LETTER FROM AMERICA.

 

Vampire Capitalism

 

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posted Tuesday, 31 August 2010

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A neoliberal capitalist offensive is sucking us dry. Vampire capitalism wants the wholesale privatization of the public sector.

Financial capitalism produces nothing of real value. It's fatally hooked on ever-mounting rates of return, simultaneously divorced from and a parasite on the “real” economy.

With the executive and legislative branches in their pockets, the Lords of Capital are set to devour the entirety of the public sector – while forcing the public to finance the feast. The rallying cry is “austerity.”

Behind that lies the real motivation. A redistribution of wealth upwards. Screw the workers, increase our profits.

Financial capitalism is incapable of reproducing itself through productive investment, and so must feed on existing producers or on the State.

Since Wall Street over the decades has already broken up, consumed and exported much of the U.S. productive economy, that leaves the State and all of its parts.

Far from acting as a brake on his vampire friends, Obama leads the charge on corporate hijacking of the public sector dismantling the safety net that prevents th poorest from dying on the streets..

The pace of finance capital deterioration quickens, accelerating the timetable of the Right’s offensive. As the hunger grows, Wall Street’s servants become more aggressive and demanding, and there is nothing in the Democratic Party, as presently constituted, to stop them.

The Obama Boys have successfully shielded their Wall Street masters from anything worthy of the name financial reform. This means financial capitalism remains beyond the reach of meaningful public intervention by conventional methods.

With the air knocked out of mainstream reformers’ bony chests, Wall Street is poised for a Great Offensive against the political and social infrastructure of the United States.


Sound coalescingly familiar?

A MODERN FAIRY TALE, FROM THE GUARDIAN, BLAIR'S BOOKY-WOOK.

Blair writes that his meetings with Paisley were in his Downing Street "den" always and their meetings dealt with Northern Ireland "at a spiritual rather than a temporal level". At one point Paisley gave him a prayer book for his youngest child, Leo.Of one such meeting, he writes: "Once, near the end, he asked me whether I thought God wanted him to make the deal that would seal the peace process. I wanted to say yes, but I hesitated; though I was sure God would want peace, God is not a negotiator. I felt it would be wrong, manipulative, to say yes, and so I couldn't answer that question, that only he could and I hoped he would let God guide him."

Let God guide him, Aye, right.

I SIMPLY SAY THAT WHATEVER I DID, I DID IT FOR THE NOBLEST OF REASONS: MONEY.

Tony Blair: Gordon Brown tried to blackmail me.

 WE TWO QUEENS

THE SAGA OF GORDON THE RUINER by Stanislav, a young Polish Plumber ...

2 posts - 2 authors - Last post: 1 Feb 2009

... the hymns and prayers of stanislav the Polish plumber; .... Gordon did plot and intrigue against all and blackmail and bully any in his ...
myreader.co.uk/msg/1303238324.aspx - Cached - Similar

 We have always maintained in Ishmaelia and formerly in stanislavia, that the rancid cement in the Gang of Four,  the mutual adhesion which made Peter, the Lord Crabs, actually unsackable - he was, after all, just moved around -  made Brown unsackable and the dipso,  Campbell,  able to operate outside all normal bounds, like a porno-scribbling Rasputin and which made Blair able to do all those Blair things, without restraint - cash for honours, Mittal;  that horrid  little fucker, Ecclestone; the public humiliation of Imelda; the  Whoops! shredding of the expenses, the invasions - was due to a Mutually Assured Destruction   scenario, in which each had the dirt -  either the same dirt or different dirts - on the others.


Step back from Blair's glib nonsense, here, in his booky-wooky, about the Cash for Honours episode and question why an election-winning machine, like Blair & Co, not only could not, in ten years, sack or even move the Chancellor and was forced from office by the Chancellor but why  his own allies were powerless to even hint publicly at Brown's madness but instead effectively ensured a shoo-in for the Snotman, a succession, unopposed.


Even by the dismal standards of Westminster the doings of the Gang of Four - all, despite what would be deemed serious criminality in normal folk,  as yet unpunished - stink to high heaven.
It simply must follow that were any of them to speak the Big Truth - and not this soap opera shit which Blair is peddling - then things would unravel for all of them.  Their Axioms of Evil, NewLabour, sucking Money's cock, the abandonment of Clause Four, easily predate the highly dubious matter of the Dunblane Massacre, so it's not that, ot not just that.


Many insist that Uncle Sam's spooks, maybe thanks to Rupert Murdoch, or thanks to Old Bill, have lots of dirt on ALL UK politicians;  Rupert does seem to have unfettered access to Downing Street, whoever lives there, and Blair, viewed objectively,  does seem to have been more that customarily obliging to  the cousins' needs, no previous prime minister has so kow-towed to the Merkin Imperium, none of them have placed the wishes of a rogue and questionably legitimate US President above the national opinion and that of the rest of Europe - barring the little Dago with the moustache - no prime minister has leaned so heavily on the Attorney General as did Blair on his mate, Goldsmith, bluster as the worthless piece of shit does now,  of his independence and integrity; no prime minister has stooped so low as to steal an exam paper from the Internet and pass it off as bona fide military  intelligence.  Was Blair being blackmailed not only in number ten but from Langley, too, fucked at home, domestically  and abroad, internationally, powerless to act decently, even though his own daughter was driven to attempted suicide by his personal rottenness? Is it the much mooted tale of Blair cottaging;  is it the equally heavily rumoured stories of Brown's homosexuality at university, is there some dire menage a trois with the repulsive Mandelson, has Campbell some dark alcoholic's secret?


