KISS, I MEAN KILL ME QUICK.
Heddo, Belbyn Bagg, here, and dis is just do say dat I bill be tobbing byself if I go barmy.
His Lordship has pronounced on death, joining the irritant, wotsisname, Pratchett, that's it, in promulgating the assisted suicide, ie murder, approach to dementia. PratchettGob, by the way, has gone quiet now that he's not finding dementia as bad as he expected it to be, not jumping up and down all day long, demanding to be killed by someone else, the horrid little coward. The wretched Debbie Purdy is still around, too, Christ, the way she was carrying on she should've been dead, or at the very least have shut the fuck up, years ago.
Bragg continued his proclamation by saying I hab told all ob by friends dat I bill not carry on and dat day are to help be wid a boddle of bills and a boddle of Scotch - single balt ob course - once I hab pud by affairs in order.
The pestilential culture vulture may have a book to promote or some new rubbish on Sky Arts or he may just be doing a Germaine Greer - talking about some aspect of her noisesome, shopsoiled self for money, the girl can't help it - and is just attention seeking. Seems that Bragg's old Mum died, just like everybody's does, and went a bit loopy at the end and Bragg, of course, wrinkling his nose in distaste, defined her condition as Undignified, therefore murderable. And the law must be changed in line with Baby Boomers' displeasure with their elderly parents.
I wonder how his Lordship described them when he found his infants rolling around in their own shit, if he projected his own concept of Dignity onto those at a different stage of Life, and if he murdered them, out of respect, for their lack of Dignity. Man's a cunt, Bragg, spent his life, like Parkinson, fawning and brown-nosing luvvies and artists, grubbing for lustre by association and latterly feigning an intellectualism which he does not have. I don't care how he lives and dies, sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned. But his promoting, as he is, the idea that we should murder one another almost as a matter of course, once we start getting confused and incontinent, is, rather like his own books, abominable.
THE QUIET MAN, IS TURNING UP THE GAS,
His Lordship has pronounced on death, joining the irritant, wotsisname, Pratchett, that's it, in promulgating the assisted suicide, ie murder, approach to dementia. PratchettGob, by the way, has gone quiet now that he's not finding dementia as bad as he expected it to be, not jumping up and down all day long, demanding to be killed by someone else, the horrid little coward. The wretched Debbie Purdy is still around, too, Christ, the way she was carrying on she should've been dead, or at the very least have shut the fuck up, years ago.
Bragg continued his proclamation by saying I hab told all ob by friends dat I bill not carry on and dat day are to help be wid a boddle of bills and a boddle of Scotch - single balt ob course - once I hab pud by affairs in order.
The pestilential culture vulture may have a book to promote or some new rubbish on Sky Arts or he may just be doing a Germaine Greer - talking about some aspect of her noisesome, shopsoiled self for money, the girl can't help it - and is just attention seeking. Seems that Bragg's old Mum died, just like everybody's does, and went a bit loopy at the end and Bragg, of course, wrinkling his nose in distaste, defined her condition as Undignified, therefore murderable. And the law must be changed in line with Baby Boomers' displeasure with their elderly parents.
I wonder how his Lordship described them when he found his infants rolling around in their own shit, if he projected his own concept of Dignity onto those at a different stage of Life, and if he murdered them, out of respect, for their lack of Dignity. Man's a cunt, Bragg, spent his life, like Parkinson, fawning and brown-nosing luvvies and artists, grubbing for lustre by association and latterly feigning an intellectualism which he does not have. I don't care how he lives and dies, sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned. But his promoting, as he is, the idea that we should murder one another almost as a matter of course, once we start getting confused and incontinent, is, rather like his own books, abominable.
THE QUIET MAN, IS TURNING UP THE GAS,
I MEAN THE VOLUME
I say, Mr Ishmael, old chap, steady on a minute. I think there's a good deal in what Lord Bragg is saying here and we can always learn from our Labour colleagues. I mean, obviously we don't want to go around killing people just because they're non-productive and costly to keep alive. At least, not at first....
