Saturday, September 29, 2007

Presidential Musings, Part Two

On the off-chance that anyone thought I was overstating the pure, malignant evil of corpse-humping Republican rent-boy Rudy Giuliani, I thought I'd take a look at his recent pronouncements.

Continuing his scab-scratching exploitation of the 9/11 attacks, the hideous Draculoid slaphead stated that, for him, "every day is an anniversary of September 11th."

The mind boggles at the perpetual grief and rage America's Mayortm must feel upon rising in the morning - presumably, before he slips on his velour slippers, Rudy bows his head as a mark of respect for the dead.

Suitably chastened by the suffering of the victims, he is then ready to spend the remainder of the day maniacally bum-raping their memory in exhange for bundles of cold, hard cash.

Later, as ring-leader of the hysterical, sanctimonious circle-jerk caused by Iranian shithead Mahmoud Ahmedinejad's visit to New York, Rudy noted that...

"...Assisting Ahmadinejad in touring Ground Zero - hallowed ground for all Americans - is outrageous."

All of which is rather amusing, since Ahmadinejad is really an Iranian Giuliani, prepared to blow whole herds of goats for the slightest political advantage. Rudy, however, would never miss the opportunity to pose as the valiant defender of the victims of 9/11 while skullfucking the survivors and rescue workers by ignoring their medical ailments.

Which brings me to the question I wanted to ask - how does ground become hallowed?

Well, should Rudy stumble past this page while looking for brave survivors to leg-hump, I'd like to make a business proposition - I've had a great idea for a entrepreneurial venture.


Come on, Rudy - you know it makes sense!

With the magical power of your bloodsucking shamelessness and my inspirational designs, together we'll corner the market in mawkish Jihadsploitation.

Update!: For anyone who thinks I'm being too harsh, I notice that one of Rudy's fundraising chums has provided a wonderfully symbolic microcosm of the Giuliani campaign...

"Republican presidential hopeful Rudy Giuliani has been criticised over a fundraising party at which participants are being urged to donate $9.11..."


*Up next, Hillary - America's neo-Nixon-in-waiting.

Ah, Mr. Hubris? I'd Like You To Meet My Friend, Mr. Nemesis...

Remember how I speculated that draconian, detention-crazed former Home Secretary John Reid was quitting politics to pursue solo surveillance projects?

"...a man as resourceful as John Reid will find gainful employment elsewhere," I chuckled vindictively.

Well, the last laugh's on me - he's been announced as the new chairman of Celtic FC instead.

True to form, he's put forward detailed plans to redesign Celtic Park to suit his vision of the club's future...



He's also promised a strict exercise regime for the players - one hour a day in the quadrangle, supervised.

As if that wasn't enough, he's hinted that fans will receive free food and, if their behaviour merits it, they will be able to maintain their own allotments.

Nice, shiny new shower rooms, lights out at nine, slopping out at seven - and just wait 'til you see the uniforms.

John Reid is a firm believer in discipline, and I'm sure he'll do a bang-up job.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Looked Like a Penalty To Me - But What Does George Galloway Think?

What's the world outside Britain for? What possible purpose can be served by the great swarm of non-British humanity?

I ask because, if one were to take a cursory tour around the blogs, one might think that the globe is just a massive ideological battlefield upon which the designated friends and foes of the West act out their moral conflicts, heading inevitably towards strip-mall shopping modernity.

Take the example of the current repression in Burma, for instance - you might think that the most urgent question taxing bloggers would be How might we best support the protesters?

Of course, this doesn't seem to be the case - the most vital question is What silliness will the tiny, far-left grouplets use to wedge this into their "anti-imperialist" worldview?

Well, how about Who gives a shit? What about Who the hell cares?

It's a phenomenon I've noted before. So great is the cynicism over politics in the UK, that right and left are forced to look abroad for titanic struggles with which to cudgel their domestic foes.

