Will somebody please explain to the producers of "The Flying Gardener" (BBC1 Friday evenings), as well as the research teams behind programmes such as "The News" etc, that Northern Ireland is NOT part of Great Britain.
"This is the boggiest place in Britain..." "These are the largest ship yards in Britain..." No they're not!
Look at your passports people! I don't have a bloody passport but even I know that along the top edge are the words: "The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland!" If you can't research your subjects better (and, frankly, seeing as you live in Britain yourselves you should be ashamed of your ignorance) then find another job. For your information: Britain = England, Scotland and Wales. The U.K = Britain and Northern Ireland. Dumbing down = pig ignorant tossers who continually try to educate the Great British public with misinformation!
Smarten up your acts and, whilst I'm here, stop bombarding an increasingly ill educated populace with dangling prepositions and split infinitives! Cretins!
On a slightly different note (well...on a totally different note actually) it seems the government has performed a U-turn on the law that it passed several months ago concerning nudity and sexual practises committed in public. Following vociferous condemnation of Blunkett's Anti-Exhibitionist Law by British naturists it has now been returned to its original status. General nudity and bonking in public places are no longer imprisionable offences, but a sexual act committed in public designed specifically to cause offence, is still unlawful. Good! That means whilst the rest of us are bonking in the bluebells this spring, John Prescott won't be allowed to strip off!

Quiet! You down at the back!

Update 1: Federal MPs may be limited in what they can say about the issue when Parliament returns on Tuesday because parliamentary rules prevent any "disrespectful" comments about the Queen or her representative.

Speaker Neil Andrew said "criticism of the Governor-General will not be tolerated".

Ve haf vays of not making you talk! Mmmmm ... searches dictionary for etymology of the word "parliament".

Update 2: The government whip gagged federal Liberal MPs from commenting on rape allegations levelled at Governor-General Peter Hollingworth.

The memo from chief government whip Jim Lloyd was sent to all MPs, including ministers and senators, according to the ABC's Lateline program.

The memo said: "Additional comments in relation to this issue only assist the media - not individuals members, senators nor the government."

... and bugger me dead, what gives the idiot voters who elected these members the idea that they have the right to know where they stand on this issue?!

*Thinks* ... Didn't all this stuff start with silence, stonewalling, denial and some Archbishop sweeping things under the shagpile?

Update 3: The focus of the crisis embroiling Governor-General Peter Hollingworth shifted to Buckingham Palace last night, with the Queen reported to be willing to allow him to resign.

Prime Minister John Howard today flies home from meeting Australian troops in Qatar to tackle the growing controversy, fuelled by the revelation that he knew about the rape claims against Dr Hollingworth last December.

Last night The Times of London reported that the Queen would raise no objections to Dr Hollingworth's removal.

The report said the Queen was known to be concerned about Dr Hollingworth's increasingly precarious position and discussed it with Mr Howard during his visit to London earlier this week.

A senior palace official told the paper that the Queen would raise no objection if Mr Howard decided he wanted Dr Hollingworth to stand down. "The Queen follows the advice of her ministers in the Australian Government," the official said.

Roll on the Republic of Australia. No more salacious stories about Governors-General. We want our own President who can give us far a better class of peckerdillos. We want our own home grown Bill Clinton!

When do we want it? NOW!

Update 4: The Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists will consider dumping Governor-General Peter Hollingworth as its patron at a special meeting in Hobart today.

The RANZCP is, however, willing to take him on as a patient.

UPDATE 5

Governor-General, Dr Peter Hollingworth, has stood aside as the Queen's representative in Australia.

Tasmania's Governor, Sir Guy Green, will stand in as Governor-General pending the outcome of a court case into rape allegations against Dr Hollingworth being heard in the Victorian Supreme Court.

The GG not be standing down because of this issue (a mere sideshow probaby destined to go nowhere) but should have already resigned because of his priors when Archbishop of Brisbane.

The announcement was made by Prime Minister John Howard at a specially convened press conference in Sydney.

(True to form little Johnny couldn't help surrounding the event with his trademark obfuscation and prevarication.)

Dr Hollingworth and the Prime Minister have both been in Sydney today.

Mr Howard's office earlier today denied the two were holding official talks but late today the Prime Minister ordered a press conference be held at his Sydney office where he made the announcement.

