Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Look Into Your Heart, Mr. Chairman

Those RBS/HBoS bankers today, during their tear-streaked, can-you-ever-forgive-us appearance before the Treasury Committee...

Bernie: I'm praying to you! Look in your heart! I'm praying to you! Look in your heart! I'm praying to you! Look in your heart! I'm praying to you! Look in your heart...

[Tom slowly aims his gun at Bernie]

Bernie: I'm praying to you! Look in your heart. I'm praying to you... look in your heart... look in your heart! You can't kill me... look in your heart.

Those same RBS/HBoS bankers in about three months, once they're off the hook...

Bernie: See, I wanna watch you squirm. I wanna see you sweat a little ... [later] ...What were you going to do if you caught me? I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again.

[He tosses the empty gun then walks out]



Dsquared has been playing with a few ideas for TV programmes he'd like to see, but if you ask me he's got the wrong idea - being the hopeless sucker for Americana that I am, I can assure him that the way to go is to ask the Americans to make programmes for us.

Think about the decades of great British dramas and sitcoms we have, then imagine the wizardry the Americans could work upon them!

For instance -

Some Motherfuckers Do 'Ave 'Em

Light-hearted sitcom set in South-Central L.A. about a bumbling, accident-prone crack dealer and his comedy attempts to become a playa. Classic scenes to include an out-of-control, downhill rollerskate-by shooting. Starring Snoop Dogg as Frank "Tha F-Dogg" Spencer and Rhianna as "Betty".

University, Like, Challenge And Shit (or Whatever)

MTV quiz show in which a panel of extremely excitable frat-house cretins answer questions on quantum mechanics, the works of Chaucer and Venetian history while downing as many beers as they can. On a mechanical rodeo horse. While the audience shout Chug! Chug! Chug! Featuring a depressed Jeremy Paxman.

Oz Porridge

Prison-set sitcom in which Norman Stanley Fletcher (Ricky Martin) is subjected to constant sexual assaults, beatings and vicious stabbings with improvised weapons as he gradually comes to learn that those who break the law have forfeited their right to a life without PAIN.


Long-running real-time documentary following the lives of 14 children as they try to deal with the trials of growing up while being repeatedly electrocuted, half-drowned and tortured by the actor Kiefer Sutherland. Who will break and reveal the location of the bomb first?

It Ain't Half Hot, Motherfuckers

Generation Kill-style sitcom about a troupe of U.S. Marine Corps entertainers, set in a F.O.B. in Baghdad. Will Lofty Sugden be able to perform in tonight's show after losing a leg to an I.E.D. planted by some scumbag fucking Hajji?

Have I Got Extreme Police Brutality For You

Comedy panel show in which a group of comedians and political personalities answer questions on this week's "rogue bad apple officers". Sample question - "Hey, how was the officer supposed to know the suspect wasn't going to sprout a third arm and pull a pistol out of his own neck?"

Only Crazy Fools And Horses

Mr. T. stars as "Del Boy" Trotter, a down-on-his-luck wheeler-dealer who drives a monster truck, ain't gettin' on no plane and pities his fool brother Rodney (David Schwimmer). Featuring the jibber-jabber of Trigger (George Clooney).

Cathy Cum Home

XXXtreme, no-holes-barred kitchen sink drama. R-rated.

Other sample ideas - Quatermass For The Straight Guy; The Heroes of Telemarketing; This Life Sucks; The Nazis - An Ass-Whooping From History (previously made as 'Valkyrie', with Tom Cruise).

People, this could be my meal ticket for life...

Sunday, February 08, 2009

On The Legitimisation Of The Dickhead


It's one of the most obvious trends of recent years, yet it goes largely unremarked. It's everywhere around us, but seldom is it addressed. It has spawned a multi-million pound industry, cranking out its product to a vast audience representing every class, race, religion, gender and nationality, and yet its most loyal adherents remain unaware that they are its victims.

Surely, the time has come to ask the question - when did the dickhead become legitimate?

I address the subject at a most critical time, for the boom in broadband internet use has not merely legitimised the dickhead. It has, in fact, transformed the dickhead into a figure worthy of respect, admiration and even emulation.

