Tuesday, March 11, 2003

Thirteen Shopping Days until Armageddon. America says second UN Resolution can go stuff itself. France says it will veto Second UN Resolution anyhow. You can cry Uncle Tony...as indeed from your recent television appearances you appear to be doing...it's all very sad I know...but you won't be crying anywhere near as much as the relatives of the half a million innocent people that Bush the Bastard is about to kill. 'Nuff said...and now it's time for:

Bugger me sideways ('scuse me Colon)! Got a call from that darkie doctor w'at runs the 'ospital this mornin'.

"Mrs Huggies?" 'ee says in 'is annoyin' Punami accent.

"It's Mrs Yoos to the likes o' you, y' ignorant nig-nog!" I replies. "And what's the idea callin' me up when I'm in the middle of Fern Britton?"

"It's about your sister, Thorax," 'ee remarks all 'aughty like. "I'm afraid she's 'ad a stroke."

"That don't surprise me none..." said I, turnin' the sound up on the telly. "She's always 'ad a thing about doctors. Even the brown ones. You'll just 'ave t' keep your distance from 'er next time."

Any'ow, t' cut a long story short (Editor's note: Thank fuck for that) it turns out me sister, Thora (not that she's any sister o' mine...least not since I disowned 'er for appearin' on that "Dregs o' the Summer Wine" programme with Captain Peacock and 'im out of Wallace and Gromit) has suffered some sort of 'eart 'attack. Apparently she was overdoin' it on 'er Stannah chair lift and blew a gasket. Silly old bessom. So I 'ad t' get an ambuliance t' take me round to the 'ospital to see 'er.

"We're not sure 'ow bad it is," said Dr Patticake or whatever 'is name is.

"Is she dead?" I asked, all concerned about the will.

"We don't think so," Dr Paki-cakes replies.

"Then it's bad enough," says I and I 'it 'im with me Zimmer.

The problem is, y' see, our Thora is regarded as some sort o' British Institution. She ought t' be in one as far as I'm concerned! Pantomime Dame Thora Hird...that's what she calls 'erself...stuck up old hen...she changed 'er name when she married that Conservative Foreign Office minister back in the eighties at the age of an 'undred an' thirty-three. Then she started actin' the goat...mekkin' all those adverts for expensive biddies about beds what bend in the middle an' baths y' can walk into. Bloody modern-fangled stuff. It's dangerous I tell y'! We 'ad t' make do with tin baths in front o' the fire when we were younger...frightened the vicar a bit but 'ee got used to it...and chairs what just rocked back and forth due to their legs bein' bust. All that electricity bein' so close t' the body...it ain't natural. It's 'ardly surprisin' she's 'ad a streak.

We 'ad dozens o' them broken bed things turnin' up on the doorstep at one point.

"Courtesy o' Stannah!" the delivery bloke said.

"Aye...well y' can just take 'em back to Stannah and shove 'em where the sun don't shine," I told 'im bluntly. "I don't want none of this revoked control crap ('scuse my Cockney) litterin' up me 'ouse."

Any'ow, gettin' back t' Thora's constitution...I couldn't tell whether she was dead or not meself. She always looked the same, t' be 'onest. If 'er lips weren't movin' she resembled a big pink cabbage. I doubt she'll be doin' any more actin' up though. I left 'er some grapes and a Queen Mother jigsaw what I 'ad left over from the funeral. (God Bless 'Er.) Then I caught the ambuliance back 'ome again in time f'r Neighbours. Bloomin' family...they can all frig off ('scuse me Dutch Cap) as far as I'm concerned. I'm an 'undred and forty-none y' know, and I've 'ad nowt t' do with 'em since that incident with the dishmop.

As the war against Iraq looms ever closer (especially after Bush's announcement of "Bollocks to the UN" today) thousands of American troops continue to be shipped out to the Missle East. This is costing America a fortune...although not as much as it's going to cost in weapons and missiles and bombs as soon as the fun kicks off. The financial crisis back in the Land of the Not-Quite-So-Free-As-We-Originally-Thought is even deeper though. According to Newsnight last night numerous factors, including the war but mainly a succession of tax cuts by George "I'm full of my own shit" Bush and his predessessors, have pushed America into the red to the tune of several trillion dollars. Yes...you did read that right. That's "Trillion"! Not "Billion" or "Million" but "Trillion". Like me you probably thought that "Trillion" was a made-up word...like Squigillion of Schznpillion...but it's not...and that's how much debt America now owes.

Despite these horrific figures Bush jr continues to cut taxes to keep his electorate quiet...plunging the good old US of A into a financial quagmire the likes of which are almost incomprehensible. So much so, in fact, that courtrooms across America are now thinking of seeking corporate sponsorship for some of their trials. "Serial Killers...sponsored by McDonalds" etc. Administrative centres are having to make huge cut backs in their opening hours and their workforces causing untold chaos. And, as always, the ordinary working citizen is having to take up the slack. (Never did like paying taxes much did you America? It's a slightly different story when you can't be arsed paying them to yourselves though, wouldn't you agree?)

And if you thought that was bad, the imminent war is going to make matters a lot worse. Hostilities will put Iraq's oil wells out of business, if only temporarily, and, whilst Saudi Arabia has promised to do everything it can to help (I'm sure they have), the price of petrol is set to leap up to a staggering four hundred per cent as soon as war breaks out. Naturally this will force a recession as smaller businesses relying on oil in one form or another go under and consumer goods rocket in price.

Well...so long America. It was nice having met you...well, some of you anyway. The right-wing evangelical Christian types were entertaining if not a bit frightening. And the Pro-Lifers made Adolf Hitler look like a liberal kind of bloke. It's a pity about the average, decent, honest Americans I've met on my travels...but I suspect you'll all be cancelling your subscriptions to the Internet soon due to your ever-tightening belts. Before you leave these cyber corridors however...one bit of advice. Get rid of Bush! Get rid of him now! Stop this ridiculous war mongering by your government! And, oh yes, start kissing France's perfumed arse. I don't know about putting sanctions on French goods, but you're going to need every bit of help you can get by the time Bush has finished fucking you all up your bottoms for his own entertainment.