Wednesday, January 31, 2007
I don't see what their problem is, I'm sure the books donated to the library by the President will be an immensely useful resource, if he can finish colouring them in before it opens.
This is surely the news embattled socialists have been waiting for - a committed leftist with the powers required to create a paradise of equality for all.
The article is reticent about the powers that my hermano Chavez has granted himself, but my money is on X-ray vision.
Not only would he be able to spot any Yankee imperialists plotting counter-revolution, he'd also be able to see the naked ladies in the changing rooms at the swimming pool.
Surely he's gone for invisibility, which would allow him to walk the streets of Caracas, hearing the concerns of the workers, and would also allow him to hide in ladies' bedrooms in case they happened to be naked.
And I'll eat my hat if he hasn't decided to harness the power of flight, which would allow him to soar across Venezuela as a symbol of socialist victory, and also to float outside windows at night, peeking at naked ladies.
Perhaps you have suggestions for amazing powers Chavez could grant himself - just think what a socialist crusader could accomplish with super strength, shape-shifting or telepathy.
The possibilities for improving the lot of the working class and looking at naked ladies are practically endless.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Who knows what depraved antics these sacramental deviants get up to behind closed doors - just to think of them anointing and liturgising in front of the eyes of an innocent child makes me sick to my stomach.
What upstanding member of the gay community could possibly allow innocent minds to be warped in such an environment?
I saw that smarmy Tony Blair banging on about the rights of the priesthood not to be discriminated against, but what about the child's right not to be raised to think that Acts of Deuteronomy are normal?!!
Well, it's not normal - it's disgusting.
I'm as broadminded at the next man, but if I walked into a chapel and found two priests engaged in a sordid act of furious, mutual pontification, I wouldn't be responsible for my actions.
Add your own caption here, I'm scared God will be angry if I write what I'm thinking
Saturday, January 27, 2007
America-Haters Go Berserk In Washington
Reporting: Nick Cohen, Oliver Kamm, Christopher Hitchens
WASHINGTON, 28th January 2007
The future historians of a free and democratic Iraq will look back upon this day of infamy through a prism of sadness and anger, unable to comprehend how tens of thousands of American liberals marched to demand capitulation to fascism.
The sadness and anger of that prism will only be dwarfed by the freeness and democraticity of their nation, freeness and democraticity that today's so-called "anti-war" marchers would seek to deny to millions of as-yet-unborn Iraqis.
In scenes reminiscent of the 650,000 who marched in Madrid in 1975 to oppose the end of General Franco's fascist regime, the jack-booted sandals of totalitarianism were on the march once more, birkenstock-clad, sweaty and pungent. The air was thick with the stench of moral equivalence.
Some were so angered by the war against fascist fascism that they armed themselves with placards and giant puppets. "We shall overcome (the will of the West to defend its freedoms against Islamic totalitarianism)!," they sang.
One couldn't help but be reminded of the weasel words of Lord Halifax, who in 1937 was heard to say "That Hitler seems an alright chap, what?", ushering in an era of unimaginable horror.
Sadly, America's contemporary Halifaxes and Chamberlains are just as indifferent to the wise, yet Cassandra-like warnings of today's Churchills, Roosevelts, Cohens, Kamms and Hitchens.
"Fuck off, Granddad," said one fresh-faced youngster when asked whether she realised she was supporting fascists. "You stink of scotch and if you don't stop leering at my tits, I'm calling the cops."
Such is the wilful blindness of today's left in its craven rush to embrace the menace of radical Islam...
(Cont. ad infinitum)
Friday, January 26, 2007
I won't be watching it, though - I'm sick of the Americans glossing over fact with schmaltz and tacking on sucky Hollywood endings.
I can see it already - boy meets girl, boy gets poisoned with radioactive substance, boy discovers he has super-strength and can shoot sticky webs out of his wrists, boy does CGI battle to the death with deranged super-villain.
Mind you, they are only rumours, and if there's one thing my mother always told me, it was "Son, you should never listen to Rumours".
That's probably why my copy of Tusk is completely shagged out.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Apparently, the prison population has been ballooning for years.
Well, that's a scandal if you ask me. Jail should be a punishment, not a series of gentle jaunts over the countryside.
"Khan came across as a friendly anchor, who high-fived with a contestant when he got the answer right, spoke in another's native language and even gave a back massage to a third who said he was too nervous."
Mr. Khan is a far nicer host, who tries to lessen the torment of his rupee-hungry, angst-ridden contestants. Doesn't Indian TV sound rather pleasant?
