Wednesday, October 31, 2007

What Could Be Scarier Than Ghosts And Ghouls?

Just for Halloween yucks, let's revisit that intricately-carved Little Green Footballs 9/11 commemorative pumpkin...


...Sorry, I can't help it. Even a year later, I still can't comprehend the skill, commitment and outright psychosis that it took to create this masterwork.

Happy Halloween, kids!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

The Biter, Bit

Well-read readers might have noticed that, when pushed for time or inspiration, I occasionally pinch the odd gag or humorous conceit.

Nothing too major, just the odd one-liner here and there. I think it's perfectly legitimate, believing that the gift of humour is a blessing upon humanity, to be freely distributed wherever people gather in need of entertainment.

It's in that spirit that I'd like to wish for the immediate death-by-skullfucking of whichever one of you bastards ripped off my "Cocaine Users Are Getting Younger" post, slapped your name on it and submitted it to Viz.

I hope that "Star Letter" award brings you ill-luck, and that whatever you buy with your fraudulently gained £10 turns to ashes before your eyes, you stoat-throttling cutpurse, you.

Honestly, I laboured for minutes over that post. Minutes.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

The Booker Prize For Bummery

Re-reading London Fields, and I was struck by Amis's musings on the curious predeliction of literary greats for what I'll call the backdoor arts.

Bumfoolery with the bonus tunnel, if you know what I mean.

He notes that both Beckett and Joyce displayed such posterior-fixated perversions - he further implicates D.H. Lawrence, Norman Mailer, Philip Roth, John Updike and V.S. Naipaul.

Indeed, it is not only the literary lion who exhibits such depravity - I myself am nuts-deep in a Yorkshire Terrier even as I type.

What could be the explanation for this? That with heavenly gifts come demonic desires?

P.S. You'll notice Amis doesn't include himself in that list, largely because he's been so far up his own arse for the last decade that he's in danger of winking out of existence.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Night Of The Living Dorks

Ah, another day, another round of sanctions against Iran.

So, what happens now?

On Iran's nuclear ambitions, my predictions are worthless. What I know of enriched uranium could be written on a piece of paper small enough to be swallowed and washed down with a glass of water.

Of our domestic hawks, however, I know far more than any sane man would wish to. One would hope that recent events have been instructive, but a quick click through any American newspaper's website indicates otherwise.

All those long years of dusty academia studying the Western way of warfare have so far proven pointless, so now seems as good a time as any to make use of my education. In guessing what comes next, let's reminisce about how this went the last time, to see if any useful lessons can be drawn.

As far as I can see, most societies have their share of carnivorous undead freaks whose unsleeping, implacable rage demands constant sacrifice at the bloody altar of daemonic slaughter. This Satanic urge is generally kept in check by the population's longing for a quiet life and the pious prayer of our pacifist minority, thus ensuring an uneasy calm.

Most of the time, we let these unholy troglodytes rant and rave in the darkness, feeding on each other's brains, snarling and slouching loincloth-clad around crypts filled with the noisome stench of their sick corruption.

Every now and then, when the ululating shrieks of these night-creeping fiends become too loud to ignore, we toss them a carcass, letting them gorge themselves on a Grenada or feast upon a Falklands.

But in exceptional times - recent ones, for instance - they slip their chains and come marauding amongst us, ravening through our gardens, banging on our doors and scratching at our windows, pleading for us to let them in.

And here's the thing - even in dire straits, these desperate, gibbering ghouls can only gain admittance if we invite them of our own free will. Mindful of old campfire tales, we ignore their mewling, slobbering supplications, and clasp our crucifixes tighter to our chests.

Within our warm abodes, however, are always those whose minds are weak. Those who are susceptible to suggestion, who secretly yearn to feel the cold, hard breath of the beast upon their necks, to submit to that dark embrace and give themselves up to the sharp pang of razor fangs.

"Let them in," these deluded souls mutter, entranced, moving as one to remove the bolts and unslip the locks. "They want to help us... they want to keep us safe and bring freedom and human rights to all..."

"Jesus Christ, NO!" shouts the lone voice of sanity, "Those flesh-eating undead fucks will tear us all to shreds and feast on our entrails!"

