Thursday, May 31, 2007

Whales vs Japan - The War The World Ignores

I'm not in the least surprised to see this headline - Whale Meeting Condemns Japan.

Were I a whale, I imagine I too would harbour considerable resentment for the Japanese. After all, nothing ruins one's morning quite like an exploding harpoon in the ventral pleats.

It is commendable that the whale community has decided to sit down around the table and solve this seemingly intractable conflict through diplomacy rather than violence, despite intense provocation.

If my pods were attacked with such ferocity, I guarantee that I would not be so sanguine.

Firstly, I'd like to make it clear that I'm an unbiased observer in this conflict - I condemn both the Japanese use of hi-tech weapons, which allows them to strike at the whale population with impunity, and also the whales' suicide bombing tactics.

It remains to be seen how the Japanese will respond to this measure. In all likelihood they will tell the whales to stick their resolution up their blowholes, and the tragic cycle of violence will recommence. After all, the Japanese point out, if the whales would only cease their encroachment into Japanese waters there would be no conflict in the first place.

I can only endorse the calls for international mediation and call upon both sides to exercise restraint - obviously, nobody wants to see any more blubber shed.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties, Normal Service Will Resume Shortly

Regular readers may wonder why I haven't been poking fun at the internet's rabid warfans recently - after all, my archives are filled with nonsensical gabble aimed at the chest-beating wannabe-Norse Gods of Gates of Vienna and the apocalyptic hysteria of LGF.

The answer is simple - no longer can I read their fevered prose. They've finally mated with the multinational chimera that is the Murdoch media empire, and have all simultaneously accepted Flash advertising* for Sky television. For some reason, this instantly crashes my browser every time I click on one of their sites.

This is a nothing short of a catastrophe. Taunting those who take themselves so seriously is rather like taking candy from a baby, albeit a very large, angry baby that takes a very dim view of immigration and is sexually aroused by machine guns.

Now I find myself lurking in David Duff's comments for entertainment affecting an air of detached boredom; casually exuding smarm and condescension while slyly pushing metaphorical turds through his electronic letterbox like a rat-faced teenager.

At this rate, I'm going to have to go door-to-door annoying people, so if any readers feel like taking pity and providing me with technical advice, I'll be delighted to hear it - layman's terms, mind.

Thank you.

*Have you accepted a few pennies a month in exchange for garish Flash advertising? Does it fire your dead, grasping soul with avaricious glee as you finger the dank, dirty dollars that plop wetly into your bank account as payment for your service?

Do you seek to fill the aching hole at the centre of your very being by converting this grimy currency into a neverending procession of bleeping, fiddly technological doodads as evidence of your personal worth?

Then cut out the middle man through the wonder of the internet - draw a large smiley face on your arse, present it to a live-streaming webcam then turn on "The Birdie Song" and get a-jigglin'!

Why suffer the degradation and loss of self-respect that comes with being a cog in the merciless machine of a fantastically evil Australian hobgoblin when the same filthy lucre is merely the wink of an eye away?

Better yet, why not just sell yourself to drunk punters on Skid Row?

Advertising - It's a mugs game. Don't do it.

News Round-Up

A quick look at the major news stories of the day before I head to work...

Israel Continues to Hit Palestinians Because it Loves Them

US Criticises Syrian Failure To Elect Anti-American Fundamentalist Extremists: "That Is Not Democracy" - Bush

Chavez Heroically Defends Venezuela From Fascist, Imperialist Criticism Of Chavez

Greenland Admits It "Just Hates Those Fucking Whales"

US Demands Changes to G8 Climate Change Text; Wants Protection In Cases Where Raped Environment "Was Asking For It"

Lebanon Bombs Extremism Out Of Palestinians - Everything Wonderful Now

Bush Nominates White House Dog To Lead World Bank - "Arf!", Says New Chief Barney

Parents Of Missing Child To Enjoy Audience With Elton John

Feel free to note any exciting developments during the day...

Monday, May 28, 2007

It's A Royal Knockout

So, Channel 4 are to screen a cheap ratings-grabber in which they will show stills of the aftermath of the Paris car smash that killed Princess Diana. This has provoked outrage from, well, everyone.

I'm something of a political magpie, picking up bits and pieces of theories and positions here and there, so I'm inclined to take a free marketeer's stance on this issue - since there's obviously a demand for smashed and mangled royalty, why not allow Channel 4 to plug the gap?

They could make it a series, in fact - have the public vote which member of the aristocracy they'd like to see pulverised, then blast them from cannons into walls like over-ripe tomatoes.

"This week on It's a Royal Massacre, Charles faces off against Andrew in Chainsaw Challenge! Which of these plucky Princes will prevail in this regal rumble?"

I'm not saying they should adopt a solemn tone, of course. If we're going to dispatch the Royal Family in all manner of gruesome ways, it'd put everybody off their popcorn. No, the only way to do it would be Japanese-style, with garish manga splatters across the screen, duck-whistle pratfalls and comical boings.

After all, you can't spell slaughter without laughter.

Come on, regicide is a great and noble British tradition - in a two hundred year period, not one Scottish King died in his bed, and the English were always pleased to dispatch their monarchs by axe or red-hot poker.

And if a man can't stand up for British traditions in the modern age, by God, we might as well have handed the country over to Hitler and had done with it.

Truly, it's a terrible thing when a dissolute misanthrope such as myself has to take a stand for British values.
Bitch Better Have My Hunny
By Winnie Tha Pimp

Anyhow, what I'm tryin' ta say ta y'all is, y'all seen my girl Kanga? I got bidness I wants to discuss wit' the ho.

Yeah, tha's right, y'all know what I'm sayin'. Dat girl been laying low, but Tha Pooh be lookin' fo' his payoff, and tha bitch better have my Hunny.

