Saturday, March 08, 2003

UNITED NATIONS (AP) - Mar 8, 4:54 AM (ET) " With a quarter-million troops poised to swarm into Iraq, the United States and its allies moved to set March 17 as the final deadline for Saddam Hussein to prove he has given up his weapons of mass destruction."

Mmmm ... in my book a quarter-million armed U.S. troops would themselves constitute a pretty sizeable weapon of mass destruction or am I just being unAmericanly semantic?

With a full scale conflict between the Middle East and the Western Nations charging round the corner (ten days and counting until Saddam's deadline)...Muslim versus Christian, dickhead versus cretin...with the UN fractured possibly beyond repair and George Bush jr and Tony Blair plunging the world into an ever widening crevasse of social, political and cultural rifts...with a now estimated half a million innocent people about to die horribly (UN them and weep, Blair...just because you haven't seen the document doesn't mean the figures don't exist...and where the fuck do you get off on the idea that you wouldn't go to war if you thought half a million people would die? The previous estimate of 100,000 deaths was acceptable was it? Fucking twat!)...with the dawn of a new dark age creeping across our opened eyes...of censorship, of human rights violations...of the shit really hitting the these dark and troublesome times my thoughts have turned towards religion. (Besides which somebody's getting married at church round the corner today and those stupid fucking bells are starting to get on my tits.)

I've decided that if reincarnation exists then I don't want to come back to this Earth again. Returning to such a remedial, power-crazed, money-grabbing, twat filled, brain-dead, moron-run planet would be the same as having to sit the first year in Nursery School over and over and over again. It'd be like reaching forty-odd years old and still having aggressive, noisy and ignorant tossers as your peers...or more precisely, in charge of the classroom. Fuck that for a game of paedophiles!

Nope...I'm hoping that God exists. Seriously I am. And I'm also hoping that he's some long-haired, pot-smoking rebel from the 60's. I want to be there when George and Tony shuffle off this extremely mortal coil and face their judgement. "So...I give you ten simple commandments, a few iddy-biddy by-laws and all the power in the world...and let's see what you've done. Thou shalt not kill? You fucked that one up good and proper didn't you? Turn the other cheek? gold stars there. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the gates of Heaven...Peter...get the camel and the bodkin then fuckers, get threading!"

Ten days (well, nine now) and then a brief pause before the inevitable hostilities from the world's most arrogant, fucked up tosspots break out. Let's hope they've managed to get some underwear, bog roll and rations to the British troops by then. Collateral damage to be resumed within the fortnight.

Friday, March 07, 2003

In a surprising turn of events this weekend Tony Blair made an impassioned speech against his back bench rebels in Parliament before storming off with his nose in the air.

"You lot make me sick!" he yelled at the top of his voice, swinging the mace around his head and lashing out towards beautiful, bouncy Diane Abbott. "Bloody pacifists! Always whinging about the war and how we mustn't harm all those innocent Iraqis! I put it to you simply that you're all just yellow-bellied cowards!"

At this point John Prescott was heard to grumble in agreement. Or at least his own portly yellow-belly grumbled in agreement. Then again it might have been flatulence.

"Well sod you then!" screamed Tony reaching fever pitch by now. "If nobody else wants to support me in my campaign to kill Saddam, I'll do it myself!"

With which heroic speech he launched himself out of his chair and straight through the main Common's window.

Mr Blair's private jet was last seen heading towards Baghdad in a stole of tears, a forty-mega-tonne nuclear warhead strapped to the nose cone and a determined Tony Blair at the joystick. Before he vanished over the white cliffs of Dover Tony left one final message in sky writing. It read simply, "I love you George! Give my regards to Broadway."

The Ballad of Fleetwood

Oh Fleetwood this London's a wonderful sight, it's chocka with traffic all day and all night.
There's women here basking in Yves St Lauren, And vast office complexes blocking the sun.
There's Arabic writing down dark subway walls, And beggars and junkies and women with balls,
So I'm going back home where the parking is free, To the place where the sewerage sweeps down to the sea.

Lookin', lookin', lookin' ...

"princess diana farting"

"meeja wank"

"putang picture"


"omosapien gay"

"masonic blog"

"Ronald Regan shooting images"

"synchronised swimming cartoon"

"fanny jeorge bush"

birthday presents for a forty year old male

Editor's note: For the last search enquiry on that list I recommend

Any of our Rant of the Week/Scrag Ends Gift Items from this store.

For the rest of them I recommend seeking immediate medical advice.

There was a backlash today from Pro-War Americans against the Hollywood Rebels who have decided to speak out against the slaughter of innocent people Iraq Crisis. The pacifist stance of numerous actors and actresses is considered by many as unpatriotic. Several well known American celebrities (such as Susan Sarandan and that bloke who plays the president in the West Wing...Martin Sheen or whatever his name is) have received death threats and the television/film executives are compiling a black list to make sure that they never work in the industry again.

So it's not all bad news then.