Visitors entering Gaza from Israel will now be forced to sign chits wavering the Israeli government from any responsibility should their troops bomb, shoot or otherwise kill, maim and knacker them. This particular idea has arisen from the killings of various British and American aid workers, peace protesters and journalists in recent months.
David Blunkett has welcomed the plans with open arms, proposing a similar chit for refugees and asylum seekers entering Britain.
"This way we can remove any legal blame from our own government ministers should they get caught torturing, hanging or buggering the refugees sideways," Blunkett explained to the official press conference rubber plant by accident. "It's just a pity that we didn't come up with this idea during the Iraq war."
Ex-Yorkshire Ripper and prostitute murderer, Peter Sutcliff, was heard to comment in prison this morning, "Fuck! I wish I'd thought of that."
Meanwhile three British Muslims appeared in court today to give evidence against their relatives, the British suicide bombers who detonated themselves in Israel last month. One of the bombers, Omar Sharif, failed to explode at the time. He was last seen running after a steam train in Moscow with a gap between his front teeth before having a heart attack and spoiling the whole film with a pathetic ending.
Other news and my satire chip appears to have broken.

Prime Minister John Howard has arrived in Qatar to visit Australian troops who have been involved in the war in Iraq.

On his arrival, Mr Howard ignored a question about the controversy enveloping Governor-General Peter Hollingworth.

The issue has taken the gloss off what would otherwise be a trip characterised by patronising pats on the head glowing tributes from US President George W Bush and British Prime Minister Tony Blair.

Mr Howard is expected to visit the Australian forces' central command and troops on board HMAS Kanimbla where it is understood he will be leaving them with a reminder that whilst the war in Iraq may be over, the hunting down and smoking out of people who rain on his parade has only just begun.

BTW seems like the Good Green Fairy has been hacked.
No wonder she is not enamoured of children.



UPDATE. Pleased to report that fairies of all hues have reported in for duty and are now back blogging at the bottom of the garden.

One of the problems with being as incredibly famous and benevolent as me is that my time is seldom my own. For example, I wake up at five o'clock in the evening morning and vacuum the house from top to bottom. (Because of my hideously generous nature and the fact that I donate all of my earnings to tiny, helpless foreign children and three legged baby animals, I can't afford the busty maid from Miss Daisy's Personal Cleaners that I've had my eye on for some time now.) Then I polish every surface in sight, greet the dawn with a torch and night-vision goggles, the intention being to rid the garden of slugs and snails. (I gather them up and transport them in a container to the nearest wood...not just sling them into the alley behind the house like some people would...and in answer to the angry letter that I received from the RSPCA last week...I've no idea who's been hammering snails into the cobbles at the back of my place.) Where was I? Whatever...all this before breakfast!
Throughout the morning I meet and greet local dignitaries who are fans of my work and hold press conferences, make television appearances, pat mongols on the head, answer my adoring fans (I insist on replying to everyone by hand and don't just print out form letters with the names changed at all like some unworthy Australian legends I don't care to mention by name)...and basically get on with the minute by minute obligations that structure my claustrophobic life.
Afternoons I spend writing and scribbling. Somebody has to produce the high quality novels and cartoons for which I am so rightly famed around the globe, you know! Three novels a week and one hundred and fourteen cartoons a day requires a lot of work and I never ask for any reward. I'm just content to know that I've made some publisher somewhere enough money to drive his petrol-consuming Jaguar another fourteen feet along the road from his office to his luxury mansion.
Evenings...and I tend to my thousands of web sites across the net. This is the best time of all. It's now when I produce something special for this little board...and it's a wonderful feeling knowing that I've helped to educate some mentally deficient runt somewhere. I can collapse in bed at four-thirty in the morning full of the knowledge that I've brought a little light into this tragic world and have produced a coherent 'road-map' for a better future for the whole of mankind.
Then there's the cooking and the shopping and all the other mundanities that I, sometimes reluctantly, have to perform throughout the day, of course. Fortunately, because of my massive intellect, I've managed to bend the rules of space/time a bit so that I can squeeze in an extra few minutes here and there for new projects...such as SKUNK magazine...available in the shops soon. Only £1.50! Excellent value! Will keep you posted!
However, sometimes, no matter how hard I try to work beyond the physical limits of mortal man, there aren't enough hours in the day.
Which, to cut a long story short, is why I haven't written a blog tonight. So if you want to complain about it look into your own hearts instead and ask yourselves, "Why are you such demanding and selfish bastards?" Then try to act a bit more like me and be more giving.
Or alternatively, just sod off.