Not that we're actually talking about people or places that exist in reality - whether we're talking about Burma, Israel/Palestine or Iraq, all seem to occupy an alternate dimension of absolute moral clarity, clamouring for supportive blog posts from concerned westerners.

Perhaps I'm too cynical, and this isn't a form of narcissism. Perhaps it isn't demonstrative tubthumping to promote one's immense personal morality.

On the off-chance that I'm right, here's a suggestion - rather than showing your solidarity with oppressed Palestinian paramilitaries, why not get a season ticket for your local football team?

If you while away the evenings posting logical contradictions to justify Israeli violence, why not spend your Saturdays at Elland Road instead? The boxing will take place right before your eyes, and you'll be able to judge who started it without consulting Wikipedia.

Football's really just a scratching post for aggressive urges, and you might find that an afternoon's screaming at the ref will enable you to look at the issues of the day in a calm and reflective manner!

And who knows? Perhaps, if all these British activists turned their gimlet eyes homewards, we might even start to read political analysis that strays beyond They're all a bunch of thieving bastards.

Monday, September 24, 2007

A Game Played By Gentlemen...

Sporting fun in Buenos Aires, where the Gay World Cup football tournament has just got underway.

Not knowing much about the gay game, I'll wish good luck to London's Stonewall FC, Britain's only representatives and the current holders.

One thing's for sure, though - with all those gay footballers flouncing about the park chucking hissy fits and acting the prima donna, it'll be a vastly more macho display than the average Champions' League match.

Christ, after watching the official World Cup last year, it'll probably look like First Blood Part II - God knows, the Womens' tournament has been significantly less bitchy.

I only hope that none of the players decide they need any moisturiser or expensive hair-care products, since the official Argentinian football squad will likely have emptied the shelves.

Now that I come to think of it, I hope nobody needs a haircut either...

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Presidential Musings, Part One

Hark - what is that I hear?

The screech of brakes, the sick squeal of tortured tyres, the heavy, kinetic crunch of compacting metal...

Why, it must be another attempt to build brotherhood at Britain and America.com!

He who dares wins, as they say, and they certainly are daring this week - trying to sell hideous homunculus and Republican presidential candidate Rudy Giuliani's visit to London as an opportunity to build trans-atlantic bridges.

A game tactic, sadly destined to fail, for no individual could better embody the vileness and depravity at the heart of American conservatism than America's Mayortm.

With no better candidate in the field, the lunatics of Dogdick have slung their weight behind Rudy despite his multiple marriages, his indifference to homosexual practices and his failure to bleat endlessly about the sanctity of the foetus.

That's because, in the absence of actual policies, Rudy has spent his campaign whacking off over the Republicans' big-stick-no-brain catastrophe in Iraq, while bashing isolationist throw-back candidate Ron Paul as a tinfoil-hatted Truther.

Not only that - as America's Mayortm, Rudy's constant invocations of 9/11tm and his related mad leadership skillz have elevated him to a plateau of rock-solid credibility on the Smashing Fuck Out Of Foreigners front.

Quite why the brains behind Britain and America believe that parading this evil fuck will eradicate our anti-Americanism is unclear. Frankly, I imagine that most Brits have the same aversion to walking sacks of opportunistic malice that most Americans do.

Surely, nothing could be more catastrophic for their hands-across-the-ocean effort than publicising a bullshitting freak of nature who resembles the deformed offspring of Nosferatu and Skeletor, and possesses all the charisma of a Viagra-guzzling necrophiliac in a crypt.

But wait - did I just mention necrophilia?




Yep, there's no doubt about it - photograph the unacceptable face of I'm-Rich-And-So-Are-My-Pals-Fuck-You-Very-Much! American capitalism sucking up to our very own pocket-stuffing hate figure, and watch those stars 'n' stripes fly nationwide!

Jesus, you'd be pushed to find a bigger Yankophile than me in these lands, but that picture makes me want to burn my American flag and take a holiday in Tora Bora.