If the cassuss bellus was so incontovertibly made, why was Brown silent, on the sidelines, missing, in fact? And why wasn't he at least demoted for his lack of loyalty, his failure to hymn the New Crusade?  Equally, if, as he must, he knew it was all bollocks, why did he not speak up?  Blair would have fallen and Brown been lionised.  Why didn't Brown  and Balls pounce, what restrained the Great Humanitarian? Are millions dead, homeless, maimed, refugee because the   British government, the Blair Project,  was not just wrong, stupid and incompetent but rotten through and through, its heart made sclerotic by  blackmail and deceit ?*

What on Earth was behind Snotty making Mandy joint prime minister in the dying days? Why did he recruit, at the eleventh hour,  to be his saviour, the man who had been his betrayer, who had unrequited him to the Nth. degree, tantalised him with promises of support, whilst whispering the sweeter in Blair's jug ear, dashing his dreams of dominion and plunging him into  a lifelong, phone-flinging, nail-biting, seat-stabbing, snot-eating   rage?  This is eat-your-own-shit, climbing-the-walls, howling-at-the-moon certifiable madness;  what powers, what stresses, what frightful secrets ignite such behaviours? Whatever they are, they have made the quartet, all of them, quite visibly, if one just steps back and looks objectively, stark, raving mad, as though they have blackmailed their own sanity to the point where it has nothing left to give them.  Serves them right.

 *Some claim that Bush and Cheney would have invaded Iraq, regardless of UK involvement, and they probably would; if that is the case, though,why was Bush so desperate to have Britain onside? The answer lies not in our military contribution which was minimal, compared to Uncle Sam's, but in the legitmacy which we provided, enabling Dubya to claim that his bloodthirtsy, marauding banditry was actually a  benign, globalised intervention,  a Coalition of the Willing.  Whether Bush would have gone without Blair poodling us, exchanging British bodies for his and Imelda's pension, is something we shall never know for certain.

----------------------------------------------------

The No-Longer-NewLabour leadership  candidates, above, must know some of the answers. Milliband major was close to Blair, Balls to Brown,; Abbott promotes her embarrassing TeeVee career on the basis that she knows shit, has her ear to the ground but couldn't possibly comment, Andrew.


Is no-one in the press or in the party going to ask these chumps just what exactly the fuck was going on with the Gang of Four, are none of them to volunteer an opinion, an apology for their failure to expose a canker, lance a boil, grasp a nettle,  there must be any number of metaphors to describe an entire parliamentary party unwilling to shine a light in a dark corner, roll back the stone, draw back the veil.


The Blair-Brown years disfigure that part of my life, my consciousness, which really wants to believe that there is Decency in public life.  Mr TDG chides me, ever, that there is not and nor should we expect there to be;  he is wiser than I and maybe he's right but  I know, merely from the reactions to stanislav's diatribes, that this episode  has similarly distressed many, many others, way down inside. 

Each, successive grotesquery obliterating its predecessors, as they did, we found ourselves in the wilderness of mirrors, credulous and incredulous, smoking guns, silver bullets, retaliations-in-first, full-and-far-reaching cover-ups, strenuous denials,  the whole grimy business Em-cee'd by the likes of the self-fellating Nick Robinson and Michael Kneepads White, Toilets Maguire and Polly Mascara, bless her,  grown exile-rich, championing the poor.  skymadeupnewsandfilth - committed, via it's owner, Rupe, to NewLabour -  presented each new outrage as a separate news story,  rather than the continuum of corruption which it was - MoneyCrime, HateCrime, EarthCrime, ChildCrime, RaceCrime,WarCrime - or HoonCrime - nothing was outside NewLabour's growing criminal expertise; no-one,  no-one in this current unBeauty Contest raised a whimper of protest. The Labour people of Hartlepool and Sedgefield and Kirkcaldy returned Mandy and Tony and Snotty, time and again. Thes people will just be hoping for a quick decision and forget the last fifteen years, quick. Others, constitutionally, intuitively, sentimentally, by art and culture and birth an experience formerly of the left, like myself and mr ptb, will remain horrified by the apparent continuation of the entire  epoch, of Blair the Warmonger lavishly rewarded, of Field Marshal Snot punished only by loss of office, of Mandelstein mincing around, rich with pensions and fixer's fees and of the depressive dipso, flattered and stipended by a slatternly media.  Thieves and mass murderers, courted, made heroic,  their would-be successors yet in thrall, perhaps the new blackmailees.



This ghastly quintet, surely the least suitable of all Labour's parliamentary cabal, speaks constantly of good and openness,  they eschew Snotty's trans-pair-ency and sol-you-shuns and Vaahl-ewes, but their aspirational, inclusive, socially mobile, shared  vernacular is larded with promises of paradise, of good, of honesty; simultaneously they wish to draw a discreet curtain over the Blair-Brown-Campbell- Mandelstein atrocity, to, Palinesque, refudiate it, make it go away, without ever offering us a word of explanation, almost as if it never happened.

They are a shower of impudent bastards, united in their contempt for their party, for the nation.  In their conspiracy of silence - Abbott's sotto voce, Well she knew, but she could not say; Milliband's Let's move forward, away from my cowardice, my complicity, my treason; Balls's, I told 'em, but they wouldn't listen and Bubbles's You can trust me, I'm from Up North - they invite us to join them, anew, in turning a blind eye to the most wretchedly criminal gang ever to occupy Downing Street, invite us to blackmail ourselves.


Until somebody in Labour  'fesses-up to who was blackmailing whom and about what there will be no Opposition worthy of the name;  nobody, after all, pays any attention to what we say here.

WHAT THE PAPERS SAY. THE FILTH-O-GRAPH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE MODERATE US.

  This,  just now, on a page purporting to examine  Blair's Booky-wooky,  tickled me.

 

 

 

aberdeen06840

Today 03:50 AM

Recommended by
4 people

Where is the moderator?

I detest Tony Blair.
However comments like those made by amcgrath have no place on this or any other website.

The Daily Telegraph should apologise to it's readers for letting it through.

Report Recommend

amcgrath

Today 03:20 AM

Recommended by
10 people

what a complete cunt.

TALIMEN: DON'T TOUCH THE DEPUTY INFIDEL.