Yet already it's too late - the doors are flung wide, and the unholy pack sweep inside baying in animal triumph, drunken and frenzied with blood-crazed greed to wreak swift and terrible carnage. Once over the threshold, no sacred symbol or silver bullet can repel the savage fury of the damned.

That's how it went last time, at any rate.

Which leaves us with one question - at the fateful moment, when the moon is full and we hear once more the skitter of claws at the windows, will we calm the gullible and the easily-led amongst us?

Will we hold them by the shoulders and shake sense into them, imploring them to gaze into the beast's fiery red eyes to see the smouldering hatred within?

If you asked me to guess, I'd say probably not. Most likely we'll go on a march or two, then write a jolly stiff letter to our Members of Parliament.

Time will tell, I suppose, but we must bear one thing in mind - however the confrontation between Iran and the West pans out, we must remain calm and resist the urge to hyperbole and hysteria.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

The Curse Of Celebrity

I've always had the utmost respect for the late Princess Diana - the woman was a saint, the very model of decorum and dignity, cruelly cut down just as she was finally finding happiness.

Now, as her final moments are once more strewn across the pages of the scum press, we learn of her heart-wrenching final words...

"Princess Diana repeated the words "oh, my God" as she lay hurt in car wreckage while photographers took pictures..."

A sad scene indeed, one made all the sadder for her needless and wilful blasphemy - a slight that the Lord will not quickly forgive as He closes His celestial Ears to her shrieks for mercy from the Lake of Fire.

While I shed a solitary tear for the red-hot poker inflicted back-door tortures that the Princess of Hearts is surely experiencing, I must harden my resolve and recall that the Lord laid down His Laws expressly forbidding this type of sacrilege.

I understand that being crushed in a high-speed car accident is probably quite stressful, but that is no excuse for disobedience. What if we allowed everyone to utter such vile oaths in times of strife?

If you can't do the time (eternity), don't do the crime (mild cursing), that's what I say.

Monday, October 22, 2007

We Shall Fight Them On The Buses

What a day - all I wanted was a bacon roll, but instead I spent the morning with the jackboot of fascism on my neck.

First, the bus to work - full of School-Troopers and Pensio-Nazis, demanding unquestioning obedience to their deranged doctrines by ringing the bell for every stop and barking orders at the driver. The journey took forever thanks to their implacable hatred.

Getting off the bus, I found the city centre thronged with Pedestrianazis, every one of them driven by an unshakeable ideological determination to stand chatting in large groups on the pavement.

Then I get to work, and my Co-workerfascists had already eradicated the cooked breakfasts, and the Canteennazis were chemically sterilising the floors and surfaces.

Not only that, but every one of the tables had been annexed to provide lebensraum for the Greater Department of Accounts, and I was forced to march downstairs to my desk to eat the bitter cereal of the oppressed.

Well, the time for such appeasement is over. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to work armed with a bloody big stick, the better to batter any fascists who try to crush my right to a peaceful bacon roll.

After all, who could object? Once we're agreed that these people are fascists, the only conceivable response is to attack them with everything we have. Our granddads could tell us what happened to their breakfasts the last time Britain tried to mollify totalitarians.

I say we stop these little Hitlers at their early-morning Munich.

Oh, I know that some of you might quibble that not all of these people are actual, literal Nazis, but then, neither were the Germans in 1938 and look where our weakness got us then. Others might make an ill-informed judgement that at an all-out assault on evil may actually be counter-productive, illogical and stupid.

The objectively pro-fascist amongst you might even say that I should explore other options, such as getting to work earlier. I say that you are ignoring the hard-learned lessons of history.

Well, the time has come to decide which side you are on. Would you rather side with the forces of freedom, or cravenly lick the boots of totalitarians?

Consider well, for if we allow the cowards and appeasers among us to win the day, we face a breakfast of darkness that will last until lunchtime.

Thanks and apologies to the (NSFW) B3TA Photoshopper whose hard work I have shamelessly nicked.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Vote Genghis For Better Public Services!

Reading this post at Jamie K's place about the likely consequences of a Hillary Clinton presidency, an ominous thought occurred.

I've run a couple of quick Google searches, and I can't find a single major contender for the presidency or the office of the Prime Minister in the last five years who's had anything good to say about peace.

Oh, don't get me wrong - they've all got plenty to say about peace in the Middle East, by which they generally mean war. One and all eulogise peace of mind, which is of course to be gained through more war.