Mind you, it doesn't say much for the much beloved American freedom of speech. Can't help wondering exactly what it is that George Bush thinks he's protecting.

Meanwhile a British man on a skiing holiday in America lost control on the piste yesterday (insert humorous drinking gag here) and careered into a fellow skier killing him outright. The Brit has been charged with first degree manslaughter and could face a six year prison sentence. Amazing really when you consider that the Brits killed by American 'friendly' fire during Gulf War I still haven't been brought to justice, but that's America for you. Come to think of it shouldn't Bush and Blair have to stand trial after the war for the manslaughter of hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqi bystanders? (Hah! If only the world would work like that, eh? Perhaps the phrase 'collateral damage' wouldn't be brandished about so flippantly by the ignorant chimp.)

In Britain Andrew Lloyd Webber (The man with the world's first reversable face) has revealed plans for his latest musical extravangaza. "Bush and Blair: A Love Story." So far only the opening scene has been written in which the hero and heroine, Tony and Georgette, are found in a compromising situation, Tony singing: "Rebels to the left of me, rallies to the right. Here I am stuck in the middle with you."

Breaking news: Andrew Lloyd Webber has just been shot in the mouth. Unfortunately, said Mr Berwick Honeydew von Strassburg, Britain's leading plastic surgeon, Webber's looks haven't been affected.

Thursday, March 06, 2003

Blair may reject 'unreasonable' vetoes

In another development British Prime Minister Tony Blair has signalled he could be prepared to wage war on Iraq even if several UN powers veto a new resolution authorising military action.

Until now Mr Blair has said he reserves the right to go to war without UN authorisation if one permanent member of the Security Council uses its veto power unreasonably.

But in a debate on a music television channel Mr Blair has appeared to extend that proviso to include multiple vetoes.

"If there was a veto applied by one of the countries with a veto, or by countries that I thought were applying the veto unreasonably... in those circumstances we would," he said.

After his appearance on the music television channel the Prime Minister entered his briefing to journalists singing.

"When I'm ridin' round the world
and I'm doin' this and I'm signing that
and I'm tryin' to make some girl
who tells me baby better come back later next week
'cause you see I'm on losing streak.
I can't get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that's what I say.

I can't get no, I can't get no,
I can't get no satisfaction,
no satisfaction, no satisfaction, no satisfaction.

Spontaneous and tumultuous applause filled Mr. Blair's dressing room. "Normally we're a hard bitten pack of cynical bastards", said one of the journalists, "but after that performance there wasn't a dry arse in the house."

After 3 encores and the applause having ground to a halt, Mr. Blair expanded on the views he expressed on the programme.

"Not only are some of the vetoes likely to be unreasonable, they are absolutely the wrong colour. I gather the French are contemplating a 'burnt orange' veto and the Russians are rumoured to be enamoured with 'blush pink'. Individually those colours are problematic enough, but in combination they would be a complete disaster.

Whilst I don't want to see a total whitewash of our position in the Security Council, I think the colours are all wrong and I fear to think about what technicolor spanner the Chinese might throw into the works. We need to avoid a hideous tonal clash (for the benefit of you hep cool daddyios out there in viewerland, they are one of my all time favorite groups). I may not know a lot about window dressing, but I know what I'd like."

The Prime Minister, buoyed by his positive 'touching base' with his pop music constituency, left the briefing sabre-rattling and humming ...

"I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black

For the last few weeks we've been the victims of 'knock-a-door-run'. (No...not British Gas coming round to refund us our missing money...we still haven't had our five quid back off them yet.) The kids from round the back...they're only young 'uns, six or seven years old...have taken to waiting until dark then sneaking up on all the houses in neighbourhood, hammering on the doors as loudly as possible and then darting off down the nearest alley.

Not much of a problem in the grand scheme of things, you might say...what with the war against Iraq and the Israeli/Palestinian conflict and what with democracy taking a nosedive and human rights conventions being torn up all over the place and the most powerful man in the world being a brain-dead chimpanzee and what with Thora Hird trying to sell us mechanical beds and Peter Mandleson still alive and hiding in a cave down Surrey somewhere. And, might be right. Knock-a-door-run isn't a terribly serious crime.

But when I'm trying to watch Time Team of a Sunday evening with my mug of cocoa in one hand and a warm potato cake in the other and the soothing sounds of Karenza's voice lulling me into a semi-comatosed state, the sudden and violent attacks on my front door generally result in my body spontaneously detonating from the sofa, hitting the ceiling at 100 miles an hour and then tumbling back to the carpet covered in hot chocolate, potato crumbs and bits of stucco work.

Last night we heard the little bastards stage-whispering outside the door. Not very subtle, but then when were kids ever intelligent? Michelle waited until the very last moment and then wrenched the door open with a dramatic flourish onto a trio of pale and frightened faces.

The conversation that ensued...not to mention the feeble six-years-old-and-not-very-bright excuses that went along with it...were nothing short of surreal.