Yo, y'all know me, I ain't never crossed nobody, never done taken no beehive that I ain't earned straight.

I be tha baddest pimpin' muthafuckin' bear in tha Hundred Acre Hood, but all I'm askin' for is tha respect I'm due, see?

It's gettin' so a playa can't shoot shit on a street corner wit'out gettin' disrespected by a Tigga. Dis crazy ass Tigga come up to me the other day an' he's all poppin' off like, yo, you a bear of little brain and shit.

What tha fuck, I says, who y'all callin' a bear of little brain, muthafucka?

I shoulda smoked his ass right there on tha corner, but that wack-ass donkey Eeyore was all Hey, easy, the Tigga just messin', yo. I be a reasonable man, so I step off, but shit, man.

Why a Tigga gots to run up on a playa like that anyhow?

Hey, I gots to run, but if y'all see my girl Kanga, don't tell her ya saw me, just gimme a call an' I'll be right on down ta pick up tha ho.

Shit, it's tha Piglets! Bail, dog, I'll see y'all up at tha Pooh Sticks Bridge.

Peace.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Call That Holy War? Bad Kitty, No Tuna

Never known to over-react in a crisis, the outgoing Home Secretary has suggested that the government should be given the power to indefinitely incarcerate those it suspects of criminality on the say-so of the security services.

The immediate problem is that three terrorist suspects have absconded while subject to control orders, and there's no doubt that we'd know exactly where they were right now if the Home Secretary had the power to imprison whoever he likes, whenever he likes.

Doing so would mean derogating from the provisions of the European Convention on Human Rights, a document largely drafted by British officials and signed by Winston Churchill's administration in 1951.

"Times have changed since then," an opposition MP said on TV this week, and how right he is. I'm sure Churchill never had to face down any threats to the nation as grave as that posed by three fugitive wannabe-holy warriors.

Well, why throw out the baby with the bathwater? If we had any sense, we'd just fit potential terrorists with little bell collars, like the one my neighbour put on his cat.

A holy terror that cat was to the local birdlife, but as soon as the collar went on, its blackbird torturing days were over. If I heard that distinctive ting-a-ling and turned around to discover a rat-faced little wanker creeping up to suicide bomb me, I'd call the cops sharpish.

I'm aware that stuff like this is meant to "reassure the public", by which I mean "slake the furious indignation of the tabloids", so I see no reason why the bell collars couldn't be rigged to explode Scanners-style if interfered with.

I jest, of course, but it's the only response a sane man has when the preferred model of government in the old democracies of the world appears to regress ever more quickly to a form of Enlightened Absolutism.

Update!: Good news for Britons, as the Government is now considering granting powers to "Stop and Quiz" citizens, with £5000 at stake!

I hope they stop me, I'm brilliant at quizzes.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Attack Of The 50 Foot President

As an ardent Yankophile, one of the most entertaining things about watching our cousins across the pond is the polite lies that stateside media indulge in.

You almost wouldn't notice it at first, unless there was a major international crisis underway such as, say, the imminent invasion and occupation of an oil-rich middle eastern dictatorship.

At such times, certain aspects of American media can seem rather odd - their habit of unquestioningly publishing government "intelligence" without any analysis, for instance, or their tendency to give the views of super-wealthy cretins like Tom Friedman prominence.

This is partly because the Americans' most endearing feature is their eternal optimism and can-do attitude, but it's mainly due to the fact that the average American journalist would rather have red-hot pokers pushed into each of his earholes simultaneously until they met sizzling in the centre of his skull than put his career at risk in the name of truth.

For all that countless bloggers have made their names by attacking US media for its liberal bias, journalists in America owe their allegiance to only one party - Hiz'b Shekel, whoever is holding the purse-strings.

These polite fictions continue to this day, of course. My favourite is the story of how President Bush is a politician with convictions - a man who fearlessly sticks to the course of action he feels is correct regardless of the damage it may cause him.

This is complete nonsense, of course - Bush is no more a conviction politician than he is a seven-legged donkey with a degree in the liberal arts.

The truth is that Bush would fuck a frozen chicken 'til he was frostbitten if he thought it'd give him a four-point bounce in his approval rating. He'd do it live on national television while saluting and singing In The Navy falsetto, and tip the audience a cheeky wink halfway through.

Today's polite fiction - and this is a humdinger - is that the US Army's recent "surge" in Baghdad will continue until September, at which point its successes and failures will be debated and the appropriate lessons drawn.

The reality is that American soldiers will continue to blunder about blind in a hostile urban jungle, thoroughly pissing off the locals while trying to avoid being picked off by an enemy they can't see. Come September, the operation will get the rubber stamp to continue whichever way the chips fall.

This is problematic for the President, who will likely find that all he has to show for the surge is a pile of dead American soldiers and a country full of furious Arabs.

Naturally, I have a better plan, one that would achieve the same ends whilst minimising American fatalities.

Godzilla.

Now, I know this sounds a bit off the wall, but I think it's a viable option.

Think about it - drop Godzilla outside Sadr City, point him in the right direction and stand well back. Within two days he'd have smashed the place to pieces, toppling minarets and noisily pissing uranium all over the streets. For added effect, you could replace his lizard-shriek with a tape recording of the President shouting We're making good progress in Iraq! into a bucket.

Net result: some dead insurgents and militia men, a lot of dead civilians and damaged infrastructure, but - and this is critical - not a single coffin shipped back across the Atlantic.

In short, all the achievements of a troop surge without any of the drawbacks. Score!

But, I hear you say, Surely Godzilla is nothing more than a risible fantasy created to entertain credulous audiences. He is, essentially, an amusing distraction from reality.

Well, if that's your view, I suggest you keep away from CNN or the Washington Post over the summer, because they're going to make Godzilla, Mothra and King Gidorah: Giant All Out Monsters Attack! look like The World At War.

