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29th November 2007
It just goes to show that your only ever one move away from
creating global hysteria. Poor Gillian Gibbons may have thought she was asking
her class of 7 year olds to name a teddy bear, but in fact according to ‘Sudan’s top clerics’
she was part of a Western plot against Islam. Ah, yes of course. That would be
the plot that begins ‘Stage 1: infiltrate and brainwash stuffed toy community’…
In Britain the arrest of Mrs Gibbons, for having the temerity to accept the democratic result
of in-class vote to call the aforementioned bear ‘Mohammed’ has been greeted
with widespread condemnation. Not least from the Muslim Council of Great
Britain who were ‘appalled’. However, these attempts to quell tensions are
countered by sensationalist tabloid newspaper headlines regarding her possible
‘40 lashes for punishment’. This, alongside the usual pseudo-bigoted,
anti-ethnic (or indeed anti-anything that isn’t white and middle class)
snippets that adorn the pages of the printed medias shittier end, help provide
ammo for the run-of-the-mill, ill-informed, over opinionated twonk.
Whilst it can be easily argued that the actions taken by
Sudanese authorities seem extreme, the growing trend of total disregard for
cultures other than our own seemingly allows us to deem anything we don’t fully
understand as ‘barmy’. The BoF have noted several attempts to explain to the
ignorant why Mrs Gibbon’s course of action may have been seen as naïve at best,
blasphemous at worst. The most logical comparison to draw is ‘to imagine the
reaction in the UK if the teddy was named Jesus’. Sadly, this comparison is not really apt. Sure,
there are certain communities where such an act would go down about as well as Chubby
Brown at a W.I. coffee morning. But on the whole the nation would be apathetic.
However, just because as a country we’ve lost our respect for the church
(mainly because it would appear the church has lost respect for itself) does
not give us the right to assume others feel the same way. In truth, it’s more
ignorance than malice. There are generations of people in Britain growing up without faith or
indeed knowledge of faith and its
importance. This ignorance is surely set to create further problems as the
world becomes a smaller place and what was once a relatively sterile population
regarding immigration becomes a rich mix of cultures and beliefs.
Of course, the real issue (and one that has been largely
ignored by our behemoth cousins in the main-stream media) is that, surely, if
Mrs Gibbons had intended to insult Islam she could have found something better
than a teddy? On the whole ‘good/bad toy’ scale, teddies are surely edging
towards the nice and safe end. Something akin to that Chucky doll from Childs Play would have been more apt.
Zippy from Rainbow was always a bit of a bastard and is no doubt available in
plush form. In fact, she could have gone a whole step further and recommended
the purchase of an inappropriate classroom pet. It’s Mohammed the Funnel Web
Spider! Watch out kids, he can bite through finger nails…
The point being surely what is needed here is tolerance. The assumption that Mrs
Gibbons was attempting to bring down Islam one bear at a time is no more
ludicrous than the disrespect that we as a nation feel it’s OK to show to the
rest of the world. It’s easy to rubbish the beliefs of others. It’s also easy
to piss in your neighbour’s letterbox, but it doesn’t make it right. Unless
they still haven’t trimmed that leylandii…
And excitement builds to fever-pitch with the climax of I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. As
the BoF goes to press its anybodies guess who’ll win. Janice Dickinson (who’s
blatantly stolen her new-found catchphrase ‘oh man’ from Swiper The Fox of Dora The Explorer fame), Jay (of former
boy band 5ive fame – how we love all
that alpha-numeric boll3x), Christopher Biggins (of children’s TV and latterly
panto fame) and Cerys Mathews (formally of Catatonia fame, currently of ‘loved
up with womanising bastard’ fame). Who’ll win? Well, our money’s on Jay, given
the ‘excitable teenage girl with phone’ demographic. But the makers of I’m a Celebrity must be disappointed
that the more volatile members were voted out earlier. Rumours are that they’re
looking into producing a reality TV programme where only objectionable
loudmouths can apply. They were due to call it Celebrity Twat Club, before realising the idea had already been
pitched as Celebrity Big Brother...
Or nabbed by the current cabinet, seemingly eager to be
crowned the country’s biggest twats. "That money was just
resting in my account" said Harriet "Father Ted" Harmon.
"I know naaaaathing" said Gordon "Manuel" Brown of the
latest scandal to rock the Government. But Vince Cable did even better
than that in the demeaning comedy reference kudos stakes, and also surprised
everybody by being the first Liberal Democrat leader to produce a
memorable line in parliament. "The house has noticed the prime minister's
remarkable transformation in the last few weeks from Stalin to Mr Bean",
quipped Cable, possibly finishing off Gordon Brown's career. Because he
does have a look doesn't he? Good to see the Liberal Democrats finally
getting a leader that can hold his own in Parliament. Mmmm? Acting
leader, you say? Oh well.