"If you hammer on our front door again, lads, I'll have to phone the police." That was me...knowing full well that a sharp rebuttal of, "Don't be so fuckin' stupid," from Sergeant Crier at Fleetwood Police Station would be the closest I'd get to an offer of assistance, but also being fully aware that the kids didn't know this. "You're going to have my bloody front door off at this rate."

"Is it loose?"

"No...but it will be if you carry on like that. Now bugger off and find some old biddy to annoy."

The littlest one, glued to the spot and in fear of his life, suddenly tried to gloss the situation over...he'd obviously been taking lessons from the Labour Spin-Doctors. "Does Mrs..." The Frankie Howard impersonations continued for about five minutes before: "Does Mrs Turnbull live here?"

"No...and if she did she wouldn't want you trying to kick her door down."

"What's your name?" (A new tactic...diplomacy...or feigned interest...or something similar. Who knows what goes on inside six-year olds' heads? Not common sense that's for certain.)
"It's Brian! Remember it well because it'll haunt you into old age if you don't!"

"My Uncle David's got the same name as you."

"You're Uncle David's called Brian is he?"


Michelle suggested it must have been a hyphenated name and then shut the door on their heads. Hopefully now the stupidity will stop...but just to be on the safe side I've spent most of the afternoon linseeding my cricket bat. A nice smooth surface is easier to wipe clean of blood and willow slides more smoothly from a distended mouth, across fractured teeth, when it's been properly treated.

This on the queries log - "pictures of Lawrence Fishbourne"

The person who made this request should be hunted down and dealt with by the sternest measures known to man. The perversion of keying in innocent queries on a search engine is an evil that needs to be stamped out immediately!!!
The other day my son asked me to put orange squash on the shopping list. If I can't buy organic I will go for a "good" brand i.e. one that doesn't contain aspartame (that's NutraSweet to you). Robinsons enjoys a good reputation so I automatically reached for a bottle and read the label. The squash I chose was not reduced sugar or sugar free (they are the ones that contain aspartame). Imagine my disgust when I read that the "ordinary" squash contained not only sugar but...ASPARTAME!!!
Why have both?
Why am I so upset about it?
Because aspartame, which masquerades as a food additive, contains neurotoxins and fucks up people's endocrine systems is why!

Click on ASPARTAME to discover how important your health really is to global corporations.
The Venerable Sage of Unyan
Dispenser of wisdoms and sayer of sooths to the multitudes

Upon hearing that Khalid Sheik Mohammed, beloved of Osambin bin Liner, has fallen into the hands of Foul Satan's minions the Venerable Unyan doth say - Waxeth not wroth in vengeance O followers of Al-Qaeda! Bombeth not the capitalist, US loving non-Moslem infidels of Filly-Peen who do the Beast's work by going about their very day-to-day existence in false peace for has it not been said that the mighty Sheik was dobbed in by one of his own?

Wednesday, March 05, 2003

Let there be no mistake, Bush, Blair and Howard want a war no matter what. Whilst Saddam is allowing weapons inspectors and is destroying the raft of V2s and Doodlebugs he is doing it grudgingly, circuitously and with a maximum of procrastination.

None of this compliance so far is to our satisfaction cries George. Iraq must be bombed.

In the great bastions of democracy over which the "Triumvirate of Good" reign there are legal systems and parliamentary procedures ... due process.

In the courts of these three lands when people are charged with crimes they are assumed innocent until proven guilty. The prosecutors mount cases against the alleged felons and have to prove beyond reasonable doubt that they are guilty as charged.

People charged with crimes mount their defence. Their lawyers use every convoluted trick in the book to prove their innocence. Objections to the prosecution's line of questioning abound. Evidence is sought to be struck out. Witnesses are challenged. Arcane legal technicalities and precedents are dredged up from century old cases. The alleged felon cannnot incriminate herself/himself/itself/will self. In the USA the 5th amendment goes into overdrive.

In the respective parliaments, points of order ar taken, issues undergo the scrutiny of interminable parliamentary committees, votes are taken ad nauseum and filibustering is a finely honed art. Members fulminate against perceived conflicts of interest. Transparency through the looking glass is demanded. Election promises are ex post facto designated as "core promises" and "non core promises" ... "ones we'll keep, perhaps" and "the ones you sillyarsed electors should have realised we had no intention of even looking at".

These legal and parliamentary procedures may seem tedious and farcical, BUT they are (allegedly) adhered to and are lauded as the foundations of well functioning just democratic states. Our "Triumvirate of Good" do doorstops and provide photo opportunities to broadcast the Godly virtues of these processes and would go to the barricades to defend them.

When Saddam uses these very processes to keep himself power and to stave off the bombing of Iraq he is "crawfishing", "stiffing the U.N." and lying.

Again a statement of the bleeding obvious. Saddam is turd who ought retire to Mustique and drink Pina Coladas in the sunset, but the process by which he is convinced to go down to the "Sunnier Climes Travel Agency" is flawed, hypocritical and (to state another obvious) dangerous.