I can only conclude that Britain and America has been set up as some kind of Yank-hating Psy-Op, designed to incite enough visceral hatred to precipitate a doomed invasion of Massachusetts.

How could it be otherwise? If this was a serious attempt to entice us into the warm embrace of Uncle Sam, I would have to believe it had been conceived by a brain-damaged donkey.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Deliver Us From Les Decents...

Having been pushed for time recently, I didn't notice French Foreign Minister Bernard Kouchner shaking his little fist at the Iranians while shouting "Hold me back, lads, or I'll kill the bastards!" to his indifferent pals.

The scene will be familiar to other British males - the five-foot-fuck-all hard man cursing and daring the innocent punter to hit him, while his towering pals wait glowering for the moment to jump in.

I must applaud Monsieur Kouchner's tough-talk, since I too enjoy writing cheques that my ass can't cash. Personally, I prefer driving down Easter Road, shrieking Hibees are wankers! before flooring the accelerator.

Luckily for the French government, they have powerful friends prepared to do their boxing for them. Across the Atlantic, deranged minds stir, pronouncing the rebirth of the steely French martial spirit.

Wait a minute... grandstanding Europeans, determined to prove their personal moral probity through the application of kick-ass American whizz-bang to an oil-rich Middle Eastern hell-hole...

...A gang of war-hungry American militarists jerking off to Saving Private Ryan while pushing little plastic aircraft carriers around a map of the Persian Gulf...

...aiming to attack a nation of poorly-armed yet utterly committed religious lunatics who are prepared to sacrifice scads of their own lives to drive out the "infidel" Yankee soldiers?

Sacre bleu! C'est la Gauche Decent Francais!

Marx gets a bad name these days, what with that whole Soviet Union gulag business, but the man would've known what to make of this situation.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

I Was Young And I Needed The Money

Looking at my recent traffic figures, I've come to a realisation - I've hit the peak of my fame as a blogger, and it's time to branch out if I want to continue my meteoric rise to international superstardom.

Accordingly, I've decided to emulate Paris Hilton, R Kelly and Pamela Anderson by releasing my own sex tape.

I thought filming a raunchy romp would be rather straightforward, and explained to Mrs. Rodent and her friend that their involvement in a seedy, poorly-shot menage-a-trois would confirm my star-status and allow them to bask in my reflected glory. Money for nothing, I told them.

After they'd finished punching me, I re-evaluated my situation and decided that a menage-a-un might be the best option.

So here's the dilemma - do I charge a select audience for access to my mucky me-some, capitalising on the initial profits and trusting the free market to stuff my pockets with the wages of sin, or do I just make the filthy footage freely available online?

And is it appropriate to contact The Sun to sell my tawdry tell-all exclusive, or should I wait for them to offer me a six-figure deal?

After all, I wouldn't want to look desperate for attention.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Bush Announces American Withdrawal From Reality

Reuters News, September 15th 2007

In a major policy speech today, President Bush announced that the United States would presently begin a major withdrawal from reality.

Speaking at the White House, the President stated that he had ordered an immediate drawdown in accurate analysis of American foreign policy and the creation of an intricate, yet utterly illusory fantasy world of self-pity and resentment.

"I urge every American to join me in this comforting, fraudulent land of make-believe," the President said. "All of us should immediately put the catastrophic failure of my policies out of their minds, and begin scapegoating the dirty hippies."

"Dirty hippies... dirty back-stabbing hippies..." murmured the assembled press corp, transfixed by President Bush's words.

The President presented his plans, which include the complete erasure of Republican misdeeds from the historical record.

"No longer will anyone say that our plans for a democratic Iraq were fatally undermined by the rampant corruption of my administration," he said.

"Every American should immediately forget my blatant dishonesty in arguing for war, and remain oblivious to the epidemic of profiteering and corporate theft that wrecked our plans for Iraqi reconstruction."