That would never fly in the UK, where Millionaire's ratings have slumped.
Sensing the chance to make my fortune, I've sent the producers my proposal for a punchier, Ben Kingsley in Sexy Beast-inspired Who Wants To Be A Fucking Millionaire?
I don't want to give too much away, but Ben will be cleaning his nails with a knife when the contestants come on, and the audience will be deathly silent.
"What's the capital city of Rwanda?" Ben will ask, in an offhand tone, and he'll listen to half a minute of hemming and hawing before he snaps and screams, "What's the fucking answer then? Come on, cunt, capital of Rwanda! Answer, answer now!"
When they tremble "Kigali...?", that's the cue for deafening heavy metal music, and the three dobermanns at Ben's feet will hurl themselves at the contestant, barking ferociously and straining at their leashes.
When they reach £16,000 Ben will start absent-mindedly flicking lit matches at them, and just before he asks the final question he'll fire a shotgun in the air.
Anyone making it to that point would get fifty grand cold, even if they goofed the answer - I'm not a complete scumbag, after all.
"Come on," I hear you say, "nobody would watch a show that crass and exploitative."
Well, you obviously haven't heard of Love At Second Sight, a Dutch dating show which will air on 20th February.
"Do you have a visible serious handicap and are you looking for a partner?" says an appeal on its Web site.
"The program is a platform for people with such problems to share experiences and feelings in a positive way with the rest of the Netherlands and to show that they are absolutely not pitiful," the broadcaster said..."
"But the majority of Dutch viewers are turned off by the show that was initially set to be called "Monster Love."
No word yet on my Ben Kingsley Millionaire idea, but fingers crossed...
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I quite like cats myself, but I've never met one yet that I couldn't outwit. Not that there haven't been a few close shaves, mind.
I suspect that Justin is allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement - cats haven't even worked out toilet paper, let alone the bidet. Humans mastered the fine art of wiping their bottoms decades ago, and these days I only lick my own testicles when there's nothing on TV.
So, what's the yardstick for feline intelligence? Parrots have the emotional development of a three-year-old child, and prove it by emitting ear-piercing shrieks and crapping everywhere.
Dolphins are supposed to be the most intelligent of all animals, but you'd never know it. Mine spent most of its time jumping out of the bath and flopping about on the floor.
If you ask me, the most notable skill cats possess is their ability to slash up their owners like razor-wielding ratboys and still have them dote on their every whim.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
You can click on the link and read it yourself, if you enjoy watching the shadow-boxing of puffed-up moral crusaders. If you're familiar with Mr. Cohen's work, there's not much point. It's the same old schtick, slow baked in an oven of grandstanding and served in a jus of self-justification.
If you don't have the time, try this for a similar effect - draw a Hitler moustache under your nose, then goosestep up and down in front of a mirror shrieking "Ich bin ein naughty boy!".
It'll go down a storm amongst those lefties whose sites are one long parade of wind-up Nazi dolls marching in lockstep with scimitar-wielding clockwork jihadofascists.
All of which is the hot, hot, no-holes-barred pornography of self-righteousness that gives the Decent Left RSI, and inevitably ends with hundreds of predictable historical analogies splattering the comments boxes.
Having just watched Niall Ferguson beat Neville Chamberlain to death with a rolled-up copy of the Nazi-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact, I'm starting to think I'd be better to stop resisting and only posting asinine justifications for our War On Whatever.
Why bother reading all those history books and carefully weighing questions of life and death*, when I could simply shout "Today's enemies are just like the Nazis!" and declare my intellectual superiority?
Now, let's bomb the shit out of Tehran! Hoo-ah!
For more on those lessons from history, Larry has summed up all the academic study needed to establish oneself as a towering intellect of cyberspace.
*Other people's lives and deaths, of course. Certainly not mine.
Thankfully, the good Professor didn't have a copy of his 1500-page tome "Millenium" to clobber the arresting officer with, or he'd have been charged with murder.
That book has sat unread on my shelf for six years - just the thought of reading it gives me the Fear. Carelessly dropped, it could cause compound fractures.
This brings to the fore the lesson that all must learn in the arts - don't fuck with historians, lest they open the apocryphal can of whoop-ass on you.
AJP Taylor was famously tetchy - faced with overwhelmingly bad reviews for The Origins Of The Second World War, he took to slicing up critics with a sword-stick.
I once spilt Tom Segev's pint, and he busted two of my ribs. James M. McPherson held his coat for him, the little toad.
