegations that they were claiming expenses for what was effectively their main home in London. 

Get the London Look.

D'you know, sometimes I cannot believe that the Prime Minister of Great Britain is Sir Keir Wood, the Chancellor of the Exchequer is Rachel Wood and that the Home Secretary is Yvette Wood. Have we all slipped through some portal into a wholly improbable universe?

Right. 

Doing her best to impersonate a serious politician, Mrs. Yvette Balls, proud Londoner (she was born in Scotland, you know), tried to answer Laura Kuenssberg's questions about what she was doing as Home Secretary. I did nod off a bit, but the gist went like this: 

Laura: How are you going to keep our children safe from online child abuse?

Mrs Yvette: Its a moral question you know. There's an online safety bill.

Laura: But what will you do?

Miss Yvette: We will ask the platforms to take down inappropriate content. It is a moral question.

Laura: And what will you do if they don't?

Ms Yvette: How the fuck should I know? I'm only the pretend Home Secretary. Ask me something about flipping houses.

Laura: The Southport killer had the Al Quaeda training manual on his computer.

Mz Yvette: Well, that's bad. We're going to ask the bad people to stop doing bad things.

Panel: Boo, Hiss. We want a Special Department to catch bad people. Bad People don't care about moral questions. They care about profit. Take their money away. Have a Review. Stop the illegal migrants. Have another Review. 

The Panel were great. Fraser Nelson (he's from Scotland, you know), formerly editor of the Spectator, before he was given the heave-ho to allow

 Michael Gove (he's from Scotland, too) a job, was on it. There were also a White millionaire and a Black woman of colour. Neither of them was from Scotland, but Laura Kuenssberg certainly is.

Following Laura, Martin Geissler on his Sunday Politics show, told us that Scotland's NHS was given £618 million for health and social care. They didn't advertise this, but the Institute of Fiscal Studies discovered it. The SNP refused to appear on the show to admit they had this money and say what they would do with it, so Dr Sandesh Gulhane, a Conservative MSP and Doctor, appeared instead to tell us that the SNP would fritter it away, waiting lists wouldn't reduce, and there are too many managers and too many vacancies and that as fast as Scotland trains new doctors and nurses, they bugger off to England. Not just doctors and nurses, Sandesh - so far in today's post, we've noted that Yvette Cooper, Laura Kuenssberg, Fraser Nelson and Michael Gove are from Scotland. In the week we admired Tony Blair and Gordon Brown Memorialising Baron Punch Prescott. They are from Scotland too. In fact, there's very few people left in Scotland, as they've all gone to London to avoid the snow.

Does nobody care that the Russians have been cutting the undersea cables again? The Silver Dania, with a wholly Russian crew, was detained in Tromso and boarded by Norwegian police on Thursday. This is the second ship named by investigators as involved in cable cutting  - Finland separately seized a Russian-linked oil tanker after a cable connecting Finland and Estonia was cut. There has been a series of power and telecom cables damaged, but suspiciously little reporting of it in the British press. It is almost as if there has been a news embargo - no, surely not? 

NATO has deployed a small flotilla off the coast of Estonia to guard  undersea cables. The operation is called Baltic Sentry and the flotilla consists of  a Dutch frigate, a naval research ship, and a German minesweeper.  Commander Erik Kockx, the Belgian head of a mine countermeasures task force that is joining the Baltic Sentry, said the flotilla will only grow in the future. Could we ask nice President Trump to help? 

Well, there's your news round-up, ishmaelites. I don't have to mention the Oaf Andrew, because we're out of space.

Don't forget your copy of one of the four splendid anthologies of the writings of mr ishmael and stanislav, the young Polish Plumber. Or buy the set as a luxurious indulgence for yourself or as a gift for a broad-minded friend. The anthologies have been compiled and produced by editor mr verge, the house filthster, in answer to the appalled and bereft reaction of ishmaelites to the passing of mr ishmael in January 2020.  

You can buy the Quartet from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.