Slaying The Beast With One Back

I realise I'm a little late to the party, but as a part-time blogger I'm often out of the loop on the hot topics of the day.

I'm inclined to support American blogger Garance Franke-Ruta's proposal that young women should have legal protections against unethical pornographers who would take advantage of them, convincing them to do things that they'll later regret. It's been causing quite a stir stateside.

After all, nobody knows more than me what unpredictable and capricious creatures young women can be.

I recall an incident that occurred a couple of years before I met Mrs. Rodent, discussing sexual fantasies with my then girlfriend in the wee small hours of the night.

"I think think it would be quite sexy to, you know, watch each other playing with ourselves," said my ex-girlfriend, the cheeky thing that she was, and probably still is.

"Really?" I said, a little intimidated and embarrassed by the prospect, "Well, yes, I suppose it would be quite sexy, wouldn't it?"

My ex giggled, quite thrilled with her naughty suggestion.

Of course it was a different story the next evening, when she walked in to find me on my knees in the living room in the middle of a semi-circle of my favourite artistic pamphlets, furiously knocking one out.

If anything, she looked rather annoyed, and the look on her mother's face said she wasn't any happier.

She dumped me not long after that, a bitter experience which taught me a valuable lesson - never take anything women say at face value, because they can turn on you in a second.

So I say more power to Miss Franke-Ruta's arm in leading her campaign, and I wish her every success in her endeavours.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Start Your Engines

Scotland's crimewave continues apace as police are led on a death-defying, white-knuckle chase of terror by two crazed teenagers...

"He repeatedly drove erratically, ignored no entry signs, failed to stop when asked, repeatedly sounded the horn and gesticulated at police.

The teenager, of Macduff, Aberdeenshire, admitted driving dangerously.

He also admitted stealing the tractor from Millbank, Pitmedden, and driving without a licence or insurance, on 25 June last year..."

I can imagine what the witnesses would respond to questioning - "Now, in your own time madam, could you tell me what happened?"

"Oh, I don't know officer," the witness will say. "It all happened so quickly..."

Scotland? South Central, it's not. This could only have played up to Scottish stereotypes more if the kids involved had been clad in tartan, necking whisky and throwing shortbread at the coppers.

100,000 Smeared In Decent Left Shite-Cannon Attacks

To save us all time, I thought I'd clear up a couple of points...

I am opposed to - terrorist attacks on civilians and state violence against civilians; propaganda aimed at dehumanising ethnic groups; the chopping off of heads; the use of chemical, nuclear and biological weapons; repression of women, homosexuals and minorities; funding groups who commit terrorist attacks upon civilians; the kidnapping of journalists and other civilians; rape, torture and murder; pre-emptive invasions of soveriegn nations; official discrimination; death squads, religious police and private militia; the use of indiscriminate weaponry such as artillery, warplanes and high explosives in urban areas and totalitarian religious beliefs.

There is entirely too much of this kind of stuff going on these days, and I think that those involved should really cut it out.

Aha, sings David T., Chairman of The Revolutionary Committee For The Betterment of The People's Republic of Harry's Place, I have you now.

Why do you not condemn Lebanon's assault on the Nahr Al-Bared refugee camp? And why do you say nothing of factional violence between Palestinian paramilitaries?

"Curses," I say to myself, "If it hadn't been for those wily Decent Lefties, my plan to assist in the destruction of Israel and the creation of a totalitarian Global Caliphate would have worked."

Huzzah, glorious victory to the People's Movement of Decency, cries the chorus, masturbating furiously. Reload the shite-cannon, and prepare to fire again!

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, or close up the breach with the bodies of foreigners! Give me petty-minded point scoring or give me death!

And in the real world, a shell is fired and arcs into the sky, heavy with murderous potential.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Shagging And Fighting - A Correction

In my previous post, I stated that it was neither big nor clever for public figures to indulge in fisticuffs and immorality. On reflection, I realise that my statement was incorrect, and that shagging and fighting are, in fact, the very essence of wit.

I say this because I'm watching The Greatest Britons 2007 on ITV, a witless cavalcade of drooling idol worship and celebrity fluffing. A more obsequious meeting of D-List lips and A-List anus couldn't be imagined.

The line-up of Britons saluted for their Greatness ranges from Aren't they dead yet? (McCartney, Thatcher) to If that fucker comes near me, he will be dead (Simon Cowell, Gordon Ramsey) and ends at They might as well be dead for all I care (Banksy, Simon Fuller).

And, just to show that they're not a grindingly predictable shower of forelock-tugging couch-monkeys, the British public have pronounced The Queen the Greatest Living Briton.

Jesus Christ, this brand of chewing gum TV makes me want to throw myself to the ground and begin viciously headbutting the pavement, not stopping until I bash myself brainless or I feel the warmth of Australian sunshine.*

In all this though, we're missing a real candidate for greatness - a stalwart Brit from humble beginnings who rose to become one of the nation's best-loved leaders. A man who has faced adversity and public scorn, yet has emerged unbowed and triumphant.

I speak, of course, of John Prescott, the Deputy Prime Minister, sadly soon to leave office.

You may laugh, but in his all-too-brief time in the public eye, Prescott has beaten up a protestor, boned his secretary and probably got up to some socialism when he was able to find the time - a record of which any Parliamentarian could be proud.

Some humourless types might say that, as a senior politician, he has been somewhat rubbish, but I defy them to name another member of the cabinet who has provided the nation with such entertainment.

Compare him to his possible competitors from tonight's show...

Robbie Williams, a prancing sack of mum-rock and self-pity - Baroness Thatcher, a rattling, ambulatory skeleton held together by malice and Milton Friedman, and the Queen, a granite-faced crone who would be trounced by one of her Corgis in a charisma contest.

God help us if these charmless misery-fountains are representative of British society - give me a boozing, blundering oaf as our representative on the world stage any day, at least there's a chance he'd stand his round.

