Fucking Absolutely Shitty Slippery Hypocritical CockWaving Bastard Turd
Just Saying.
She is growing on me, Head Girl Sophie. Thought she was going to haul off and deck him, the blithering bloated bombastic mutant, during her Munich Interview with him at the foot of a very ordinary staircase on the 19th February. At one point he lunged towards her, fist clenched, but restrained himself - not a good look, that.
Thin-lipped, shaken, but admirably persistent, she politely hammered away at him thusly:
Sophe: Prime Minister, you are under investigation by the police at home.
Albino Mutant: We are going to open up the Russian Doll, as Joe Biden explained to us last night, sort out the networks of Russian finance in London and we've given £100 million in economic support to the Ukrainians.
Sophe: What?? You are choosing not to answer questions about Partygate?
Albino Mutant: I really want to, Sophie, but I'm not allowed to because there's a process underway. Not a bean am I allowed to tell you. In the meantime, I am trying to bring the world together. As our American Friends explained, what matters is the sovereignty and independence of Ukraine. We just have to focus on the things we have to focus on. Avoid a tragedy in Ukraine.
Sophe (stunned, but determined): Do you remember the image of the Queen sitting alone at her husband's funeral? Aren't you embarrassed? Shouldn't you apologise to the Queen?
Albino Mutant: I'll answer all your questions in due course because I really want to and because we are living in a Democracy and we want to make sure that Ukrainians continue to live in a Democracy. I must protect a sovereign European country from a devastating attack. I must fight Covid. I must fight Crime. I must re-open our economy. I must encourage people down the path of home ownership.
Sophe: You are as unpopular as John Major and there is no legal impediment to you discussing Partygate.
A.M. : I have explained that all questions will be answered in due course. Once the legal process has concluded. Please focus on the fact that since the Berlin Wall came down in 1989 countries could choose their own destinies and this could be the biggest war in Europe since 1945 and the world must learn the lessons of 2014. We cannot let Putin get away with it and we cannot continue to allow European dependence on hydrocarbon fuels.
Sophe: Turning to Prince Andrew's affairs, Prime Minister, is public money paying the settlement that has been made with Virginia Giuffre?
A.M.: Now, Sophie, I can't answer questions about the Royal Family.
Sophe: It is a question about public money.
A.M. No Prime Minister can talk about the Royal Family.
Indeed, not - he can talk up a war, he can remove self-isolation and free covid testing - is there anything that this canting piece of Bullingdonia will not do to distract from his uniquely contemptuous approach to the rules that he imposed on the population with no intention whatsoever of following them himself?
I daresay that most Ishmaelites read Private Eye, the last organ of independent investigative journalism in Britain. In case you missed this story, however, from Edition 1567, you'll be interested in this further example of what fun it is to work in the partying Civil Service. In response to the Eye's Freedom of Information enquiry, we learn that the Department for Education's internet security blocked more than 1.7 million attempts to access banned websites on its computer networks. During the 90 days from September to December 2021 there were 61,900 visits to betting sites at the Whitehall Department. Employees tried to access adult sites, including porn on 31,180 occasions. Also popular were visits to dating apps, more than 150,000 attempts to play online games and looking at lingerie. Employees attempted to hide their internet activity from IT administrators, with 11,896 clicks on proxies and VPNs.
In May 2009, the number of swine flu cases in the UK reached 99 on the 1st May. On the 8th May, The Daily Telegraph began publishing, unredacted, the full copy of MPs' expenses claims. Four days later, David Cameron, then leader of the Conservatives in Opposition, said he would pay back a £680 expenses claim on his constituency home and ordered fellow Tory MPs to repay thousands of pounds in unlawful claims. On the 14th May, MPs from all parties were either suspended or announced their resignations due to the expenses scandal. A few weeks later, almost 100 MPs announced they would not stand at the next general election. On the 19th May, Speaker Michael Martin announced his resignation following widespread criticism of his handling of the expenses scandal. On the 20th May, Labour Peers, Lord Taylor of Blackburn and Lord Truscott were suspended from Parliament for 6 months apiece for breaching the code of conduct and failing to act on their personal honour in the matter of the 2009 cash for influence scandal.