BREAKING NEWS.

Governor-General denies rape claim

O.K. all you people north of the equator, we in Oz are just as amazed that this Governor General story is challenging "Dallas" for twists, turns and improbabilities.

Thursday, 8 May, 2003, 07:11 GMT 08:11 UK The Australian Governor-General, Peter Hollingworth, has denied an allegation of rape after it emerged that he was being sued for a sexual attack dating back to the 1960s.

Mr Hollingworth is already under pressure to resign from his post for mishandling a series of sex abuse cases while he was the Archbishop of Brisbane in the 1990s.

Mr Hollingworth said he did not know the woman who alleged the attack, and that the allegations were a case of mistaken identity.

"I deny absolutely that I have ever raped or in any way sexually assaulted any person," the Queen's representative said in a statement.

The rape charge came to light after Mr Hollingworth bowed to pressure to lift a suppression order on the details of the case, which is still being heard in the courts, even though the woman involved recently committed suicide.

Win, lose or draw ... guilty or not, this has to be the nail in the GG's coffin.

I've come all ambivalent like about this. As a fully paid up republican it would serve to undermine this archaic institution to have him stay in the job. As someone who can appreciate the anger and distress of victims of the abuse that occurred during Hollingworth's flawed reign as Archbishop of Brisbane I would want him to go, and go swiftly. The second proposition is the more compelling.

Editor's note: George Galloway eat your heart out.

I believe that the post below is so defamatory that, in my new position as the Public Relations Officer for the RSC, I have taken the liberty of translating this site into Arabic to that our brothers can now declare a Fatwally on Brian Hughes-Does-He-Think-He-Is. Thank you, and yes I still have a hangover from celebrating our great and glorious victory over the Infidels.
Translation here. (Spotted at A Blog's Life.)

I have noticed this... ("why are sexy bums tits so attractive to boys") on your referral log. If I may be so bold as to quote myself on this issue when I was the Iraqi Information Minister ... "They are not!"

This referral "rape on very young virgin with big ten inch cock" from Google NZ will strike fear into the heart of every lamb in New Zealand. But if I may be so bold as to quote myself again on this issue ... "New Zealanders are perfectly normal, well adjusted and civilised people".

What gives with modern film adaptations of Shakespeare that requires them to feature unnecessary and completely inappropriate homo-erotic bullshit? Shakespeare's bad enough as it is, the general rule of thumb being lots of screaming and misunderstood lines and running about and hamming it up, without having to fill three hours of claustrophobic screen time with moronic pretty boys touching each other's balls, stroking each other's hair and fisting each other's bottoms whilst waxing unlyrical shit!
I don't recall in Titus Andronicus when we studied it at school the rapists of Titus' daughter tickling each other's nipples and pounding each other's buttocks whilst plotting their adventure. I don't remember half the class having to get out their future wedding tackle during several of the scenes and run about tea bagging the rest of the pupils in the middle of some speech or other. (Well...apart from Mr Brigden our old English teacher, of course, but that had nothing to do with the bard.)
Has Shakespeare really become so unintelligible to the average pseudo-intellectual dolt these days that foreskins, shaved balls and bum fucking masquerading as classical acting is the only way that producers can get bums on seats? Or is it just that everyone in the RSC is pretentious, gay and exhibitionist? (Scratch that last suggestion...we already know that they are, so it's academic.)
Who can forget the Tempest when Toyah Wilcox swung her hefty tits into the camera and Christopher Biggins bummed the cabin boy then spent the rest of the film scurrying round in the nuddy? (Christ, that was a fucking horrible sight I can tell you! It takes years to recover from an experience like that!)
Well I've had enough! Shakespeare is best played straight and that's that!
'Nuff said.
Exit stage right pursued by queer.

Fallout continues from church child abuse inquiry

The fallout from the report into child abuse within the Brisbane Anglican Church looks likely to continue today.

It is expected a private settlement will be announced to terminate the position held by Gilbert Case as head of the Anglican Schools office, an appointment made by Dr Peter Hollingworth when he was archbishop of Brisbane.

Mr Case was criticised in the report for dismissing student complaints against paedophile teacher Kevin Lynch at Brisbane's St Paul's private school.

At the time the report was released, Brisbane Archbishop Phillip Aspinall said Mr Case's situation would be considered.