FROM SKYMADEUPNEWSANDFILTH'S BAD AFTERNOON,
WITH KAY FRIGHT

 KAY BURLEY, OF SKYMADEUPNEWSANDFILTH

Welcome back and our man in Afghanistan, Jeremy Knobhead,   is reporting that Taliban sources have insisted that Britain's Deputy Joker, Mr Nick Gimp, not be attacked or in any way delayed from returning home.  Jeremy, what can you make up for us?

MR JEREMY THOMPSON
OF SKYMADEUPNEWSANDFILTH.

Well, yes, Kay and thank you and viewers will be interested to know that it gets more and more difficult to make things up from here.  Every time another half-dozen British or American teenagers getsblown to fucking pieces, even before the screaming has stopped, some gobby fucking thug from Supreme Allied Command Kabul - or Wall Street -  is out telling us that this is a sign of victory, that the more of our troops come home in bits the more we are winning,

GENERAL BOZO PETRAEUS.
YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOUR LIFE.
OR, AT THE VERY LEAST, YOUR LEGS.
OBAMA?  FUCK HIM.
I RUN THIS SHIT
I MEAN SHOW

and in a  sense, Kay, you couldn't make it up, not even experts, like you and I.  But anyway, Clegg, he's been here, poncing about in his shirtsleeves. This was him earlier, talking to the troops:

2nd LIEUTENANT GIMP BORES THE TROOPS SHITLESS.

Fellow Coalition troops, no, no need to salute me, I am actually very much like you, only much richer and my life is more valuable, being a politician and your deputy commander in chief, but even so, look,  we  are truly brothers in arms, y'know, I too, am fighting for the country in a coalition, so, in a very real sense, we are all in this together....

Oh, for fuck's sake ......groans....catcalls....fuck off, you pansy...wanker.....

And I really do wish that I could be out here at the frontline with you only it'd be too dangerous and I might get hurt and I do have a wife and children, like many of you , although me and Donna Teresa Isabella Esperanza Conchita Valencia Por Favor Tortilla Speedy Gonzales are actually married, and not just shacked-up, as, I gather, are many of you chaps. Nothing wrong with that - as long as you're not benefit cheats, like Mr Laws, no, only joking, thought I was in the toilets, 

LIBDEMS IN CONFERENCE.

with the party members, and I do mean members, a-ha-ha.  Only not like that, I've slept with thirty nine women, which is nearly as many MPs as I have . And that's not counting the ones who'll join Labour, very soon.  Am I saying that we we in the Coalition  don't respect all sorts of families,  of course I'm not, excepting poor ones, of course. Is there any chance I might get one of those breakfasts, like political leaders all get whern they come out here?  No? Oh well, never mind.

Now, look,  I know some of you, those that can read,  will remember that just before the election, which I so comprehemsively won, or would have done if I hadn't lost, I did say that you were all wasting your time out here  and that anyway, my new party, unlike the two old parties, was against war and stuff like that. Are you asking me if I was against the war then but for it now, the answer is a resounding, unequivocal  Maybe.  And those that know me, like Senora Teresa Isabella Esperanza Conchita Valencia Por Favor Tortilla Speedy Gonzales, will tell you that I am very much a man of my word, it's what I came into politics to do. Tell lies.  It may appear that there is a contradiction between what I said then and what I say now but, you know, we have to be grown-up about this. Or you do. When I said the Tories were rubbish what I meant was that they are rubbish unless they make me Deputy Prime Minister, with my own cage and everything. And now everything is fine. And now that I am allowed to look in Mr Oxbone's Big Book Of Made-Up Numbers I can tell you that all the things I stood for before the election were wrong, especially about war and stuff, and everything Mr Cameron tells me to say is right.  There. I am glad to have cleared that up.

These intra uterine devices, I gather they are the very devil  and can be quite painful.  But I want you all to know that in the Coalition we are comitted to making up reasons for you being here until it is time to make up reasons for you not being here and there isn't too much we can do about the IUDs.  Try and not step on them, that's the best thing. Shouldn't be too hard.  In conclusion, mates, I would just like to say that you have no stauncher ally in Whitehall that me. Until I change my mind, again. It is what I came into politics to do, Visit brave young people fighting an unwinnable war for a corrupt administration and tell lies to them. Oh, and have my photo taken.  Like I was a proper man.

Five more years, chaps;  that's the thing, it's what the country needs; this first five years, and then another five years, and another, and another.

THE TRUTH? LOOK, IT'S SOMETHING YOU JUST HAVE TO MAKE-UP
AS YOU GO ALONG, IT'S THAT PRECIOUS TO ME.
IT REALLY IS.


You see, Kay, how hard  it is?  Sometimes I think I should go back to being a Redcoat. Can't be any worse than reporting on these cunts....

But the Talimen, Jeremy...

Wossat?  Oh, yeah, this communication was intercepted earlier. It is believed to be from Osama bin Laden himself....Well, yes, everbody knows he's dead but, y'know, we have to say what the CIA tell us, if the CIA say bin Laden is a clear and present threat then who am I to argue? Whaddayathinkiyam, a fucking journalist?

   Here's the gist of it, from a video on Al Jazeera, a proper news station:

(Shadowy figure with teatowel around his head, terrible, awful,  wailing, Arabic music....)

Salaam eleikum, salaam eleikum, salaam eleikum.

Brothers, don't  touch the  infidel, the Clegg, not a hair, brothers, of his empty head, I command you in the name of Allah, peace and blessings be upon his name, that the Clegg  be permitted to travel home and continue his work of wrecking the Britishers' country. He is but an crazy man but will cause more harm to his nation than  any number of our bombing brothers could achieve.  The Clegg will take from the people their will to live. He will bring fear and despair, hatred and strife as cirtizen turns against citizen, as young turn against old, as black turns against white;  his is a mission of destruction, he will make of the United Kingdom a Gaza Strip.