Thousands of children in London abandoned their schools this afternoon (much like the government did several years ago) in order to protest outside Downing Street against the War with Iraq. Their vocal remonstrations made a noisy but pleasant change from the usual, "What are you lookin' at? Got a problem or sommet?" Unfortunately Tony Blair was in the House of Commons at the time (obviously more homework required, eh kids?) once again arguing the moral case for killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people. "I've been saying for ages that children should take more of an interest in politics," he commented later as a rotten egg collided with the back of his head. "Perhaps now the little bastards will understand the need for democracy." And Britain certainly needs a democracy again right about now.

Meanwhile in the United Nations the Iraqi Ambassador lost his temper with one of the Hawks (I'm sorry, I wasn't paying much attention whilst watching the news so I couldn't say exactly who it was) and put a curse on his moustache. The moustache has since been arrested for crimes against the Village People and sentenced to indefinite imprisionment in the Bush Clinic for Facial Hair Research.

This week "Baddiel and Skinner Unplanned"...or as it should be retitled... "Baddiel and Skinner Unamusing"..."Baddiel and Skinner Untalented" or, preferably, "Baddiel and Skinner Unemployed." This is going to be a difficult review seeing as I've never actually managed to sit through more than three minutes of this 'ad-lib' shite without changing the channel to something more entertaining (such as the test card) but there you go.

Two annoying, unfunny, misogyinist, football-loving, beer-swilling, self-opinionated-without-having-the-knowledge-to-hold-opinions-in-the-first-place benders sat on a couch taking well rehearsed pot shots at various brain-dead, ale-supping, sports fanatics in the audience.

David Baddiel enjoys talking about the joys of anal sex...most probably with Frank Anorexia-victim Skinner. Despite his university education he is a moron and can't play the piano to save his worthless little life. Not that it matters because Frank Skinner can't sing. In fact, neither of them deserve to live any longer. I have taken a fatwah out on their heads and on the heads of their families for being stupid enough to allow them to clamber out of their abortion buckets in the first place. I have taken a further fatwah out on their moronic audience for being ignorant fuck-wits and finding this stale old shite in the slightest bit amusing.

To quote an example of their off-the-cuff wit: "I think politics is boring. I didn't even know who Peter Mandleson was this morning. Don't you think politics is boring? It's just not relevant to real life." (No...I'm afraid it's not meant to be ironic.) This coming from a pair of wankers who had a television series devoted to 'Fantasy Football.' (Another unamusing load of old crap for braindead bum-fuckers.)

That's enough of that then. I've spoken for five minutes more than I've ever watched their post-pub televisual offering and, like Ricky Gervais in his boxing match against that stuck-up slapper Anthea Turner's husband, I've pulled too many punches.

Next week: BBC3's "Swiss Tony" and why that bloke out of the "Fast Show" who wrote it ought to be ashamed of himself.

Thousands of Americans want to oust their president.

"Pressure is growing for the president to lose his job because of his uncompromising stance on the war. That's President Bartlet, as played by Martin Sheen in the hit television series, The West Wing.

Sheen has been one of the leading figures in the anti-war movement, addressing rallies and spearheading the "virtual match" on Washington last week in which legislators were deluged with a million emails, phone calls and faxes.

NBC is under pressure to sack him from its hit show or face a boycott or withdrawal of advertising. Sheen said in Los Angeles the channel's executives had indicated that his high profile could damage the show and had called on him to explain his views. He had also received thousands of hate emails, been accused of being a traitor and accosted in the street."

Hardly needs comment, but ...

America's much-vaunted Constitution guaranteed freedom of speech ... or do they mean "lip service".

Some old biddy keeps phoning me up at night. It's always when I'm on the Internet so her call gets automatically redirected to BT's Answering Service. Then when I hang up I have to phone BT to find out who's been trying to get in touch with me, so I've no idea who she is or what her phone number is. The biggest problem is that she thinks my name is Karen and that I'm obviously related to her. A few weeks ago I got the message (said in an extremely frail 90-odd year old sounding voice): "Hello Karen. I was just phoning to see if you're all right but you're obviously busy so I won't bother." After I'd deleted it I felt like a total bastard for not being able to get back in touch with her to say that she'd got the wrong number. I don't know why I felt guilty exactly...but I did. It must have been the simple pleading in her sad little voice...the loneliness of it all at being abandoned by some callous daughter with better fish to fry.

This sort of thing has happened several times now. Tonight I got the message (sounding even more pitiful and frail than usual): "Hello's me again. I'm wondering why you haven't been in touch and what's the matter. Please let know that you're all right." Fuck...what a right cunt I feel now and no mistake. I'm thinking of having some sort of message installed at the beginning of the answering service...something along the lines of: "This isn't Karen you stupid old sow. Now fuck off and stop making me feel guilty before I send an electronic pulse down the phone that'll blow your hearing aid up and glue what's left of it to your sad old ear drum."

