Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Gunboat Diplomacy

I don't understand all this fuss about these British sailors the Iranians are holding.

I mean, has anybody considered asking for them back nicely?

I know that temper tantrums are a famous Persian characteristic - when I was ten, I accidentally kicked my ball into Ayatollah Khomeini's back garden, and the ill-tempered old cunt burst it with a penknife.

"There is no room for play in Islam, young man," he intoned gravely. "It is deadly serious about everything."

It would've been even more convincing if he hadn't been dribbling and furtively rubbing his light-sabre beneath his hilarious Jedi Knight outfit, but I got his point. Fundamentalist Islam is a serious business, and it should be approached with the appropriate level of respect.

That's why I've been actively resisting the advance of totalitarian Islamism by spending my days naked, snorting cocaine on rollercoasters.

I've had good times, but I can't pretend that it hasn't taken its toll - over the last five years, I've blown at least £5000, and I've become chronically dependent upon the Nemisis Inferno.

Still, it's good to see the British playing military operations by the book. Admittedly, the book in question seems to have been Bravo Two-Zero, but they've followed the plan to the letter...

Step One - Arrive at target.

Step Two - Get lost.

Step Three - Get captured.

I suppose that we should probably look on the bright side - our troops are probably a hell of a lot safer in Tehran than in Basra.

No doubt the Prime Minister has an audacious rescue plan in mind - after all, he's talked a good game for the past few years. I bet he's just lulling the mullahs into a false sense of security.

Then Bam!

The fuckers won't know what hit them.

Monday, March 26, 2007

This Fisking Lark Is A Piece Of Piss

Sweet Jesus, now the idiots are ganging up on us, combining their lunacy in an effort to drag us all into the stone age...

"Bible-based criticism of evolution, once limited to Protestant fundamentalists in the United States, has become an issue in France now that Pope Benedict and some leading Catholic theologians have criticized the neo-Darwinist view of creation.

An Islamist publisher in Turkey mass-mailed a lavishly illustrated Muslim creationist book to schools across France recently, prompting the Education Ministry to proscribe the volume and question the way the story of life is taught here."

All we need now is for the religious nutjobs to join forces with the reflexologists, and a new age of barbarism will consume mankind.

None of this is new, of course. Scientific method has been under assault since at least 1978, when a Ph.D student of astronomy attempted to disprove the theory that the Earth rotates because of residual momentum/kinetic energy from the formation of the Earth and Solar System.

A young Brian May of the popular music combo Queen astounded the scientific establishment with his assertion that it was in fact Fat Bottomed Girls that made the world go round.

On closer inspection, however, this theory is blatantly false. Since 1978, the average body mass in developed nations has increased markedly, while the Earth's rotation is actually slowing.

This is unsurprising, as Mr. May is obviously given to flights of fancy. It seems inconceivable that any responsible parent would leave a mere skinny lad alone with a childminder bearing the moniker of "Big Fat Fanny", as he later claims.

Looking at this, I've begun to consider the possibility that Brian May hasn't actually done any research, and made it all up as he was going along.

I have a good mind to report him to the Royal Astronomical Society for his duplicity.

Be'elzebub has a devil put aside for such charlatans.

P.S. This is before we consider the noted climatologist and fraudster Carly Simon, whose controversial thesis on the formation of cirro-stratus in coffee cups were thoroughly debunked in 1972.

Any high school science student knows that the micro-climate of a coffee cup causes heat to dissipate far too rapidly for the formation of clouds.

And let us not discuss Professor Pop's pretensions of cheetah-hood, nor his claims regarding napalm.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

How Culture War Works

Howls of lamentation echo around the internet, as the ever-credulous Instapundit and Michelle Malkin, La Passionara novo de los idiotas, reflect upon the treachery of anti-war types...

"Perhaps the most disturbing scene of the afternoon, however, involved the man who pulled down his pants in front of women and children and defecated on a burning U.S. flag.”