(Firing of Kalashnikov rifles into the air......Allah Akhbar, Allah Akhbar)

And even now he tampers with the voting system, that the infidel Britishers may never be rid of him and his  cursed lies.  But a handful, a piss puddle,   voted for him and his ladymen and yet he travels the world, even in Afghanistan, like a monarch.  Brothers, the regimes in our countries are lesser than camel-droppings, half of them are being ruled by the military, and the other half by playboy sons of kings and presidents. We have long experienced them. Now,  it is the turn of the Britishers to feel despotism.

( More Kalashnikov...more Allah stuff..)

Already they have endured Blair, the Evil One, simpering and grinning, picking his party's pocket and then pissing in it, and Brown, the lunatic monster  and great, clunking fairyman  who brought tyranny and ruin and the suppression of liberties to their own country and called it the War Against Terror,  that is to say, Brothers, me.

(Raghead Chorus, to the tune of Bread of Heaven :
Oh-oh-sa-ama, Oh-oh-sa-ama.
We'll support you ever more, ever more
We'll suppor-or-ort you ev-er-er more.)

Now, they will really suffer. Cameron and the Clegg barely know what day it is, know nothing of history, nothing of work, are fit only to sloganise, one eye to the television camera, one to the headline writer, theirs is a government of vengeful, tongue-tied  schoolboys, of frightened ladymen, unspeakable lawyers  and elderly ballroom dancers yet it would tear down all comfort, all security, it would cruelly manage the lives of the sick and old, would punish the weak and the vulnerable, would segregate society formally, into the haves, with so-called Free schools, and the have-fuck-alls, with nothing to call their own, merely the scorn of shit newspapers.

Brothers, it is a happy day for us. The British have a government of terrorists;  millionaires, like the House of Saud, above and beyond the law, like the House of Saud and like despots all over the world, educated at Eton and Oxbridge; like the House of Saud, intermarried and interbred, part of the large banking family of Jew and Arab alike.  The Clegg will rewrite British democracy so that he is truly, actually monarchical and he will call it the New Politics;  he will call it Grown-Up; taking Britain back to the nineteen-thirties, of scalped wages and fawning deference to the Banker and the Spiv Businessman,  he will call it Reform.

Brothers, as far as Britain is concerned, our work is done for us, by the Clegg,  harm him not, for he is our ally; suffer him to live and return home, there to wreak havoc. Bismillah, it is the will of Allah.
--------------

So, there it is, Kay, the Clegg, Britain's own walking nine-eleven, a veritable walking, talking, smirking dirty bomb, set to do what Hitler couldn't, and getting away with it, too,  just because people hate Gordon Snot and the Clegg ain't him....

Thanks, Jeremy, you've interviewed the Clegg, haven't you, whadidyamakeovim?

I though he was a cunt, Kay, doesn't everybody ?

Thanks, Jeremy, and after the break all the Sport with that bloke who looks like a mad, grinning geography teacher.  And Jayne Tits'll be here with the business news. Or is it the entertainment news? Hardly matters, It's all made-up . Stay tuned or I'll come round your house and bite your face off

More Petraeus victory news;

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/afghanistan/7972863/Afghanistan-bomb-attacks-kill-twenty-one-US-soldiers-in-48-hours.html

HOW TO SPEAK COALITION. THE SILLY SEASON.

FLASHMAN'S CLOSE SHAVE.

 GOSH, YOU CHAPS, I FEEL LIKE A PROPER SOLDIER, BRAVELY EATING THIS BREAKFAST, MUST GIVE MYSELF A MEDAL, WHAT, WHEN I GET HOME, SAFE AND SOUND, AS I WILL.

Now look, the Taliban tried very hard to kill me.  Well, they might have tried to kill me. At the very least, they might have thought about trying to kill me, rather as I think about killing them, all the time, when I'm not thinking of ways of punishing poor people, that is. Look, I know that they actually do kill lots of people, those chaps coming home in boxes and so on, most weeks, but that's absolutely vital if, as a nation,  we are to ensure that America rewards our senior poiticians, in retirement. Now I know that some people have difficulty with the fact that politicians all have stonking pensions and free homes and furniture and directorships and so shouldn't really be getting rich from American terror companies but frankly, i think we all need to be grown-up about this and you should all fucking shut the fuck up or else we'll have to raise your pension-age to seventy.  Or eighty.  Or actually abolish the wretched things altogether, 'snot as though you'v e paid for them or anything. I don't actually need the money from GangsterCorp, not like Mr Blair and his ghastly Scouse bicycle,  but you  know, we Flashmans didn't get where we are by declining stolen money and when, after Christmas, the party sacks me, I might just as well go and lecture in the States. So let's have some sympathy out there;  the Talimen didn't kill me but there was a remote chance that they might have, and that's actually worse.  Look, I mean, just ask some single mother in her forties, biting her nails, in the council home she will soon have to vacate,  if she'd rather have her Darren come home dead or instead be worried by him briefly visiting Afghaniland inside a cordon of steel and  having his photo taken a lot and I'm pretty darn sure that she'd rather have him dead.  So, you see, it's worse for me. But what I always say is that we're all in this together or, as we used to say in the Bullingdon Club, which I was never in, dulce et decorum est pro Davidus mori, it is good to die for one's unelected prime minister, and these chaps are lucky we give them the chance to do so.

ANDROID COMMANDER DATA FATHERS HUMAN CHILD.

DAVID CAMERON, UK PRIME MINISTER, AFTER A FASHION.

LT. COMMANDER DATA,  OF THE STARSHIP ALL-IN-THIS-TOGETHER..
HIS FIVE YEAR MISSION TO STAY IN OFFICE AT ALL COSTS.
"ENSIGN CLEGG, PUT THE CIVILISATION THRUSTERS IN REVERSE"
"AYE-AYE, PRETEND CAPTAIN, FULL SPEED BACKWARDS TO THE GLORY DAYS OF THE NINETEEN-THIRTIES."