Local News: Ageing, gargoylic tax-evader and unfunny Liverpudlian Ken Dodd appeared in court today...this time, for once, on the side of the prosecution. Apparently for the last ten years he has been stalked by an obsessive fan. ( about the lives that are going to be wasted in Iraq. At least they won't be wasted through their own choice.)

During the trial, Doddery (aged 96...which is considerably younger than most of his jokes) blew his opening gambit when he turned to Judge Penelope Mollusc and stated: "Tattifilarious! I say, Madam! What a wonderful day...what a wonderful day for running up some talentless old twat's garden path, sticking a dead rat through their letter box whilst it's on fire and then crapping in their rose bushes shouting, "You're fucking dead you buck toothed wanker.""

The trial continues tomorrow, but nobody gives a shit.

Tuesday, March 04, 2003

Seek and ye shall find it on "The Rant of the Week" # 568.

"I eat babies" "fat bastard" sound

diseased gallbladder

tiny bikini

vaginal stretching ... any connection between this and the previous search is entirely coincidental ... or puzzling.


jeremy thorpe norman scott dog ... any connection between this and the previous search is entirely possible ... and probably puzzling.

"Patriotic Irony" ... that's more like it.

connie huq fucking ... ah yes, an oldie but a goodie ('scuse my Bill Oddie).

Editor's note: I'm beginning to suspect that most of these searches are conducted by our very own Joseph Petrenyi who, absent-mindedly, keeps mistaking the board for somewhere else.

Talid Sheikh O'Riley Rodney King Muhammad Ali the Third, the man responsible for masterminding the World Trade Centre disaster, has been arrested by the FBI. He is currently being interrogated with a pointed stick, five sets of knuckle-dusters and a high-wattage genital clamp, the hope being that he will lead American Secret Services to the, as yet undisclosed, whereabouts of Osama bin Laden. As he was dragged away at cattle prod point Talid Muhammad told reporters through his gag, "I've no idea what's going on! I was on a wine tasting tour of South Africa when these pillocks grabbed me. I heard one of them shout, 'He's got a turban on...he'll do.'"

At three o'clock this morning blood-spattered paper was seen fluttering from the FBI headquarters. Examination revealed that it was the last few shreds of the Geneva Convention being thrown to the wind.

On a related issue, David Blunkett this morning explained how the British government's plans to stem the rising tide of refugees would actually work.

"It's very simple..." he told the pillar-box. "'d have to be. Tony devised it. As every good Daily Mail reader knows, we can't go on accepting these ingrates to our beloved island, putting them up in five star luxury prisons and handing out expensive coupons and Oxfam clothes. Have you any idea how much it costs to store fifteen people in a three-foot cell for eighteen months? So we've decided it would be much simpler in the long run if we found out where they were coming from and then bombed their countries to smithereens. It's clear that UN sanctions aren't killing enough, but if we can remove 400,000 political asylum seekers by way of collateral damage then that's going to save the chancellor a lot of money. And we won't be in breach of that stupid European Human Rights Bill that Jacques Chirac conned us into signing."

When accused of being racist, Blunkett replied, "Me? Racist? I'm blind! I can't tell who's black and who's white! The only difference I've ever noticed between them and us is that they smell like camel droppings."

Meanwhile in Iraq, Saddam Hussein has said that his country will win the war against Britain and America. I'm not entirely sure how he intends to do that seeing as two of his missile launchers were deemed unfit last week due to their elastic bands having perished and one of his camels has come down with whooping cough, but there you go. The British government is being alert, however, seeing as all the biological and chemical weapons that we sold to Iraq still haven't been uncovered and might well be sat in a terrorist's handbag in the middle of Islington as we speak, waiting to be detonated the minute hostilities break out. David Blunkett has been conducting a thorough search of Britain personally for anything suspicious...accompanied by his dog and white stick.

And here are those headlines again for any Americans that might be reading...

Talid Sheikh Muhammed, the evil none-American Muslim infidel responsible for killing millions of innocent, God-fearing Americans on September the Eleventh 2001, has been arrested. He is currently helping the FBI with enquiries from his luxury cell in down-town Washington. Despite the terrible atrocities he committed to our beautiful families and innocent loved ones he is being treated with the utmost courtesy because, as the Whitehouse says, "America would never stoop to anything so low as retaliation." God bless this great nation of ours, the greatest nation on Earth, for treating it's evil enemies with the same tolerance as we would treat our own children.

World news now, and across the Atlantic in the British Isles it's Pancake Day. Yes...our wacky remedial British cousins are at it again. Apparently it's one of their quaint old customs to make pancakes once a year during an archaic festival known as 'Shove Tuesday'. They roll the pancakes down a steep hillside and try to catch them with their mouths. And that explains why they all have brown teeth.