State of the Limey Nation Address

Not everyone who gathers here may have read this State of the Nation Address, and, now that President Trump Nouvelle is pondering why the fuck the Limey Communist Party, recently back in charge again and building economic policy on the everything's fucked Black Hole model, has appointed one of Satan's lieutenants as Ambassador to the USofA, it is timely to consider the thoughts of his late, great predecessor, Codger McCain, on the special relationship with Great Britain:

stanislav said...

From CBS, NBC, CNN, ABC and that cunt Murdoch's pretend news channel.

State of the Limey Nation Address.

"Mah Fellow Motherfuckers, President Codger McCain here tonight to shoot the fat a little, chew the breeze, right here, fronta the fire with m'dog, Obama, just like my illustrious predecessor in this great office, president whoosis, used to do, y'all know who I mean, the little fat fuck who took over when the other one croaked, the one in the hat, the one who nuked the Nips to Hell and back, slimy little yellow bastards, President Codger McCain'd a bombed every last fucking one of them grunting little monkeys, and their fucking Emperor Horseshit, right back to their rice-munching, head-chopping fucking ancestors, glassed the whole fucking place right over.

All got way too many teeth, ever notice that, mah fellow motherfuckers, how them slopes all got a few too many teeth? No, I guess not but it's the kinda thing a Commander in Chief needs to know about before he has some sonsa fuckin' bitches blown into next fuckin' week. It's frankly unfucking American, number a teeth them little bastards got. No wonder they can't talk right, like decent white Christian folks. Eat with fuckin' twigs, they do, probably can't get a knife and fork past all them fuckin' teeth. Obama! get yer fuckin' nose outa that woman's ass, I told ya before, next time I'll take you out on the White House lawn and blow yer Goddamned head off; got m'gun, right here in my pants, next to my catheter. Sorry about that folks, now, where in the Hell was I?

Yeah right. Foreign policy stuff. No easy way to say this, what with the special relationship and everything, but the Limey President, he's an honest ta fucking Jesus shit-fer-brains fruitcake, a twenty-four fuckin' carat psycho and I am not, mah fellow motherfuckers, bullshittin' yer asses, man's madder'n a grizzly with his dick caught in a trap, running around all over the woods, biting hisself. Been over there in London England myself, met him right up close and I have to tell y'all that that's one mad Limey. And his breath, sonofa fuckin bitch, it smells like the fucking aircon went off down at the morgue, go in a room with the Limey President's like sticking yer head up Satan's asshole. He leaves the meeting every five minutes to go an jerk himself off, y'know, no I'm not shitting ya, comes back in squirming and stuttering, his lower jaw jerking up and down like a fiddler's fuckin' elbow; guy over there, Polack plumber, got a whole new terminology for it.

Y'know, on the tee-vee, everytime I see that Goddamned jaw manouevre, that gulping, I swear to Goda-fuckingMighty that that dude's got somebody's fist up his Goddamn asshole; right there, on the fuckin' tee-vee, there's someone, under the fuckin' table, behind the fuckin' chair, got their Goddamned fist up the Limey President's asshole.

Goes on the tee-vee, right there plumb in the middlea the Limey Congress, sits there eatin' snot right out a his fucking nose, like a four year old. Right there on the Goddamned tee-vee. I ever see that fuckin' heathen ass-fistin', snot-eatin', jerk-off sonofabitch here in my Oval Office take him right out there on the White House lawn and blow his fuckin' head off, see what he makes a them values; got m'gun, right here in my pants, next my catheter.

Y'know, he came down offa that reservation up at the top of England Britain where they keep the drunks and mental patient folks, all the transwotsanames, the dwarves, all those kinda freaks, web-foots, six-finger, inbred, albino, ginger bastard motherfucking mutant sonsafuckinbitches; got 'em all behind a big wall up there and just throw some money over the top now and again, let 'em elect their own mutant in chief, just like regular people, only these mothers are all a million fucking years and a good few evolutionary developments offa being regular; live in fuckin' caves, mosta them, eat porridge with their fingers, worse than fuckin' Nips, seen it with my own eyes, it's like Limey Mexico, and he came down with that other pansy, the one with the freakshow wife, Jesus H fucking Christ, d'ya ever see a kisser like that ? Park a fucking Humvee in there. Imelda her name is, seems like Uncle Sam is buying her a new house every fucking goddamned fucking week, ugly bitch got more palaces than Saddam fucking Hussein.