Now, let us pause to reflect upon that sentence. Would it have been any more acceptable had no children been present? Are women more sensitive than men about such things? And finally, what kind of rock-hard bastard could take a dump on a naked flame?

Anyone willing to scorch their testicles to make a political point is double hard in my book, and should be in the marines rather than the anti-war movement.

The reason I've heard so much recently about the heresy of the hippies is simple - the war in Iraq is over, and we lost. It's now time to open the big book of backstabbing to explain away our ignominious defeat.

After all, it took thirty hard years pimping heavily fictionalised tales of hippie sedition to erase the memory of the Vietnam war.

For the modern propagandist, the lessons of that war aren't the ones that any military strategist would draw - that intervening in somebody else's war is a bad idea, that firepower is not the final guarantor of victory, that no amount of men and materiel can compensate for a fundamentally flawed plan.

No, the only lesson to be learned is this - dirty hippies done stabbed us in the back!

Obviously, we're past the point of no return in Iraq, so this isn't about shoring up support for our doomed adventure - this is myth-making in action, rehearsing the excuses that will enable our future wars of choice, laying the foundations for all tomorrow's idiotic backlash movements.

Welcome to the lunacy of the culture war - America's curse, and Britain's future.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Golden Moments In Scottish Football History

In honour of Scotland's imminent defeat of the European giants Georgia, a gallery of nostalgia to warm the hearts of Caledonians worldwide.

P.S. Can I have a few captions for this photograph?

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Memes Should Be Culled, Before They Overwhelm Us All And Set Up Their Own Republic Of Annoyance

Once more, I've been tagged with a meme by the eloquent Not Saussure, who passes on the question, "Which five blogs make you think?".

Well, as you might know, I hate thinking and try to avoid it whenever possible. If blogs cause me any thought, it's usually "Why don't these bastards pepper their posts with more gags for me to steal, so I don't have to come up with my own?".

In that vein, I'll have to link to those from whom I regularly steal -

Roy at Alicublog, America's most entertaining blogger, who I've been reading since 2003;

Larry Teabag, who inspires hilarity and horror in equal measure;

Fellow Scot and all-round good egg Clairwil;

The stupendous Ha Ha Ha at Bogol and the inimitable Harry Hutton.

Honourable mentions should also go to Emerald Bile, The Japing Ape, Jon Swift and non-blogger Maddox.

And in my role as meme-slayer, I hereby declare this meme deceased.

Not A Matter Of Life And Death...

Today's Guardian looks at an absolutely crucial issue - who will British Jews support in the upcoming England v Israel football match?

Essentially, they're revisiting Tory dinosaur Norman Tebbit's immigrant-baiting "Cricket Test" - as might be expected, the ever-liberal Grauniad concludes that it's fine to support another nation's football team.

But it'll be a different story when I'm cheering on the Israelis on Saturday - I'll be condemned as an anti-English bigot, and if I tried it south of the border I'd be lucky to escape with my life.

It's yet another example of discrimination against mouthy Scottish wankers, and I, for one, won't stand for it.

But it's not the only example of modern double standards, as a contributor to this month's Viz notes...

"I was appalled to see a report on Newsnight about the King Fahad School teaching its pupils that all non-Muslims would burn in the fires of Hell after their deaths. What a terrible thing to present as fact to impressionable minds.

And anyway, I was always taught at my CofE school that it was non-Christians who would burn for all eternity in the Lake of Fire."

I quite agree - I believe that the infidels should be alerted to the hideous tortures that await them, should they spurn the infinite love of the Lord.

Speaking as a devout Trustafarian, I also believe that I shall inherit the Earth.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

National Boo-Hoo-Hoo Day 2007

Budget Day in the UK, and it's traditional for Britons to mark the occasion by mounting their high-horses to bemoan their personal victimhood even more forcefully than usual.

"This government doesn't care about single men/hard-working families/small businesses/smokers/transvestite cab-drivers!" we lament in unison, cursing the perfidy of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Wee Gordon Broon.