Eric Hobsbawm thought it was hilarious, but I knew better than to object. The man's a devil with a drink in him.
Fernandez-Armesto - "Fuck 'em, and their law"
Saturday, January 20, 2007
A friend of mine has two six-week old rats, and he's trained them to sit on his shoulders. Another pal has a six-week old basset pup, and it chases anything you throw for it.
But throw a ball for a baby and they'll just gurgle and soil themselves. Sit one on your shoulder and the rozzers will have you in chains before you can blink.
Obviously, babies are rubbish. Why would anybody buy such a creature?
Kittens are better in all respects, including the litter tray thing.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
That said, even I have a breaking point at which I lose my sense of humour.
BBC Breakfast News - Big Brother race rumpus.
ITV Evening News - Big Brother race rumpus.
BBC News At Six - Big Brother race rumpus.
Channel Four News - Big Brother race rumpus.
BBC Newsnight - Big Brother race rumpus.
BBC Question Time - Big Brother race rumpus.
Guardian, Times, Independent, Sun, Daily Mail, Express, Herald, Scotsman - Big Brother race rumpus.
All UK internet sites, including this one - Big Brother race rumpus.
Conversation at work today, all day, including email exchanges - Big Brother race rumpus.
Either the entire nation has gone completely bananas, or I'm watching far too much current affairs.
For the uninitiated (i.e. anyone fortunate enough not to be British), a bunch of Channel 4's Big Brother contestants have been bullying another of their number, an Indian Bollywood Star. While most of this has been the standard brainless, vicious sadism that passes for entertainment in the UK, there's been an ugly racial undertone to the insults.
I haven't watched a single episode, and I'm a fucking expert.
This has driven me to come up with a suggestion on how to resolve this situation to the satisfaction of all concerned, and I think you'll be surprised at its simplicity.
Taser them. Taser all of them.
Taser them as they're sitting down to dinner, as they're sucking in our precious air to let fly with another volley of asinine pig-ignorance; taser them while they're yakking like hooting fuckhammers, taser them before they can emit another single syllable of ginned-up tabloid fodder with which to pollute the short time we each have allotted to us.
Taser them with 50,000 volts of white-hot, convulsing electricity, then turn on the sprinkler system and taser them again.
And if that doesn't work, just taser me and don't let go of the trigger until the battery is flat.
I like Britain, I really do, but sometimes it's more than a sane man can bear.
I'm completely flummoxed by her decision, which seems to have been made in defiance of common sense. After all, where would you rather live?
A blasted, hostile desert filled with blade wielding lunatics and small-minded crackpots, or Pakistan?
There's no accounting for taste, these days.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Honestly, the laziness and inefficiency of the British judicial system is getting beyond a joke. Is it too much to ask that a jury get on with judging the case, rather than scratching their nuts in front of the box?
If you want to appreciate the full horror of the bomb plot, I suggest you click the link above and scroll down to the pictures of the bombers themselves - frankly, I'm not surprised they have a grudge against civilisation. If I was their mothers I'd have crammed them into bags and tossed them into rivers when they were born: an uglier bunch of knuckle-dragging Quasimodos and dot-eyed weasels couldn't be imagined.
I'm no oil painting myself, but if you think I'm exaggerating, check out this pie-faced oaf.
I suppose he can console himself that he'll be safe in the showers at Wormwood Scrubs - I'm amazed he even made it onto the bus.
If I'd seen him coming I'd have thrown him under the wheels on pure reflex.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Yet more good noose from the Middle East, as the slapstick executioners of Iraq botch another hanging like the hamfisted offspring of Benny Hill and Patrick Bateman.
No doubt this will be endlessly reassuring for the Sunni population of Iraq, who are unlikely to take the obvious lesson - "You're next" - from this development.
I'm looking forward to the executions of Chemical Ali and Doctor Germ. With comic book nicknames like that, how can Moqtada's boys resist?
I reckon they'll be blindfolded, locked in a room strewn with rakes and left to clatter about smacking themselves in the face for an hour or so, just as an appetiser.
Cue the Yakety Sax theme tune, and then the militia will wedge the two of them into a shopping trolley and push them down a hill, laughing as Saddam's cronies career madly through a treacle shop and an Acme Feather-Pillow factory.
The interlude involving two men carrying a large pane of glass across the road is compulsory, of course, before they're thrown out of the trolley with a comedy "boing" noise, into a pile of rubbish.