But of peace in the abstract, as an inherently good thing in itself, I can't find a squeak.

I don't mean peace as in Peace, Man, let's all hold hands and sing "We Are The World". I mean peace as the desired state of humanity, as the reason why our Granddads faced the machine guns and won.

Peace as an ideal that should be aspired to, not as some Hippy acid-trip to be mocked by desk-bound, arse-scratching armchair warriors.

I'm afraid that the reason that we don't hear such things from politicians is that the word itself is electoral poison, and any candidates giving such a speech would find their campaign plummeting towards the earth, riddled with rhetorical bullet holes.

I think it's debatable whether a candidate would choose to deliver a speech in praise of peace over a tribute to the "misguided" torturers of Abu Ghraib.

In America and the UK, all four major parties are pro-war in the broad sense - if the cry goes up that Wherethefuckistan needs to be blasted with hi-tech whizzbang until it's civilised to our liking, voters had better look elsewhere for dissenting voices.

I worry that, over the last thirty years or so, we've accepted war as our natural state, rather than as a temporary exception. I'm concerned that we've trained a generation of journalists, political activists and citizens to see the world as a perpetual threat that must be constantly bombed into submission.

Who knows, perhaps I'm wrong - maybe Obama or Cameron has a few nice words for the concept.

For now, stray visitors from blogs run by shitheads can shout booga-booga-booga! about the Iranians in comments. It seems to be what the internet is for, after all.

Re-Post - Those BBC Cuts, Accusations Of Bias And The Tory Shitheads Wanking Over Them

BBC "Institutionally Biased"
Independent Group Criticises Corporation's World Cup Coverage
"Deep-seated Cultural Marxism"

The Times, 30th July 2007

An independent study group has heavily criticised the BBC for what it calls "Anti-English bias" in its coverage of the 2006 football World Cup

Media Bias Watch, a privately funded organisation dedicated to scrutinising the Corporation, cited numerous instances in which the national team was unfairly denigrated, while the faults of other nations were glossed over.

"Time and time again, the BBC's commentators referred to England's performances as 'lacklustre', 'workmanlike' and 'half-hearted'," said Sir Richard Starke-Staring, Chairman of the group. "And yet they had nothing but praise for teams such as Italy, Brazil and Germany."

"The BBC refused to balance its coverage, displaying bias in its treatment of foreign teams. Argentina, for instance, were lavished with praise for their 6-0 defeat of Serbia and Montenegro - their play was described as 'poetic, balletic and brilliant', featuring 'one of the best goals ever scored at international level."

"But where was the praise for England's triumphant defeat of Trinidad and Tobago?"

"It is precisely this kind of contempt for Englishness and pandering to foreign nations that exposes the Corporation's fundamental lack of trustworthiness."

The BBC has recently come under fire for gross distortions in its broadcasting, and this report comes as the public is increasingly critical of the Corporation.

As for the treatment of the U.S.A. national team, the report states that the commentators spilled over into overt anti-American hatred - Gary Lineker was heard to state that "the Americans aren't very keen on football - sorry, soccer," and pundits Alan Hansen and Peter Schmeichel both laughed at the prospect of an American triumph in the competition.

"Would they have laughed at the suggestion that Brazil might win the trophy?" asks the report.

"Of course not, because the Brazilians are not a symbol of international capitalism."

Sir Richard was adamant that the BBC was not providing its viewers with accurate reporting.

"Perhaps the brie-eating, latte-slurping classes of Hampstead enjoy hearing praise for the cheating divers of Italy, but the good, honest, hard-working British man doesn't need to hear his heroes being described as 'over-paid' and 'over-rated'."

The report recommends a complete restructuring of the BBC, allowing for privatisation and foreign ownership.

"We've seen how private ownership has helped American media with their truth and accuracy," he said. "The liberal-leftist culture of the BBC has so tainted their reporting that only a mandatory purchase by, for example, News International can bring balance to sport coverage."