In light of this, I defy any of you to deny Prescott the prize that is rightfully his. I salute you John, he of the broad waistband, short-temper and downwardly-mobile trousers.

We shall not see your like again in our lifetimes.




*Although it's only fair to point out that there are similarities between the two outcomes.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Blair Bombed In Basra

I was disgusted to hear about Tony Blair getting bombed in Iraq at the weekend. While I appreciate that he's relieved to be relinquishing the reins of power, a Prime Minister should set a dignified example of sobriety, not prance about like a drunk schoolgirl.

As with so many modern problems, the shocking misbehaviour of our politicians has its roots in the decadence of the 1960's, when such shameful antics were regarded as a model for leadership.


Take Captain Kirk in Star Trek, for instance. Every week, it was the same thing - Kirk shows up on a planet and, faced with a life-or-death situation or a thorny moral quandary, would either fight or shag his way to safety.

It wouldn't surprise me for a second if there was an episode in the archives in which Kirk, faced with a marauding slime-beast that kills by enveloping and then digesting people, stuck his dick in it then thumped it in its extra-terrestrial eyeball.

Cut forward twenty years, and the generation that was raised on Star Trek were fully-fledged football hooligans, rioting and boozing their way across continental Europe leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.


Little wonder that Blair, who grew up with such lax moral standards, chose to end his term as Prime Minister by blowing off some steam in a bout of drunken iniquity.

That's nothing compared to what's going to happen when wee Gordon Broon takes office, however.

You've no idea how glad I was to see that Broon wasn't presenting the trophy at the FA Cup final at Wembley on Saturday - as a Scotsman, he'd never have been able to restrain himself from ripping up the turf and tearing down the goal posts in a fit of sheer nostalgia.

So much misery, all caused by one daft sci-fi show. That Roddenberry's got a lot to answer for, I tell you.

Middle East Deathbowl XXII - Excitement Builds

Summer's here, and that can only mean one thing - the play-offs for Middle East Deathbowl XXII, season 2007/8.

Interest in the competition has reached fever pitch in America and Europe, where fans can barely contain their enthusiasm for this fierce contest. It's a sensational rags to riches story - from what was relatively obscure backwater twenty years ago, the ME Division has become the world's premier competition with millions of devoted fans worldwide.

With the pre-season unfriendlies well under way, it's difficult to predict how this year's title race will pan out. The evidence indicates another year of white-knuckle action, with relative newcomers Hamas and Hezbollah vowing to compete with established outfits Fatah, Israel, Syria and Lebanon.

Even at this early stage, there's only one question on the fans' lips - can the teams possibly top the gripping drama of last year's classic Israel v Lebanon tie?

Israel fans are confident that this will be their year. Following the team's bold attacking in away ties against Lebanon and Hamas last season, their support will be hopeful that they can carry that form into the new campaign and end the profligacy which saw so many good shooting opportunities blasted into the crowd.

Indeed, insiders are already saying that this season may be a straight head-to-head between Israel and ME Division dark horses Hezbollah, whose shoot-on-sight tactics and attacks from long range were last year's big surprise.

Supporters of the Palestinian sides will be less optimistic, but they must feel that sooner or later their teams' counter-attacking style will yield results. While their decision to deploy female strikers has been controversial, both Hamas and Fatah are capable of devastating over-confident opponents and their commitment and self-belief are second to none.

It looks like another difficult season for perennial also-rans Lebanon and Syria, however, who are surely long shots for the title. In all likelihood, their campaigns will be characterised by shoddy defending against the superior firepower of the Division's big guns. For these battling underdogs, this year will be a constant battle to keep themselves afloat.

However the competition pans out, one thing is certain - every result will be pored over and every refereeing decision will be scrutinised by millions of avid fans worldwide, and their fanatical support will ensure that this contest will run and run.

With the ME Division generating so much interest in fans from Los Angeles to London, this engrossing competition will go from strength to strength - the huge influx of money and goodwill from supporters pouring in from all corners of the globe have secured the future of the Middle East Deathbowl for at least the next thirty years.

Here's hoping for another thrilling year to match the high drama of season 2006/7!

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Flying Rodent Is Unwell

Whenever I've read other bloggers saying I'm sick just now, so there won't be any more posts today, I've always chuckled.

What better opportunity? Off work, nothing to do but scratch one's arse and muck about online posting sarcastic comments about politicians and celebrities...

Well, now that it's me that's at death's door, I can see where they were coming from. I'd rather cut off my johnson than spend two seconds trying to grapple with the internet.

For relative newcomers, you'll get a feel for the childish humour and idiotic scribblings that pass for entertainment round these parts in the archives - the more recent, the more likely it is to be worth reading.

Hopefully I'll be back full of piss and vinegar tomorrow, although to be honest, I've never really liked vinegar.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Daughter of Hope and Fear, Explaining to Ignorance the Nature of the Unknowable

Water-cooler conversation at work today involved a lengthy chat about last night's Panorama, which investigated the wierd and wonderful world of Scientology.

My workmates were united in derision, clapping each other over the back as they hooted over the Scientologists' belief in the Galactic Warlord Xenu, body Thetans and engrams.

I'd like to add that two of my colleagues are Catholics, one is a Muslim and another is Jewish, and that all of them believe we are watched over by an invisible superhero who, upon their deaths, will spirit them to an eternity of blissful tranquility in His presence.

I had to laugh at their absolute lack of self-awareness as they cheerfully ripped into Tom Cruise for his foolishness and gullibility.

After all, as everybody knows, Satan is our Lord and master, and we shall all dwell in the bowels of the Earth forever, shrieking for His pleasure in an infinite Lake of Fire.

What cretins.

Hands Across The Border

With the smoking ban about to come into effect in England, I thought I'd offer some thoughts on my experiences with the ban in the frozen north.