And something else. We've just had a working baby, no, no, not working as in common people, working for their betters, like us, no,  fuck that, working in the sense that she's not bedevilled by the old inbreeding germs, good working order, geddit? So that's another reason to love the Coalition of which I am in charge, only not like a proper prime minister.  One who'd actually won an election, against the worst, most despised  govament in history.  Just because I couldn't even manage  to do  that doesn't mean I shouldn't be prime minister, winning elections isn't what it's all about. If I ever do win one, which I won't,  then that will be what it's all about but since I haven't, it isn't.  And Mr Gimp didn't win one either. Look, the fact of the matter is that he lost seats. That's why he's deputy loser.

Now look, just like all the children, little Flo will have to make her way in the world with  the barest fortune of about a hundred million pounds to help her on her way, so, in a sense, she's representative of all the babies in the country. Flo won't have a babybung or whatever they are. And her mother certainly won't be able to stay at home all day, dossing, or bonding with baby, as the idle sluts call it.  That's what nannies and servants are for, just as long as you don't pay them too much. Spoils 'em for other employers, that does. Having little baby Flo as we just have is almost like a pure publicity stunt of the sort performed by Mr Snot, the mad fairy  and Mr Kennedy, the pisshead but Samantha and I wouldn't stoop to that, any more than I would ride my bike with a limousine following behind me, with my clothes and my comb. No, we are just like any other normal couple of fabulously wealthy, land-owning, over-privileged, inbred and actually quite ugly fuckpigs, she equine with a big hooter, and me like an android, pretending that we are all in this together. With you. As if. Why can't people just be fooled, like Mr Coulson says they will, and support the Coalition? It's what they voted for, after all. Full speed astern. Unsteady as she goes.

EVENSONG. SEE? OLD MEN CAN PLAY THE BLUES.

A happy transposition. Maestro Segovia plays the Mongoose Tune, Bach Prelude BWV 1007.

ANY QUESTIONS, A CARDIGAN SPEAKS.

MRS DALE, THE NATION'S PREMIER POLITICAL BLOGGER.

FUCKING EMPTY VESSEL MOST NOISE  IS MAKING, INNIT.
STUPID FUCKING BASTARD.

(from the teachings of stanislav, the plumber)

Some  of the nicest people l have ever met worked in  public libraries; when I worked in one of them, for a while, I felt that I became nicer. It was in the early eighties, ancient technology,  and so I got to date stamp the books out and in, just like the grown-up librarians who had so impressed  me,  as I withdrew books my parents could never have afforded, in that very library, as a child.  I felt then and I feel now that going to the library makes everybody a bit nicer. e-Things are all very well but they're not books, with spines which you must read sideways. eThings don't have a Just Returned shelf, e-Things and Amazon will peddle you all sorts of consumer shite but they are no substitute for a trained librarian, no substitute for being able to carry away an armful of books on nothing other than the understanding that you will return them within a specified time;  libraries make people better, make people nicer; libraries engender a spirit of enquiry and crucially of trust, adulthood, community.

Mrs Ian Dale, on Question Time on Friday evening, said words to the effect of Ooh Mrs, shut that door, the libraries aren't getting the numbers,  people get their information now from the Internet, read my blog, starve the libraries of funds and just, you know, Google shit; it's one of those difficult choices which the coalition has to make, bonuses for bankers  or libraries for the rest and in my judgement it's a no-brainer, who needs libraries, these days, I mean.  It may get him a safe Tory seat, but not in the constituency from which QT was being broadcast, seldom heard a panellist get such a barracking, nor so deservedly, wretched, poisonous  old poof.

Public libraries, originally furnished by Andrew Carnegie, a businessman just a league or two ahead of  the monstrosities promoted by the BBC and TinselTits Davies on the Dragons' Den, a little more intelligent than the ruffian shopkeepers beloved af the Coaltion of the Unwholesome,  like that belligerent, gobby git from M and S, flogging his sweatshopped lingerie and jumpers to sixty year-old girls. The Carnegie-gifted libraries, subsequently maintained by local authorities, just by their existence, make the world a better place. They are an oasis, into which you can just walk, right in off the street. Who gives a fuck if the numbers attending go up and down? I go to the library less than I used to but when I do go I am amazed by the numbers of children present, by the numbers doing local history ree-surch, the numbers just sitting down, reading the papers, resting, maybe, in a stimulating but undemanding environment. In my library there are a couple of dozen computers, nearly always occupied - many hundreds of people a day reading, browsing, surfing, researching; youngsters acquiring lifelong learning skills; community and  voluntary projects publicised, promoted, conceived and assisted, good stuff, brought into being, by the library.

I used to do what we called The Housebounds, I would visit a library customer unable to make it to the library, talk to them and establish what they might like and try, next week,  to bring them something suitable; whether it was Zane Grey or Alistair Maclean or Catherine Cookson, my visit was a sign that our society valued book-reading, valued thought and opinion, fiction, fantasy, poetry, history, biography;  all should be available, free of charge, to young and old, hale and hearty or infirm, that potboilers or heavy-duty literature should be equally available to all.

Mrs Dale and his ghastly, opportunist  coalitionees want to make libraries history or - worse - a branch of Tesco. Mrs Dale and her impudent allies would charge us for Sunshine,  for the very air we breathe;  when we hear people talking about axing the libraries we should seek the swastika, tattooed on their arses.

This repulsive, whining moron - Oh, well, Ex-cuse me, Eddie, but I just happen to think this and I just happen to  think that - old-womaning on the radio, made a fool of himself and his bitter cause. How dare an audience treat you so, rage his own feverish communicants,  over at  his blog, perhaps shocked to learn that they champion a figure, once out in the daylight, of derision, perhaps among them dawns an understanding of why Mrs Dale can't get selected by a Tory constituency - decent people (or an audience of BBC-handpicked Labour lefties, as his fans woefully shrill)  can't stand him.   If you listen to it, you'll find that, like any old queen, he was determined to have the last bitchy word, even as the audience mocked him and  his worthless twittering;  I don't see the point of any of it, said one old boy.  