Related articles:

William Rees-Mogg - Why the BBC needs to be defrocked and defenestrated, p22

Daniel Finkelstein - This Corporation should be bound and fucked to death, p23

Matthew Paris - There's all kinds of good things on satellite TV these days, p23

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Police "Manipulated Image" of Terror Suspect/Shooting Victim - Prosecution
Met Denies Accusations of Fakery

BBC News, 17th October 2007

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Break A Leg

The local free rag, the Edinburgh Herald & Post, carries a headline announcing Scottish Enterprise's plan to introduce a programme of free street theatre in the city's ever-popular Grassmarket.

While I appreciate the intent to bring culture to the masses, I can state that, having worked in Edinburgh's premier booze-cruise nightspot, the area already possesses a burgeoning programme of free entertainment.

Why, on any given night one can easily find interpretive dance troupes sashaying up and down the road, clad in outlandish attire for the amusement of taxi drivers who witness their abilities at close quarters as the participants bounce gaily off their car bonnets.

Fridays and Saturdays are a particular joy for those of a historical bent, as re-enactors can be found staging performances of the Battle of Agincourt from Henry V through the medium of glass.

And fans of the erotic and scatological arts will be delighted by the nightly bacchanalia, in which a broad selection of amateur enthusiasts publicly engage in the kind of displays that would redden the cheeks of a Bangkok ladyboy.

As a purist of the performing arts, though, I'm most taken by the operatic works commonly heard in the small hours - while the performers vary in quality and vocal range, it's the sheer unpredictability that amazes.

I recall finishing work one night at 2.30 am to be confronted with a talented young soloist, who stunned me by launching into the following aria...

"Awright mate, goan geez a fag/
Just a fag, mate, I'll gie ye twenty pence for it/
And that...

C'mon, then cunt/
Just one fag, it'll no kill ye/
Geez a fag, ya prick/
Or you're gettin' slashed."

Truly, a virtuoso recital.

So, while I appreciate this plan to boost the performing arts on the city's streets, I can't see how they can top our present embarrassment of riches.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Monday Morning Countdown Conundrum

Same rules as Channel 4's fogey-fodder filler for bored coffin-dodgers - make the longest word you can manaage, no proper nouns or punctuation.

£25 million* for the best answer...


*No, not really, although I'll chuck in a boot up the arse for free.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Who Says The Americans Don't Understand Irony?

Rice Attacks Kremlin Power Monopoly.

In Praise Of Scottish Brainpower

Following Scotland's sensational 3-1 victory over Ukraine today, I thought I'd offer a salute to the intelligence and savvy of the Scottish footballer.

Pictured right is Celtic and Scotland midfielder Scott Brown - as fine an example of Scottish skill and technique as could be found.

Last season, he played for Edinburgh club Hibernian, under manager-cum-Eurotrash-playboy John Collins.

For reasons known only to themselves, there was a rebellion amongst the players, and a group of them visited Hibs owner Tom Farmer at his house to demand that the manager Collins be removed.

Everything was sorted out, but a week later Scott Brown was interviewed by a BBC reporter...

BBC Reporter: Scott Brown, were you one of the players that visited (Hibs Owner) Tom Farmer's house?

Scott Brown: I don't know.

Heartfelt tribute to the geniuses of the Scottish team - you have done us all proud, despite your mental impairments.

Closed For The Day


Friday, October 12, 2007

Defend Western Civilisation From Jihadism!

Will nobody do anything about the relentless march of Islamist fascism into British life?

Just last night, I opened a can of Alphabetti Spaghetti for dinner, and within two minutes I was able to form Jihadist slogans such as DEF TO THE INFIDEL, I LUV DEF MOR THN LIFE and OSAMA IS NICE.

Disgracefully, I was still able to write HITLER IZ SEXY if I used an N on its side for an S, thus demonstrating that fascism retains a place in the European psyche.

This foodstuff is fed to our children, for God's sake - are we really so spineless and supine that we allow this racist propaganda onto our dining tables?

Resist! Write to your MP demanding he ban this evil durum-based, Dhimmificatory filth.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Look Me In The Eye And Say That

The notorious sex tourist Harry Hutton points me towards these horrific snaps from Christopher Hitchens' latest Vanity Fair assignment, in which he receives but a taste of the punishment he so richly deserves.

I'm disappointed to see that, rather than forcing him to lick jelly off his own balls for the entertainment of a gang of cackling CIA interrogators, Vanity Fair have merely given him a face pack and a back, crack and sack wax.