Most importantly, I'd like to say this to smokers - however bad you think it's going to be, it's actually going to be far, far worse than you could possibly have imagined.

I'm not talking about being driven outside for a cigarette, which isn't much of a hassle in the summer months, but rather the attitude of your non-smoking friends and family. It won't be enough for them that you've been cast into the street, while they enjoy their blissful immortality fantasies - they will expect you to be grateful for the experience.

Take it from me, quiet acceptance of your outcast-status will be insufficient. You will be expected to agree that the ban is a wonderful idea and that it has "made socialising so much more pleasant".

Thankfully for the disgruntled smoker, there are ways to deal with such conversational gambits. You should print off the following guide to dealing with the snotty and self-righteous, and be sure to follow it to the letter.

Flying Rodent's Guide To Surviving The Ban

"Don't you find that it's so much nicer coming home from the pub and not stinking like an ashtray?"

Easily dealt with and surprisingly common, all manner of non-smoking acquaintances will engage you with this classic. Simply nip to the gents, buy a pack of three and return toting the Pish Balloon.

Aim, throw, then stand back to admire the results. Simple, yet effective, this is a good starting point for beginners.

"I think this'll really help you to give up smoking. Did you know they're giving away nicotine patches on the NHS?"

Slightly more tricky, such a presumptuous statement must be dealt with politely, but firmly. Quickly squirt a stream of Lighter Fluid onto your friend's lap, then chase him around the pub with a match.

"I think that this is brilliant for the nation - imagine how much money the NHS will save now that we'll all live so much longer!"

Defcon Three on the Fuckwit Scale, this line shows disrespect both for you and your intelligence, and you should retaliate accordingly - drop to your knee and deliver a sharp Cock Punch to emphasise your strong disagreement.

"I don't think it goes far enough - I reckon the government should just ban cigarettes altogether, and force you all to quit."

Be warned - behind his chummy demeanour, your acquaintance has just metaphorically dropped his fly and taken a leak in your drink. Drastic measures are required - bring the argument to a decisive conclusion by belting out your finest Bruce Lee scream and unleashing the Flying Nunchaku Decap-Attack.

It's the least he deserves.

"The waste product of your cigarette is second-hand smoke, whereas the waste product of my beer is urine. If you don't blow smoke over me, I won't piss all over your desk."

Make no mistake - anyone deploying this argument is telling you that he has had sex not only with your mother, but also your grandparents and quite possibly your distant ancestors.

Only the most brazen and self-important prick would dare trot out this line - annihilate the motherfucker with Mula Ram's Cardiac Splatterfest. Few are the men who could look upon their still-beating hearts without recognising the error of their ways.

And remember - just because you've officially been declared fair game, a hanging pinata for the entertainment of arseholes, doesn't mean you have to take it lying down.

Monday, May 14, 2007

It's Fun To Be In The Mujahideen

As the U.S. suddenly recalls that its founding documents contain annoying, wimpy clauses about the so-called "rule of law" and a "right to a fair trial", prosecutors have discovered a major propaganda coup...

U.S. says Padilla "gave himself" to Al-Qaeda

U.S. citizen Jose Padilla provided rare support for terrorism by offering himself to al Qaeda as a trainee, a prosecutor told a jury on Monday in the trial of the former "dirty bomber" suspect.

I, for one, had no idea that the world's most depraved terrorist organisation held initiation rituals that would be more suited to an Ivy League frat-house.

No wonder Ayman Al-Zawahiri looks so bloody smug all the time, the old deviant. How dare he keep lecturing us Westerners on our moral depravity when his shower of "holy warriors" are merely a cunning front for a seedy, clandestine cottaging scam.

As for jokers like Mr. Padilla who cheerfully submit to the kind of treatment that would startle a Sudanese goat, it's no surprise they call them "dirty bombers".

That's as opposed to the Taliban, who have deployed several thousand dirty soldiers to Helmand province.

Mind you, this should make it easier to spot potential suicide bombers - they'll be the ones in the big coats, walking funny and grimacing shame-facedly.

This is the kind of thing our psy-ops guys should be playing up, you know. I imagine that the even the disgruntled youths of Britain's dingy council estates might think twice about waging righteous Jihad against snoozing commuters if they have to picture themselves yelping "Thank you sir, may I have another!"

I'll be grateful to hear your thoughts, but the first person to use the phrase "suicide bummers" will be instantly banned.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Thou Art The Ref - What Shalt Thou Do?

1. The Winger's Labours Lost

Fair DESDEMONA, daughter of Venetian senator BRABANTIO, hath skipped past the left-back and advanceth goalward.

Yet even as she approacheth the angle of the box, IAGO doth bring down DESDEMONA with a crude, two-footed lunge.

"Verily," cries IAGO, "I barely happened to nudge the lily-livered strumpet!"

Thou art unsure whether this venomous act of knavery occurred within the box, and thy assistant referee declaims that he was sore unsighted.

What shalt thou do?

a) Award a penalty unto the attacking team, and send forth IAGO unto an early bath?

b) Award a free-kick upon the box-edge, and issue IAGO a fulsome admonishment?

c) Smother the fair DESDEMONA, assail IAGO with thy blade and then slay thyself by thine own hand?


2. Much Ado About A Fair Challenge

OPHELIA and ROSENCRANTZ doth contest a fifty-fifty ball within the central circle. OPHELIA winneth the ball, leaving ROSENCRANTZ with an ugly gash upon his foreleg.

ROSENCRANTZ assails thee, crying "Thou art a dull, sheep-biting punion, sire! Thou needest glasses, thou blind bastard - may the worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul, thou mountain of mad flesh!"

In the meantime, play hath continued and lo! OPHELIA hast been bodychecked by HORATIO. A vexatious melee doth ensue.