Apparently North East property developer David Abrahams donated money to the
Labour Party via other people because he wanted to maintain his privacy.
Didn't go quite according to plan, then. Pesky Political Parties,
Elections and Referendum Act 2000 outlawing anonymous donations via proxies.
Some may say the act has done its job, but the BoF thinks otherwise. What
it doesn't include, and clearly should, is an amendment stating that anyone
that gives money to a political party should be jailed anyway. If you had
a spare £600,000 and weren't a property developer with a planning permission
problem or two, why on earth would you give it to a political party? Come
on people, think of the starving, the impoverished, the sick, the lame, the
orphaned puppies. Haven't you seen those adverts where Ruffles the dog
describes his mistreatment and eventual abandonment in a dark alley way?
Or maybe you just saw a New Labour version: "My name's
Gordon. I was locked in a house for 10 years by my cruel master
Tony. He said he'd let me off my lead one day but he never did until it
was too late. Please, give just £600,000 so MPs like me don't have to
suffer anymore."
Failing that, a "why are you donating money"
section should be obligatory: "I need to influence government
decisions I like Mr. Brown's hair..." And, one final little amendment;
abolish political parties. Why have them? For lots of reasons,
obviously, but I can't be bothered finding them out and instead will dream of a
sleaze free utopia where the county is run by individuals and not party robots
on the make. Or Mr. Bean.
27th November 2007
One man’s freedom of speech is another man’s ‘you’re
shite-ah!’ as Voltaire once wrote.
Before he scribbled it out and instead wrote 'I do not agree with what
you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it'. Here at the BoF we're more of the 'I do not
agree with what you have to say nor can I be bothered to pay any attention to
you because Strictly Come Dancing is
on in ten minutes' persuasion. However,
down in Oxford it’s a different matter. "And dying
in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin' to trade ALL the days,
from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and
tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take... OUR
FREEDOM!" said Nick Griffin of the BNP before storming into the Oxford
Union where he was saved from being hung drawn and quartered only by David
Irving throwing copies of Mein Kampf at anti-Nazi league protesters.
Nick McGriffin of the BNP
Those civilised chaps and chapesses at the UK’s foremost
intellectual training ground have kicked up a liberal storm by inviting our
foremost right wing bogeymen to let rip some, how shall we say, politically
incorrect views. Or possibly just plain
incorrect, as a court or two have concluded.
But who better than these two marginalised figures to debate free speech
by going on about immigrants coming over here and stealing our women and how
the Nazis were actually all fluffy and compassionate? Well, anyone really. This is where the Oxford Union have got it a bit wrong. Had the debate been ‘Hitler – just a
misunderstood sorta guy’ then by all means invite David Irving along to babble
about gas chambers being soft play areas for kittens. Debate would then ensue, with the result of
David Irving looking a tad on the foolish side.
Also a tad on the evil, anti-Semitic side, too. Similarly the ‘Immigrants eat your children’
debate wouldn’t be the same without the BNP to lend a bit of intellectual
blubber to proceedings. But why are Griffin and Irving called on as experts in the freedom of speech debate? Last time I looked the BNP had a thriving
website and a fascinating magazine available monthly for anyone to read should
they choose to ostracise themselves from civil society. Irving publishes his articles and books himself (can’t think why) for anyone to read
without the thought police descending to lock you in a warehouse for
lobotomised dissidents. Griffin and Irving have
been to court in the past because what they said was thought to be incitement
or lies. This was proved or
disproved. Neither were censored. Happily, England isn’t Austria where Irving toddled off to get
arrested, go to jail and be a martyr.
Holocaust denial is a crime over there which is a little, erm,
wrong. Denying a historical event,
however abhorrent it may be, is simply bizarre. Moves to make ‘moon landing
denial’ illegal in America were reconsidered by as the prison population would not be able to accommodate
3 million X Files fans. Oliver Stone would be into his second decade
of a 'Lee Harvey Oswald denial' stretch.
Mohammed al fayed would have to flee the country to escape the 'drunk
driver going too fast in a tunnel' police.