The point of it, though, to which we must awaken, is the reversal of civilisation.  Dale, of course, is a joke, his fans, like himself, hidebound, unthinking,  cowardly and irrelevant; tearing down the libraries is just the sort of rank  and unconservative  vandalism which would appeal to the Daily Mailers who relish Dale's vapid gossip and tedious, lacklustre prose, as though reading that shit is the next best thing to being in the Cabinet of Fools and Chancers.

Talking, in the House of Lords,  of the Thatcher privatisations,  Lord Avon, Harold Macmillan  damned his fellow Tories, by then a generation of spivs like that ghastly, grubby turd, Tebbit and the cock-waving Parkinson,  coarse, ill-lettered, unprincipled gabshites like Dale himself, for selling-off the family silver; coming from a proper Tory landowner that remark must have had sour piquancy for the faux-Churchillian grocer's daughter and her greedy, seedy band. Selling-off the family silver is one thing but the  stupid deficit fetishists' assault on the libraries is an whole other thing,  the dismantling of a network of unqualified social good,  a continuum of non-commercial entertainment and endless, lifelong enquiry and learning,  of something which, unlike Mrs Dale,  really is a national treasure.

Leave of absence.

Death came calling - as he often does, just when and where you don't expect him - and my oldest friend died, suddenly. With your permission, I'll take a day or two, in eulogy and in mourning.

EVENSONG GIL SHAHAM, BACH, GAVOTTE EN RONDEAU.

WHAT THE PAPERS DON'T SAY, THE FILTH-O-GRAPH, EVERYBODY NEEDS A WILLY, JUST NOT THE PEOPLE BLOWN UP BY THE IRA

 

 Happiest, as ever, bashing the poor, and therefore currently wetting itself, the Filth-O-Graph fails to mention yetserday's revelation by the Ulster Cops Ombudsman, that Willie Whitelaw, Maggie's Northern Ireland Secretary, conspired with some Noncing Monsignor or bent Cardinal to spirit-away a Roman Catholic priest, even though he was suspected by the miltary and the police of having masterminded the bombing of the town of Claudy, killing and maiming scores of innocent citizens and relocating him, "Father" Chesney,  over the border, just as the Catholic Church does with its batallions of nonces, its tumescent menbeasts in frocks.

NO DEALS WITH TERRORISTS, ABSOLUTELY NONE.
UNLESS THEY'RE PRIESTS.

The official view was that to prosecute a priest would further enflame already smouldering sectarian resentments and such may well have been a legitimate concern and reaction,  a very difficult choice but, it may be argued, the wrong one, emboldening the IRA and, who knows, maybe other Hard Men of The Cloth.  Be that as it may,  it is an absolute outrage that it has taken forty years for this collusion to come to light, especially since the IRA commander is now the Deputy First Minister, condemning terrorism on all sides, bar his own;  how must the citizens of Claudy feel, preached at by a mass murderer, preached at by a Church  not only full of child abusers but a church having colluded in mass murder and preached at by a British government and Intelligence Service then too fearful to prosecute wrongdoing?  It doesn't matter at the Filth-O-Graph, Two Homes Eric Pickles is busy bullying people, Hurrah!

CHARITY COVERETH THE MULTITUDE OF SINS, 1 PETER 4:8

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MINING NEWS, NOW AND THEN

In Tragedy's ledgers, the good news from Chile does little to offset the losses in bent Pakistan, run and as we see, shockingly mismanaged by dynasties of corrupt, Oxbridge-trained, moustachioed, warlord, despot fuckpigs, the smirking turd who presently holds the Pakistan reins is said to have embezzled more than enough to meet most of the needs of the flooded peasants from his own pocket. As if.

May a shoe monsoon rain on his brilliantined head, the horrible fucking bastard.

PAKISTAN PRESIDENT, MR ALI BABA.

OF THE FORTY THIEVES PARTY.

But we must rejoice at the news that 33 Chilean copper miners have been located, safe and well, seven hundred metres below ground, after a fortnight's frantic probing and that they can be sustained over the four months which their complete rescue will take. So often these events turn into horror stories for those watching and waiting; in this case, we hope, Death's sergeants must fill their quotas elsewhere and Chilean families, this time, will be reunited.

MESSAGE FROM BELOW, WE ARE ALL ALIVE AND WELL.

GOD IS GREAT.

skymadeupnewsandfilth long ago, in concert with the Tory party, cast our own coal miners as the Enemy Within and no doubt, if it had a presence in Chile, would cheerfully damn all its working class in favour of Money's usual gangster cliques, but fuck them, 33 souls, rescued from down, deep in the ground is welcome, good news.

I think it'll be a great day when mining is entirely automated and no-one has to go down under the ground; it's great that UK communities, once so wedded to disaster and chronic illness, largely no longer so labour but Oh, for fuck's sake, in such rag order did we arrive here, mounted police charging women and children, whilst their Mistress dined with General Pinochet,  privatising bandits and torturers, all in this together.

STRAIGHT SIMON HUGHES, THANKS BE TO ALLAH, MISSING FROM THE PREVIOUS POST, A HUNDRED DAYS OF SODOM

THE SUNDAY COALITION, A HUNDRED DAYS OF SODOM.

LIBERAL DEMOCRATS CELEBRATE THEIR FIRST ONE HUNDRED DAYS

OF EATING TORY SHIT.  MMMM, NOT BAD, SAY MOST, HAD WORSE .

Good morning, obedient, credulous Coalition-citizens,  and as Deputy Prime Minister and Second Reforming Citizen, with my own cage and everything, I would just like to review my party's progress these last hundred days. Even though there isn't any.

 MR NICKY GIMP, MP, DEPUTY PRIME MINISTER OF THE UK.

The first thing I would like to say is that some of you have commented that during the election -  in which you decisively  chose me to direct the nation's affairs entirely as I made them up each day -   I often mentioned that mine was the New Party and the other two were parties were Old Parties, whereas now I talk about my party as it was at the turn of the nineteenth century and before. Which is it, they ask, an old party or a new party, and the answer, of course, is that it's both, or neither, depending on what we discover in Mr Osborne's Big Book of Made-Up Numbers and I am happy to set the record straight on that; it's a sign of the New politics, which you all voted for, even though we actually, in my New or Old Party didn't win any more seats, so that was clearly a resounding victory for my election strategy of being a New Party.  You know, to get less support than last time is a mark of how suitable I am to lead the LibDems back into the toilets. Where we belong. And never come out again. Which, with the prime minister's help, is what I am doing.