What shalt thou do?

a) Inscribe the name of the whoreson mandrake ROSENCRANTZ in thine notebook, and adjudge the dropping of the ball?

b) Allow the play to continue anon, and issue ROSENCRANTZ a stern rebuke upon the exit of the ball from the field?

c) Send forth OPHELIA unto a nunnery, therein to be as chaste as ice, as pure as snow?


3. The Three Gentlemen of Midfield

While thine sight is distracted, thou doth hear a calamitous uproar from behind, and, turning, presently discover that MERCUTIO, kinsman of PRINCE ESCALUS, hath been struck an injurious blow and now bleedeth in sanguineous torrents.

Since it is plain that MERCUTIO hath not so wounded himself, the only possible culprits are TYBALT, cousin of JULIET, and ROMEO of the house of Montague. Thy assistant referee was, alas and alack, unsighted.

"Marry, I never touched the nondy fucker, sire!" quoth TYBALT.

"A plague on both your houses, thou dirty, hacking bastards!" cries MERCUTIO.

What shalt thou do?

a) Bring play to a most untimely halt, and allow the physick to attend the effuse of blood?

b) Send TYBALT unto the dressing room like a common dog, therein to ruminate upon his dastardly action?

c) Slay TYBALT, and flee unto exile?


Ye shalt find the answers in comments.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

And Instead Of A Mouth, It Has Four Arses...

Witness the horror of the giant bunny that's terrorising Northumberland...

Grower Jeff Smith, 63, said: "This is no ordinary rabbit. We are dealing with a monster."

I don't have any truck with rabbits these days - my last one spent all day sleeping and eating, but when the coppers showed up to arrest it they assured me it had been plotting terrorist acts.

Truly, the price of liberty is eternal vigilance.


Movie Review

28 Years Later (18)
Dir: M. Thatcher

London, 1979 - Disaster consumes Britain as a highly contagious virus escapes from a monetarist think-tank and infects a small cadre of senior Conservative politicians.

The virus, known as "Rage", causes the "infected" to devolve into feral monsters, lashing out violently at innocent bystanders, slashing top-rate taxes and crushing all resistance.

The Rage-fuelled Tories unleash a firestorm of violence and terror upon the country, driven by maniacal fury and an insatiable lust for human cash.

In the face of such brute savagery, people bolt their doors, watching fearfully for any signs of hope on their televisions...

28 Years Later - 2007, and the Rage has infected practically the entire population. The Government has lost all legitimacy in the eyes of the people and has been reduced to enacting the orders of the sinister General Murdoch.

A small band of survivors struggle for life in a vicious political wasteland, where roving bands of journalists spread terror and gangs of infected rove the streets, backlashing out viciously at immigrants, benefit claimants, 4x4 owners and chavs.

This apocalyptic vision of Britain reduced to a Darwinian nightmare seems eerily real, sucking the viewer into a world of paranoia and dread. Despite the film's ludicrous premise - that a small band of drooling zombies could infect an entire country, transforming it into a land where citizens unthinkingly attack each other - it paints a curiously believable picture.

The movie's portrait of a nihilistic nation filled with mindless zombies whose only instinct is to savagely assail everyone and everything they encounter is ultimately all too convincing.

28 Years Later is on general release today from all newsagents.

Recognising One's Own Mortality

Oh my fucking God, I've just realised that one day I'm going to die!

Somebody ought to do something about this. No wonder they fired the Prime Minister.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Blair Announces Resignation, Grief-Stricken Citizens Mob Parliament
A Nation Mourns
Evening Standard, May 10th 2007


Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Amateur Dramatics


It's with great pleasure that I present an extract from my theatrical reimagining of Tennessee Williams' Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, transposed from the sultry swamps of fifties Mississippi to the gritty reality of the mean streets of Edinburgh.

It is the tale of Brick Pollitt, an aging football hero who has neglected his wife Maggie due to his drink-sodden grief for his friend Skipper. Brick's drinking and coldness towards Maggie have brought disharmony into their once-passionate relationship.

It has been a struggle to render the Southern lilt into the modern patois of the street, but with many hours of research I feel I have been able to keep the emotion and authenticity of the original script.

The play commences with a scene of domesticity...


(Curtain rises - BRICK is showering, enter MAGGIE, stage left, wiping her tracksuit)

MAGGIE: o brck, yr brthrs fcking kid jst hit me wth a sossage rll

BRICK: ha ha the lttl cnt. gt me a drnk, i m chokin on a bevvy ;)

(MAGGIE prepares a Buckfast on the rocks)

MAGGIE: y do u drnk so mch? y wnt u hv sx wth me n e more? :(

BRICK: i m pssd off bcos my m8 skippr is ded

(MAGGIE slams the glass down)

MAGGIE: FFS brck skippr hs bn ded 4 years i m chokin on a ride

BRICK: gv me tht drnk! (BRICK snatches the glass and downs the contents)

MAGGIE: hw mch wll u drnk 2nite? u r bevvied LOL

BRICK: i jst nd 2 hear the click in my hed %)

MAGGIE: i lv u brck bt u r a bevvy mrchnt & a bendr

(Curtain falls)


I hope you enjoyed this extract - work has already commenced on a sequel, an original work I have scripted starring Samuel L. Jackson in Snakes On A Hot Tin Roof.
This Terrorist Cell Used To Be Radical
By Yaquub Akhtar

Can I ask you guys somefin'?

I don't want you all kickin' off an' gettin' angry, so will ya just hear me out?
Look, you're all my bruvvers an' I don't wanna disrespect ya, but when was the last time we said "Fuck it, lets sink a few beers, do a few lines and and go out on the pull?"

Look at us, sittin' in this stinkin' flat night after night mixin' volatile chemicals, only pausin' to eat, pray and sleep. We never do anyfing fun any more.