And most severely The BoF would be shut down for claiming Elvis wasn’t
dead. (Because he isn’t. He lives in St. Albans and makes a living from his gardening)
That is a refutation of freedom of speech. The freedom of speech which the BNP feels it
is deprived of seems to equate to the freedom to have as much coverage on
television as Simon Cowell. (That’s an
idea. If the BNP want more airtime
Griffin should enter the X Factor, sing Unchained
Melody and add ‘immigrants are stealing your country’ into the chorus) The debate becomes a childish rather than a
reasoned, when, despite writing and saying whatever they want, they present
themselves as a maligned victim. The
Media is not free. It is held in place
by a code of conduct but is nevertheless still subject to the need to make a
profit and the biases of its managers, and it would be naive to assume
otherwise. Just because I don't invite
David Irving round for tea, scones and a Nazi rally, doesn't mean he is
deprived of free speech. Just as if the
BBC or Sky or Fox News can decide if they want prejudicial bile on their
networks or not (Fox clearly made this decision long ago). Defining free speech in terms of television
networks and newspapers is foolish. Within the law it's up to them what they
say. And it's up to us whether we
slavishly believe that what is presented on television or is in the newspapers is
real, or behave like a rational adults and find out for ourselves. Obviously we at the BoF support slavish
adherence. To us.
And just as these losers whine about free speech (and
connoisseurs of Michael Bay films all know what
winners do) losers using Facebook whine about not having any privacy. The Information Commissioner’s Office has
found 95% of teenage users are concerned about their details being passed onto
advertisers or other websites. 71% would want to remove some material before
colleges or employers saw it. Well,
yes... TV networks and newspapers should not be accepted without question and
neither should internet providers. Why
is the assumption made that large, multi million dollar organizations provide a
neutral service, for free out and of the goodness of their open source
heart? Of course they want to make cash
from your information, idiot. They even
tell you. Yes, they're devious and place
the 'do you mind if we sell your data to whoever we like - yes/no' it at the
bottom of the page in 0.3 sized font, but what do you expect? Take responsibility and stop publishing
personal details for all the world to see.
Would you go into a library and pin a poster on the notice board informing
your community that ‘I wanked off Gary Bowers in the toilets last night tee hee hee?’
No, but for some reason you stick it on a computer a thousand miles away
run by a vast company you don't know.
Much guff is spouted about the looming omniscience of the internet, how
nothing will be private and ‘they’ will know everything about us. Only if us and law allow it. The introduction of something like ID cards
is a different matter. Your information
may be demanded on the threat of imprisonment, and that needs to be
resisted. Mainly because it will be put
in the post and lost. Facebook only
knows what we choose to give it. It is
up to the individual to take responsibility for his or her freedom in these
circumstances. There is legislation in
place to stop the abuse of personal data.
Use it, click 'no', and keep that Gary Bowers story to yourself.
BoFdate Special!
Lost in translation: The elderly
Old people are like Jeremy Clarkson: they sometimes amuse,
they sometimes annoy, they’re frequently rude and you just can’t seem to get
away from them. Whether they’re shuffling around the supermarket at 10.30am on
a Saturday (oblivious to the fact they’ve had all week to buy their Bovril and
Seven Seas whilst the young and able are at work) or trailing along some
impassable country lane at 27mph in their immaculate P-reg Rover – they’re
everywhere. But, like most things in this cruel and unforgiving world we live
in, much of their appearance is a mere façade. And to back this up we cite the
following examples:
- Observe
how a struggling, infirm old lady can suddenly become sprightly and quick
witted if she hears the sound of money being dropped in the vicinity
- Have
you ever queued with the aged? It’s less ‘vulnerable and weak’, more
‘sharpened elbows and ignorance’
- They
think they own buses: ‘See that sign boy? It says old bastards have
priority here! So move’
And like everyone else, the elderly have developed their own
lexicon of half-truths and subterfuge. Most of the time, what they say is not
what they mean…
“I’ll be off then”
I’ll leave gradually
over the course of about 15 minutes in which there will be many awkward pauses
and much repetition
“No, you’re OK, I’m not bothered”
I would like to do
that/go there very much, but as an OAP it is your duty to ask me 57 times
before I finally agree to do anything
“Would you like a biscuit?”
Allow me to present my
collection of biscuits from the 1950s to accompany you tea. Only us old people
know where to buy Blue Ribbands
“Call round any time you know”
ATTENTION!! I’M OLD
AND I WANT ATTENTION!!
“Harry’s been in hospital you know”
God damn you Harry,
that’s the ultimate OAP kudos.
“Uh-huh. Yeah.”
I have no idea what
you’re talking about
“Oh…right. Uh-huh.”
till no idea. I’ll
just do what I think is best and totally disregard the safe, established method
of doing whatever I’m doing. Because I’m old and the world OWES ME EVERTHING!!
