Wednesday, May 17, 2006

"Da Vinci Code" theorising (short but sweet)

Ahem, my theory that I have, that is to say, ahem, which is mine, is that all the puerile retards, crazies and god-sucking, fish-gobbling fascists who are up in arms about this pongy, downdumbed, tenth-rate, ugly mainstream SHITE need a good bunnying in their unwashed Christian bunnies. Because, although the vast majority of their hopeless, mentally defective, ill-educated flock can’t even read Brown’s simple-minded, tiresome, turgid, verbose, ill-written outpourings, they are able to sit zombie-like, gobbling disgusting popcorn and sucking on foul Coke (and whatever else) while proudly and noisily "mobiling" and "texting" friends and family that this product (oops, "film") has braindrained them over to the forces of atheistic leeeb'ral darkness. And I'm enchanted also that the American albino rights groups are annoyed as well - screw them.
(On a lighter note, dears, a Hanks snuff movie might actually be an eminently interesting proposition...)
Well, that’s it.
That’s my theory.
My theory that belongs to me.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Fuck the World Cup and the horse it rode in on

Oh, just fuck those dastardly overpaid underclass players of yobboball, Edna Sweetlove reports. Damn their sodding eyeballs and their entire common oik ilk. Even Germany, hitherto considered one of the globe’s more civilised countries, is unabashedly in thrall to the Ugly Game - I’m led to understand that the World Chav begins there next month. Unholy shit! Without Edna, I can wholeheartedly assure you, dears! I’d rather French an unadorned leper long, hard, deep and wet.
The world’s going down the shagging plughole. Dumbdowning’s now approaching its foulest nadir. Blair, Bush, Brown, Condi… these are our leaders and future leaders. What are we coming to? Every time I go to the theatre or the opera, I find uncouth yobbos in the audience, whooping and whistling after the performance, sounding sickeningly like retarded Texan soldier boys as they blow another Iraqi bystander to kingdom come, or maybe like blood-crazed Israeli heroes as they bravely send a guided missile into an inconveniently sited Palestinian children's home. Pinter wins the Nobel, Motion is poet laureate, Woody hasn’t made a decent film in over a decade. What would Burgess have said? Does anyone give a flying shit? No. OK, the end is nigh anyway. So-called civilisation’s a festering pile of paedo-droppings.
Where is there left now for a self-respecting glamorous poetess to hang out? The US is, of course, a decadent little hellhole - nothing new there then! India and China, the heirs apparent, are vomit-inducing, excremental (big) pigsties - but at least the nosh is good and reasonably priced. Africa has Aids and it's a bit hot. Australia has Australians. Bollocks to it, all that’s left now is the consolation of a damn good horny frolic sesh down at the old dogging cottage, preceded (and followed) by a few more jeroboams of Glenlivet.
After all, tomorrow is another day...

Friday, May 05, 2006

On the Cabinet reshuffle (Warning: may include gratuitous gloating)

C'est très amusant, mes chères! The big-eared, pompous git has been relegated to the unwashed backbenches (Chucky, dear, you should've gone far sooner really, shouldn't you now?) and the unpleasant oaf has been, it would seem, stripped of much of his Ministerial privilege (sticking round for a few more horny slob newspaper revelations, are you, lad?). The dishonourable bar stewards deserve far worse of course, but Edna does like a good gloat on a Friday after a disastrous local election for New Labour. Ahhhhhhh...
Well, now that I've enjoyed that, and on a more serious note, Edna is still not satisfied. No. The central evil of British society still remains very much ensconced on his blood-stained throne: yes, our beloved treachery-spinning, warmongering, dirtbox-filthbucket, slimeball-eyesore-on-the-landscape Prime Minister is still there. Hubris must surely get him in the end the way it got Chuck.
O come forth, eldritch demons and Necronomicon warlocks of Cthulhu, come forth, wool of bat and tongue of dog, spew your gobshite on these unrighteous devil's spittles and get Bush too while you're at it. This is Edna's will. Bring down elephantine brown elevens' on their ignoble heads. PULL THE STRING! PULL THE STRING!