This terrorist cell used to be radical, but now it's totally bogus.
Hey, hear me out, guys. Remember that night we sat up playin' Halo on the XBox and honkin' on the bong all night, and Ozzy monged out and puked everywhere, and then we got Hassan's cat totally baked by feedin' it 'ash cookies?
Ah, those were the days - we spent hours laughin' at that cat. When was the last time we did anyfing like that?
Yeah, yeah, I know our Muslim brothers is oppressed by a fascist British state, but surely we can take a night off from Jihad every now and then.
Just because we love death don't mean we can't live a little, y' know.
Couldn't we just get some birds round and get well lairy on vodka-Red Bulls, just for old time's sake? Remember that right go-er you copped off wiv at the Rev that time, Ozzy?
She looked well immodest.
Easy on the nails there, Hassan, we ain't made of money.
Look, I ain't sayin' we should just say, "Fuck the Jihad, let's go get pissed!", but I'm goin' mad cooped up in 'ere. A night off would do us good, I could murder a pint.
Plus, I ain't 'ad a bit in months - I could dig up a badger and bum it, I swear.
That's the spirit, Ozzy! I say we start with a few bottles here, then head down the pub for a few shooters, maybe hit a club later if we feel like it.
You'll get your reward in Heaven, my son.

Monday, May 07, 2007

They Say That The People Get The Government They Deserve, But I Don't Remember Kicking That Many Puppies

So Home Secretary John Reid has quit his position, presumably to allow him to focus on his solo surveillance and detention projects.

A man can only dance to the tune of his masters for so long, after all, and I'm sure that Reid will want to break out with his own plans for the arbitrary detention of terror suspects, perhaps in a large cage in his back garden.

He's stated that he's looking forward to spending more time with his family, which should delight his nearest and dearest.

"What time do call this, young lady?" he'll shout, purple-faced and livid. "That's it, you're grounded for ninety days!"

And don't you go running to your mother asking for a judicial review!"

If nothing else, it'll free him up to devote more time to haranguing illegal immigrants. I imagine he could do so quite capably from any street corner while swigging from a brown paper bag. I can even imagine the his press releases...

"Away an' fug off the lotty yez, ya fuckin' shower ay foreigners who come to oor country and steal oor benefits," the former Home Secretary announced today, speaking from a bus stop in Govan.

"Yez are a pack ay fuckin' arseholes, an' I'll make life constrained and uncomfortable fur aw ay yez!"

Even better, he could spend his time personally sending text messages to immigrants when their visas are about to expire. We can only hope that the next Home Secretary is a little less reactionary - perhaps Richard Littlejohn would like to step into Reid's shoes, since he's always full of big ideas.

One thing's for sure though - a man as resourceful as John Reid will find gainful employment elsewhere.


Saturday, May 05, 2007

TV Highlights

Channel Four are showing a drama this week about Saddam Hussein and his revolting children, so if you'd like to know what happened to Uday and Qusay, click here.

If you'd like to know what happened to the eapons-way of ass-may estruction-day, click here.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Live-Blogging The Election

Many of you will be aware that the Scottish Parliamentary elections are taking place today. Like many others, I thought I'd try my hand at my first ever "Live-blogging" post.

Hopefully I can shed some light on a confusing situation, I'll post updates as the night goes on.

10:00 pm: Okay, a good solid start to the coverage. The country music theme is a bit odd, but I gather retro is all the rage at the moment.

Ooops, the presenter is on. Back in a minute.

10:05 pm: Okay, I'm not that politically aware, but I think I've sussed out that the First Minister is the tall, craggy guy. I'm assuming that the goofy looking guy in the cap must be some kind of party functionary.

10:09 pm: I know it's presumptuous, but I reckon that the Scottish people wouldn't mind if our elected leader shelled out for an official car or something. It's undignified for the FM to be bumming around in a flatbed truck.

10:11 pm: Oh my God, the First Minister just totally kicked this guy's ass! This is a scandal of immense proportions!

This big guy walked up to him and started giving him all this smart talk, but the FM wasn't rising to it - he just went right on eating his food. Then the big guy was all, like, Hey, buddy, you hear me talkin' to ya? and shit and the FM just laid him out with one punch!

He'll never survive this.

10:21 pm: I'm unclear what role the orang-utan plays in the democratic process.

Perhaps it's a mascot or something.

10:26 pm: It's heating up - the Scottish National Party just rode into town on motorbikes. I'm not sure why they're all wearing so much leather, perhaps they're trying to toughen up their image.

10:43 pm: I'm sure that they're not supposed to have sex scenes and punch-ups in their election coverage. I'm quite confused here.

10:56 pm: What's up with this monkey? It keeps hitting people.

In fact, everybody keeps hitting each other. This is the most aggressive, hard-fought election campaign I've ever seen.

11:23 pm: Okay, the country music is starting to get annoying.

11:31 pm: It's all coming to a head - it looks like the First Minister is going to fight all of the Scottish Nationalists at the same time. This could be dicey.

11:45 pm: It's all over, and the Labour Party have won!

You should've seen the First Minister go, he wiped the floor with those suckers, and he got the girl at the end of it.

Congratulations to all concerned, this was a nail-biting piece of political theatre.

They say that the excitement's gone out of politics, but this had everything - conflict, romance, fighting and monkeys.

What a night! Let's just hope that this administration can keep Scottish politics this interesting for years to come.

Of Pots And Kettles

On international Press Freedom Day, American NGO Freedom House releases its annual report on free speech worldwide.
.
The report grades Russia in the bottom third of nations, behind Bahrain, Afghanistan, Qatar, Egypt, Kuwait and even Iraq.

What has Vladimir Putin done to his country to merit this bleak assessment?

In the past five years he's shut down independent TV stations, intimidated opponents and passed restrictive laws on publishing. Most starkly, many Russian journalists have been murdered with impunity by persons unknown.