“Kids these days have no respect”
I have no contact with
kids these days. However, Countdown and The Flying Doctors lead me to believe
they have no respect
“I’m off up to the doctor’s/hospital”
ATTENTION!! I’M OLD
AND I WANT ATTENTION!!
“…and Ethel said to Tony ‘If Abigail doesn’t tell Steven
soon…”
I know you don’t know
who these people are and the fact that you pretend to care lessens my opinion
of you. However, this is payback for hearing all that shite about He-man when you
were 7
“It’s too much for me know, 10 years ago I might have”
I’m only 66 and could
do it if I wanted but I’ve earned the right to say ‘bollocks to it’
“Things we’re better back then”
I had money back then
and didn’t have to get up twice a night to take a piss
“I’ve got you a little bit of something for Christmas. It’s
not much mind.”
Oh man, they’re going
to love that 2-way shoe stretcher
“I’ve been coming here for 50 years and I expect better”
My routine! You’re
ruining my routine! My routine keeps me safe!
“Dear Sir, I’m writing to complain about…”
ATTENTION!! I’M OLD
AND I WANT ATTENTION!!
BoFdate – 22nd
November 2007
Well done Steve, you’ve carried on the fine tradition of
many anEngland manager. Any loser can just ‘lose’: that’s achievable by any idiot. It’s a much
more complex art than simple defeat. To be an England manager you have to follow
a special formula as set forth by the FA:
1) Be
uninspiring. Crush all passion and belief in those fans with IQs above 99.
2) Fail
slightly, but not terminally,
building towards a dramatic must-win climax
3) Give
fans a glimmer of hope. Make them believe. Coax out that enthusiasm like a
gardener coaxing out a mole.
4) Extinguish
that hope. Burn that belief. Crush that mole.
England couldn’t have just lost 3-0. That’s not the England way. Somehow getting back
into it at 2-2, raising spirits…and then dashing them like an egg in a blender -
that’s the England way. And Mr McClaren pays the ultimate price. Well, not the ultimate price: that would be being
stoned to death by a naked Jeremy Beadle. But he got sacked and only had a
reported £2.5 million compensation package for comfort. Hell, with that sort of
money you can buy all the comfort you want – and not just by the hour.
This defeat will have consequences that stretch much further
than football however. The economy as a whole will suffer. Booze and shirt
sales will suffer here; knife and club sales will suffer on the continent. Or
perhaps we can find something else to get drunkenly overenthusiastic and
violent about. 2008 is an Olympic year, so maybe England’s
hardcore support will travel over to Beijing to back the lads and lasses giving it all for Team GB. Whether its downing 8
cans of LCL then cheering on competitors on the pommel horse with cries of
‘call that a dismount…you twat’ or taking a chair to skull of foreign ‘Clean
and Jerk’ fans following a contentious decision, I’m sure we can rely on a
newly available fan-base. Back home, we can build up our archers and target
shooters to be world-beaters and then get into nationwide depression following
the inevitable worse-than-bronze.
Of course, it could be worse. Steve McClaren could have
received his cool 2.5 million in dollars which, if the trend continues, would
be worth around 45p by Christmas. Things are indeed looking bleak for the
dollar bill. So bad, in fact, that rappers don’t want to diss* themselves by
appearing alongside a bunch of ‘dead presidents’. Instead, the currency of
choice amongst gun-toting, bling-wearing, rhyme-busting young rappers is the
Euro. Surely, this is the final insult for the dollar. The Euro, widely
regarded as the dullest currency on the planet is seen as more fashionable as
what was once the sexy dollar. One can only hope that this trend does not
continue and that American culture begins to embrace other currency as a
fashionable status symbol. This could lead to big movie remakes like ‘A Fistful
of Rupees’ and ‘A few Krona More’; TV shows like ‘The Six Million Dong Man’ and
‘Who Wants to be a Zimbabwean Dollar Millionaire’ (not many people as that
equates to about £16…). Fellow rapper/multiple bullet catcher ‘50 Cent’ can
rename himself ‘1.2 million Turkish Lira’. In short, there’s lots of fun to be
had.
And of course it’s not all bad news. With the pound strong
against the dollar the media would have you believe that Brits are flooding
over to the USA to do their Christmas shopping on the cheap. In fact Julie, a single mother of
3 from Clapham told the BoF that ‘it’s well good here in New York, much cheaper than down the market
and more choice than Poundland’. Internet shoppers have also been enjoying the
weak dollar as they hoard shite whilst awaiting the onset of Armageddon. So
everyone on this side of that Atlantic is
happy. Apart from those who work for Northern Rock. And Steve McClaren.
*The BoF advises
strongly against dissing oneself. Special underwear is available.