People say to me C'mon, Nick, you're clever, how can you claim to be progressive, y'know, when you are actually offering a figleaf  - or a spiked leather G-string - to a gang of fucked-up bullies  and spivs who are putting civilisation into reverse. And the answer to that, too, is simple, You don't have to act progressive to be progressive, Oh, I know, that's hard for people to get their mouths round, I mean heads,  but it's true, LibDems are progressive, it's just that we act like Barbarians.  But just because we act like Barbarians and do Barbarian things, that's no reason to say we are Barbarians, no, far from it; as we say in the Tory party, it's the bullshit that counts, rather than the truth. Truth is whatever Mr Murdoch lets you away with,   for example, and this is from the Sun's Big Book Of Being A Good Citizen In a Big Society (free with today's NewsOfTheWorld): Bankers and non-tax-paying FilthMerchants good, benefit claimants scum.  See? The kids have gotta learn to say it in the Free Schools Coalition Assembly, every morning, altogether children: Bankers and non-tax-paying FilthMerchants good, benefit claimants scum.  It's what I came into politics to do.

Look, it was my party, and only my party, which at the election before last fielded a copraphiliac as potential home seckatry. Now, I suggest that you can't get more progressive than that, all-night shit parties down Queen Anne's Gate.

Eating shit made me bald.

Mr Mark Oaten, MP, former LibDem home affairs spokesman promised to be tough on prostitution, whilst himself paying rentboys to defecate in his face; surely he should be in the coalition cabinet. Isn't it an outrage that men of Mark's quality are excluded from the rape of the country?

And if you want proof of my New Politics, of very different people working towards the same shitty aims, then just look at this,

just exactly the same as the Old Politics which we all despise so much. David Laws, my fellow Oxbridge millionaire-all-in-it-together  New Politician, with my other  fellow Oxbridge millionaire-all-in-it-together  New Politician, Mr Gideon Oxbone. Now, I know that ordinary obedient citizens, living out there in Cutsville, or wherever, get angry about millionaire politicians fellating Russian gangsters on yachts stolen from the Russian people  but frankly, y'know, they've just gotta get over it. It's time, I put it to you, for grown-up politics and that means, frankly, not obsessing about wrong and right. Basically, all you need to know is that whatever  we do is right and in the interests of the country. And whatever you do, in your own selfish interests, is wrong. And that's why you must be punished, It's in your own interests, You know, I can't underestimate the need for cuts enough, or overundersetimate  - You are all in this together, after all.

Look, you know,  it's one of the biggest tragedies of modern, invented history (author. mr murdoch) that Mr Laws was forced from office just because he was fiddling his housing benefit. It's not as though he was doing anything wrong, is it, a man in his position, of his standing, a former banker, it's not as though he needed the money now, is it? We, in the ToryLibDems, believe that people's sexual orientation is their own business and if to protect their privacy they have to steal from the taxpayer why that's just exactly what they should do, to the tune of  a mere forty thousand pounds; it might be  three or four years' wages to some people, eight years disability allowance, but we're scrapping that, so there's one thing less for them to worry about and they might get better and do a decent day's work, like the rest of us do.  You know,  hard working people in this country, the ones who voted decisively for the Coalition of Reform, they are heartily sick of supporting people, just because they happen to have incurable diseases or are old and have paid in their NI contributions and their taxes and all that rubbish.  Am I being crual and harsh, I ask myself, and the answer of course, is No, I most certainly am not. Sick people need a good helping kick in the face, if you ask me. But Mr Laws's case was different,  he was a millionaire,  weasely, poisonous little fag, terrified of his ghastly family's condemnation, terrified of people seeing him as  he is,  a rotten pinstripe hypocrite, furiously bent on persecuting the sick and the  wounded, people like Mr Laws need all the help we can give him. And all the money.  But this is no reason to ease-up in the war on single mothers, filthy sluts; we were elected to make it hard for them, impossible for them really, and as long as I'm Chief Gimp that's what the prime minister and his fellow public school Oxbridge millionaire-all-in-it-together New Politicians, like Lord Leon Brittan, 78, warts and all,  are going to do.

HONEST NICK GIMP AND HIS HONEST LIBDEMS ATTACK THE TORY ENEMY.

WHAT A SHOWER OF SHIT.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

FURTHER LIBDEM WIKIREADING:

YOUNGER READERS MIGHT WONDER AT MR MONGOOSE'S  AND OTHERS' REFERENCES TO THE DOGSHOOTERS; THEY ARE EXPLAINED BELOW.

JEREMY THORPE, A FORMER, OLD ETONIAN  LEADER WHO NEARLY GOT INTO BED WITH THE TORIES BUT WAS TOO BUSY BEING IN BED WITH A RENT BOY.