"Instead, I ask you to convince yourselves that my policies have been thwarted by saboteurs within the media and the anti-war movement, whose agitation for the enemy has destroyed the will of the public to carry on the fight."

"Following an extended period of sobbing self-pity, I believe that we will be able to expunge all memory of those hundreds of thousands of dead foreigners."

The President urged all sectors of American society to support his plan, calling upon Hollywood to release a string of blubbing, woe-is-us movies about how unpleasant it is to lose a war.

"Let us not forget that, after a four-year campaign of merciless Bomb-First, Work-Out-Who-The-Bad-Guys-Are-Later military destruction, America faces an uphill battle to reconcile the appalling violence of our assaults with our cheerful, aw-shucks self-image."

"Having caused the collapse of Iraqi civil society and unleashed murderous horror across that nation, let us not forget who the real victims are."

"Us."

President Bush refused to take questions, choosing instead to thank the press corps for their one-eyed reporting of American strategy in Anbar province.

"By constructing an elaborate fantasyland in which arming sectarian militias will somehow aid the creation of a unified Iraqi state, you have sown the seeds of future stab-in-the-back mythmaking."

"I thank you all for your willingness to assist future warmongering by pretending we had a chance of victory in this conflict - your reporting will be used as evidence by future generations to depict a magical world of fiction in which we, not they, are the real victims."

"When my grandchildren lead the next invasion of a dirt-poor third world nation, they will surely do so unencumbered by accurate analysis of our present disaster."

Previous Presidential Proclamations - President Criticises China, Russia; Bush Rejects Withdrawal Method; Bush - Let Us Spread Freedom, Torture; Bush Slays Crowd With All-New Material.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Deals On Wheels

Fantastic news for crinklies seeking the fountain of eternal youth - cocaine users are getting younger.

This is a major breakthrough in medical science - for years, I'd thought that the twat-powder was only good for sucking the talent and originality out of artists and rock stars. Now, it's been revealed as the key to reversing the aging process.

I demand that the government immediately send shipments to retirement homes nationwide, and ply the dodderiest coffin-dodgers with vast piles of extortionate snozzguff.

Even if the rejuvenating effect is minimal, I imagine it'll enliven the TV room during The Jeremy Kyle Show.

Not that I'd be after any myself, of course - I'm in the peak of health, and don't do drugs that can't be mixed with fruit juice and chugged out of a pineapple, with lots of straws and little umbrellas.

Anyway, why would I need to take a substance that causes relentless attention-seeking and outbursts of chronic verbal diarrhea?

Having found a cure for death, I think we'll need to address the urgent sociological issues that will be caused by millions of buzzing pensioners - just imagine how furiously a coach-load of day-tripping pensioners could complain if they were all whacked off their senile chumps.

Why, no bus would be punctual enough, no pot of tea drinkable. It'd be a perfect storm of whingeing, so bitter and vehement that the very atmosphere would be toxic to children and animals.

Perhaps it would be better not to ply pensioners with cocaine after all - God only knows who comes up with these ridiculous ideas.

Sunday, September 09, 2007

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Teh Gallery of Nostalgia, Redux

In all probability I won't be around today*, due to Scotland's clash with the European Colossus Lithuania.

For Scotland fans, a gallery of nostalgia.

*In any state worth conversing with.

Friday, September 07, 2007

If Travolta Can Do It...

Is there no end to the man's impertinence?

Osama Bin Laden is about to release a new video, and I, for one, won't be buying it.

Frankly, I think the public is sick of that whole Death to America thing - it's so 2001. If he's smart, he'll branch out in an effort to broaden his appeal.

Mrs. Rodent is hopeful that it'll be a fitness video, but I doubt he'd go for that - he'd look pretty foolish in a leotard.

No, if he wants to make a breakthrough into the popular market he'd be best to show a bit of leg and make sure there are big-name celebrities involved - Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen, for instance, or Graham Norton.