The Chancellor's a slippery little toad and no mistake, but he could've given us each a hot air balloon full of high-class prostitutes and we'd still have called him a cad and an fuckfaced oaf. Complaining is the national pastime, and on such days the average Briton spends an average of six hours whining like a fork scraped across a plate.

When I consider the financial persecution that I personally suffer, I start shaking and swearing incoherently at my hamster, although it doesn't seem to mind - if anything, it seems more interested in its nuts than added tax on a pint of Guinness. I suppose it's got the right idea.

Sitting about feeling sorry for myself isn't going to put food on the table, after all. Hard work and prudence is the key.

So I've been quietly tipping off the FBI as to the whereabouts of Osama Bin Laden, in the hope of claiming the $25 million bounty*.

Armed only with a copy of the Waziristan telephone directory, I've got as far as the Bijirani's. I reckon I've grassed up 143,000 Pakistanis for sheltering OBL so far - at this rate, I'll stumble across the right address before 2031.

That's what made Britain great - a bit of enterprise and risk-taking, not self-pity and grovelling for hand-outs.

*That's about fourteen hundred pounds in proper money.

How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The PM

I'm a little late in addressing this issue, but I think that the Government should be congratulated for convincing Parliament to vote for the new Trident nuclear defence* system. It’s extortionately expensive and completely useless, and Tony Blair managed to convince a majority of Parliamentarians to blow twenty billion pounds on it.

Jolly well done, sir. Truly, this man could sell tits to Hugh Hefner.

It’s just a little disappointing that we’re too polite to ever actually use it. I can’t really imagine any of our recent Prime Ministers ordering a massive thermonuclear strike on Moscow - they’d think it was terribly rude.

Actually, I tell a lie - I could envision Lady Thatcher ordering a strike on Moscow. Now that I come to think of it, I can easily imagine Mrs. T nuking French Guyana, just to annoy Jacques Chirac. At least now, with our shiny new missile system, we could theoretically do so.

That’s assuming the damn thing works, of course. Picture the scene - as the Iranian missiles shriek towards London, placid senior civil servants calmly explain to a panicked Prime Minister that our nuclear arsenal doesn’t work in desert conditions.

Still, nukes seem to be the weapon of choice as far as bloggers are concerned. Every time some crank in the Middle East burns a flag, I wind up reading feverish demands that we turn the entire region into a sheet of radioactive glass.

I can see why that might appeal to certain figures in the Bush administration. After all, it’d make prospecting for oil a lot easier - you’d just have to walk about looking down.

So if we can’t use these missiles, why don’t we take that twenty billion pounds and spend it on something we can use? If they junked the Trident program and just handed every Briton their own big pointy stick, we’d have enough left over to buy a round and crisps for 55 million people.

I’d think better of New Labour come polling day, I can tell you.

In coming to this conclusion, I've had to consider what would happen to the concept of deterrence. The arms race would brutal, as countries competed to build ever larger and sharper sticks. I suppose that the worst case scenario is the Iranians developing a stick so big and pointy that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad could lean out of his Tehran window and poke us all in the eyes.

I’ve considered that eventuality, and we’ll need to keep a secret weapon of near infinite destructive capabilities in reserve - Britain's enemies will have no response to the shock and awe of the sock and 8-Ball.

We should take great care to use this awesome power wisely.

*You can tell this is the British government we’re talking about - the Americans spell the word “defence” differently, and imbue it with a wildly different meaning.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

The Old Ones Are The Best

I love eating out in restaurants - the concept is stunningly simple. Hand over a few bits of paper, and someone will whip you up the kind of sumptuous meal that dazzles chipfat-reared barbarians like me.

I was at a fantastic German/Chinese restaurant this week, and the food was excellent.

Typical though, you stuff your face and twenty minutes later you're hungry for power again.