BoFdate 20th
November 2007
"Solid! Solid as
Northern Rock rock rock rock rock rock rock" is a slogan destined for the
bin marked ‘great unrealized moments in advertising’, alongside "The
Chronicles of Riddick 2 - film of the year!" and “Ratners - the finest
crap money can buy". While the Halifax still smugly
parades Howard the singing bank manager, who who who who who gives you extra
(extra annoyance and interest rate charges.
The twat), spare a thought for Albert.
Manager of the Carlisle branch of Northern Rock, Albert has only his
recording of the Ashford and Simpson classic to listen to in his car as he
contemplates driving it off a cliff, dreaming of what might have been;
nightclub appearances, supermarket openings, brawling with Howard outside a pub. But poor Albert is not the only victim of the
current financial debacle. Shadow
Chancellor George Osborne has called for his opposite number's head. On a platter.
So David Cameron can feast on his brains in a perverse and grotesque
ritual. But first he wants Alistair
Darling to resign.
It’s not been a good week for the Chancellor of the
Exchequer. What with Revenue and Customs
losing the bank details of 25 million people (oops), plus the wee spot of
bother with the banks, Darling must feel like a man who’s bought an explosion
prone second hand crapmobile with the number plate ‘Gord1’. He told the Commons yesterday that 'the
government had a clear duty to protect the public interest, and we will do
that'. Yes, because if there's one thing
the public love, it's a bank. It's the
coquettish way they instigate legal action over unpaid overdraft charges; how
they tease with threats of repossessing the vastly overpriced house you bought,
which they overpriced in the first place.
Who could possibly wish for a cutie pie like that to crash horribly,
burn, and never recover? The BoF for
one. Is it so wrong to wish for the collapse
of the world banking system? What was so
bad about the three day week?
Considering people spend 90% of their job time ineffectually blathering
and making coffee, it would actually be an improvement in productivity. Which would keep the CBI happy.
Alistair Darling - not having the best of weeks
Or if things got really bad would an agrarian idyll where we
till the fields merrily and then die of typhoid aged 15 be that much worse that
tilling the tedious spreadsheets of meaningless targets and dying at 70 of a
collapsed soul? Being financially
illiterate like the majority of the population the BoF doesn't know. Should Northern Rock be nationalised? Should Darling resign? Who is responsible of
the credit crunch? Sadly these questions
are of true relevance to only that small fraction of the population who have a
fat salary and man-boob sized share holdings to lose in a 20
bank pile up. People who prefer to ask
"do I have to go to work again today like every other pissing day?"
lean towards the typhoid side of life.
(And possibly mislay 25 million bank account details out of sheer
boredom.)
So it is somewhat galling when darling Darling (it had to be
done) loans £24 billion of government (or 'our' as it is other wise known)
money to keep Northern Rock in business.
Which, in an apparent free market capitalistic haven like Britain,
is a little odd. Manufacturing or retail
can go to the wall, but banking? Oh no,
what would happen to all that lovely debt that keeps the economy greased and
the people crawling out to work everyday?
It just wouldn't be in the public interest.
But Peter Hain knows what is in the public interest. Unleashing the bureaucratic hounds to drag
the sick and lame back into work! All
those skiving wastrels out there on incapacity benefit are quaking in the groove
their lazy ass made in the sofa while they sat, watched tele and smoked for
five years. “We want to help people not
punish people,” said Cuddles Hain, the Work and Pensions Secretary. “This
is about giving people opportunities because you are better off in work - the
evidence shows that. [apart from the evidence that says the opposite] Could they operate a computer properly, use a
mouse, operate a keyboard" [Mmm…worthwhile and satisfying. I hear there’s a vacancy at Revenue and
Customs] But it’s about time these
parasitical malingerers were given some tough love. Look at what a drain on the economy they are-
250,000 weak and feeble fakers claim £600 million in benefits for
stress-related illness [caused by work] and 2,000 fatties spend £4.4 million of
our money on cake and pies. That money is
desperately needed elsewhere - there's ailing banks out there that need
propping up, you know.
Also this week, the Oxford English Dictionary editorial
committee held an emergency meeting about the inclusion of a new verb. It was decided that "To McClaren"
would be assigned the following meanings:
Vb. 1) to be thrown a lifeline, then set fire to the lifeline, then blow up the ship that threw the lifeline. And play Peter Crouch as a lone striker.
2) to deny any possibility that you are screwed, despite massive
evidence to the contrary.
3) to gain unexpected assistance from 11 Israelis.
Northern Rock shareholders are pinning their hopes on the
bank doing a McClaren later on this week.
Shimon Peres has 12 buy to lets in Jesmond apparently.
