IT'S THE WAY THEY TELL THEM.

 

I was travelling for a couple of days, reading the papers and Private Eye in the car and listenting to the odd news broadcast.  One of the Radio Four SixAClock News shows had some ghastly hussie announcing: Former leader of the Liberal Democrats, Lord Steel, has made clear that he didn't know about the (beasting) activities of the late Sir Cyril Smith .

Not claimed, insisted, vowed, asserted, complained, repeated or said.  No, made clear.

Not to me, he hasn't, bitch.

Boy David has always looked like a closet something-ot-other,  over-shirted, over-coiffed, a bit too dandyish, even for the 'seventies and his whingeing, irritated riposte to the Smith cover-up allegations -  "I was not running a detective agency" - rang more than a little hollow.  What he was really saying was, Look, I'm on the inside of the beasting tent, beasting out.  You can't touch me.  So just fuck off. In this, at least, he's right.

 A Guardian hack when a young MP, a teevee pundit at the same time, David Steel is a strand in  MediaMinster's bloodline. And we can't touch him for his most unLiberal ushering-in however many years of Thatcherism it was;  we can't touch him for the Dave-stewarded gargantuan  fuck up which was the Scottish parliament building project - a cost overrun of nine hundred per cent - and we certainly can't touch him for his monstrous views on the beasting of children.  We might usefully remember, though, that if you scratch a liberal - be he nonce, shit-eater, queer-basher, benefits cheat or unrepentant convict - you'll find a fascist.

NONCE NEWS, MAX CLIFFORD TO BE KNIGHTED BY POPE FRANKIE. READ ALL ABOUT IT.

We are all-a seeners, said Frankie, the holy one, and-a eet eesa only fair that we all-a pray for MaxieBoy, now-a that-a he-a has-a been-a found out. 

 I-a weel-a geeve-a heem a Papal Knighthood and pray-a for heem.  After all-a, hee has-a not-a done nuffink what we all of us in theesa business have-a done, een thee beegeening, now and-a for evermore.  Eesa like mr ishmael say, eesa no beesiness like-a show beesiness. Break a leg and say three Hail Marys.

  

 'Samazing how much cock y'can shove in the gob of a little lad, eh?

Yull do the right thing, wuntya, an' vote fer Nick Clegg.

(see ishmael passim, The Scum Also Rises.)

 Saint Cyril Smith?  He-a was ay great man, an inspiration to us all.  Sainthood eesa not good enough for heem.


In MediaMinster, Saint Nigel Evans  the Innocent could not be contacted about the troubling matter of a guilty beast being found guilty.

And I'm not kidding members and right honourable members, 
this bloke's cock was this big.

His faghag, though, Christine Hamilton, said Nigel was a great personal friend of hers, as she begged for money on the street. Says all you need to know about the former Mr Deputy Speaker, close personal friend of the Hamiltons.


Can you spare a teevee programme, guv?

Christ, the charmed circle of celebrity, it's like a descent into Hell.