Friday, March 16, 2007

The Art Of Running The Circus From The Monkey Cage

Boy, am I looking forward to the next general election. Imagine it, the Clash of the Titans, Brown vs. Cameron!

It's the political punch-up to end all punch-ups, the prize-fight for the championship, as these two heavyweights trade body-blows over the critical issues that will decide the destiny of the United Kingdom.

SWOON! as Gordon and Davey announce their support for the replacement of the Trident missile system!

GASP! as they attempt to out-emote each other over the wellbeing of the environment!

SCREAM! as both candidates adopt pro-war positions!

APPLAUD! as Brown and Cameron agree virtually identical moderate free-market policies!

SHRIEK! as neither changes Britain's stance on the European Union!

FAINT! as Gordon and David agree to maintain high public spending!

MASTURBATE! as both parties stuff their manifestoes with draconian crackdowns on immigrants and criminals!

CHOKE! as British bloggers attempt to slide a credit card between the candidates!

SHIT YOUR PANTS! with anticipation as Rupert Murdoch decides which candidate will win!

LAUGH! your way to the ballot-box and cast your vote for the candidate with the best haircut!

I jest, of course. No doubt weighty and momentous issues will be debated, and the very existence of the nation will hang in the balance.

It'd take a wiser head than mine to explain how we got to the point where British politics resembles nothing more than two midgets playing ping-pong on a beermat while a gang of braying twats play poker with your pension.

Far be it from me to suggest that this is the inevitable result of neoliberal fundamentalism butting heads with a populace that demands activist government - that'd make me sound like a Commie and a twat.

I'll just get back to the football, grab a beer and leave this to the economists. After all, they seem to be doing a bang-up job of running our democratic system so far.

After lengthy consideration, I've decided to cast my vote for Judy

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

One For The Road

So, the Irish are the biggest boozers in the EU, are they?

What nonsense. This survey is nothing less than a national affront, and a slur upon bibulous Scots. As soon as I unhook myself from this dialysis machine, there'll be hell to pay.

I still feel terrible tonight after drinking a bottle of whisky yesterday, and it's no wonder - I checked the label today and it turns out it was eight years old.

That far out of date, it's a wonder I'm alive to tell the tale.

Now, Scottish lager has mystical, magical properties. Eight pints and you'll develop a lovely warm beer jacket, and the busiest roads will be simple to cross thanks to the invisible traffic cones which miraculously stop oncoming traffic

You'll also find that a wondrous form of satellite navigation will guide you home at such a tremendous velocity, you'll barely be able to recall the journey.

Though to be honest, I'm struggling with this rioja tonight - it's a bit sharp. Plus, it's turned my teeth dark maroon, so I'll have to get rid of the stains by downing a bottle of white before bed.

The Irish? Two-can hand grenades, the lot of them. I was out drinking with that Richard Harris about five years ago - nine pints and a nip, and the bugger was face down, dead to the world.

Never heard from him since, the big jessie. Some folk just can't hack the pace, you see.

Dignity In The Face Of Adversity

"A Belfast man has been bludgeoned to death with a shovel," Harry Hutton notes. "Why has Blair never been bludgeoned with a shovel? It would do him the world of good."

"That’s another of the things that’s wrong with him: he’s afraid to try new things."

I think that's unfair to the Prime Minister. After all, I've never heard tales of Bonar Law or Lord Palmerston undergoing primal scream rebirthing therapy or wallowing in a Mexican mud-bath...

"The spiritual leader of the ceremony encouraged them "to feel at one with Mother Earth," the Times reported, and to "experience inner feelings and visions."

"The Blairs then moved around the outside of the pyramid, one fa├žade at a time, praying first to the Mayan symbols of the sun and baby lizards, signifying spring and childhood. They then prayed to another wall, on which a bird was painted, representing adolescence, summer and freedom. One a third was a crab for maturity and autumn, and finally a serpent for winter and transformation..."