BoFdate Special!
Lost in translation: Men and women - Part 4.
‘Friends will be friends’, as the saying goes – but a less
popular but equally truthful phrase is ‘your partner’s friends will be morons’.
You may indeed be able to choose your friends even if you can’t choose your
family, but you’re equally lumbered with your other halves’ chums. Most can
offer polite tolerance of what, in effect, is a bunch of perfect strangers who
know more about your partner than you do. But it’s the ‘you had to be there’ references,
the ‘you should have seen her when...’ stories and the ‘why did you split up with
him again? He was gorgeous’ insensitivities that can grind you down to the
level of ‘totally intolerant bastard’. If they’re your friends, you’ve seen
them though good times and bad, peaks and troughs, heartbreak and triumphs…your
partner may only have heard their outspoken views on homosexuality and seen
them throwing up on their shoes…
This week: The partner’s friends:
Woman to man
“You’re friends seem nice…”
Well, at least there
were no obvious Nazi tattoos on display and I was made to feel
super-intelligent
“Yes you can have the lads over. I’ll go out”
No doubt it will be
less of a ‘University Challenge and nibbles’ evening, more of a ‘drunken orgy
of video game violence and crappy musical reminiscence and a take away’
evening. So, as much as I’d love to stay and help mop up the puke…
“I’m glad you seem to get on so well with him”
Ahghgh! Now I’m going
to have to admit that I once slept with him
“Its just going to be a quite night, there’s only a few of
us going”
I’m having ten
Breezers then hitting the vodka and looking for a Bucking Bronco
“She’s nice when you get to know her”
I keep her close
because she knows things. Bad things
“I don’t like her”
She’s too attractive
to be your friend
“He’s the only sensible friend you’ve got”
If this whole ‘me and
you’ thing goes pear shaped he can expect my phone call
Man to woman:
“You’re friends seem nice…”
Yup. I’d have sex with
all of them
“No, they’re your friends so I’ll drive”
And decide when its
time to leave. Preferably in time to get home for Match of the Day
“You enjoy yourself and tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t make
it”
Meh, tell them to piss
off and die for all I care. I’m going home to play on the Xbox
“They’re all OK, but I don’t get on with Steve. We don’t
have much in common.”
They’re all twats, and
I REALLY hate Steve. I’d like to stab him
“I hadn’t really spoken to him before tonight but he seems
really nice”
Haha, he hates
everyone as much as I do. I feel your pain brother
“Yeah I’ll pick you all up at midnight”
Because there’s
nothing I love more than having a car that stinks of piss, vomit and alcopops.
“He’s my mate and I’d do anything for him”
I keep him close
because he knows things. Bad things
14th November 2007
Democracy.
Over rated isn't it? Look at our current leader. Actually, don't,
we didn't vote for him did we? Never mind. Look at his predecessor.
eurghhgh... The democratically elected PR warmonger had 10 years at
the top. Mainly because everyone thought the Tories rubbed themselves
against farmyard animals for sexual gratification before picking up 20 grand in
brown paper envelopes c/o Harrods. Maybe they did. But there wasn’t
much to choose from on the ballot paper. It is an oft quoted aphorism
that if voting changed anything we won't be allowed to do it. So it must
be true. But the new look Tories could be about to challenge these
politically apathetic ramblings. In another attempt to whip the rug from
off of Gordon Brown's head, David Cameron has announced that local councils
should hold referendums if they want to bring in high council tax increases.
Oh dear. Let us just imagine the referendum put before the socially
responsible folk of England.
"Would you like the council to take even more money off you this year -
yes/no". A great deal of ink could be saved by removing the
redundant 'yes' option. Alongside "do you want to die horribly"
and "should tofu be the only legal food" such a vote would almost be
as pointless as a Zimbabwean presidential election. Still, it would give
the people what they wanted, regardless of the consequences. Frequent
referendums on single issues are frowned upon as cumbersome and impractical by
the powers that be, and also because Britain would swiftly be renamed
Daily Mail Island should the majority be given their say. Hanging? Bring
back that noose! Abortion? Get in the back alley! Sex? Once
a month and be quick about it! Gays? How very dare you!
Strangely, Cameron's council brainwave was not well received by those in
charge. The Local Government Association said "voters are already
able to vote against rises in council tax - via the ballot box in local
government elections." Oh yes, the magical might of the ballot box
to humble even the most power crazed of council despots. Every four years
you can decide between Bobby Gobshite, who will raise your council tax by 20%,
or Elizabeth Landed-Gentry who will raise it by 20% in a year when no one will
remember her pledge not to raise council tax by 20%. Communities
Secretary and android Hazel Blears also emphasised the current wealth of
opportunities people have to moan at the council: "Any local council
can hold a local community vote on the level of council tax increase, and some
of them already do.... You don't need some new law." Because if
there's one thing the Labour Government abhors it's new laws being created.