History is replete with dickheads, but never before have they swarmed in such great abundance, nor have they ever been known to wank on with such pride and self-righteous anger.

Everywhere the dickheads - and their close relatives the arseholes, the pricks, the wankers and the tossers - teem. There are lying dickheads; evil pricks; mendacious, bullshitting fuckheads; whining twats and horrible, horrible cocks. The impulse to prickery seduces the young and the old alike; it ensnares men and women, Brits, Americans and Aussies.

Truly, Man is born good-natured, but everywhere he is in floods of self-pitying tears.

Lest you imagine that I am conjuring some illusory horde of anus-brained, flatulent, blarting bell-ends from my imagination, allow me to define the devices of dickheadery.

1) Everyone Is Against The Dickhead

The average person suffers life's slings and arrows with stoic determination. While he may occasionally succumb to brief bouts of prickishness, the average man recognises his trials and tribulations as merely part of life's rich tapestry, to be borne with grace and good humour.

For the true dickhead, every slight and setback is yet more evidence of the malign conspiracy of ignoble interests ranged against him. While the villains of the piece may change, being now a sinister nexus of socialist/environmentalist crooks and then a chattering gaggle of insidous liberals, the dickhead sees their malign hand in every ill that besets him.

Like a Nicaraguan Catholic overawed by a tree-stump said to show the face of Jesus, the dickhead can detect the traces of his persecution in political policies and puddles alike. It is the dickhead's unshakeable faith in the treachery of his enemies that sustains him through the ordeal that is his daily reality, and his misfortunes are merely fuel for the fires of his fucknuttery.

2) The Dickhead Is An Unrecognised Genius In a World Of Fools

The dickhead knows himself to be a man of great wisdom, beset by a confederacy of trendy, po-mo dunces. His penetrating and incisive insight is the product of his boundless Common Sense - an innate, earthy understanding of things that allows the dickhead to see through the
psychobabble of his foes and recognise that yes, we should indeed send them all back where they came from.

The true dickhead knows neither doubt nor fear, and is never happier than in the heat of battle, parrying his opponents' feeble appeals to "the facts" with lightning-fast ripostes and put-downs. The dickhead will not be dissuaded or deflected, for the dickhead's faith in his own infallibility is indestructable.

3) The Dickhead Is Very, Very Angry

The true dickhead is never calm. Not for him the modern fads for chilling out or not acting like a total fucking wanker - the dickhead knows that he is in the right, and his certainty is the spur towards bouts of spleen-bursting, vein-throbbing rage.

Again, the issue is irrelevant - whether the topic is the licence fee, the laws of the highway or the homosexuals, the infuriated dickhead will be found begnawing the bone of contention with a deranged ferocity.


Many readers will recognise the picture of mind-mangled dickheadery that I have painted. In all likelihood, you will know many dickheads, or indeed you may be a dickhead yourself. None of this solves the most pressing question, however - what is to be done about all the dickheads?

If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion, I have found that the dickhead is much like the vampire of legend - expose him to the sunlight of his own fucktardery, and he will wither and die...

And this is the key to defeating the dickheads - even the most arse-headed, belligerent shit-for-brains is completely unaware of his own dickheadery. Recall, the dickhead believes himself to be a noble figure, rather than the cock-brained jizz-trumpet he actually is.

Expose him to the reality of his own mong-mental bastardry, and the scales shall drop from his eyes. From that moment on, there is hope for even the most hardened harridan or wingnut wankmaster.

And for those who refuse to face up to the reality of their own unbearable, bleating bawbaggery?

For them, there is only a lifetime of stupidity, pettiness and impotent apoplexy. That is their crime and, fittingly, it is also their punishment.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Rodent Aid - An Appeal

Alright kids,

I'm the best man at my brother's wedding on Saturday, and I reckon I've got the speech pretty much nailed - I'm just at the point of fine-tuning it now.

It's the proper Scottish wedding, kilts, piper, about seventy people to entertain with my dazzling repartee... Nothing too intimidating, then.

Any of you ever done anything like this and feel like offering a few words of advice? Non-dirty jokes and helpful suggestions would be much appreciated, assuming Haloscan is working. It seems to have thrown a rod in the previous thread which is, on reflection, probably no bad thing.

