haters gonna hate – even the shit i be proud of, yeah?

born in a prison – the mob


The big problem nobody’s addressing with regard to the twelve hundred free-range paedophiles is, where are we going to put them?According to exaro news, as of last month, police had identified fourteen hundred sexual predators. Two hundred are dead and a further two hundred or so are ‘prominent’ people – respected politicians and much-loved light entertainers. Arresting them is now possible, but the prison system does not have sufficient space for twelve hundred more inmates. And the VP wings in Britain’s prisons definitely don’t. When you factor in that many of these men will be elderly and have medical issues associated with age, this is the worst logistical nightmare since the health and safety executive had to organise queueing for those wishing to pish on Thatcher’s grave. I don’t know what the answer is. Tagging – for life – might be the most humane way of containing them. Fuck their human right to attend splendid galas or vote on legislation. They’ve only stopped their careers in sexual abuse when either ill-health or public opinion caught up with them. Let them be stuck indoors doing jigsaws all day until death sets them free.


very friendly – throbbing gristle

Things have gone awfully quiet of late on the Yewtree/Fernbridge front. Which is, I suppose, part and parcel of a media traditionally protecting the corrupt establishment they’re part of. Even the hacks who aren’t themselves fucking kids know which side their bread’s buttered.
Forty years ago was a whole nother country. The word ‘rape’ was a polite-ish euphemism a gentleman would use instead of the f-word. There was no Childline and Esther Rantzen was famous only for publicising semi-humorous news stories along with Cyril Fletcher.
The word ‘paedophile’ was a clinical term. Ordinary people said “child molester” or possibly “beast”.
If Jimmy Saville’s crimes had been discovered in 1975, he wouldn’t have seen the inside of any cell. The tabloids would have put a light-hearted spin on things. And, most of the country would have been impressed with his expertise in getting his hands on fresh ones.
In October of 1976, Nicholas Fairbairn MP called noisy avant pranks group Throbbing Gristle “the wreckers of civilisation”. The same month, the Sex Pistols were seen as a cross between a peasants’ uprising and a leering antichrist. So how come none of the members of either of these groups have been named and shamed as chicken-hawks? Both bands have, by now, got one dead member who could be sacrificed to save the others. It’s almost as if…

pop will eat itself – eat me drink me love me kill me

Sorry about the break in transmission. I’ve not posted on here in a while. I’ve never really got on top of last year’s raging sickness. And last month’s NaNo damn near killed me!

I’ve never really got back on my feet since November, when I was sucker-punched by a couple of opportunistic viruses and drop-kicked back into Post-Viral Fatigue Syndrome. Basically, it’s an unearned hangover, one that lasts for months. The first time I had it, it took about a year to get my mojo back.

I didn’t understand what was happening to me. Weird symptoms that failed to fit together logically. I found it hard to listen to music, is generally a sign that I’m clinically dead.

Listening to rap or drum n bass felt like a particularly savage five-man mugging. Orchestral music felt like I was being gang-fucked by savages. The only thing that worked was film soundtracks – rudimentary themes, repeated often with slightly altered arrangements. I didn’t have the strength of mind to read or watch any kind of drama. That was on my own.

Outside, I found it almost impossible to communicate. Someone would address a comment at me and I’d struggle to dredge my memory banks for something to reply. Seconds would drag, my opponent’s eyes narrowing, trying to decide whether I was a victimless crime or not. Finally, I’d squeeze something out, feeling for all the world like a toddler, trying to formulate sentences and articulate something with zero vocabulary to back it up.

I spent about three months, dragging myself back into work for a couple of days, collapsing and then calling off sick again, unable to move or think. After that, I spent the next four months, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling and bored shitless, without sufficient strength to even top myself.

Post-Viral Fatigue Syndrome. I don’t recommend it to anyone.

Pickles set to release rap-aerobics CD

Sir Eric Pickles, the Mountain that rides, announced last night that he’s to commemorate his recent knighthood with a rap-aerobics CD, released tomorrow.

“Sir Eric Pickles – a leaner, fitter Britain” features the former MP for Brentwood and Ongar rapping his way through fourteen slices of slammin’ urban jive-fodder, backed by several leading figures from the UK rap scene.

“It’s like a real chance to put something back,” said Sir Eric last night from his crib, wearing sportswear and surrounded by his bitches. “For too long, this country’s been down with a ‘something for nothing’ groove. Let’s everybody shape up together, dig?”