(On top of 7,000 they've introduced this week.) But "any local
council can hold a local community vote" surely implies it's the councils
decision to hold a vote on the future of the council, which seems slightly
pointless, but no doubt makes perfect sense to a government that is in charge
of enquires into erm.. the government and, gasp, finds itself blameless every time!
Hazel Blears, the Z400 Model
Nevertheless,
Cameron has raised an important issue. That issue being what the hell is
the point of local councils? Yes, yes, there's all that community
autonomy, local accountably, managing essential services provision and
multi-million pound budgets stuff, but surely it all boils down to retired
people and those with personality disorders needing to feel important. After
‘become driving instructor’ it’s the only option left. Local democracy is
reserved for those people who've been ignored most of their lives because
they are a steaming bag of arseholes. After years of making an irritant
of themselves and being barred from the butcher's, they hit upon the idea of
standing as a councillor. 'People will have to listen to my irrational
drivel by law!' they realise. They convince themselves they are the well
liked lynchpin of the community when in fact they are the stubbornly
constipated turd that everyone wants rid of. All those years of diligently
reading The Banal and Tedious Crapshire Times, noting key points with which to
annoy librarians and write yet more outraged letters in the hope that their
obvious wit and talent will be recognised, finally pay off. Just as those
at the top of national politics should be mistrusted for clawing their
bullshitting way there in the first place, those involved in local politics
should shamefully depart public life for revelling, in order to boost their
damaged ego, in the labyrinthine machinations of the Bollockend Road
re-surfacing plans.
Why do we need these people? The turn out at local elections is 0.02% of
the population*. Already there's Heads of Councils, assistant heads of
councils, assistant to the assheads of the councils, all employed at
astronomical cost. And one for each money sucking department. Just
moan to your MP if the Manager of Environmental Services buys a chair made of
gold swans and Faberge eggs for his office. Yes, democracy is the least
bad political system. So spare us the torment and do it just once, then,
avoiding the five layers of 'least bad' democracy pie that we currently have to
endure. It is much sweeter than Mr. Kippling's despot crumble though.
*Possibly
7th November 2007
As you struggle through another tedious day trying to avoid
being sacked, spare a thought for the queen this week. Yes, she’s one of the wealthiest women in the
world but surely any 81 year old would rather be sat at home dunking a custard
cream whilst writing a letter of complaint to Marks and Spencer about the
declining quality of their ladder resistant hosiery. Well, telling their servant to dunk a custard cream for
them at least. But no, poor Liz was once
again hauled out of bed at an ungodly hour, swaddled in a sweltering polar bear
hide robe, a three ton Imperial State Crown slapped on her fragile octogenarian
head, and then handed a piece of paper scrawled over with a load of political
blather and forced to read it. Makes Vacislav’s
Caring Home for the Elderly sound appealing.
Gordon Brown’s first Queen’s Speech (leave your homosexual
jokes at the door, please, the lawyers are everywhere) might have contained
some fine policy proposals, but most people will have switched off mid-way
through opening paragraph:
“My Government will take forward policies to respond to the
rising aspirations of the people of the United Kingdom (I didn’t know my aspirations
were rising) To ensure security for all (I’m not secure? Quick, I must buy a
burglar alarm and a gun. A big gun) and to entrust more power to Parliament and
the people (no conflict there then). My
Government's programme will meet people's aspirations for better education (so
it’s been crap for the past 10 years?) housing (somewhere to live is an
aspiration?) healthcare (please don’t kill me, hospital) and children's
services (like parents?) and for a cleaner environment (inside your car as you
drive 50 miles to work)"
Can’t the Prime Minister read out his own politico tosh? I appreciate the constitutional issues
involved here, but Her Maj is wheeled out to Parliament once a year to bore the
nation and then put away until Christmas.
A little barnstorming, metered rhetoric wouldn’t have gone amiss. Faced with such sinister banalities as “My
Government will seek a consensus on changes to the law on terrorism so that the
police and other agencies have the powers they need” the queen must have been tempted
to throw in a few ideas of her own. “My
government believes in wearing high heels.”
“My Government will invade Norway and declare it a free love
zone.” “My government will fight for the
rights of disappointed Meatloaf fans.” “My
government will support the divine right of the monarch to smite her enemies
and rule absolutely with a fist of iron hahahahhahah” Perhaps she did and no
one noticed. They were too busy groaning
at the Health and Social Care Bill and the prospect of the Care Quality
Commission. Just what the NHS needs, a
new remote, bureaucratic regulatory body to demoralise doctors and nurses.