It's at moments like this that I recall why I have such great respect for Hitchens - even as a combined force of health specialists and photographers strive to strip him of his dignity, he still maintains an air of detached, fuck-you rebelliousness by puffing on a cigarette.

What a trooper - lesser men would've been left looking absolutely ridiculous.

Still, in all of this pornographic depravity, we must remember to commemorate the suffering of the real victims.

I ask you to pity the poor stylist who laboureth betwixt the bulbous cheeks of Hitchens, for truly she hath looked into the abyss, and it hath looked into her.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Never Let Your Guard Down - Racists Are Everywhere

Word has gone out from those in the know that humourless, cretin-baiting cock-knocker Richard Dawkins has been cast out of the hearts of Decent men for the crime of anti-semitism.

"When you think about how fantastically successful the Jewish lobby has been, though, in fact, they are less numerous I am told - religious Jews anyway - than atheists and [yet they] more or less monopolise American foreign policy as far as many people can see." - Ayatollah Dawkins, recently.

Well, I've never trusted the guy - you can see from the fevered look in his beady eye that he's one stubbed toe away from launching a one-man pogrom on the Armenians.

Scratch an atheist, and you'll find Inquisitor Bernardo Gui, or so they say.

Anyway, I have a hard time believing all this The Jews control this or American policy that. I saw a guy on TV once saying that they controlled the media or some such cant - short, German bloke, daft mustache, seemed a little bit pushy.

Well, I've been a huge fan of the works of Joseph Heller, Philip Roth and Kinky Friedman for years, and none of them have ever produced anything half as moronic as The Jeremy Kyle Show or America's Next Top Model.

If you ask me, we should march en masse through the streets demanding that the Jews be put in control of the media, to improve its intellectual and comic content.

On the other hand, I'm not averse to calls for the vicious, public flogging of Dawkins. It's a difficult conundrum, with pros and cons on either side.

Damn it all, I just can't decide.

Commenters, what do you think? Should we appoint Woody Allen as the Head of Light Entertainment, or should we all just get together and whip the skin off the vile racist Dawkins 'til he squeals like a chainsawed chihuahua?

Think carefully, now. The lives of millions may depend upon it.

Monday, October 08, 2007

Huge Crack On Display In Tate Gallery - Art Lovers Looking Into It

Apologies - but what title would you put on this story?

"The work, entitled Shibboleth 2007, runs the full 167 metres of the cavernous hall on London's South Bank.

It begins as a crack then widens and deepens as it snakes across the room."


The artist explains the work's significance, but I prefer to leave it to your interpretation.

What symbolism could this massive crack possibly have?

Personally, I'm just glad it's showing in London rather than Scotland. We'd just have filled it with sausages or turned it into a crude device for smoking narcotics.

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Power Politics

"At least 100,000 U.S. troops could return home from Iraq by the end of 2008, Iraqi President Jalal Talabani said in an interview aired on Sunday..." - Reuters News, 7th October 2007.

Congratulations to President Talabani, who has astoundingly schmoozed the Americans into reversing their current policy. It's amazing that he's managed to change Mr. Bush's mind when 70% of Americans can't.

It occurs to me that this could just be a political move - perhaps Mr. Talabani is trying to bounce the Republicans into doing his bidding.

Well, best of luck - I've been touting for a few tasty reconstruction projects myself, and no dice. Back in 2004 I worked for the Coalition Provisional Authority under Jerry Bremmer, running crack and bitches for the young Republican swinging set in the Green Zone.

Let me tell you, it was hard work. Every day I was besieged by shouting, sweater-clad business graduates cramming hundred dollar bills into my hand, calling me Buddy and asking me to track down horse tranquilisers and small rodents for them.

Every night was a Baghdadi bacchanalia, as preppy can-do types reinterpreted Uncle Milty Friedman's permanent income hypothesis while snorting lines of cocaine so wide you'd need a run-up to vault them.

Bremmer was arbiter bibendi, sitting under an enormous portrait of George W. while wearing a crown and overseeing the proceedings with maniacal glee.

"You there!" he'd shout now and then, guzzling down a roll of pills with deep tonks from a bottle of Jack. "Don't tickle her with it, really give it some! And bring me more hamsters, you fucks, or I'll have you all shot like dogs!"