"...Before emerging from the pyramid, the Blairs were instructed to give voice to their hopes and fears (they said a prayer for world peace), and then undergo a "rebirth."

"This involved smearing one another with papaya and watermelon, then with mud from the Mayan jungle outside, the Times explained. "

"Finally, while exiting the womb-door of the pyramid, "the Blairs were told to scream out loud to signify the pain" of birth. They then walked hand-in-hand to the beach for a dip in the Caribbean..."

Credit where credit's due, I say. Churchill never had the guts to daub himself with his own feces and run naked through the streets of Cairo, shrieking obscene oaths while offering up supplication to Horus, son of Isis.

I wouldn't blink an eye if Jacques Chirac tried that, mind.

Nobody could accuse the Prime Minister of lacking impulsiveness, if you ask me. Just think, this is before we even discuss Tony's habit of starting wars for shits and giggles.

Bravo that man.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Humour In Uniform

Unsurprising news today, as Marine General Peter Pace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, announces his support for the US Army's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy.

"I believe homosexual acts between two individuals are immoral and that we should not condone immoral acts," the General declared with a straight face, defending the policy which has seen the dismissal of over 10,000 troops, including more than fifty Arabic speakers.

Well, that seems a bit harsh. After all, the gay community isn't a monolith - there are always a few bad apples who make the others look bad.

I can see the need for discretion, however. If you started letting just anybody into the army, why, before you knew it you'd be knee-deep in sexual jiggery-pokery and human pyramids.

I can also understand the fears of red-blooded US soldiers. If I was busy shooting people, I'd want to be sure that the man behind me was protecting my ass, rather than splattering it with thick wads of filthy yoghurt.

You'd be surprised by how common accidental discharges can be. If I may, however, I have a suggestion.

If it's morality that they're concerned about, the US military should surely follow the openness of the British Army, which now actively recruits from the gay community.

Since this policy was instituted, the incidence of Iraqi prisoners beating themselves to death and recruits committing suicide by shooting themselves twice in the head have dropped dramatically.

Who knows what wonders such a broadminded policy could do for the Marines?

Monday, March 12, 2007

Yet More Conspiracy Theories

I was talking about racism last week, and the particular mindset it requires to flourish, i.e. resentment, insecurity and ignorance.

Most of the overt racism I see and hear tends to be directed at Muslims or Eastern European immigrants, since those are the two most visible out-groups in Britain, but that doesn't mean that there isn't plenty of nasty, old-fashioned anti-semitism knocking about.

"You have to admit," a guy said to me during last year's war in Lebanon, "There's a strong pro-Zionist bias in the media."

Well, you don't have to be Simon Wiesenthal to spot the dark implication in that statement.

Personally, I find the notion that Jews control the media to be inherently laughable - after a night in front of Footballers' Wives, Pop Idol, Fame Academy and Wife Swap, it's patently obvious that the media is controlled by Satanists.

It wouldn't surprise me if the names of ITV's Saturday night shows could be rearranged to form a dark litany lauding Lucifer himself - I could easily imagine Cat Deeley or Ant and Dec wailing cacophonous, caterwauling black hosannas to the Father of Lies whilst slaughtering she-goats on an altar of human skulls.

Still, the ultimate proof against any Hebraic influence in media generally, and news in particular, is surely this article from the BBC today...

Israel Recalls "Naked Ambassador"

Israel has recalled its ambassador to El Salvador after he was found drunk and naked apart from bondage gear.

Reports say he was able to identify himself to police only after a rubber ball had been removed from his mouth...

..."We're talking about behaviour that is unbecoming of a diplomat,"... foreign ministry spokeswoman Zehavit Ben-Hillel told reporters.

The very notion that a story this entertaining could pass the censorious pen of the professional propagandist beggars belief.

On an unrelated note, this is stupendous misbehaviour from the ambassador, debauchery of which his country can be proud. If British ambassadors and cultural attaches were rolling up in gutters in Mexico City or Moscow, I'd be learning a second language before you could say "absinthe."