Then, just as they poke their banana-skinned heads up to take a dazed look about, a grand piano drops on their heads. And they get run over by a steam roller.
And a marching band, with an elephant.
Then Prime Minister Al-Maliki will wince, and say "My father went the exact same way."
Sunday, January 14, 2007
As I've said before, I'm agnostic about independence. I can just imagine my Granddad's response though, he doesn't have much time for nationalists.
"I didn't fight for Britain in World War II so that a gang of porridge-munching wankspanners could break up the nation," he'd say. "If I'd known then what I know now, I would've fought for the Nazis."
A man of strong opinions, my Granddad. We have to buy him a new TV every time he catches sight of Terry Wogan, it's amazing the damage a double-barrelled shotgun can do at close range.
Friday, January 12, 2007
In an astounding outburst, Pop Idol judge and professional fist-magnet Simon Cowell has pronounced that he far prefers Jeremy Clarkson to Bob Dylan.
Media insiders were horrified when Britain's premier arsehole revealed that Dylan "bores me to tears" and that Clarkson is "a young Aretha Franklin".
Personally, I wouldn't shag either of them, but chacun a son gout.
If it was up to me, I'd hunt all three of them down and gas them like badgers.
Update!: It would appear that I've made yet another catastrophic error, and Mr. Cowell was in fact talking about Kelly Clarkson.
Admittedly, I'd gas her like a badger too, if I knew who she was.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Not that that state of affairs has ever changed in the UK, of course, but you'd never know it to hear the modern Thatcherite complain. The only real difference between then and now is that it's now mandatory that Mum work full-time, families are up to their eyes in debt and the price of international airfares and consumer electronics have dropped.
Ah, the British - give us a wide-screen TV and a fortnight in Tenerife, and we're anybody's.
Shock news today, then, as the Bank of England raises the interest rate to 5.25%, thus adding sixteen pounds a month to the repayments of those with £100,000 mortgages.
No point in handing out the links, since the last thing I need is a swarm of moaning Tories cluttering up such comments as I get - suffice to say there's already talk of stagflation and a return to the cruel economy of the '70s.
Given that I don't have a pot to piss in and have spent the last eleven years handing between thirty and forty percent of my salary to grasping landlords who keep deposits and refuse to fix broken central heating in January, there's something I'd like to say to depressed monetarists...
Here endeth my lesson in the politics of self-interest - enraged homeowners can call me a prick in comments.
It'll make a nice change from them showing off their blonde wood floors and telling me how cheap it all was, and how I really need to get up to Ikea.
I thought he was supposed to be a great speaker from a script, pronouncing eloquently to those hungering for freedom the words they didn't even know they wanted to hear.
Well, all I can say is that's a load of BS. I didn't laugh once.
Bush is going to have to work hard on his punchlines, because the gags about the horrors of Iraq being the fault of the natives, the Syrians and the Iranians all fell flat.
And all those sly asides about the dire threats to America? They were funny in 2003, but they barely raise a smile in 2007.
Times have changed, and he's going to have to come up with new material rather than rehashing his greatest hits. It's not just that his timing is off, it's the content - blasting Baghdad to rubble in the pursuit of peace seemed witty and original once, but it's just tired now.
Two out of ten, I'm putting on a Richard Pryor DVD instead.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
It's only been every night for two weeks, so I feel there are hidden depths to Mr. Sting's twee warblings that I haven't yet plumbed.
Still, my patience is starting to wear rather thin.
In fact, when I think of Mr. Sting prancing around his country estate serenading the local flora and fauna like a great joyous giggletit, it makes me want to drown myself in a boiling kettle.
Mind you, this is the same Mr. Sting who confessed that, thanks to his practice of tantric sex, he can pump Mrs. Sting for up to three hours without reaching orgasm.
I understand entirely - I've seen Mrs. Sting.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Honestly, you're like a bunch of kids surreptitiously scraping your lasagne into the bin because you can't wait to get to the ice cream.
This mania for bombing is really starting to get me down. It's not that I don't appreciate the effort you're making, I really do. I think it's great that you're prepared to protect our safety by hammering any nation on Earth with complete impunity when the feeling takes you.
It's entirely possible that you've actually killed some bad guys this time - I imagine that one couldn't throw a half-brick in Somalia without clobbering a machine-gun wielding lunatic.
But, since you've unleashed the whizz-bang on Serbia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan, Pakistan and Somalia just in the last ten years*, and are threatening to start on Iran and Syria, I have a suggestion.
