Labour isn’t working. Still.
AJ
November 11, 2009
Criminal Record Checks… What could *possibly* go wrong?
Oh…
More than 15,320 people have complained to the Criminal Records Bureau over the last six years to dispute the information the agency is releasing to potential employers.
Last year, a record 2,509 people challenged the CRB – twice the figure of 2002/03, and the equivalent of seven people every day.
The errors are being blamed on applicants having similar personal details to an offender, as well as identity fraud and mistakes made on court and police records.
The figures were revealed just weeks after it emerged more than 11million adults will have to be checked on a new database to be run by the Independent Safeguarding Authority (ISA).
An estimated 11.3 million people – including parents who join school rotas to take pupils to sports events – will face having their backgrounds checked.
Well… I’m glad I’m not an Andy Smith, a Dave Brown or a Jack Jones.
AJ
Uncommon sense…
Seen on the matrix signs on the M1 today (several instances):
Don’t Hog The Middle Lane
Wonders will never cease. And it works a treat for about 2 miles after each sign.
AJ
November 10, 2009
Jahomstradamus’ pre-requisites for the double dip. Part 1…
One piece just started to fall into place… this is from October 25th 2009:
For the nation as a whole, it has been a year of shitty news on the economy, hectoring from the state about every damned thing we do, utter desperation about the state of education, the NHS, justice, law & order and the ghastly corruption, venality and greed of our elected ‘representatives’. Faith in democracy is draining away. People are fucking pissed off. Depressed. Deprived of joy.
In the meantime, a bunch of people have moved onto tracker mortgages at tasty rates, freeing up disposable income (but not for paying down capital, natch).
In this society, many people acquire and consume goods as an abstract pursuit. An end in itself, which satiates psychological needs imbued by aggressive and invasive advertising. Tis a given, right?
These factors combined with the continuing availability of (not cheap) credit cards will fuel a Christmas consumer binge. We know that much of the economic growth in the last 10 years has been driven by insane consumerism. This binge will drag the economy back on to an upward trajectory. But only for Q4 ‘09.
In January, we’ll all sober up from our binge, open our bank statements and discover we’re gonna have to eat tinned beans on Tesco value toast until payday.
At which point the economy falls back into diminution.
Today in the Times:
Are you optimistic? Or are you spending to numb the pain and face the consequences later?
Today’s poll will boost government hopes that voters may be feeling more positive by the time of the general election next spring. It shows that the number of voters thinking the country as a whole will do well over the next year has risen from a quarter to a third since July and is now the highest since April 2008.
But nearly two thirds still think that the country will do badly over the next year.
So, 65% think we’re still gonna be fucked for the next year. And yet:
Its findings come as the best October high street sales for seven years have fuelled hopes that a pre-Christmas surge in spending could confirm the country’s emergence from recession.
Hmmmm… with this in mind, I think my reasoning for a predicted election date of 8th April is looking more solid.
AJ
Brown’s Condolence Letter…
I’ve been thinking about this, wavering between ‘so what’ and ‘disrespectful cunt’.
After due consideration, I find myself in agreement with Obo, who’s thought the whole chain of events through well indeed.
Once again …
Click through to read the whole post, but the observation that really struck at the heart of the matter for me, is that Brown’s position seems to be that it’s everyone else’s fault that they can’t read his handwriting. He actually phoned up this grieving mother to try to shift the blame away from himself, rather than just being a man, fessing up and apologising for his thoughtlessness (and, some hope, his inhumanity).
Let’s just look at all the ways that this is wrong:
- he apologises, not for the fuckups he made, but for the implication that she feels he shouldn’t have written to her at all
- it’s not directly related to the problem, it’s the usual Brownian motion to deflect criticism by turning it into an implication of failure or spite by the person having a go at him
- he doesn’t accept that she has any reason to be angry
It’s his standard technique from PMQs. I’m surprised he didn’t add something like "I won’t take any lessons from someone who supported the illegal adventure in the Falklands".
He’s a fist chewing liability to the UK within and without. And he wrote a book about Courage? Fuck that.
AJ
UPDATE: Constantly Furious brings a couple of important points to the discussion:
Surely somebody must have been on hand to have a glance at these letters before they went out?
In fact, it turns out that Brown had a photocopy of the letter to hand when he called Mrs Janes. Did he photocopy it with his own foul hand? I think not.
Or perhaps there was, and perhaps there’s such a culture of fear and bullying in the bunker that no-one dared say anything, for fear of spending the rest of the day in A&E having fragments of a Nokia phone picked out of their skulls.
Ah yes… but back to the nub:
However, what is not acceptable, what is unforgivable, is Brown’s attitude when he made a mistake, crossed it out, and carried on with the letter.
If you cross something out, you know you’ve made a mistake. That’s why you fucking cross it out. So at that point, regardless of whether he knew about the other spelling mistakes, Brown should have screwed up the letter and started again.For fucks sake, you don’t send any note out with crossings-out. If you’re writing a fucking sick note to excuse a child from games and you make a mistake, you start again, never mind a letter to a bereaved mother.
I’d call it case closed.
November 9, 2009
Clarkson column removed from Times Website. Placeholders remain…
It does appear that he’s been censored. It’s not a broken link. The article that was published on Sunday disappeared completely sometime this afternoon. Not in his list of columns. See above for a clip taken just now. His fizzog is next to a blank excerpt FFS.
There are reports that it can’t even be retrieved from Google’s cache.
This is very smelly indeed. Noises are being made that Peter Mandelson is behind this, but I’m not aware of any evidence that it’s anything to do with him.
Anyway, for good measure, here it is again in full:
I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt.
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America.
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4×4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.
You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany … because you just can’t.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.
Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit. onto in the meantime.
Whoever’s behind this is a foaming-at-the-mouth, caravan-clubbing, volvo driving, poe-faced cunt.
AJ
UPDATE: Cock-up rather than conspiracy, as the link appears to work once more, intermittently at any rate. Damn.. I’m gagging for an angry mob I can actually agree with.
Zaphod Beeblebrox to be born in Portsmouth…
A gift from God? As a meal-ticket you mean? Fucking savages.
AJ
Emotional Incontinence 2: This time it’s Dorking…
The squirrel ‘fell foul of a “hit and run driver”’ eh? Well I’ve been driving for 20 years and I never knew there was a duty to report running over a fucking tree-rat. Was the driver expected to leave his insurance details, perhaps?
Citizens of Dorking. You’ve lived up to your poxy town’s name in fine style, you complete and utter cretins.
AJ
Nauseating Tory Shitbags…
We can’t be surprised at the attempts of the state to co-opt the public to their authoritarian programme. That they should succeed is unconscionable to me.
These ‘volunteers’ should be peeled and rolled in salt on live television. I’d buy a TV to watch that.
The “Neighbourhood Champions” will pass on evidence of graffiti, fly-tipping, litter and excessive noise. They could eventually be trained to report child abuse, domestic violence, racial harassment and other “hate crimes”.
The plan is expected to be approved this week in Harrow. The council says the scheme, which has police backing, will increase pride in the community.
Oh yes. Increase pride. That’s what it’ll do.
There’ll be absolutely no further divisions drawn in society, no extra mistrust and suspicion that one’s neighbours are either collaborators or traitors.
Please note that Harrow is a Conservative controlled council.
So, there’s our future.
AJ
Emotional incontinence…
I’m upset at you being upset, and that upsets me.. bah.. you pussified bitch-assed motherfuckers…
Vis. Broon’s cack-handed attempt at a letter of condolence:
Asked about the controversy, Ed Miliband, the Energy Secretary, told the BBC that Mr Brown would be horrified at having caused offence.
"I think anyone who sees Mrs Janes’s upset will very much regret what she is feeling," said Mr Miliband. "And I’m sure the Prime Minister will feel that he intended to offer her some little comfort at the most difficult time for her. I’m sure he will be very upset himself at the upset she’s feeling."
Jesus Titty-Twisting Christ people. These fuckwits are supposed to be running the country. The country that they have managed to seriously fuck up, during their thirteen year Laurel and Hardy telethon of doom.
And as for Ed Bonzodogdoodahband, I think he’d make a brilliant leader of the Labour Party garden gnome.
If he’s a man, then I’m a Klingon warrior with an MBA from U.Bogota and a white tiger called ICanHasSiegfried…
AJ
Clarkson on top form…
It might be lazy and passé to repost a Clarkson column, but this one speaks directly to the way I’m feeling right now – i.e. considering moving over the channel, in full realisation of the futility of doing so. Do pop over to The Times and read the whole thing. This extract is the central plank.
There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America.
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4×4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist. And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.
You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany … because you just can’t.
AJ
UPDATE The article appears to have been taken down. Mandelson is suspected. Fortunately, OH has republished it in full. And here it is…
I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt.
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America.
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4×4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.
You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany … because you just can’t.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.
Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit. onto in the meantime.
Amen.
November 8, 2009
Wisdom…
Obviously not from me, but a round up of interesting views on how ‘the fear’ is instilled into us by the state.
We are ‘ruled’ not with consent by honourable people, but by avaricious power-seekers who rule by fear.
We are told to fear Terrorism, because the fear of terror garners our tacit consent for legislation that removes our rights and liberties. Our soldiers, who volunteered to defend our nation, are dying in a foreign field not for our freedom or for the liberty of others, but to satisfy the need of Government to keep us scared of ‘terror’.
That fear is used to enact the laws that make us guilty until proven innocent, forced to prove our own identies, restricted in our right to protest.
We are told to fear infection. Swine ‘flu, Bird flu, SARS, whatever the latest potential pandemic might be. Fear of infection reduces human contact and interaction. We are in fear for our health, the Government instructing us on our salt content, our fat consumption, our exercise levels.
We are taught to fear injury, under the auspices of ‘Health and Safety’. No risk, no pleasure, no life, in the terror that our actions may bring our life to an early end.Our own children are taught to fear. They are taught that paedophiles lurk in every corner, that they cannot trust their parents. They are taught what to eat. Taught everything, in fact, than how to think for themselves.
The ‘Oh no, you can’t do that’ attitude is prevalent now. A lot of people really believe that any deviation from ‘the Norm’ is actually illegal. I’m still amazed how many people believe it’s illegal to take a photo in the street. Nobody ever said it was. When Jacq the Ripper was two-home secretary, she stated that it wasn’t. Yet that ‘it’s not the Norm so it must be illegal’ is still prevalent.
Doing what we did today, we were never going to get into any trouble. There isn’t any there to be had. I’ll let you into a little secret. What we did today was not daring in the slightest. It was not subversive, not radical, not anything.
From my perspective, OH’s line about it only being a walk is not some mechanism to get around protest laws in Westminster, it is a clear statement of fact. The way some people react when I tell them about it, you’d think that we were running the risk of being cast into some Cat. A prison somewhere, never to be seen again.
The sad thing is, this says more about the public’s perception of what is permissable, than it does about any laws Westminster and Brussels have passed. If they can suggest that doing this is likely to end badly, if they can insinuate that going for a walk and wearing a silly £5 plastic mask is some form of civil disobedience, then the gig is up. They don’t need to pass any laws, they don’t need to explain to the electorate why they’ve done it. We’ve done it for them.
It makes me very sad that people’s automatic reaction to the act of wearing fancy dress, walking down one of the busiest streets, in one of the world’s busiest cities, carrying nothing but a few quid in your pocket, could somehow result in ‘trouble’. As a result, they don’t do it.
And as Thomas Jefferson said:
Where the people fear the government you have tyranny. Where the government fears the people you have liberty.
Go figure, as he may say today.
AJ
How to Drive: Lesson 2 – Use of Indicator Signals
Should be a quick one, this.
Remember back in the day? Mirror, signal, manoeuvre. Right?
Now, you’re going to be turning left, off a 40mph road into a smaller side road. You will need to reduce your speed significantly.
The manoeuvre begins when you start to slow down. See?
So it’s no fucking use to me, behind you, if you indicate after you’ve slowed down from 40mph to 10mph.
If you don’t get this, you don’t get driving and in Al Jahom’s pending New World Ordure, you don’t get to drive at all you fucking useless cunts.
AJ
More bubblewrap, Vicar?
Oh very dear…
Yesm tgar;d ve.
I do apologise. I appear to have head-butted my keyboard. I’d rather see government health warnings on brain melting bullshit like this.
And in case you were thinking this is just some random wingnut who won’t get a serious hearing…
Dr Pfeffer, who is also an international mentor for the World Health Organisation, will address the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents this week and call for children’s television programmes, particularly live action programmes, to carry ratings for parents to make informed choices for their children.
Among the programmes she deemed to contain the most risky behaviour were Scooby-Doo, Batman, X-Men and Ben 10.
AJ
UPDATE: Read all about the woolly headed muppet behind this shit here.
Buying votes…
I spotted this little story in the Mail on Sunday.
Labour has been accused of relying on the ‘welfare vote’ after the Conservatives published a provocative league table ranking Commons seats according to the number of benefit claimants.
A total of 189 constituencies in the first 200 are represented by Labour MPs, which the Tories claim explains why Ministers are failing to tackle the spiralling welfare bill.
I could have a good old rant about this, and the fact that the top five scroungers constituencies are über-entitled Scouse cunts, porridge wogs and mono-browed morlocks. Look:
Happily, however, Old Holborn has covered matters off nicely here:
One third of the seats in Parliament are represented by dole scounging, benefit sucking fucking wastrels, high on tax payers money and living the fucking life of Riley at the expense of everyone else.
There it is. Labour’s "client" state. Wonder why the streets are full of Stella swilling, Argos blinged mongtards without a care in the world? Labour WANTS it that way. Wondered why most of London speaks Somali and dresses in fucking tents? Labour wants it that way. Wondered why gun crime and violence in the UK makes us the most dangerous fucking place in Europe? Labour wants it that way.
You traitorous bastards. You have used our stolen money to fuck us. A country ruined so that YOU could have the power to bribe yourselves to yet more power.
In an adjacent post, OH also highlight’s a wonderful tale of pecksniff state drones, thinkofthechildrenism and thought crimes. Unbefeckinlievable.
AJ
Interesting…
Seen on eBuyer.com
- Record Time: up to 5 hours
- Colour video with recorder lets you clearly see the person and hear the conversation
- Video compression: AVI video format, 352 x 288 pixels
and here’s the small print…
- It’s great for use as a hidden camera, spy cam, etc (Legal uses only)
Aye, right. I don’t know whether to be horrified, or to order half a dozen. YouPorn must be delighted.
AJ