P.S. Incidentally, it may interest you to know that the German word for "Ambassador" is "Botshafter".

The Botschafter, predictably, lives in a Botschaft.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

The News Story Of The Century

Hold onto your hats kids, because some guy who left the BBC and wrote a book about their evil lefty ways has revealed a staggering exclusive...

"...a depiction of George W Bush as Adold (sic) Hitler was posted in the main current affairs office of the BBC and noone (sic) objected..."

As might be expected, this unsubstantiated assertion has sent the internet's propagandists into paroxysms of outrage.

Surely this unsubstantiated allegation is the final nail in the coffin of our national broadcaster, and it's now time to hand over its functions to an impartial, private news organisation, such as News Corp. Or to a shower of cheap, ferociously partisan political hacks like 18 Doughty Street.

Obviously, Bush isn't anything like Hitler - Hitler had a moustache, whereas Bush is clean-shaven. Additionally, Bush has never to my knowledge invaded Poland, and Hitler never owned a baseball team.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Beating Children Is Hilarious, And Fun!

Reuters, 8th March 2007
A 42-year-old German man was so enraged by a foul during a boys' soccer match that he invaded the pitch and felled the 8-year-old culprit with a karate kick, then jumped on him, police said on Wednesday.

I have to say that I'm very impressed. My Kung-Fu is eminently defeatable, so I too only exercise it upon children, the elderly and the disabled.

It's very unwise to ever attack anyone who could conceivably retaliate - well done, that man.

On a completely unrelated note, a friend of mine has just shipped out to Basra for a six month tour. It seems like a stupid place to go for a holiday, but they are paying him to do it - it just makes me wonder.

I was watching Question Time this evening, and one of the panelists demanded that the Government bring "our boys and girls" back from Iraq.

I'm all in favour of treating the Iraqis fairly, but it's clear to see why we've been having so much trouble over there. If they'd sent heavily armed and well-trained men and women to fight rather than boys and girls, this nonsense would've been over years ago.

My pal will sort it out in five minutes, he's thirty-six and has a big fuck-off machine gun.

It fires real bullets and everything.

The Snobbery Of The Poor

Ah, it's always entertaining to get a visit from comedy curmudgeon David Duff. For those unacquainted with David, he spends much of his time fretting about the damage that PC attitudes have done to Britain, and has requested that I aim some bile at the "Language Commissars".

Presumably, Mr. Duff means people like Tory leader David Cameron, who has today sacked an MP for making dodgy remarks.

"I have the feeling that you find them acceptable," he opines - the Commissars, that is, rather than the remarks.

Being an actual person, rather than a cardboard cut-out of Viz stalwart Millie Tant, my views are less predictable - I actually think that bigots, racists, Nazis and wanky students waving pro-Jihadi placards should be encouraged to speak their minds, without fear of criminal sanction.

Nasty opinions about foreigners and homosexuals? By all means, speak your mind. Just be aware in doing so you've effectively switched on a blinking neon sign on your forehead, and that everyone you're speaking to is reading the words "I am a resentful, insecure, ignorant prick with shit for brains."

Racist statements are essentially like farts, with the added bonus that anyone who smells it knows instantly who dealt it. Plus, both emanate from arseholes.

As for the Islam hatin' keyboard warriors of the internet, I find it amusing to imagine how strangers would react if one of them were to suddenly launch into a bitter diatribe on the threat of European Dhimmification.

I imagine the reaction they'd get from ordinary people would be much like your reaction to this.

Monday, March 05, 2007

Sanctimonious Non-Smokers - Save Breath By Shutting The Fuck Up

It may be difficult to believe, but I don't actively seek out sanctimonious non-smokers to be offended by.

They just seem to gravitate towards me, radiant with satisfaction at the momentous news they're about to impart, booming "Those are bad for you!" in tones of great authority.