If we piss you off that much, why not just build a bomb the size of the planet Earth, cut a United States-sized hole in it, then drop it and settle this bullshit once and for all?
Okay, I might be dead, but at least I won't have to read the articles labelling me an apologist for fascism if I put up my hand to ask a question.
Apologies to David Rees.
*Admittedly, with our assistance or craven assent.
Update!: Well bum me with a blackboard duster, it turns out that no senior Al Qaeda figures were killed. Not even one.
Failing to kill one Al Qaeda headcase may be regarded as a misfortune, but failing to kill three while wiping out a shower of anonymous brown people in the process looks like carelessness.
"People will be able to register on the MI5 website to receive updates when the threat level changes...
...MI5 chief Dame Eliza Manningham-Buller recently warned that it was tracking at least 30 terror plots against the UK."
Since the British "threat level" has been at "severe" for some time, its second highest possible classification, I think we all know what this means.
So what can those who sign up expect to find in their email and mobile phone inboxes? I've checked it out with my sources, and here's a sneak preview...
TTLRAI =:O - Terror Threat Level Raised, Apocalypse Imminent
LOL!!!!!!! - Leg It Out Of London
ITPFD :( - Islamofascists Triumphant, Prepare For Dhimmification
EABD - Emergency Appeal - Bring Donuts
AFRHWJ - Attention Foreigners - Remove Heavy Winter Jackets
SYLOIMD %( - Shit Your Legs Off In Mortal Dread
RAOTFCMLO - Rolling About On The Floor Coughing My Lungs OutOMFG - UKRIP - Goodness Me, We Are In Difficulties
HRH-KIA, OBLNQ - Her Majesty Has Passed Away, Osama Bin Laden Now Queen
ACPFIE - All Citizens Prepare For Internal Examination
TTLL :) - Terror Threat Level Lowered
Okay, so I made that last one up.
I'll be signing up for these alerts straight away - it'll be like getting text messages from the 101st Fighting Keyboardists every time a brown person sneezes near a policeman.
Update!: The Curious Hamster has similar thoughts, although he makes his point in a less swinish and idiotic fashion.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Well, boo hoo hoo, pardon me if I don't feel any sympathy for Mr. Hussein - after all, many of his victims are dead too, and you don't hear them using it as an excuse, do you?
I'm sick of hearing about the so-called "human rights" of criminals - if they don't want to be punished, they should think about that before they go mass-murdering and being hanged.
I remember a time when afterlife meant afterLIFE, by God.
Honestly, you couldn't make it up.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Flying Rodent now accepts that this allegation will be entirely baseless and untrue, and will be motivated purely by malice and spite. He deeply regrets any distress that this scurrilous accusation will cause Mr. Johnson and his family.
Flying Rodent would also like to apologise for his imminent hints that Mr. Johnson performs unhygenic sexual acts upon male orangutans, baboons and gibbons.
Any such accusations will have no basis in truth whatsoever.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Today, the BBC alert us to the serious threat of "pro-anorexia" websites, which eulogise that singularly unpleasant and distressing condition.
Experts say so-called "pro-ana" sites claim to offer support, but actually glorify the diseases and discourage people from seeking medical treatment.
They say these sites give tips on how to lose weight and keep it off, and present the illnesses as normal.
One doctor is urging service providers to shut the sites when they appear.
I don't have a clue how to deal with this, since I'm just some guy with a blog, but I don't think these sites are that threatening to me personally.
Statistically, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning or ripped to pieces by rabid badgers than I am to be killed by deranged anorexics.
Friday, January 05, 2007
I don't know why, but when I tell people I support Celtic, they feel honour bound to ask whether I'm a Catholic, regardless of their own religious affiliation.
I always answer honestly that no, I'm an atheist.
It's always fun watching them struggle to frame the question, "Yes, but are you a Catholic atheist or a Protestant atheist?"
The Scots are deeply bizarre. I'm just going to start telling them that I'm a Zoroastrian, it'll end the conversation more quickly.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
I laughed it off, of course, but nagging doubts caused me to look more closely at my cigarette packet, and what I saw there chilled me to the core.
It says "Smoking seriously harms you and others around you".
Good God, the first packet I ever bought said "Smoking while pregnant harms you and your baby", so I assumed I was fine.
If you ask me, the government ought to launch some kind of massive, pull-out-your-eyes-and-burn-them-in-terror level ad campaign to warn people about this menace.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Still, there's no point in being downhearted - who knows what joys this year may bring?