You've never felt fear until you've seen the cream of the 2002 economic theory classes ripped to the tits on Absolut and Vicodin, trying to see which of them could shove the most drugs up their arses before they started convulsing and speaking in tongues.

And that was just a Tuesday night - the real fun didn't kick off 'til the weekends.

All that, and all I got was a thank you, a smile and a see you at the Weekly Standard bash next year!

So, as I say, credit to Talabani for convincing the Administration to go along with his plan - he's succeeded where I couldn't.

If the Americans don't follow through with his withdrawal plan, I advise him to try yawning, then announcing that it's getting late, and that Iraq has to be up early for work in the morning.

Works like a charm on unwelcome guests every time, in my experience.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Saluting The Prime Ministerial Penis

It's a matter of some embarrassment to me that I've failed to mention our new Prime Minister Wee Gordon Broon's first conference speech - truly, a momentous occasion like this requires my full attention.

Via Mr. E, I find that Mick Fealty has put together a word cloud depicting those Wee Gordon used most often - as one might expect, it's not hard to spot the influence of focus groups and electoral strategists.


Basically, American politicians have realised that the public like hearing certain words - in the US, they like hope, values, responsibility, leadership etc. Given the presidential style of wee Gordon's speech, I wouldn't be surprised to find some DLC reptilian like Joe Trippi pulling strings behind the scenes.

Clearly, our first Scottish PM since God knows when feels the need to talk up his Britishness when addressing our country of Britain, and is keen to stress his commitment to public services.

Rather than analyse this intelligently, I thought I might steal a trick from the majestic Matt Taibbi yet again and replace these powerful terms with the word penis, hopefully revealing a deeper truth about the emptiness of modern political rhetoric.

It's not a pretty picture that emerges...

"...Every citizen who answered the call of the penis - policemen and women, our security and emergency penises, our health penises - all left their mark on this island's story by keeping us safe. They are the pride of penises..."

"And there is no weakness in penis today that cannot be overcome by the strengths of the penis people. So don't let anyone tell us penis is not equal to every challenge."

"I am proud to be penis - I believe in penis values..."


"...I am a conviction politician... I stand for a penis where everyone should rise as far as their talents can take them and then the talents of each of us should contribute to the well being of all."

"I stand for a penis where all families who work hard can build a better life for themselves and their children... I stand for a penis where penis penises exist for the patient, the pupil, the people who are to be penised..."

But if I had to choose one part of the speech, it would be the rousing finale, which had the entire hall standing to attention...

"So this is my pledge to the penis people: I will not let you down.

I will stand up for our schools and our hospitals - I will stand up for penis values.

I will stand up for a strong penis.

And I will always stand up for you."

Mr. Brown, for your wonderful conference speech, all of us penis people rise in salute.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Dull Football Chat

Apologies to readers who don't like football, but times like these demand comment.

Celtic have beaten the European champions AC Milan 2-1, while Rangers have defeated German champions VFB Stuttgart by the same score, and absolutely stuffed French champions Lyon 3-0.

Add this to Scotland's home and away victories over football giants France, and we are a nation on the up - after years of humiliation at the hands of diddy countries, we are now knocking shit out of some of the biggest powers in the world.

It's been far too long, but finally Scottish football is making its mark on the map. Best of luck to Aberdeen, who have an appallingly difficult tie to negotiate today - all of us hope that you can do a job on Dnipro.

Fucking brilliant - no other words will do.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

The Pussification Of The Western Male

A curse upon the PC Brigade and all their works, for the Pussification of the Western Male continues apace - truly, they will not be satisfied until all men are reduced to quivering, mewling femininity.

Don't believe me?

Just this week, the Prime Minister shamefully announced that 1000 British soldiers would be withdrawn from Iraq, betraying the promise we made to its people.

Oh for the days of Tony Blair, a leader with balls of steel - Blair would never flinch from ordering the armed forces to drive in circles around Basra to be shot at and blown up by the locals. Blair would face down his critics and say, We are prepared to make the required blood-sacrifice, and if that means ordering soldiers to dodge bullets and IEDs for no good reason, then by God I will!

There was a leader who wasn't afraid to play meaningless gesture politics with the lives of others.

But that's not even the worst of it - oh no. Now, we can't even deport refugees to be tortured in Sudan without being subjected to a load of whining about their so-called "human rights".