Sunday, February 01, 2009

A Cower Of Shunts

"I could go on. I struggle to think of a single issue which joins the BNP and mainstream conservatism... Fascism is invariably described as a creed of the right. It isn't. As with the BNP, fascism has far more in common with the left, at least in political theoretical terms."

Thus does prominent Tory blogger Iain Dale summarise his belief that the BNP are left wingers, much to the joy of his readership. It's perhaps the most stark example of the UK's internet-enabled culture of emboldened, self-confident stupidity and belligerent ignorance as I've seen.

The neverending No, YOU are the real Nazis debate is in itself an obvious sign of the degraded level of political discussion in Britain - arguing over who is the fascistest during a massive financial Krakatoa brought on by the very policies you advocate, no less - but Dale's points aren't even inventive. I'll never understand right wingers' belief that typing the sentence They were called National Socialists, leftards! is a devastating argumentative air-strike, rather than a window into their own vacant minds.

The blunt stupidity of the piece is so blatant that I imagine the argument from authority itself finds it embarrassing. The evidence presented for the leftism of the BNP amounts to a) they support nationalisation and b) that's it.

To say that there's a lot more evidence for their right wing credentials is a wild understatement. The BNP advocate the hang 'em and flog 'em politics beloved of Britain's rowdy right wing. They blame the country's problems on the EU, immigrants, the Human Rights Act and a sinister liberal, left wing elite intent on destroying the country. Their politics are a melange of the kind of bullshit victimhood and bellicose race-baiting that would give the average Mail reader a raging hard-on - gun ownership, corporal and capital punishment, execution for paedos, shutting the borders, those bloody queers... The list goes on and on.

They are, in short, completely in tune with the fucknut manias of the loony British right on most major issues. When Iain Dale says that the BNP belong to the left in political theoretical terms, he means according to the ludicrous criteria that I have just pulled out of my arse.

In order to assert such a patently boneheaded idea, Dale has to define mainstream conservatism as his own beliefs. Ergo, because he himself is not racist and he doesn't support nationalisation, the BNP must be left wing, and the fact that this argument is honking, brainless shite matters not a jot.

An idiotic statement, argued in idiotic terms for the consumption of other idiots. Give it a blast yourself and you too could wind up with a paying gig writing for The Telegraph, although you'll probably have to expunge every trace of intellectual honesty and shame you possess in order to do it. Me, if I woke up tomorrow and found myself in that job, I'd hurl myself screaming out of a window like the possessed priest at the end of The Exorcist.

Lord have mercy on us all, here come the libertarians - Longrider responds. You will no doubt be stunned to learn that the vast areas of BNP policy which chime exactly with popular right wing opinion are utterly irrelevant, while the BNP's economic policies are critical and damning evidence that the party is composed of lefties.

Not only that, but we also get a nice diagram from Political Compass which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the BNP, despite the fact that the majority of their policies are pitched at around the level of the Daily Mail, are in fact left wing. See below...

Now I have to admit, that looks pretty conclusive. What's even worse, I went to my own sources for a second opinion (below) and they were in complete agreement.

Readers are free to engage in chit-chat on this blisteringly urgent and endlessly fascinating topic, but as a veteran of such debates I have to warn you that you will find this a bit like bashing your own face with a hot iron. By far the most annoying Libertarian habit is their tendency to announce that their own politics are super-cool new political wizardry that nobody has ever thought of before, thus meaning that every other movement in history is obviously left wing.

Not only that, they have a wondrous habit of shouting Tyranny! on everything from parking fines to the licence fee, which doesn't make for much constructive dialogue - it's a bit like talking to the dad
on Goodness Gracious Me who thinks everything and everyone remotely admirable is Indian, except with fascism instead. I guess if you define your own politics as Freedom, Doodz! anything else looks like oppression, but the whole concept is so thoroughly infected by the Oooh, did you see him oppressing me there? sketch in The Holy Grail I have a hard time taking it seriously.

Knock yourselves out, but I'm off to do something more enjoyable and productive like rubbing a cheese-grater on my clackersack or downing a few pints of hot sick.