On the 23rd May 2009, mr ishmael posted September 1, 1939, by W.H. Auden. Rendering it in prose increased its power. It seems particularly appropriate to re-post it today, as we sit in the shadow of another European War, British, American and Russian dictators deciding whether we live or die; a global pandemic; troughing MPs selling Questions for Cash; Civil Servants busy with their gambling and porn; the Royal Family mired in sexual scandal and in selling favours and Honours for cash and so on and so forth. Didn't someone, somewhere, somewhence say it is time to drain the swamp?
SEPTEMBER 1, 1939, by W.H. AUDEN
I sit in one of the dives on Fifty-second Street uncertain and afraid, as the clever hopes expire of a low dishonest decade: waves of anger and fear circulate over the bright and darkened lands of the earth, obsessing our private lives; the unmentionable odour of death offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can unearth the whole offence from Luther until now that has driven a culture mad, find what occurred at Linz, what huge imago made a psychopathic god:
I and the public know what all schoolchildren learn, those to whom evil is done do evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knew all that a speech can say about Democracy, and what dictators do, the elderly rubbish they talk to an apathetic grave; analysed all in his book, the enlightenment driven away, the habit-forming pain, mismanagement and grief: we must suffer them all again.
Into this neutral air where blind skyscrapers use their full height to proclaim the strength of Collective Man, each language pours its vain competitive excuse: but who can live for long in an euphoric dream; out of the mirror they stare, imperialism's face and the international wrong.
Faces along the bar cling to their average day: the lights must never go out, the music must always play, all the conventions conspire to make this fort assume the furniture of home; lest we should see where we are, lost in a haunted wood, children afraid of the night who have never been happy or good.
The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout is not so crude as our wish: what mad Nijinsky wrote about Diaghilev is true of the normal heart; for the error bred in the bone of each woman and each man craves what it cannot have, not universal love but to be loved alone.
From the conservative dark into the ethical life the dense commuters come, repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,'
And helpless governors wake to resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the dead,
Who can speak for the dumb?
All I have is a voice to undo the folded lie, the romantic lie in the brain of the sensual man-in-the-street and the lie of Authority whose buildings grope the sky: there is no such thing as the State and no one exists alone; hunger allows no choice to the citizen or the police; we must love one another or die.
Defenceless under the night our world in stupor lies; yet, dotted everywhere, ironic points of light flash out wherever the Just exchange their messages: may I, composed like them of Eros and of dust, beleaguered by the same negation and despair, show an affirming flame.
Massive Flying Trampolines present Hazard to low flying Drones.
Showers of Drug cargoes fall from the skies into Suburban Gardens.
Mummy, the Easter Bunny has dropped off some presents. Funny, it doesn't taste like chocolate.
It's been windy down your way, I understand. Here in the Bracing Isles, it has been weather as usual. Here's a diatribe from mr ishmael, which also includes an Orkney Weather Commentary:
The
local, PBC Radio Morning Abo, it is unimaginably hateful to me - cod accents,
stagey linguistic anachronism and that hissing, Presbyterian bigotry
and racism, the moral compassing of the amoral Gordon Snot, that sort
of snooty, son of the Manse preachiness - and the English on that show
are even worse, they all sound like David and Ruth Archer, relentless,
sinister bullies, determinedly earnest and sanctimonious, people Living
the Quality of Life Dream, living in a hovel, with a rusty Land-Rover,
vile children and a couple of sickly goats which they should be banned
from keeping. They all go back South, these people, lacking the inner
resources required for island life, vulnerable beyond the fortifications
of the M25 and the M42. The Radio Orkney news is generally along the
lines of There's a big puddle on the road to Stromness; sheep are
fetching X poonds at the mart; for the fourteenth year in succession,
Mrs Annie Scragg has won the neeps'n'tatties pie-making competition at
the Mucksville Women's Guild; fairmers have expressed concern aboot the
geese annoying the coos and eatin' the seed and the weather is set to be
sunny, windy, wintry, fine, warm, very cold with sleet and snow, calm
with gale force winds.