I suppose he could just cut through the bullshit and go straight to hardcore porn, but once you've taken that step you can never go back.

Whatever happens, I'll wait for the reviews. There's nothing I hate more than paying for a shitty product.

Don't Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em

So the British Medical Council have called for the elimination of 10-packs of cigarettes, in a bid to cut teen smoking.

Poverty packs, we used to call them when I was a youngster, although the name doesn't seem so appropriate now that they cost about three quid.

This comes just after the government announced its decision to put grisly pictures of blackened lungs on the front of packs.

To which I respond, why not go the whole hog? We're obviously not getting the message yet.

If you really want to reinforce the dangers of smoking, why not booby-trap every tenth pack with a mousetrap or a tarantula?

Perhaps every twentieth pack could be filled with pressurised sewage, and rigged to explode on opening.

But even this might not deter the stubborn smoker, who could use letter-openers and the like to prise open their sabotaged ciggies.

Why not attack them in their natural environment? Position undercover agents outside pubs and arm them with blowpipes disguised as cigarettes to shoot unwary smokers with angry wasps.

If that doesn't work, pay the local kids to dance in a circle around us, singing Dirty-smelly smokey poo while squirting us with water pistols full of piss.

On a serious note, however, I wouldn't be surprised by any of the above measures. I can't buy cigarettes without mouthy fuckwits helpfully chipping in with lifestyle advice. Co-workers taunt me with malicious glee when I have to go out to the shelter in the rain, pub patrons wave their hands theatrically in front of their faces and look at me like I've just shat in their pints.

Look - you've won. Can't you leave us with the slightest bit of dignity?

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Why MI5 Spied On Orwell For Ten Years


Writer "Lead Suspect" in World-Wide Elephant-Shooting Sprees

The Guardian, 4th September 2007

Documents released yesterday revealed the extent of surveillance operations conducted by the British intelligence services on the writer and suspected serial elephant-killer George Orwell.

The documents detail the intense operations of MI5, who followed a bloody trail of tusks from Burma to London, then to Spain, where Orwell fought in the Spanish Civil War, and finally to the Isle of Jura.

Interviews conducted with Burmese peasants reveal the start of the writer's homicidal grudge against the pacific pachyderms, during an incident involving a rampaging bull elephant.


"I not understand, we happy that Mr. Blair (Orwell) kill elephant," one witness told investigators, who recorded his words.

"I think it big, metaphorical anti-imperialist statement," the Burmese continued, "I say to wife, 'Wife, this what happen when white man turn tyrant - is own freedom that he destroy."

"So, it turn out he just hate fucking elephants," he said. "And he seem so quiet and normal."

The papers then detail a string of horrific murders, as an unknown person dispatches Dumbos and nails Nellies from Barcelona to Berlin, where Orwell worked as a journalist.

Kent policeman Sgt. Ivan Smith notes his verdict on the chilling slayings...

"He... really seems to get a taste for it during his stay on continental Europe... giant floppy-eared corpses start turning up all over the place..."

"African, Asian, it makes no difference to this psycho."

The case file was closed on the author's death in 1950, but elephants continued to die mysteriously in inexplicable circumstances for years afterward.

"Who knows?" speculates Michael Shelden, biographer. "Perhaps he pursued his deranged vendetta from beyond the grave..."

Monday, September 03, 2007

Commemorating Sept. 11th (Redux)

(And to think, our leaders promised us they would never allow another September 11th - and here, just as I expected, comes the sixth in a row!

It just shows how much faith you should put in the weasel words of politicians.

Well, in anticipation of the annual ritual, here are my memories of that fateful day, as posted back in days of yore when I was getting a quarter of the traffic...)


Some days always remain with you, their events burned indelibly upon your retinas. This can happen for all kinds of reasons, and September 11th 2001 is one such day for me.

The events of that day taught me important lessons about the nature of humanity. As the anniversary of September 11th 2001 looms large in our headlights, I thought I'd share some of my experiences from one of the worst days of my life.