The Royal Address to Parliament is like the lottery program
in negative. With the lottery, you
endure 45 minutes of Dale Winton, a whooping audience and several stupid people
getting general knowledge questions wrong, then there’s the five minutes of the
important stuff that you’ve been waiting for.
The important stuff being you haven’t won any money, now get back to
being depressed. The Queen’s speech
features an hour or so of Jack Straw looking stupid, people wearing
wigs, tights and funny hats, which everyone enjoys, then the main event is an anti-climactic 10
minutes of 21st century political droning.
Some commentators have bemoaned the persistence of archaic traditions at
the opening of Parliament, seeing the pomp and ceremony as an embarrassment of
absurdities. But they’re wrong. Because if Britain is in dire need of one
thing, it’s not a revitalized health service, an efficient public transport network
or an improved system of justice, it’s an embarrassment of absurdities. Just listen to how politicians choose to
speak without the constraints of tradition – an avalanche of ‘fit for
purposes’, ‘looking forwards an not backs’ and ‘aspirations for all…s.’ Throw
in a few right honourables and the level of debate is elevated. Parliament would be a concrete hell of
management speak subterfuge without it.
Remember when the fox hunters stormed the House of Commons after the
hounds had somehow picked up the scent of Tony Blair’s underpants by
mistake? Who rushed into the chamber to
protect the Prime Minister - three old men in tights carrying swords. Didn’t it make you feel proud to be British for
the first time in years?
From this all other things will lead. Our reputation as the eccentric weirdo of Europe, rather than the continent’s pisshead, needs to be
reclaimed. And not just at our state
events. Who better than bewigged, garter
adjusting middle managers, cod piece sporting accountants and cape wafting shop
assistants to unite the nation and undermine the homogenized, humanoid relations
we currently perpetuate in our everyday lives?
Such a revolution of the costumed bizarre would certainty ease
the suffering of our maligned Queen. And
suffer she does. Just one day after her
speech the line up for the Royal Variety Performance was announced. ‘Great’, her majesty was heard to mutter,
‘top of the bill Bon fucking Jovi. Pass
the mace Philip’.
BoFdate Special!
Lost in translation: Men and women - Part 3.
This week we’re going shopping – a ‘pastime’ that
stereotypically divides the sexes. It is not in men’s genes to shop at length
for, erm, jeans. Genetically a man pops out, spears a gazelle, slings it onto
his shoulder and brings it home to the missus. He doesn’t spend time worrying
about whether the gazelle clashes with the curtains, trying it on or wondering
whether he’ll look stupid if everyone else is eating elk. The aim for the man
is to get it done, and fast. For some women however, shopping is more of a
sport that a necessity. It’s a complex being with hidden subplots and no-no’s
that men can’t begin to fathom. And it causes a few breakdowns in
communication…
This week: Shopping
Woman to man
“What do you think of this?”
Your opinion is of no
consequence and I shall buy it if I alone see fit. I ask you these questions
merely to make you feel part of the event, but in truth you are here only to
carry stuff…
“That’s horrible”
Just agree. It’s not
worth your time arguing here.
“These would look good on you”
Wear them. Then at
least you’ll be in some small part the man I want you to be.
“I don’t know, these are quite expensive”
This indecision is all
part of the show, please don’t be alarmed.
“Should I get this or this?”
The answer you are
looking for is ‘both’.
"This would look good in our house”
It would of course
look even better without all your crap littering the place
“How long have we got?”
Brace yourself sonny,
its going to be a long haul…
Man to woman
“That’s nice”
Jesus, that’s hideous.
“That’s really nice”
Please just let’s go,
I’ve suffered enough.
“That’s absolutely gorgeous”
Mmm… let’s go home and
have sex.
“I don’t need to try it on; I can see that it fits”
Changing rooms?
Ughhghgh. We men don’t have that
‘community’ thing going on like you women. If someone rips back the curtains to
see me half way into these 501s and catches a glimpse of my ‘man area’, we’ll
both be devastated…
“Do we really need these?”
Have you got a second
income I don’t know about or have you simply re-mortgaged our house without my
knowledge?
“What? Oh, yeah, it should go quite nicely with that handbag
you’ve got”
I wonder who would win
in a fight between James Bond and Transformers vs. The Terminator and that lamp
from Amityville: the evil escapes…
“I’m not too old for these you know”
I am the king of cool
- yet it goes unappreciated.
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