Anyway, they all come down off the reservation and take over the Limey Communist Party. Get some oily fag cocksucker off the tee-vee, Mandelstein, or something, a walking sperm bank, sucking everybody's dick, they're all coked-up faggots in the BBC Limey media, the ones that ain't kiddy-fiddlers, and next thing you know the pansy and Imelda are in Buckingham House running the whole fucking joint, selling off seats in the Limey Senate like they was hamburgers and this joker, the one-eyed freak, is at the Limey Treasury burning all the country's fucking money in a great big bonfire.

The Limey Congress is full a dingleberries, see, never done a day's fucking work in their Goddamned communist lives, Ree-Surchers, mostly, attorneys some of them, even fuckin' worse, and every commie sonofabitch is dancing round the money bonfire cheering their fuckin' heads off as the whole fuckin' country goes up in smoke.

Anyhow, after ten fuckin' years the pansy realises he's been rumbled and heads off to be a Cardinal for ole Pope Nazi while Imelda is gangbanging her way around the world for money, like she was Jackie fucking Onassis, banging like an Iowa shithouse door in a gale, and up steps the current guy, Gordon, off the Reservation.

And it was all shit, he says, on the street outside 10 Buckingham House, holding hands with his Bearded Lady, everything we done this past ten years, all shit, all of it, shit. I'm going in here right now and let the work of change begin, change all that shit into wine, like he was Charlton fuckin' Heston talking to the fuckin' Israelites. There's no need to elect me, he said, my daddy said I should be Limey President, and that should be enough. I'm going in here now and work night and fucking day and change everything about again. Just as soon as folks see how clever I am, they all gonna want me for Life President's what he says, but first I just gotta make sure all the money gets burnt to fuckin' soot and ashes.

Now, my fellow motherfuckers, Limeyland is one weird joint. Here in the US of A, if you if you go a thousand miles from home and go out to a swingers party, y'know, watch some other dude porkstick yer old lady, and leave yer kids all alone in the dark to be carried away by the raggle taggle gypsies-O or some other kinda bestial ethnic minority groupa worthless unAmerican bastards, you might expect to spend some time on the County Farm, gettin' yer ass kicked but over there in Limeyland they pay off yer fuckin' mortgage for ya and open ya up a huge fuckin' bank account and put your brother in charge of it and the Limey government gives you a spokesman of your own. Get to go on the teevee every day just like a regular motherfucker, instead a gettin' fuckin' stones thrown at ya, like you should.

So it's no surprise to this old warrior that the Communist Limey press corp bought right in to that change shit, off Assman, the Scotch Limey, the idea was that this certifiable fuckin lunatic with voices in his head and hands up his ass who burnt all the fuckin' money should be put in charge of the entire sorry-assed, pussy-whipped country, without so much as an election, but just a promise that the fistin' screwball was gonna pay even closer attention to the spirit messages he received from his late old man, some kind of a Reservation Jehovah's fuckin' Witness, had his own church and everything. and that's just exactly what happened.

Anybody says, Hold on a Goddamn fucking minute, why are you burning all the money and giving the gold away and Assman just says some shit about right long-term decisions for hard-working Limey families and Bob's yer fuckin' uncle. And, my fellow motherfuckers, it is this loser's handling of the Limey money -Prudently Burning all the fuckin' Money and giving away all the gold down there in PoundLand - that caused this whole fuck-up in the subprime market here at home in the US. Messages from the fuckin' dead. That and selling Limeyland into a Communist Federation with a load of fucking European thieves, faggots, cocksuckers and opera-loving, shit-eating motherfuckers.

The whole place is fucked. Limeyland, birthpace of the Pilgrim Fathers, fucked by sodomitin' Scotch lunatics.