Meanwhile in downtown Bagdhad a defiant Saddam Hussein, the most evil man on the face of the Earth and the mastermind behind the destruction of New York's glorious twin towers on September Eleventh 2001, has issued a threat to our beloved president. In an outrageous speech Saddam (53) declared war on America. Well, if that's your attitude, Buster, you've got another think coming. You don't mess with America and get away with it, Buddy. We Americans don't take kindly to that sort of thing and if you want your bony Muslim ass kicked to Kingdom Come then you're going the right way about it.

More news after these twenty-five-minutes-worth of adverts. God Bless America! We'll be right back, yawl hear.


On hearing news that the US group, the B52's, had flown into Britain fans flocked to buy tickets only to learn the group's next gig was not London but Baghdad. UK Manager Toneless Blair and roadie Buff Hoon were only available for fatuous comments.
This image is stored at If it hasn't appeared, right click and click SHOW PICTURE.

Not sure about all this publicity, but it seems Green Fairy has been stealing several chunks of "15 minutes of fame" from the downtrodden and underexposed. Not that any of us are jealous or envy the lorry loads of payola that arrives on her doorstep daily. Not to mention the raft of endorsements up for which she's signed.

(Note convolutions that can arise when abiding by the Editor's inviolable rule ... "NO DANGLING PREPOSITIONS!")

(With additional skidmarks courtesy of the Home Office)

RAF fighter jets today bombed areas within the No-Fly Zones in both Northern and Southern Iraq, pre-empting targets such as missile launchpads and outside privies to 'soften the resistance for when the war kicks off.' Even though retaliatory bombings have been conducted for some time, this is the first series of 'unprovoked' attacks, suggesting that the war (which has still to be debated in Parliament in case Uncle Tony had forgotten) whilst not officially having been declared, has in many respects started. The ITV News crew certainly seems to think so. Peter Sissons has left the comfort of his desk and is now standing authoritatively in front of a large, imposing screen. That means the situation must be extremely fucking serious!

Meanwhile in Gloucestershire (pronounced Gloss-tor-shire for George Bush) American B52 Bombers have started arriving in force. Geoff (nee Jeff) Hoon insists they're just delivering McDonald burgers to John Prescott's winter retreat and not loading up with missiles to be delivered to Saddam.

The build up of allied forces in Turkey has taken a blow today. The Turkish government has voted against allowing 'Those Yankee Bastards' onto their soil, which means that God knows how many hundreds of thousands of troops will now have to travel thousands of miles to Kuwait. "Most will perish en route," said a spokesman for the Welsh Assembly. "It's getting close to summer in the Middle East and the rutting season is almost over for the year. The Gulf itself will soon dry up and the cracked, parched earth beneath will be littered with the exhausted, flapping bodies of dying marines." Then a breeze blew his living room curtains apart revealing a sheep in suspenders outside and forcing the minister to admit to his stereotype.

Officials in Washington have said that, "Turkey's back-down on this issue will result in many more deaths, both of American soldiers and innocent Iraqis." (They could try not going to war at all, of course, but hey...who am I to argue the point?) "It will also result in sanctions against Turkey and the withdrawal of aid, plunging the Middle East another fathom deeper towards the inevitable Third World War," he added with a sinister smirk.

Meanwhile: Local news and an old aged pensioner is thinking about suing Lancaster Council because she twisted her ankle this afternoon on a cobblestone whilst taking a short cut through the castle grounds. "I might take them to court over this matter," said Mrs Worthington of Hawside Lane. "Then again I might not. It doesn't hurt that much."

And in Fleetwood a small kitten got stuck up a tree for half an hour before it managed to climb down again.

Further afield the British Government has been staging "rehearsals" this afternoon, in case of massive biological and chemical attacks on a scale with September the Eleventh. (Presumably they're worried in case one of the B52s in Gloucestershire crashes.) "We need to bury a lot of our unpopular policies and dreadful statistics by scaring the shit out of everyone alert people to the possible threat of such a...threat...occurring!" a spokesperson admitted. "And we need to make sure that the hospitals are prepared for any emergency." (You could try giving them some proper money then, couldn't that they don't have to carry out operations with dessert spoons and collapsing operating trolleys, dickwads?)

Working undercover the Rant of the Week Investigative Team have seized several notable e-mails sent out during the course of the day when all the news coverage was taken up with Iraq, the build up of troops and bugger all else.

From John Prescott to the Transport Ministry: "Today would be a good day to bury the Rail Networks Improvement Figures."

From David Blunkett to the Educational Committee: "Today would be a good day to bury the GCSE Results."

From the Duke of Edinburgh to the Palace: "Today would be a good day to bury the Queen Mum. She's starting to stink the ruddy building out."

From Robin Cook to his secretary: "Today would be a good day to bury my one-eyed trouser sausage."

From Michael Portillo to Kenneth Clarke: "Today would be a good day to bury Iain Duncan Smith."

Monday, March 03, 2003

This Joe bloke got a job. Unfortunatelly I am not he. But I got a job too... so, it's the end of the starving and it's the start of the working to death. I'll be sparse here... but I can say, you have big luck, because I don't exist in fact... not at all.