Homosexuality scandal

Persistent rumours about Thorpe's sexuality dogged his political career. Norman Scott, a former male model, met Thorpe in 1961 while working as a stable lad. He later claimed that he and Thorpe had a homosexual relationship between 1961 and 1963, when homosexual acts were still illegal in Britain. Scott's airing of these claims led to an inquiry within the Liberal Party in 1971, which exonerated Thorpe. Scott, however, continued to make the allegations.
In October 1975, Scott was walking on Exmoor with a Great Dane bitch (called "Rinka"), which had been lent to him by a friend for protection. Scott was confronted by Andrew "Gino" Newton, a former airline pilot, who was armed with a gun. Newton shot and killed the dog, then pointed the gun at Scott, but it apparently failed to go off. Newton was convicted of the offence in March 1976.
During his court appearance, Scott repeated his claims of a relationship with Thorpe, and alleged that Thorpe had threatened to kill him if he spoke about their affair. Scott also sold letters to the press which he claimed to be love letters from Thorpe. One of these included the memorable line "Bunnies can and will go to France", which supposedly showed Thorpe using his 'pet-name' for Scott in connection with a promise to find Scott a well-paid job in France.
The scandal forced Thorpe to resign as Liberal Party leader on 9 May 1976. He was replaced temporarily by his predecessor Jo Grimond and then permanently by David Steel.
Andrew Newton was released from prison in April 1977, and then revived the scandal by claiming that he had been hired to kill Norman Scott. On 4 August 1978, Thorpe was accused along with David Holmes (deputy Treasurer of the Liberal Party), George Deakin (a night club owner) and businessman John Le Mesurier (not the actor or the athletics coach) of conspiracy to murder. Thorpe was also separately accused of inciting Holmes to murder Scott.
The trial was scheduled to take place a week before the general election of 1979, but Thorpe obtained a fortnight's delay to fight the election. However, the scandal had become too much, and Thorpe was defeated.

Trial

Thorpe was put on trial at Number One Court at the Old Bailey on 8 May 1979, a week after losing his seat. He was charged with attempted murder and conspiracy to murder. One of the chief prosecution witnesses was former Liberal MP and failed businessman Peter Bessell, who claimed to have been present while the murder plot was discussed within the Liberal Party. According to Bessell, poison had been rejected as a method of killing Scott because "it would raise too many questions if he fell dead off a barstool." One alleged plan had been to shoot Scott in Cornwall and dispose of the body down a disused tin mine.^[1]
Bessell agreed to appear as a witness in exchange for immunity from prosecution. His credibility was damaged, however, because he had sold his story to The Sunday Telegraph for a fee that would double from £25,000 to £50,000 if the prosecution was successful. Thorpe did not testify in the case, but his counsel, led by George Carman QC, argued that although he and Scott had been friends, there had been no sexual relationship. Carman claimed that Scott had sought to blackmail Thorpe, and that although Thorpe and his friends had discussed "frightening" Scott into silence, they had never conspired to kill him.
Summing up the case, Mr Justice Cantley was widely criticised for showing a nakedly pro-establishment bias,^[2] in which he described Scott as "a crook, an accomplished liar... a fraud." In spite of the Judge's direction, the jury were at first split 6-6, but, after 15 hours of deliberation, they finally reached a verdict of Not Guilty. The four defendants were all acquitted on 22 June 1979.

YOUNGER READERS MIGHT WONDER AT THE APPELLATION
STRAIGHT SIMON HUGHES.

When, in 1983, Simon, one of those political barrister types - half the house of Reptiles, maybe more, rotten, thieving bastards,  claim to be  lawyers  -  himself gay, stood against an openly gay Peter Tatchell, then Labour candidate for Bermondsey. Simon's winning campaign literature insisted that he was the Straight Choice; all coy, Simon has always maintained he didn't know the implication, and if there was one it was, naturally,  someone else's fault. Outed by The Sun in 2006, having only days earlier, in other 'papers,  strenuously denied being gay, Hughes at long last offered Tatchell a mealy-mouthed apology blaming others, impicitly for the ghastly, repulsive  hypocrisy which so typifies LibDem politicians, which, indeed, seems a prerequisite for selection. Interestingly,  Hughes, in a lawyerly ruse, claimed that since he was actually bi-sexual, the censuring of him in the Tatchell case - for a gay bashing another gay - was inaccurate and therefore invalid  The man, like so many in his ragbag of fainthearts and phonies, is an utter cunt.

***** see next post for videoclip*****
Here, addressing thousands of muslims,  potential voters, he displays some of his more mature hypocrisy.
The usual blood pressure warnings apply.





DISCLAIMER.

Ishmaelites believe that it is undesireable and impractical to police consensual sexual activity between adults  and that where disclosure serves no public good it should not occur; if people wish, for instance,  to abrade their genitals with sandpaper that should be  their own affair.  The matter of proselytizing is more difficult; if older people approach young persons,  offering them free Black and Decker equipment and invitations to balls-sanding parties we feel that this should, at the very least, be discouraged.  Should committed genital abraders, however, enter parliament and then denounce and urge the criminalisation of such DIY- orientated sexual behaviour among others  they should be kicked up and down CyberStreet, without let or hindrance by law enforcement.

Some, it is reported, who swim in this sexual stream, feel compelled to nail each other's foreskins to a work bench and despite what Mr Justice Filth had to say on the matter, we maintain that even this behaviour should not be criminalised; if, however, the cocknailers or dickstaplers, call them what you will, seek to outlaw the  incomparably less exotic pecadillo of masturbation, then they should be promptly marched into the same corner as Mr Oaten and Mr Laws and Mr Hughes and Mr Clegg belong in and duly shat upon by all so inclined.  The lawmakers really must be as pure as Caesar's wife and when they fall short, as they increasingly do, especially so in this shabby coalition farce, then we must pick up any stick which is to hand and beat them with it.  The LibDems and their previous incarnations are peculiarly, exceptionally, not only personally extravagantly amoral, promiscuous and degenerate to the point of murder but they ooze their filth into the body politic;  they would tie us all up, beat us and fuck us. And that's what they are doing.
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There are those who really do believe all this deficit stuff, really believe that others must suffer cuts in income, cuts in services, cuts in entitlements, unemployment, repossession, really do believe that so great were Gordom Snot's crimes that we must all or at least some of us, but  others,  be punished by the wholesale, punitive destruction  of  our rights, believe that greedybastard speculators and pinstripe gangsters may dictate and curtail our expectation to suit their greedy whim; believe that in exchange for binning ID cards we should rejoice at the further theft of pensions, services, jobs and homes, who believe that the old, the sick, the weak and the voiceless can withstand this, as though they were bushes, ready to spring back, after a good Coalition pruning, its  vengeful shears honed by resentment at being found-out, in the now-forgotten expenses fraud jamboree .  There are those,  still, who believe that the Earth is flat.