The Gay Truckers Association is blockading Assman right there in Buckingham House, even now, those faggots got blood in their eyes and fried egg down their vests, want free gas and all those toilets put back in the highway laybys, is what they want. The Limey Congressmen're makin' it legal for themselves to rob the store until it's fuckin' empty. Back up on the reservation his own tribesmen hate his sorry fisted guts and he daren't even go back there without a full regiment of secret service to protect his ass. Got a dwarf in charge up there, on the reservation, keeps his old lady's corpse in the attic an' drinks his own piss. The communist labour unions won't give him another nickel. The Limey cops hate him, the teachers hate him, the nurses hate him, nothing works, the economy's fucked, the weather's fucked, the roads are fucked, you can't go in a Limey hospital without catching some Goddamned filthy disease because the thieving bastard Limey doctors are all too far up their own asses to wash their fuckin' hands, the schools are fucked, the little bastards running around stabbing each other; come Fall and all the old Limeys're set to freeze to fucking death, or starve or both, if the little bastards don't get 'em first. The police'll plug ya fulla holes soon as fucking look at you; they got cameras in everybody's fucking house, they can just hoist ya off the street and toss yer ass in the slammer and everything you care to mention is shit. If what they're doin' is against the law they just go right ahead and make up some new laws, just like that, Y'all can go and kiss my ass, Mr Voter, that's what them Limey cocksuckng Congressmen say. Assman couldn't win a fucking election in his own front room if he was the only candidate. The Leader of the Limey Republicans is a two-faced, two-bit card-sharping shit-fer-brains Momma's boy; Archbishop Canterburg, the Limey Pope, is a fucking nutcase, couldn't find the hole in his own ass, next King of LimeyLand thinks he's a fucking sanitary towel, most of the Limey Congress is under investigation for fraud, Limey currency soon won't be worth no more'n a Zimbabwe dollar, and the whole shithole is under fuckin' water most of the time.

Snotman's up to his neck in shit and every five fuckin' minutes seems like a turd as big as USS New Jersey comes steaming over the horizon. Just as well they only got a few payclerks and gravediggers hiding in the airport, out there in Eyerack. Wouldn't want the crazy fag Limey cocksucking premier giving orders to proper military.

Talkin' a which, mah fellow motherfuckers, here is my solemn promise to y'all - I find any man in my army sticking his dick up another soldiers's asshole an I'll shoot 'em both, right here on the White House lawn. Ain't fuckin' natural. No more'n that lesbian tennis they're all watching over there in Winbletown. Those dykes come in here, gruntin' and sweatin' and carpet-munchin' all over my West Wing an' I'll fuckin' shoot them, too. Take 'em right out on the White House lawn, blow their fuckin' heads off. Got m'gun, right here in my pants, right next my catheter.

You know, best part of a hundred years we been fightng the Limey's wars for 'em, equipping their pansy army so's the faggot generals and admirals and all them other Ruperts can all mince about in gold fucking braid and fancy pants writin' poetry and gettin' spanked by their Goddamned batmen and what have they done in return? Invented communism and ass-fistin, that's what. Invented right there in London, both of 'em was. Seen it with mah own eyes. London England is now run by a womanising Greek sonofabitch surrounds himself with crooked clergymen and Goddamned perverts just like the last motherfucker, the one who talks through his fucking nose, the one with the frogs and more wives'n'children than a fucking Mormon.

Time we sent the Seventh cavalry over there and rescue them decent Limey folks, while there still is a Limeyland, punish these fuckin' money-burnin' savages and put 'em all back on the reservation they come offa. Gonna lead the regiment mahself. Got m'gun, right here in my pants, next my catheter......She wore, she wore, she wore a yellow ribbon........

It's been real fine talking to you, mah fellow motherfuckers.

Rally round the flag, y'all, only not that blue communist one with the yellow faggot stars.

Ah'll jes get mah gun

July 4, 2008 1:48 PM

The Sunday Ishmael: 26/01/2025

 

Anyway, I spent 3 hours on Monday watching the inauguration. The Merkins aren't nearly as good at ceremony as us, but then, we've had thousands of years practise, and they did their best, for colonials. They rigged up some impressive blue curtaining, which swished open to the accompaniment of jolly circus music with the arrival of each new dignitary, or, as we like to call them, thieves, pimps and gangstas, whilst a sonorous Ring Master’s voice announced the Honourable this, that and the other. 'Twas all very Big Top, and all that patriotism was not subtle, but at least Trump wasn’t required to take his clothes off and kneel down in his shirt in front of the disgraced Archbishop Welby, unlike poor old sausage-fingers King Charles. 

