"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.
Ahem.
My theory that belongs to me.

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...

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!

Considered response to problems of Clarke, Hewitt and "two shags"

I's a laffin', peeple. Edna's a laffin' reeeeeeeaaaaaaaaalll gerrrrrrrd. Hot dam'. That there Black Wensda'. Them "new" Labour boys 'n' gals is jes way too leeeeeeeeeeeb'ral fer yo dear old mofo-in' blog-narrator, mah droogies, truth be told to Gawd up on high. Whatever. 'Cos I kin swear on a stack o' Wholly Bibles that I don' hold NO truck with them muthas. No TRUCK whatsoivva. Hell yeah! They's jes' got to git and git GERD. Yo, local lections comin' in few days or therebouts too. Here's some interestin' results in the meantime. Yee hah. Holy sheet. Don' axe.

But Ariel Shay-ron - now he's a real Good Ol' Boy. Looks a bit like one of mah cowhands down on the range, ol' Bobby Joe - bit thinner though and way mo' livelier (though not so much lately, come to think of it). Both stink like horse crud.

Gotta git.

Edna's quick leak

Dears, Edna has it on the highest authority that Peerage Lotto is in the pipeline at last. The Aristocracy Regeneration Scheme of Excellence (usually simply referred to as ARSE) is still in the select committee stage but, according to Edna’s intimate (and I'm talking Biblical intimate) sources, Tony Blair envisages the creation of at least three new “jackpot peers” a week - a double Rollover will get you a Dukedom and a triple Rollover will get you mucho bouncy-bouncy with any two members of the multitudinous, unwashed lower echelons of the Royal Family.

In related news, Edna proffers yet another of her infamously juicy red-hot tips: Blair has privately scotched rumours that David Beckham’s long-overdue knighthood “for services rendered to naff-voiced little turds” is imminent. David will receive his richly deserved (and not at all underhand, populist or downdumbed) honour in due course - the year before the very next general election, in fact.

While I’m on, I’d better send out a big “Happy Birthday!” and pay tribute to one of the great figures of the Twentieth (or any) Century - a great hero who would (and should) have turned a sprightly 117 just yesterday: schöne Adolf, unser Führer. He gets such bad press in some quarters sometimes (but after all what can you expect from a load of worthless hacks?). And while on the birthday jaunt, our very own beloved old Royal bint turned 80 today, still live and kicking - there really is no justice in the world, but she'll hang on for ever to stop Big Ears and Horseface getting the throne.

Prayer for the London Marathon 2006

Spare me, O almighty Dogbird, I can take no more. First it was Easter and now it's this. In thy grand filth, Dogbird, spare me, thy Sweetlove, the naffness, the downdumbed yelps and pig-ugly steel railings, the eye-sore OAP cardiac arrests and the stupid, inconsiderate street closures, all in the interest of working-class sport. Have mercy on me in thy great perverted, blue rat-vomit wonder, O Dogbird. O mighty Dogbird, spare me the common, downmarket litter and the despicable, slime-soaked downmarket corporate logos. But most of all - oh, most of all, great Dogbird - rid mine eyes, ears and nose of those hideous, badly-dressed freaks. Ugh... the horror, the horror...

May I, Sweetlove, sleep through all this evil, get totally sloshed and go get some decent doggy action down at the cottage at dusk (after the ball is over).

New Brit war hero for Iraq

Now, boys and girls, I really do love a guy (well, anybody really) in uniform as much as the next dirrrty international poetess, but I don't usually have any time for "our" (or anyone else's) "boys and girls" (or their mourning loved ones) complaining about post-traumatic stress disorder (or whatever) or their missing limbs or anything like that. I even wrote an only very slightly offensive poem on a related theme a year or so ago! It's not as if we have conscription (or the "draft" that those good ole boy US prezzies are so fond of dodgin'). Surely these soldiers know what they're getting into, enjoy the perks (such as they are) for much of the time, and so forth. I digress; to the point of this posting: this ex-RAF doc chappie must be allowed to argue the case for the illegality of the Iraq war in a UK courtroom. So hath Edna spoken, so shall it be dung.

Olympian downdumbing

Britain has had a Department for Culture, Media and Sport since 1992. If the very concept of that weren't downdumbed enough to make you want to retch elitist and intellectual blood, just stick around for the next sentence, dear. Of late, the really-not-at-all-corrupt-and-really-INCREDIBLY-honest-and-hard-done-by Secretary of State Tessa Jowell has started calling herself "the Olympics Minister". I really do think I'd rather eat a ground glass dumpling than stick around for "London 2012", when a load of musclebound, drug-stuffed morons will be running around pointlessly at MY sodding expense.

Thoughts on Guantánamo

I was interested to read here that the British law lord, Lord Steyn (who I believe is an ex-Afrikaaner and thus hardly likely to be to the left of Stalin), stated in a speech yesterday (11/4/06):

As a lawyer brought up to admire American democratic values, I feel compelled to say that Guantánamo Bay is a stain on American justice. Only the present administration of the United States tries to defend the utterly indefensible.

Unfortunately, our prime minister is not prepared to go further than to say that Guantánamo Bay is an understandable anomaly. In its feebleness this response to a flagrant breach of the rule of law, reminiscent of the worst actions of totalitarian states, is shaming for our country.

When I think of Bush and his cronies and then visualise Blair with his head up Bush's bottom, I feel like vomiting and having diarrheoa on our democracy.

My country wrong or wrong.