At least twelve Russian journalists and dissidents have been killed in the past few years, including Anna Politkovskaya, Alexander Litvinenko, Viktor Popkov, Igor Domikov and Yuri Shekochkin.

These are just the few I've found from ten minutes' research - clearly, Russia deserves its place on the Freedom House list of shame.

Sadly, press freedom seems to be on the wane worldwide. In the past few years, many journalists have been killed elsewhere...

Details can be found here, but reporters killed included Mahmoud Za'al, Maha Ibrahim, Ahmed Wael Bakri, Waleed Khaled, Ali Abdel Aziz, Ali Al-Khatib, Burhan Mohamed Mazhour, Assad Kadhim, Mazen Al-Tumeizi, Dhia Najim, Terry Lloyd, Tareq Ayyoub, Jose Couso, Taras Protsyk, Mazen Dana and Ahmad Kareem.


And yet the nation responsible for these deaths sits sixteenth in the Freedom House list and its rulers remain uncensured by the fickle NGO.


Why? Because these journalists were all accidentally killed in Iraq by the American armed forces, and Freedom House is the most neo- of neo-con NGOs. Previous board members have included James Woolsey, Jeanne Kirkpatrick, Ken Adelman, Samuel Huntington, Donald Rumsfeld and Paul Wolfowitz.


In a telling irony, the most prominent media figure to question whether these deaths were actually unintentional was forced to resign.

That's not to say these deaths weren't counted towards the list - they were added to Iraq's statistics. If I'd included the names of journalists killed by insurgents in Iraq it would've been a page long - Iraq is a death-trap for all its citizens, reporters included.

And where is Iraq in the Freedom House list?

In the bottom third, seven places above Russia.

Press freedom? I'm all for it. It's a shame that those who are tasked with monitoring it don't seem quite so concerned.

It's Good To Talk

I know that it's extremely unlikely, but if you were the young lady sitting two seats behind me chatting on your mobile phone on the number 13 bus at about six o'clock today, I'd just like to express my admiration for your quick-wittedness.

How fortunate that you were sharp enough to concoct an elaborate cover story to explain your absence from the office today.

Had you told your employers the truth - that you were in hospital because a gentleman you met last night had ripped your anus and rectal wall while attempting unnatural intercourse - you would surely have been severely embarrassed.

How my heart filled with sympathy as you detailed the precise dimensions of the stitch on your nipsy and bemoaned the immense irritation it was causing you.

I'm sure that my fellow passengers were just as impressed as I was by the dignity with which you comported yourself at this trying time.

I hope that your injured nether-parts recover quickly, and wish you all the very best.

Yours sincerely,

Flying Rodent

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Two! Minutes! To Midnight!

I'm off out tonight, so just these quick thoughts to tide you over until tomorrow...

Where would five British kids get the idea that they were constantly victimised and living in a stinking hellhole of debauchery, sin and criminality?

Why would they decide that the "slags" dancing in British nightclubs were sub-human tarts that deserved punishment? What would make them decide that the chavs of Britain's shopping malls were in need of a short, sharp shock?

What could make ordinary kids suddenly decide that Britain was an immoral, degraded country in need of swift and brutal correction?

Could be that they were indoctrinated by extremist groups into a nihilistic death-cult committed to the destruction of Britain, I suppose. After all, it wouldn't be the first time that a charismatic leader had brainwashed youngsters into committing criminal acts.

That's the scenario we're all hearing about in the press, anyway. But what if that wasn't the whole story?

What if they simply read British newspapers every day?

I've repeatedly mocked the backlash culture we live in, the bullhorn that blares incessantly in our ears of how all politicians are corrupt liars, that the streets are awash with criminality, that today's youngsters are a feral mob of snarling animals and irresponsible sex fiends.

Wouldn't it be ironic if the backlash - the very movement that's supposed to close our borders, crack down on crime and force modernity to sit still and behave, had spawned such ugly offspring?

In such fertile ground, well, just about anything could grow.

When every newspaper, radio station and TV show blasts us with the iniquity of our society, when all of us compete to claim ultimate victimhood, when every politician finds himself fighting a losing battle to pass draconian crime-fighting legislation in the face of a hurricane of public anger, are we surprised that young, stupid men are such easy prey for our enemies?

Oh well, fuck it, I'm sure it'll all sort itself out eventually - I'm off out to the pub.

Take it easy, now.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Slopping Out

So that's it - the executioner's axe will soon fall upon the premiership of Tony Blair, and the Prime Minister will retire into a hazy world of book deals, lucrative speaking engagements and hard, masculine prison love in the narrow confines of his cell.


What a wasted opportunity the Blair era has been - elected with a gargantuan majority on the goodwill of the nation, he chose to spend his time in power launching Thatcher-lite privatisations and Anthony Eden-esque foreign policy catastrophes.


This was a man who could weave gold from a few sentences, which is just as well, since he'll be serving at least one by this time next year.


A man of many convictions, although not as many as he'll have once the Crown Prosecution Service are finished with him.


I can just imagine an older, greyer Blair, many years from now, contemplating his legacy to the nation with a companion.


"Could we have done more?" he'll ask, "Was there a way we could've revitalised left-wing politics and brought democracy to the Middle East?"


"No idea mate," his companion will respond. "Now, do you want to be Mummy or Daddy?"


"Er," Blair will say, furrowing his brow, "I think I'd really rather be Daddy."


"Excellent," his cellmate will say, "Now, come over here and suck Mummy's dick."

What a sad way to end such a glorious career.

Surely a small minority of Britons will send their best wishes to him upon his retirement, although he might find it more useful if they sent him a file in a cake.

Still, at least Blair won't be lonely - if he spends much of his retirement surrounded by criminals, fraudsters and mass murderers, I imagine he'll chiefly feel a warm glow of nostalgia.