Shame they didn’t book a gospel choir. 

But the parade of the ex Presidents made up for it. They are not looking good – especially Clinton, who looked as if he hasn't really recovered from the glistening cascading anus worms,

although he and dementia-friendly Biden, who had obviously asked his chum, what are you wearing? OK, I'll wear that too, were photographed enjoying the btm of Carrie Underwood, an American singer. 

And the gossip about Obama’s lonely attendance was that he and his missus are splitting up.

Maybe he's decided that he likes girls after all. 

 

In contrast, Mrs Trump looked absolutely lovely, dignified, graceful and stylish, as ever. The weird thing is that her stepdaughter, Ivanka, looks very like her. How did that happen?

My Democrat relative (I know, don't judge), tells me that when she was a teenager, Donald Trump ordered Ivanka to have plastic surgery. I am sooo jealous. I just got driving lessons.

But didn't the old chap do well? On his feet all day, speechifying, signing all those Executive Orders, then dancing all night. He must be on some very good drugs. And, like me, he’s a TERF. Believes the human race just has two sexes. I don't mind if you want to dress up like a woman, Michelle, but you don't fool me. Who'd have thought? This hasn't gone down too well with lots of people, including Robert Peston,  

who took a deep breath and said, well, that's a difficult opinion. Not an opinion, Bob, it's law.

I refer you to the founder of Call Me Ishmael, who can tell us what to think now that America has led the way:

Donald Trump more or less epitomises the (white) American spirit;  now Trump is the bete noir of luvvies everywhere and what Trumpophobia illustrates is the threadbare, translucent illusion  of our own democracy. 

In striking similarity to their behaviour after our  recent plebiscite, the  liberal fascists now shriek that voting is all very well, a sacred right and duty, of course it is, but only as long as people vote as they are instructed by their betters; the Guardian seeks a new, national rotten borough, in which Organised Crime, celebrities, MediaMinster and  pitiable, howling mutant Transexuals set and maintain the national agenda, and in which the Worthless Normal do as they are told;  a sunny privileged upland, where the smug, braying children of smug, braying parents - who luv'em2bits, me, mykidz -  can, equipped with a degree in illiteracy, innumeracy and physical incompetence,  gap-year around Europe without let or hindrance,  as though they were re-embodied 18th Century gentlemen, instead of pampered, useless fuckwits, GrandTouring, horrid little fucking bastards; national service is what they need, dry stone-walling, caring for the elderly and never mind non-judgemental  gender options. Cunts is what  they are, the New People and their brats, and Donald Trump lights a fire up their arses, how very dare he say these things, and how very dare tens of millions of Americans listen to him and find him Good ? This is not why we discriminate so very studiously and ethically between our coffee beans, making informed consumer choices which leave as small a footprint as possible,  this is not why we bare our arses in a frank and open - as long as people don't swear or question our integrity - frank and open and very serious dialogue on Twitter, so's Americans can vote for who they feel represents them.  I mean, what would the world be like, if people just voted for whom- or what-soever they chose?  That's simply not what democracy's about, not in my book. 

Four million people voted for Farage, last year, and the liberal fascists, instead of hearing a voice other than their own,  mocked the fact that the Kippers managed only one seat in parliament,  this mockery occurring despite the fact that the screechers had, during the last Coalition government,  demanded proportional representation; must've meant   proportional representation for metrosexual, dog-shooting, gender-spectruming  liberals, but FPTP for those dwelling in Northern.

Meantime, we call Donald Trump names. Sure, he is a completely loathsome human being but he has never, unlike our own politicians, sat at the United Nations, lying his ugly face off, promoting a holocaustal, profiteering war, entirely on manufactured grounds, largely invented by a worthless, drunken pornographer.

Spot the dangerous maniac. Whoops, they're both dangerous maniacs.

Donald Trump has never, to the best of my knowledge, anyway, colluded in decades of child-raping by his constituents, just as long as they voted for his party.

He has never served time for stealing from the taxpayer, whilst covering-up that same widespread child abuse.