Predictions seem to be all the rage at the moment, so here's my stab at the coming year's big news stories.
February - Miami, Florida, USA
Protests erupt after a woman in a persistent vegitative state is shot dead to prevent her from aborting her child.
The killer, a pro-life activist and evangelical Christian, is pardoned by Governor Jeb Bush after it emerges that he has a licence to carry a concealed weapon and believed that the victim was about to attack him.
Thanks to advances in medical science, the foetus survives and releases a best-selling, tell-all memoir, Why Did Mommy Try To Kill Me?, despite being born without a brain.
March - London, England
Another whale swims up the Thames.
It draws massive crowds of excited onlookers, who throng the riverbanks to catch a peek of the majestic beast, which is regrettably shot by the Metropolitan police, incorrectly suspecting it of links to terrorism.
Sympathy for the unfortunate whale evaporates when the police announce the discovery of a sizeable stash of calffy-porn in its blowhole, an allegation which later turns out to be false.
June - London, England
A bank robbery by two veil-wearing, Muslim immigrants causes the nation's print press to launch into scenes of bacchanalian revelry so extreme that fires and drug-induced vandalism temporarily shut down all newspaper presses.
A nation rejoices.
July - Manchester, England
Vladimir Putin sparks a fresh "nuclear terrorism" panic by going door-to-door, saying "Nice place you've got here, it'd be a shame if something happened to it" and "Da, one carelessly dropped canister of polonium and this area would be uninhabitable for ten years, if you know what I mean".
November - Jerusalem, Israel
This will be the year when Ariel Sharon bursts back onto the political scene, possibly after undergoing a form of experimental radiotherapy.
Civilians run shrieking as Sharon rises wrathfully from his deathbed and begins blasting Jerusalem with laser bolts from his eyes, laying waste to the busy streets with his brute strength.
Tony Blair's calls for restraint will go unheeded once more as the IDF engages a roaring, rampaging Sharon with tanks and warplanes, and are forced to retreat after taking heavy casualties.
As a last resort, the corpse of Yasser Arafat is exhumed, clad in a cybernetic exoskeleton and sent to do battle with the berserk general. A titanic struggle ensues, causing terrible damage to property, until the two combatants plunge headlong into an electric sub-station, locked in a vice-like deathgrip of mutual rage.
Some civilians get killed, but an English blogger proves that this doesn't matter.
December - United Kingdom
As the year draws to a close, an unprecedented number of scare stories strike the UK headlines.
The whirlwind of stories about terrorist threats, satanic child abuse, devil dogs, killer date-rape drugs, illegal immigrants and nasty Muslims reaches a perfect storm, coalescing into a singularity of fear so concentrated that Britain flares up into a ludicrous balloon of its own paranoia and winks out of existence.
Five months later, the French stop burning each others' cars long enough to look up and say, "Hey, eet's all been a bit quiet over there recently".
Or I might be wrong, it's difficult to predict.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
BBC News, 6th January 2007
US President George W Bush today revealed his long-awaited new Iraq recipe.
He announced a plan to send more US cooks to Iraq to focus on ways of adding greater seasoning to Iraqi broth, rather than training Iraqi chefs.
"This plan will combat the ongoing threat of flavourlessness in Iraqi soups," President Bush said.
"I have no doubt that the addition of several thousand additional cooks will ensure the heartiness and chunkiness of Iraqi broths, gumboes, chowders."
"After all, many hands make light work."
The proposal has proved controversial, with one Republican senator saying "It all sounds well and good, but there's no such thing as a free lunch."
"After all, a bird in the hand is worth two in the, er, two in the, ahh..."
President Bush later played down such criticisms.
"There's no point crying over spilt milk," he said. "The proof will be in the pudding."
"And that wholesome, thick, creamy Iraqi soup."
"The king is dead. Moqtada al-Sadr should be, too."
If I were Steyn, I'd have a shave and a haircut before I started calling for Moqtada's execution, if you know what I mean.
After taking yesterday to recover, I thought I'd share my resolution for this year, and I suggest that you heed it yourself.
If you have a talent or natural gift, I suggest you hide it from friends and loved ones.
I was playing Scrabble on Boxing Day and scored a stunning 93 points for "vaginal" on a triple word tile and a creditable 49 for prefixing the word "ate" with "ejacul", winning the game by a clear eighty points.
You'd think my family would be proud of my wordplay skills, but not at all.
If anything, my Gran looked even more furious when I read out the dictionary definitions.
If there's one thing I can't abide, it's a sore loser.