Meet George! He's funny! He's the most powerful man in the world with nuclear weapons galore at his disposal and yet he's only got an IQ of six. Back in his youth George executed more people than any other Govenor of Texas in the whole of history ever. But now all he wants is revenge for the death of his father's political career.

Meet Saddam! He's mental! As the Butcher of Baghdad he's killed thousands of innocent people, believing that he should be the most powerful man in the world instead of George. He's the one that George wants to obliterate from the face of the Earth. Unfortunately hundreds of thousands of innocent people will die in the process and the entire Middle East might end up destabilised spelling possible Armageddon.

Now meet Tony! Although people don't know it he really is the most powerful man in the world. He's the only man alive who could put a stop to all of this. If Tony doesn't support George's plans for revenge then George will have to go it alone. And George wouldn't do that because he's a chicken-livered shit.

Unfortunately Tony is on a mission from God. He isn't listening to the Anglican, the Muslim or the Catholic leaders. He isn't listening to his own political party. He's turned a deaf ear towards his own people. And, to be honest, he isn't listening to God either.

It looks as though the world might be screwed here. Is there any hope left? What we need now is some sort of Super Hero!

George, Saddam and Tony...putting the Fun, the Mental and the final Amen back into fundamentalism.

The Axis of Weevils! Coming to a world stage near you soon...unless we can somehow manage to get Dianne Abbott into power!

It's good to see some bright spark in the government (probably Harriet Harman...I'm not sure why I suspect it's her but as far as I'm concerned she's one of the sisterhood since she had her clitoris pierced for Hello magazine) has changed the law regarding husbands murdering their spouses. No longer can these evil, fascist men claim that they were victims of abuse and only fought back against their decent, innocent female partners in self-defence. Have you ever heard such bullshit? When has any penis-fixated, testosterone-driven male ever done anything in self defence? It takes two to tango you lying macho bastards and murder is murder no matter how you look at it!

Fortunately the law regarding women murdering manslaughtering their husbands remains unchanged. That's the first bit of good legislation to come out of a male-dominated Parliament for a long bloody time. Somebody up there (obviously a woman...possibly Margaret Beckett 'cos she likes to get her teeth stuck into things) has seen some sense. Women not only have to suffer their untidy, chauvernist male counterparts but their own monthly curse as well. Men deserve to be stabbed to death...self defence or not. Manslaughter is manslaughter...not woman-slaughter!

Some ball-scratching male pig-fucker on the news at dinnertime reckoned that this new law was sexist and hadn't been thought through properly. Much like the creation of men then! God was obviously having one of Her bad days when she came up with that particular screwed-up idea.

Editor's note: Do you agree with Brenda and/or the new 'murder' law? Or do you think that certain hideous old lesbian battleaxes with a personal grudge against hetrosexual men should be shot repeatedly through the head without it being an infringement of the law? Whatever the case, I couldn't care less, but you know where the comments box is if you really want to encourage this sad old bitch.



"New Labour's Love Lost"
A romance for the twenty-first century.

Antonia was the Prime Minister of a small, North European island nation wreathed in mystery (Don't you mean misery? Ed.) and Dubya was the leader of the greatest superpower the world had ever seen. Antonia was but a Poodle to Dubya's mighty Rottweiler and many said their love should never be. Antonia and Dubya were determined to prove everyone wrong and their story will have you reaching for the Kleenex (Don't you mean sickbag? Ed.). Now read on...

Antonia knew instinctively Dubya was the man for her. So tall; so handsome; so assertive. His "War on Terror" rhetoric following the Twin Towers disaster sent a frisson of passion through her body and she resolved that he would be hers whatever the cost. She picked up the 'phone, offered her condolences and support and couldn't believe it when he invited her over to stay at his house. The next few days were frantic; packing and unpacking her cases, sorting through her wardrobe and visiting Harvey Nick's, worried that her first impressions would disappoint the most powerful man in the world. How relieved she was to finally discover her love was reciprocated.on.

Antonia's happiness was absolute. What more to life than enjoying the way he held her and treated her like a treasured pet? People made hateful remarks but Antonia didn't care. Let them scoff, she thought. Only she truly understood the man beneath the alleged warmonger so let them have their nasty fun. Crazy with love, Antonia persued the relationship with a searing passion she had never before experienced, not even when she watched Cherie and Carole scrubbing each other in the shower. The idyll continued until Antonia presented Dubya with a token of her complete love and obedience. Unfortunately, soon after Antonia begane to suspect that something was very, very wrong. To be continued...


There were no rations, no kit, just lots of Blair's bullshit in the Quartermaster's stores.

For all those people who have been searching (as the stats for this site tend to indicate) for the photograph of all those lovely naked Australian women protesting against the it is (magnifying glass recommended):

I had to scour the internet for that. I hope you're happy now.

For all those people who have been searching for underage Lolita porn (as the stats also tend to indicate)...and might I add at this point that Matthew Kelly is not amongst them...then you'll have to ask Deputy Editor Sedgwick about that one. I've had my researcher, Peter Townshend, working for months trying to track the damned stuff down and he reckons he can't find it anywhere...

Sunday, March 02, 2003

The other night I had an epiphany. (Well, I'd been drinking and my bladder can only hold so much.) A big wet dream of such magnitude that I could suddenly see a better world unfurling before my eyes. (Actually two better worlds and two snakes of sick were unfurling before my eyes, accompanied by an extreme close up of the living room carpet, but that's beside the point.) I'd gotten round to thinking about what would happen after the Great Dictator had been toppled from his evil, ignorant throne...namely when the Labour back-benchers finally called a leadership contest. Who could possibly replace this corrupt and jug-eared man to save Britain from further tyrany? John "I eat babies for breakfast and horse shit for tea...if the smell of my breath is anything to go off" Prescott? God help us if that happened. We'd all be forced to pay tithes of sausages and lard and bacon fat to keep the overweight bastard busy. Margaret Beckett? Too dangerous for the news reporters...all those teeth. She could have somebody's microphone arm off at twenty yards if she got in a gob on. Robin Cook? He'd do well on the leprechaun vote but, well, frankly...imagine how embarassing it'd be if he went abroad to represent us.

Then suddenly it hit me. (Bounce back...diced carrots can store plenty of kinetic energy if they've stewed in the guts for long enough.)

Dianne Abbott!

Beautiful, bouncy, cuddly Ms Abbott. She led the backbench revolt on the Iraqi Crisis. She complained about the inequality of the monarchy. She stood up for her rights as a party member. She's round and sexy and lovely and fab. Just imagine if Tony spin Blair was defrocked (not very hard to imagine going off current sentiment I know) and Dianne Abbott made it into his shoes as the leader of the Labour party and therefore, because Uncle Tony had been removed whilst still in power, Prime Minister without having to stand for election!

Go on...imagine it!

That would be a dream come true, wouldn't it? Britain's first black female Prime Minister! And left wing to boot!

Think of the confusion it would cause to the Bush administration. Consider the progressive nature such a move would have on British politics, ousting it from the stuffy old chambers of retarded, inbred, white male chauvernists to a thoroughly modern, socialist future in which the War against Iraq was cancelled, Bush got a swift punt to his nadgers and everyone of every creed, race and gender could live happily ever after, amen!

So I'm starting a campaign. (Well, the anti-war movement did quite well on a global scale and that was started on the Rant of the Week board, so why not?) The idea is simple...let Parliament know that we want Dianne Abbott as replacement Prime Minister. Revolutionary, optimistic and sound! You know it makes sense. Start a lobby today...Dianne Abbott for P.M. Such a change of leadership direction for this tolerant and nobel island of ours should also knock what's left of the stuffing from those insufferable old shits in the Tory party! Elect Dianne Abbott if you want to see the Tories fuck off to foreign shores once and for all! Even if you don't agree with her politics, it's got to be worth it for that reason alone!

Feel free to display this banner on your site. Together we can stop this war and do something spectacular for Blighty!

The Venerable Sage of Unyan
Dispenser of wisdoms and sayer of sooths to the multitudes

Upon hearing that Don Jose Maria de Aznar sitteth firmly upon the right hand of the Lord God Anthony, the Venerable Unyan doth say - Raise your voices in praise O people of Gib-Ral-Tar for the Kingdom of Da-go is nigh!

It's time to post again. They've let me run loose in the yard for the last hour! It's been so refreshing to actually see the sky! It is dark out now so I only got to see the little lights of the stars glimmering in the dark, it was cold I had to come in early for the medication.

Occasionally I get email from those wishing help with their problems, such as Why is the US going to invade a basically stoneage country run by a sociopath? We need to invade ourselves first, as we have the largest number of nuclear and biological weapons, and our country is being run by frat boys. You always wondered what it would be like to be in a country run by them didn't you? I know this was one of your fondest dreams when you were in collage. You knew that Smegma Nu could do a better job than those damn sociology majors in the Political Science Department! Well now it's happened, we are all ruled by the Skull and Bones Society, kind of ironic isn't it? Now you discover, that much like anyone else they make mistakes that they try to blame on others, they are no different than anyone else, so don't hold them up for ridicule for being no different, hold them up to ridicule for pretending to be different than anyone else.

"We are the same!" their spin doctored press releases proclaim, in print and on TV, "We are going to bring the rule of Frat boys to Iraq, and they will love us for it!" Inspiring isn't it? This kind of talk always makes me sigh a lot and weep in secret, for the poetry of it all. "Our massive attack will bring out the goodness in us all, and make the little children safer for having been made to disappear under a storm of robotic drones armed with the latest in cybersmart warheads!" I love this kind of talk. I wish I was a DOD planner! When I grow up that's what I want to do, plan strategic carpet bombing of civilian/military targets for the Skull and Bones Society.