 Denis MacShane: "I was too much of a 'liberal leftie' and should have done more to investigate child abuse". Former Rotherham MP admits he could have done more to "burrow into" the problem in his constituency, but insists, as do they all, that he never done nothing wrong.

 Donald Trump, as far as I know, has never used a government position to tout for illegal business. 

Yes, I can, quite improperly, and yes, probably illegally,  interfere in the workings of foreign countries, in order to get you what you want. Yes, only five grand a half-day. 

 

A blowjob, yes, I can do that, too. 
Here, in parliament. Yes, of course.
 Would you like me to keep the braces on?  Yes, I am minded, myself, to say they are rather fetching.

Donald Trump has never, to my knowledge, repeatedly lied to his legislature, to the police or to the Courts of his nation, nor shifted blame  to his wife for an offence which he committed.

But this cunt has.

Donald Trump has never falsely claimed taxpayer-funded expenses.

But these cunts have.

Donald Trump has never, to my knowledge,  accepted huge bribes from dictators and tyrants.

  

 But these cunts have.

Donald Trump has never, to my knowledge, waged massive and wholly illegal wars of aggression and plunder on the civilians of  other nation states.

 

 Like Iraq.

Or Libya.

But these cunts have.

Donald Trump, to the best of my knowledge, has never practised military-strength, murderous racism against his fellow citizens.

Nor maintained, offshore, throughout eight dark, cruel years, an obscene torture facility which he had promised to close.

Yes, you can't.

But this cunt did. 

I don't know, therefore, what is so bad about Donald Trump.  Sure he's a bully, an uncouth lout,  a rabble rouser, possibly, like everyone in MediaMinster who voted for Iraq, a rotten racist;  his behaviour in Scotland, under the auspices of Alec Fatman, 

Aye, I give him your land and he gives me my money.

was and continues to be despicable, reprehensible, and cowardly;  the man is  a horrible fucking bastard, his wives are baggages and  his children look and sound like mutants.

But as for him dividing America, that's already been accomplished; as for him impoverishing America, that's already been accomplished,  too; as for him making America despised, worldwide, that's already been accomplished and as for him starting World War Three, well that was started years ago by these rotten fucking bastards. 

For services rendered to the shareholders in GlobaDeath. I mean, to the Merkin people.

 

If Donald Trump prays to Satan five times daily, drinks sacrificed infants' blood and appoints a team to identify very, very  bad things for him to do, at home and abroad, he wouldn't cause a fraction of the damage wrought by his recent criminal predecessors on both sides of the Atlantic.  

..........................................................................

Returning to the present from our foray into mr ishmael's amazingly prescient vision of our current global situation, Rachel Wood has been doing the rounds of the politics programmes.

Back from Davos, where she and her boss, Keir Wood,

failed to impress because everyone else, apart from the Dwarf Zelesky, had gone to the Inauguration; the first woman Chancellor of Britain's Exchequer has been telling everyone that she is going to grow the economy, because of the Black Hole.

Laura Nose: "But what are you actually going to do, Chancellor?"

Rachel Wood: "I'm going to grow the economy."

Laura Nose: " But you are not, are you? The increase in National Insurance and the Inheritance Tax on farmers is crashing the economy, putting up the price of food, causing the supermarkets to sack their workers and clogging up London with protesting tractors."

Rachel Wood: "Yes, I'm growing the economy. It's early days yet, I've inherited a Black Hole and I'm the first female Chancellor of the Exchequer, did I mention it?"

Laura Nose: "Fuck off and Die, Chancellor. You are giving women a bad name."

Do you think she knows what she's doing?

No, me neither.

Being tired all the time, I thought I must have an under-achieving thyroid, so I bought some stimulating supplement from t'internet, but the Doctor said no, no, no, your bloods is fine. So I guess it's just a hangover. 

Storm Eowyn - it never rains but it pours.

Don't forget your copy of one of the four splendid anthologies of the writings of mr ishmael and stanislav, the young Polish Plumber. Or buy the set as a luxurious indulgence for yourself or as a gift for a broad-minded friend. The anthologies have been compiled and produced by editor mr verge, the house filthster, in answer to the appalled and bereft reaction of ishmaelites to the passing of mr ishmael in January 2020.  

You can buy the Quartet from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.