"The situation is made more complex because Mr Case was appointed to his current position by the diocese when there was more or less full knowledge of the matters associated with Lynch at St Paul's school," he said.

I'll say it again ...

"His (former) Grace is a bloody disgrace."

Editor's note: Hmm...looks like an open and shut Case to me.

Awarded to the Governor General for services to the noble art of sweeping under the carpet.

THE RANT OF THE WEEK MEDICAL ADVICE COLUMN

Hello, bumfuck, hairy cock! My name is Dr Simon Bunnion, sperm stain on my undies, and I'm here, tiny cunt bubble, to set the record straight about an extremely, spunky nappy, rare but serious mental condition, cock cock cock, known as Tourette's syndrome.
Tourette's syndrome, tufted ringpiece, can be an extremely difficult, sweaty minge, problem to deal with for any sufferers and their, tender titties, families. It is an illness which, piss pube bristly nipple cosy, affects the mind in such a manner that those suffering, get off me you arse stabber, from it feel compelled to swear, squeal, tickle a turd on a fat man's bellend, and insult people and objects, cock in a sock, at random.
Most of these people, holy mother of Jesus would you look at the raspberries on that bitch, live on council estates and don't know any better, run my knob beneath the tap and watch it's eye weep.
Despite the perculiarities this, creamy smegma, creates, it is not a, toe jammed up a fat nun's anus, disease to be laughed at. Twat! The social complications that arise from Tourette's, as, fanny batter, you can imagine, are immense. And many Tourette's sufferers, McDonalds burgers, don't even realise they have the, pissflaps down to her knees, condition.
In this cynical, little chinky whore screwing, modern world it's all too easy to laugh, shit on my nose and kiss my vulva, at this disabilitating illness.
Tourette's syndrome has become the, vagina cheese, obvious target for, stinging balls dipped in mustard, 'wits' and, huge swollen glans with Jeremy Beadle's face on it, 'satirists' who, quite frankly, ought to know better. People who, if they had an ounce of, droppings, marble bollocks, milky love wee wee, decency in them, would understand the, warty penis that resembles Michael Barrymore, implications of this dreadful affliction and steer clear, fuck Ulrika up the dirt box and stab her chocolate starfish with a ballpoint pen, of the sort of unintelligent, cruel jibes that often result from their lack of, Thora Hird's back passage being penetrated by Norman Wisdom, imagination.
Well, that's it for now, cunt fuckers.
Next week I shall be discussing elephantitus of the testicles but until then, stay healthy and get fucked!

Deputy Editor here. Just poked my head into your waiting room Simon, and I see you already have a capacity audience for next week's topic.

The British government is going to make the smacking of children by child minders illegal. As to whether or not parents can continue to instil some discipline into their unruly offspring by a swift crack around the back of the legs, the issue is still on Blunkett's cards.
"My parents used to thrash me with a large, thorny bramble when I was young," Blunkett commented when pressed. "It never did me any harm. Except for when they repeatedly belted me in the eyes of course."

But if the pain and suffering of Great British tykes is a bone of contention, Iraqi children barely deserve a mention on the television news. Apparently in one hospital in Basra alone, due to 12 years of UN sanctions and the impact of the recent war, ten children are dying on average a day.
That's in one single hospital, folks.
The same thing is happening across the country on a much greater and more inhumane scale.
It hasn't stopped Dubya, however, from strutting around wearing that idiotic smirk of his and declaring that "The Iraqi people are now liberated!"
From drugs, humanitarian aid and, most importantly, the news headlines it would appear. The bombs aren't falling, the attention-grabbing shots just aren't as exciting these days and so Iraq isn't important enough to receive full coverage any more.
Keep smacking those British kids, folks...and whilst you're there smack their ignorant parents, their ignorant political leaders and the ignorant fuckers who run the news companies. With a bit of luck it might knock a bit of humanity back into them.

Well, do you know the most catastrophically carnal characters of ancient history? So, here is Scrotilla the Hun.

First time I've managed to get on this board since Friday evening...and now I've got nothing to say. It's too early in the morning to contemplate the bank holiday news, my system's half full of last night's whisky, and my mouth feels as though fifteen snails have been copulating on it...so here's this week's Scrag End because I can't be arsed/am not capable of anything more at this moment in time. (One gallbladder down...next stop the liver.)