Well, if you ask me, as soon as you decide not to be a white, British anglo-saxon protestant, you lose all of your so-called "human rights" - if you don't even have the basic decency to be born in Britain, frankly, you deserve everything you get.

What kind of country have we created in which a British policeman cannot shoot whoever he wants, whenever he wants, as many times as he wants, without having to answer a lot of impertinent questions?

And, frankly, a world in which a gang of red-blooded American mercenaries can't machine gun a marketplace without being harrassed by the political correctness police is not a world in which I wish to live.

Fie, a pox on these touchy-feely Hampstead liberals, for they have made great, simpering jessies of us all.

Monday, October 01, 2007

Uproar As "Cock Robin" Trial Collapses
Internet Bloggers Cast Doubt Upon Sparrow's Guilt, Implicate Palestinians
Reuters News, 1st October 2007

The trial of the Sparrow, accused of the cold-blooded murder of Cock Robin, collapsed in bitter acrimony today following a dazzling intervention by a pair of internet bloggers.

The Sparrow had previously broken under intense questioning by the prosecution, sobbing freely while professing his guilt.

"I remind the witness that he is under oath," stated the Lark, prosecuting. "Now, Sparrow, can you tell me who killed Cock Robin?"

"I," sobbed the Sparrow, "With my little bow and arrow - I killed Cock Robin."

A murmur of surprise rippled around the court as a clerk then approached the bench and handed an envelope to Judge Rook, presiding.

In a move that has astonished the world of avian law, Judge Rook announced that he was granting a petition from internet bloggers Charles Johnson of Little Green Footballs and "Zombie" of Zombietime to present evidence as "Amicus Curiae", or "friends of the court".

Over-ruling objections from the prosecution, Judge Rook then heard expert testimony from the bloggers, who presented technical and ballistic evidence to disprove the charges against the Sparrow.

Presenting a diagram of the crime scene, Mr. Johnson demonstrated that, at the time of the murder, the Sparrow's line of sight to the victim had been blocked by a large tree.

"Clearly," Mr. Johnson stated, "If the Sparrow could not see Cock Robin, he could hardly have shot him with his little bow and arrow."

"And, since no autopsy was performed upon Cock Robin, there is no evidence incriminating the Sparrow."

"It's true," sobbed the Owl from the gallery, "I dug his grave - with my little pick and shovel, I dug his grave."


The prosecution objected furiously to the intervention, strenuously contesting Mr. Johnson's academic credentials.

"This man is not qualified to give expert testimony," the Lark stated. "He is quite obviously a pony-tailed, Californian surf-bum tool with a sociopathic beef against foreigners!"

"I'll allow it," ruled Judge Rook, who then observed with interest as "Zombie" demonstrated her hypothesis that a third party had been involved.

"As we can see from my diagram, it is perfectly possible that a Palestinian bowman was concealed behind a poorly-drawn pram, on higher ground. The victim was well within the range of the standard Palestinian bow, which is more than powerful enough to kill the average small songbird."

"As an expert in Palestinian ballistic technology, I have studied the arrow in question, and can confirm that it is of Palestinian origin."

Judge Rook then called the Fly to the dock, where he was questioned by Counsel for the Defence.

"Did you see him die?", the Fly was asked, to which he responded "Aye, I saw him die - with my little eye, I saw him die."

"And," asked the Wren, defending, "in your opinion, is it possible that Cock Robin could have been slain by a concealed Palestinian?"

As the Fly nodded his assent, the Wren then addressed the bench. "I put it to you, M'Lud, that the Sparrow is innocent, and that this evidence is a set-up concocted by Palestinian propagandists to discredit him!"

There were gasps as Judge Rook then threw out all charges against the defendant and dismissed the case.

Outside the court, Mr. Johnson and "Zombie" welcomed the verdict.

"This is a victory for the common man over the might of the MSM (Mainstream Media)," announced Mr. Johnson. "We must remain vigilant, for the wily foreigner is always adept at exploiting the prejudices of the journalistic establishment to spread his vile propaganda."

"With dedication and perseverence, we will prove that every allegation of wrongdoing against Sparrowkind is nothing but a convuluted Palestinian conspiracy."


At that moment, the Bull tolled the bell, and all the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing, when they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin.