British Justice…

Remember that most of the members of the Labour government who have been responsible for framing legislation are barristers. Which is to say if they don’t know about perverse laws, who the fuck does? So they can only have done this on purpose.

From Constantly Furious:

Paul Clarke of Reigate can tell you.

Mr Clarke found a discarded shotgun and – rather than blagging a bank, or shootin’ up some boyz in da ‘hood – decided that he should hand it in at the local police station.

After all, possession of an unlicensed firearm is an offence, innit?

Oh yes. It is. But, unfortunately for Paul, it’s a ‘Strict Liability’ offence. Remember them? No excuses.

So, when Mr Clarke arrived at the local nick – having had the courtesy to ‘phone ahead to announce his intention – was he offered a cup of tea and the thanks of several beaming Bobbies?

Was he fuck. He was promptly arrested, and thrown into a cell.

When the case came to court, was he given an apology for the misunderstanding and sent away, without a stain on his character?
Was he fuck. ‘Strict Liability’, see?

The judge, directing the Jury, sealed his fate, saying,

"This is an unusual case, but in law there is no dispute that Mr Clarke has no defence to this charge.

The Jury, not really knowing what the fuck was going on, and probably slightly disappointed that this was not really like on the telly at all, took a scant 20 minutes to go along with the Judge’s direction, and find the poor sod Guilty. Guilty. For fuck’s sake.
So, will the judge now unravel this mess, and sentence Mr Clarke to something proportionate and tolerable: "you will be taken from this place and given a cup of tea and your cab fare home" ?

Will he fuck. He can’t, even if he wants to.

There’s a minimum sentence for the crime of possessing a firearm. A mere judge can’t be trusted to know what’s appropriate, so he’s given guidelines from on high.

So – and here comes the sit down and brace yourself bit – when Paul Clarke is sentenced, on December the 11th, he must be sent to prison for a minimum of five years. Five fucking years. Five years in prison, for doing what pretty much every last single fucking one of us would have done in the circumstances.

Holy crap. The number of ways you can have your life fucked up at random is just ever-growing. This is another reason that mandatory minimums are grossly unjust and a politician’s knee jerk ‘seen to be doing something’ response.

But remember, as I said at the start, that many of those political kneejerkers are high fucking practitioners of law. Jesus fuckiing wept.

AJ

Ahead of the curve…

I’m a fucking trailblazer me. A visionary, no less.

Have been doing it for yonks… ;-)

http://aljahom.wordpress.com/2009/01/14/did-i-mention-that-i-piss-in-the-garden/

AJ

Wayne Rooney: More sense than most men…

Given that I’m not interested in parenting, and I don’t give a shite about Wayne Rooney, I’m not sure why I ended up reading this article. Perhaps it was the inevitable stench of wingnut feminism and pussy-whipped nonces.

Orly? Who can fucking blame him. He’s a multi-millionaire who’s keeping his potless chav princess in fine style. But that’s not good enough, apparently.

The Manchester United and England striker revealed that he had yet to change a nappy since his son, Kai, was born ten days ago and said that fatherhood had not changed him.

Good man… but here come the tossers..

The Fatherhood Institute, which conducts research into men and parenting,

Yeah.. research.. and who would that be paid for by? Me? (UPDATE: Yes – they’re a fake charity. See below)

“Loads of fathers now realise the importance of being hands-on from the beginning, so it is odd to hear this sort of thing. In the past a lot of fathers said things like this and wore it as a badge of honour. But it is strange to hear such a young man say it. He looks like a bit of a dinosaur,” said Adrienne Burgess, head of research.

Permit me to re-write those words for you, Ms Burgess.

“Loads of fathers are now pussy whipped jessies who traded their car in for a people carrier, so it is odd to hear this sort of thing. In the past a lot of fathers said things like this and wore it as a badge of honour. But it is strange to hear such a young man say it. He looks like much more of a man than these ladyboy dipshits who keep a woman and clean babies arses themselves.”

My position would be, “you wanna change nappies, knock yourself out. If you want someone to do it for you, I’ll pay for that. If you think I’m having anything to do with that shit, you need to think again, bitch.”

Anyway, Wayne Rooney goes up massively in my estimation.

AJ

UPDATE: Their current accounts are with the auditors, but here’s the info from 2007 – yup, I’m paying for it.

Lunatic Britain… part 6678567

This type shit is just prolific – we see examples most days.

A jumped up bully in a uniform. Face cancer is way to good for this type.

Vanessa Kelly, 26, was accosted by a council warden as she and 17-month-old Harry threw the birds scraps of bread.

Uh-oh – here we go…

Miss Kelly visited the park in Smethwick, West Mids, on Tuesday afternoon.

She said: “The warden walked towards me and asked me to stop feeding the ducks because of complaints about children slipping over on their way to school on duck mess. But there are no health and safety signs up.

"I said fair enough, but then she started doing a fine. I asked ‘what for?’ and she said ‘littering.’

"Harry was still throwing the bread though and the warden told me he could carry on as he was too young to prosecute. I couldn’t believe it."

She added: "I was horrified. It is ridiculous. Parking fines are less than this.

"I take my son to feed to the ducks every week. He loves it. It is for his entertainment and to keep him happy. It is doing a good deed. The ducks are obviously looking for the food.

"I have never heard anything like it.

"I do not intend to pay the fine. I am going to fight this to the end."

Good for you, missus. I support this stand – not enough people are prepared to face down this sort of pettifogging bullying thievery.

Inevitably, some council mouthpiece cunt thinks this is all perfectly reasonable.

Cllr Mahboob Hussain, Sandwell Council’s spokesman for neighbourhoods and housing, defended the warden’s actions.

He said: "We have had so many complaints from across the borough about problems caused by the feeding of pigeons and waterfowl that we decided to create designated feeding areas for birds.

Sigh.. well at least I don’t live in that area, or I’d have to write directly to Cllr Hussain to tell him what a cunt he is.

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

UPDATE: Also seen on the way back…

Keep Left Unless Overtaking

Also, especially for Obo, is a very dodgy photo of the Don’t Hog the Middle Lane sign, seen on the way back.

Okay, you have to squint a bit, but as the dog is my witness, that what it says.

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.

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.

Read the rest.

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.

Moral Maze: Twitter…

Who’d have guess it would come up as a topic on Moral Maze? But in light of the recent twatterstorms vis. Carter Ruck, Jan Moir and A.A. Gill, the day has come…

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00nkcfk/Moral_Maze_04_11_2009/

Makes interesting listening.

AJ

More excellent news…

 

Sounds like a non-sequitur, doesn’t it…. But wait.

The Community Fire Safety study said chip pan fire and discarded cigarettes caused the most fatalities

Well, I’m shocked, and amazed.

Still, the ends justify the means, eh?

AJ

Conference Call Ennui…

Yesterday:

Today:

AJ

Interesting…

Via Obo…

 

Poor old Basingstoke… lol

AJ

The shock… the horror…

Fucking have that, BAA Ferrovial, you cunts.

Good. I’m looking forward to Gatwick smashing Heathrow out of the park, after it gets a facelift from the new owners (who also own the excellent London City Airport).

AJ

Result…

This poll was pointed to by various blogawallahs yesterday. Looks like it’s going as planned…

Sweet. There’s still time to vote.

http://www.alcohol-focus-scotland.org.uk/

Dizzy points to another scuppered online poll here: http://dizzythinks.net/2009/10/when-online-polls-go-bad.html

AJ

Clown Jewels…

No.. not a Chinese tourist at the Tower of London.

Obo wrote a fine piece the other day, that I think articulates the desperate way he, I and many other people feel about the state of affairs in the UK.

It’s so good, that I’m stealing it in full:

The great and the good

I’ve been struck by how the political class has become much more complacent in their arrogance. I can only assume that politicians and their coterie have been troughing since forever, but they were more discreet or had sufficient military power to justify egregiousness.

We’ve obviously had our own massive troughing scandal here, we’ve had Barrenness Scotland and "the laws do not apply to me". We’ve had Jacqui Smith and her pathetic "punishment" for stealing from the public purse, we’ve had duck ponds and all the rest.
A couple of days ago, Arnie’s missus got "done" for phoning while driving. Bet nothing happens to her, or even more likely: any "fine" will actually come from the public purse — she is a Kennedy, after all. I’m sure that she has more in common with Cherie Blair than with Jackie Onassis.

And today comes the news that the Irish Speaker has been forced out of office after blatantly treating the public purse as his own private property.

Now, I’ve never bought into that "serve the public" shit. Anybody who genuinely wants to "serve the public" is a fucking nutter. And that "serving the public", even if it starts off with genuine humility, always winds up becoming how the servant wants to serve, not how the public want to be served.

Most of the people who say they want to serve the public are (how can we put this?) "being economical with the actualité". They really just want what they can get out of it.

There used to be a deal here: they would take what they wanted in exchange for actually doing things that made stuff better for (at least some of) us. And they did their taking discreetly and subtly, usually only getting rumbled when someone was dissatisfied with their share of the take and grassed them out to Private Eye.

And when they were grassed out, they had the good grace to take their licks, leave public life and retire on their ill-gotten gains.
But as the size of the political class grew, it inevitably grew to include a worse, more shameless class of trougher. One who wasn’t motivated by a long-term financial gain or patronage. Now, we have small-minded, petty and egregiously venal troughers. People who aren’t happy with a long game, they want their financial rewards up front. They don’t want discreet patronage, they want to bully and boss and hector and micromanage their serfs. They don’t want to salt away huge wedge over decades, they want to take the huge wedge up front AND do the back-room dirty deals that sock money away in Swiss bank accounts.

All I can say is that it’s been self-defeating. They have waved their cocks in our faces far too blatantly. Even the slumbering, bovine amoeba that the average Briton has become, is starting to become offended. It’s going to be nasty for a couple of years, but I finally think that the tipping point is coming.

So, milk away, you troughers. Keep spying on the contents of our bins. Tell us what we are allowed to eat. Enjoy fucking with our lives.

Because you’re going to find that eventually you will denormalise enough of us that you won’t be able to keep the lid on the pot any more. You will reap the whirlwind and it will be bloody.

I’ve gone beyond the point where I feel that I "just" want the government out of my face. I want to see blood. I want heads on pikes. I want people to be too fucking scared to stand for political office for a hundred years — I want people dragged screaming into a Parliament or Council, begging to be excused duty.

Enough, you motherfuckers, is enough.

AJ

Because Sluggy Doesn’t Know…

.. about deep-fried pizza…

Bless his innocence.

AJ

Payback for Filthy Hippy Scum…

Today, of all days, this is worth a re-run…

WHEN 35 Greenpeace protesters stormed the International Petroleum Exchange (IPE) yesterday they had planned the operation in great detail.

What they were not prepared for was the post-prandial aggression of oil traders who kicked and punched them back on to the pavement.

“We bit off more than we could chew. They were just Cockney barrow boy spivs. Total thugs,” one protester said, rubbing his bruised skull. “I’ve never seen anyone less amenable to listening to our point of view.”

Another said: “I took on a Texan Swat team at Esso last year and they were angels compared with this lot.” Behind him, on the balcony of the pub opposite the IPE, a bleary-eyed trader, pint in hand, yelled: “Sod off, Swampy.”

Greenpeace had hoped to paralyse oil trading at the exchange in the City near Tower Bridge on the day that the Kyoto Protocol came into force. “The Kyoto Protocol has modest aims to improve the climate and we need huge aims,” a spokesman said.

Protesters conceded that mounting the operation after lunch may not have been the best plan. “The violence was instant,” Jon Beresford, 39, an electrical engineer from Nottingham, said.

“They grabbed us and started kicking and punching. Then when we were on the floor they tried to push huge filing cabinets on top of us to crush us.” When a trader left the building shortly before 2pm, using a security swipe card, a protester dropped some coins on the floor and, as he bent down to pick them up, put his boot in the door to keep it open.

Two minutes later, three Greenpeace vans pulled up and another 30 protesters leapt out and were let in by the others.

They made their way to the trading floor, blowing whistles and sounding fog horns, encountering little resistance from security guards. Rape alarms were tied to helium balloons to float to the ceiling and create noise out of reach. The IPE conducts “open outcry” trading where deals are shouted across the pit. By making so much noise, the protesters hoped to paralyse trading.

But they were set upon by traders, most of whom were under the age of 25. “They were kicking and punching men and women indiscriminately,” a photographer said. “It was really ugly, but Greenpeace did not fight back.”

Mr Beresford said: “They followed the guys into the lobby and kept kicking and punching them there. They literally kicked them on to the pavement.”