If I walked into Burger King, marched up to the most extravagantly obese heifer in the place and hollered "Ho, fatass, don't you think you've had enough?", would I expect thanks? Would I imagine that the half-cooked lump of cow's arse would drop from the woman's hands as she leapt up crying "Hallelujah, the truth shall set us free!".

No, I'd expect to be beaten to the floor and sat upon until my head burst messily across the floor. I imagine that the last sight I'd see would be Johnny No-Stars mopping up my exploded brains.

So, I'm buying a pack of cigarettes this morning, and all of a sudden a woman in the queue pipes up, "Do you stand about outside smoking those?"

Being British, it took me some time to absorb the fact that a total stranger was addressing me unsolicited, but once I'd regained my composure I replied "There's not really anywhere else I can smoke them, is there?"

"Well," she said, "If you're only buying ten, why not just give up?"

As you can imagine, it's not often that I'm speechless. I just laughed and took my change, when I should really have punched her in the tit and pissed in her handbag.

Is this really what it's come to?

This is how it starts, you know. One minute they're castigating your lifestyle choices, and before you know it they're burning your shop down and revoking your citizenship.


Friday, March 02, 2007

Racial Slur Banned In New York
BBC News, 1st March 2007

The city council of New York has voted to ban the use of the word "wigger".

The resolution to ban the so-called "W-word" is largely symbolic as it carries no weight in law and those who use the word would face no punishment.

But it reflects a growing unease that the racial slur is now part of everyday conversation and that the taboo against its usage has been swept away.

The word is in common usage among sections of the younger generation in the United States to describe the increasingly commonplace incidence of white, middle-class Americans indulging in overblown hip-hop stylings.

Many Anglo-American community leaders, with the backing of fellow lawmakers, say it is offensive in every context and is a word which should never be said.

For them the word is loaded with offensiveness.

They regard it as degrading and a throwback to the early nineties, when cringe-worthy, faux-gangsta wannabes were regarded as sub-human, and whose weak-ass threads and hybrid jargon were frequently subject to overt playa-hatin'.

The New York City resolution was sponsored by Councilman Mix-a-Lot, who says the "W-word" was derived solely out of mockery and disrespect and that its meaning cannot be changed.

"Yo, the time has come for respectin'/
Because I'm detectin'/
Echoes of discrimination/
'Gainst the white boys of this nation/
So it's time to stop wit' da hatin'/
And get legislatin'/", said Councilman Mix-a-Lot, whose recent proposals to increase state funding for booty shakin' and jigglin' titties were passed by 11-1.

"This City Council don't want none unless ya got love, son," he added.

But for America's so-called hip-hop generation using the word among themselves is about self-empowerment, and to stop it is likely to take a change in their attitudes rather than an edict from elected officials.

"I hope this dope measure will encourage respect towards me 'n' my homies," said New Yorker Brad "B-Jay" Banksworth, a jingling, laughable sack of daddy-bought bling and bullshit, "But maybe what gots to change is what's in people's hearts, y'all know what I'm sayin'?"

"Peace, out."

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Trouble In Paradise

Perhaps you can help - Mrs. Rodent and I have had a disagreement over the status of celebrity in the modern age, and find ourselves unable to come to a consensus.

Mrs. Rodent believes that the colossal fame of Paris Hilton is a fascinating sociological phenomenon, exposing how celebrity culture has effectively become a self-perpetuating kakistocracy; an endless cycle of self-abasement and glorification, in which the acquisition of wealth for its own sake is held up as the apex of personal and spiritual worth.

I, however, contend that Paris Hilton is a drivel-brained sack of shitty porridge, held together by extortionate oils and unguents, drunk on the gunk of her harem of witless, trustafarian himbos, cavorting for the gratification of a hooting pack of malicious, masturbating ogres.

Mrs. Rodent argues that my conclusions prove that I'm appallingly sexiest, and that I need to get my nose out of the fucking dictionary because nobody likes a smart-arse.

Personally, I think that both arguments have merit.