It seemed like any other day as I opened my curtains onto a crisp autumn morning, and I was in a cheerful mood as I dressed and walked downstairs.

All that would change after I turned on the television.

With the news on the TV, I walked into the kitchen, directly into a huge puddle of cold water that had issued from my washing machine and soaked through the carpet. As I would discover later, the water had seeped through into the flat downstairs and I was now liable for a two hundred pound repair bill.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the Council had finally caught up with me and hit me with a tax bill for another four hundred quid, which put me six big ones down before I'd even opened my front door. I had to call my boss and tell her that I wouldn't make it to the office until the afternoon, which prompted a foul-mouthed rant on my shortcomings as an employee.

The repair guy, when he arrived, was surly and mean-spirited and he proceeded to leave grubby hand prints all over my bathroom.

Of course, the bus to Edinburgh broke down on the bypass and there was a fifty minute wait for a replacement, and the cash machine ate my bankcard as I tried to take out money for lunch. I had to take a detour and borrow twenty bucks off my girlfriend, who was pissed because I still hadn't paid up for our holiday that year.

Then, to cap it all, I get into the office and there's nobody there, just twenty phones ringing angrily, and I spent most of the afternoon dealing with vindictive lawyers.

A real human truth was revealed to me by September 11th - lawyers hate being put on hold.

They hate it like fire.

When my co-workers finally showed up in the office, it was to babble about some Jerry Bruckheimer movie they'd been watching in the tea room, grab their coats and make for the exits. Talk about unprofessional.

I didn't get out of the office until seven, and the staff at the cafe in which I ate my dinner were distracted and rude, watching TV and neglecting the customers. The only communication I got from the waitress was "terrible day".

You don't know the half of it, sister.

I saw a woman on the TV the other night babbling about "how September 11th changed the world", and I know what she meant.

She also said it had laid bare the potential for evil in the modern world, but I think that's a bit of a stretch.

It certainly laid bare the shortcomings in the British work ethic.

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Mirror In The Bathroom

Ah, if it's sunny outside, it must mean that another Republican hypocrite has been caught attempting to penetrate a policeman in a public toilet.

Yet again, I'm left aiming the elephant gun at the barrel, urging the fish to at least wriggle a bit - it's got to the stage where these posts just write themselves.

So, rather than mock the unfortunate Senator Larry Craig, I thought I'd try my hand at a bit of amateur criminology.

Now, the obvious reason for the never-ending pride parade of leg-humping bible-thumpers and closet crack-heads is the sanctimonious attitude of the Republican party itself. Just as the priesthood attracts its share of perverts and the police force the odd criminal, so the Republicans attract closet-cases and drug fiends.

But let's treat our pious pals with a little of the charity they have never extended to others - what if this isn't the whole story?

Friends, I'm suspicious that the Americans are recruiting police officers who are just too damn sexy to act as honey traps. It's just not fair.

Consider it - poor, unsuspecting politician steps into the rest room to freshen up, and what does he see? Six foot-odd of rippling, crew-cut, law-enforcing beefcake, studiously avoiding eye contact.

Why, I can imagine that might turn the head of even the most manly legislator. Before they know what's happened, their propositions have led to prosecutions and that career of self-righteous denunciation starts to look suspiciously like projection.

It seems obvious to me that the police are strongly biased against red-blooded males, and should act to redress this imbalance - perhaps a special squad of buck-toothed, mulletted freaks could handle the American toilet beat from now on, thus slashing the arrest rate at a stroke.

Or maybe the cops could be issued cold spoons, and be granted a special "school nurse" power to deliver a stern blow to calm the priapic politico before events get out of hand.

Either that, or anybody elected to a position of power could simply be gelded before taking office.

The obvious thing for the Republicans, of course, would be to stop basing their electoral campaigns upon gay-bashing and moral hysteria, but I would never suggest anything so ludicrously unrealistic.