Last night Greenpeace said two protesters were in hospital, one with a suspected broken jaw, the other with concussion.

Glorious…

AJ

There are bad dog bites, and good dog bites…

Hole-in-one from Leg-iron:

I have no sympathy at all for the protestors who were bitten by police dogs. The dogs were on their leashes throughout which means that the protestors could have avoided them with ease. They didn’t because in their bubble-wrap world, dogs aren’t allowed to bite them. Unfortunately, dogs don’t do political correctness and they don’t avoid fights with reasoned arguments. Dogs are a lump of muscle with teeth on the end and that’s the only tool of argument they know. Consider from the animal’s point of view – no matter how well trained, that dog is still a dog. The dog sees a howling mob threatening himself and his handler. He is going to react like a dog under pressure because that is exactly what he is. It’s not the dog’s fault. He didn’t start the fight.

In the past I have railed against police idiocy, against the arrest of the victim and of those who have committed no real offence at all, and all of that stands. In this case, I am one hundred percent on the side of the police. Taking down a power station at this time of year is something terrorists do. It’s an act of war. This is not some power outage caused by a surge that trips a transformer and can be fixed in a couple of hours. This is the whole power station, and if these ragged terrorists succeed, a whole swathe of the country can look forward to a few days, at least, with no power at all. How many pensioners are the Green God’s acolytes willing to see freeze to death for their cause? How many businesses are they happy to see close? How many families with no heat, hospitals lit by candlelight, operations cancelled, broken bones unset and cancers undiagnosed because the scanners are off…how much death is enough for them?

Do read the whole thing… and if you’re on twatter, follow the tag #swoop to get a taste of the fantasyland these filthy hippy fuckwits inhabit.

AJ

Aspiration vs Desperation revisited…

Back in March, I reflected briefly on the lamentable poverty of aspiration, and indeed hostility towards same, in modern Britain.

Today, over at Devil’s Kitchen, there’s a superb piece called The Tyranny of the Ignorant, which I implore you to read. DK starts by referring to his own source in the tangled web of Blogojobbies…

Behind Blue Eyes has written a superb post about the problems in this country—and he maintains that the biggest problem is that people are, in general, disinterested, ill-educated, ignorant fuckwits.

Go read that… then catch DK’s incisive commentary. A snippet from same:

Only an arrogant idiot would think that they have nothing to learn from the writings of others—no matter how rich said idiot was.

As a lifelong autodidact who came up from the dirt, this is an important subject to me. Continuous self-development has put me way ahead of most of my cohort who went to university (unlike me, who realised what a complete waste of time it was after 6 months and packed it in).

And back to my original article:

There was a line in the West Wing, which if I could be bothered to trawl through 6 seasons of scripts I could find for you [it was S3-E3]. It was spoken by the (Democrat) President Bartlett, and went something like this:

The trouble with the American Dream is that no-one likes taxes on millionaires, because they’re all dreaming of the day they’ll be millionaires.

Although this is obviously a fictional line, from a fictional president, it beautifully demonstrates the difference between the aspirational Yanks and the bitter, hopeless Brits.

It also demonstrates one of the reasons why I don’t fit into the defeatist pussified shithole this country is becoming & despair of its feckless and coddled inhabitants.

No improvement to report in the 6 month timeframe.

AJ

Another pellet of sluggy goodness…

I may even write something of my own at some point today, but coverage of current issues is ample care of other esteemed blogologgists linked to on the right.

Oh please, please do

Some members are threatening to go to court to avoid repaying money demanded by Sir Thomas Legg, the independent auditor. Others are considering challenging their party leadership for banning them as candidates over their expenses.

Do it, you unbelievably conceited and corrupt parasites.  Watching your smug, entitled and cosy little world collapse in on itself  when the public are finally woken up to the sheer scale of your rapacious greed will be  a wonder to behold.  I’m salivating here.

So by all means carry on as you are, ‘cause I’m buying fucking popcorn this time.

There’s one reason and one reason only I’ll be buying a TV, and that’s to watch, in slow motion and repeatedly, the 100 or more ‘Portillo moments’ that are going to befall these fuckers come the election. And that’s why I find myself in agreement with Tom Fucking Harris. A distasteful position in which to find oneself, I assure you.

YouTube is gonna be busy next June.. lol

AJ