I
have felt and seen hypodermic needles injecting anaesthetic into my
eyeballs and so I know of what I speak when I say I would rather stick
pins in my eyes than listen to Radio Orkney.
The
evening show is worse; they have music on it, local music. I saw it
once, in a community hall, that Jimmy Shand Polka music; I thought, not
for the first time, that I had wandered into a horror film; there was a
skeletal old woman, must've been eighty, thumbing away, deftly, at a
huge Fender Precision bass guitar, a wee fat man wrestling with one of
those fucking awful Hohner piano-keyed accordions, not a concertina, a
big, shiny fuck-off thing, the only appropriate setting for which is in
an Austrian Nazi oom-pah band - quite how that is traditional to the
Northern Isles I'm buggered if I know - and there was a weedy teenager,
snapping a Polka beat from a tiny wee snare drum. It is a matter of
taste, of course but I enjoy many, many types of music, from all over
the world and have even heard some amazing world music right here and
yet I couldn't find a space in my mind for this stuff. I couldn't move, I
felt as though I had been turned to lead.
Extracted from:
WOTSONTELLY. A TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE MIND. 21st March 2015
It is a huge relief to Orcadians that the Scottish Government has finally succumbed to the pleas and lamentations of the fairmers and has agreed to send a Geese Investigation Unit to the Isles. No doubt slaughter on a Biblical scale will ensue, to protect the fields and incomes of fairmers from hungry and weary geese, pausing on their epic planetary migrations to spite the fairmers by stripping their fields and poohing everywhere.
Anagram Corner - four from mr verge this Sunday.
worthy Arab semen
mother was nearby
erase brawny moth
seaworthy
barmen
Sports Corner
UK Olympic Victory : Competitive floor mopping
Stop Press Stop Press Stop Press
Charles gives Covid to the QE11. Well, Boris says they've just got to learn to live with the Virus. Or not.
Should
you wish to read the thoughts of mr ishmael and his young friend
stanislav, there are two anthologies available, edited by mr verge: Honest Not Invent
and Vent Stack - which are available to buy for mere money from Lulu or
Amazon. It is cheaper to buy from Lulu. Register an account with Lulu to save a couple of quid, as going straight into the link provided below seems to
make paypal think it's ok to charge in dollars, and apply their own conversion
rate, which will put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account
is set up, follow our link; a pop-up box asks for age confirmation - simply set
the date to (say) 1 January 1960, and proceed. (If you type the title, the
anthology will not appear as a search result until the "show explicit
content" box - found at the bottom left by scrolling down - has been
checked. You may also see the age verification box, as above, at this
point.)
The full title is "Vent Stack love from
stanislav" by ishmael smith, and the cover you'll see is red with white
titles and a picture of Buster the Previous Blog Dog having a green thought in
a green shade.
Link for the paperback:
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/ishmael-smith/vent-stack/paperback/product-q8jzk2.html?page=1&pageSize=4
Or...
shorter link, which might make it easier if you wish to
paste it into an email and tell a friend:
https://tinyurl.com/naajavmu
Honest, Not Invent is available in
paperback or hardback.
Link for Hard Back :
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/ishmael-smith/honest-not-invent/hardcover/product-njr7vg.html
Link for Paper Back :
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/ishmael-smith/honest-not-invent/paperback/product-wq2kpg.html
At checkout, try PROWRITINGAID15, WELCOME15 or TREAT15 in the coupon box,
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With the 15% voucher, the book (including delivery to a UK
address) should cost £10.89