Among the songs reinterpreted on the disc are Kylie Minogue’s ‘Can’t get you out of my head’  with Pickles’ chant of” move you body, leak some sweat” and of course, his longtime theme song,

Ramones scent not really selling that well

Following on from the massive success chainstores have had in selling clothing emblazoned with the cover of the first Ramones’ album, an imaginative new Scottish start up has released a matching scent.

Although the predominant smell is industrial adhesive, there is also a strong undercurrent of stale sweat and a lingering afterburn of rectal mucous that some who’ve tried it say catches the throat slightly.

Raymond Pimms, whose Spirit of ’76 company hopes to get this scent into ‘as many shops as there are selling t-shirts with the cover’, has plans to release scents redolent of the first Clash album, Led Zeppelin’s ‘four symbols’ and ‘Mannilow moods’.

Naval comedian, William McNeilly ‘game for a laugh’, say MOD.


Jolly Jack Tar William McNeilly was back in the bosom of the Royal Navy after a prank that caught the whole country on the hop, said a source in the Ministry of Defence.
McNeilly, who conned the whole world with his claims that Britain’s nuclear submarines weren’t fit for purpose, was last night laughing about the success of his beezer wheeze with officials from the navy and MI5.
“You should have seen the looks on your faces,” said a spokesman for MI5, wiping his eyes. “Somebody even started a petition, calling him a hero! Oh, he’s a tonic, that lad.”
Prime Minister David Cameron this morning said he’d known all along it was just a wind up and that he’d been in on it from the word go.
McNeilly himself was unavailable for comment as he’s ‘going to be really busy’  for a while. Sources close to the Royal Navy are estimating that ‘while’ to be somewhere between twenty and thirty years.

Theresa May to ‘bring back ISIS-ish values’

Newly resurrected Home Secretary Theresa May yesterday announced that the coming five years would see a return to ISIS-ish values. Speaking at the opening of Mogadan, the Conservatives’ annual celebration of all things dogmatic and slow-witted, she told reporters and a wailing horde of the faithful that her department hoped to introduce tying people to chairs and hurling them from buildings for almost any crime. “From overdue library books to belonging to banned terrorist organisations like the SNP,” she said, “citizens will be offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to accelerate at thirty-two feet per second per second. Even if it is only over a short distance – say five or six stories.
I have spoken to Michael Gove about this and, like the Prime Minister, he’s in full agreement, as is Iain Duncan Smith at Work and Pensions.
Even Esther McVey is on board with this, telling me in an e-mail last night that she’d be overjoyed to work for her benefits by beheading others.”
The Home Secretary then fired her Kalashnikov into the air, bellowing “against all education”, which was the Conservatives’ slogan throughout the recent general election campaign.

Ukip set to release ‘english rose’ scent

In another attempt to woo voters with limited education, the United Kingdom Independence Party are to make available a new fragrance for white women. ‘English Rose, the scent of scapegoating’, will be pitched at ‘the modern woman who enjoys a carefree life and blaming others for her own inadequacies’ and will smell ‘a bit like onions and chilli sauce’.

There are also plans to release a scent for men, called ‘English not British’, a scent described as ‘honest sweat and kebab meat with a hint of lager’.

Celebrities endorse repeal of hunting ban

Prime minister David Cameron today said he was overjoyed at the latest celebrities to back his plan to repeal the ban on hunting.

Speaking to an audience of sexually stunted sadists this afternoon, The Prime Minister said that this showed the entire country was behind him.

In a massive boost to the campaign, celebrities have rallied to the cause, speaking at length about the pleasure they’ve derived from hunting. Peter Sutcliffe, an outspoken critic of women in society said he looked forward to the day hunting was legalised and his convictions overturned. “God tells me hunting’s right.” he beamed.

Ian Brady, who has recently been critical of the Conservative party, said that the decriminalisation of hunting was “a step closer to the perfect society.”

Dennis Nilson, who hunted at least a dozen young men under Margaret Thatcher, said that hunting had so much to offer. “The thrill of the chase,” he enthused, his eyes sparkling. “right up to that moment of complete capitulation. Nothing can compare to it.”

However, not all celebrity hunters are throwing their weight behind Mr Cameron. Rosemary West, a regular hunter up until the time of John Major, said that it was important not to lose sight of family values in the excitement of the hunt.

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