A Hero for Our Times

If I had a fucking crown, I put it in a bag, get in my car, drive it to China, head south and upon arriving in Guangdong province, I would search out a real living hero and place the bejewelled item on his head; the noble head of a man who is undoubtedly the greatest living human being on earth. He is greater than any other sack of flesh sucking in air. Indeed, he is probably greater than many sacks of flesh that once sucked in air but don't anymore (I'm looking at you, Ghandi, you bald twat). Yes, I am referring to the one and only Lai Jiansheng!

The 66 year old retired army man doesn't fuck about. He knows how to deal with modern life's bedwetters. He just goes in, does the fucking job, and pisses off home on his bicycle for a portion of dog with special flied lice. Top man!

When bedwetting stress-merchant Chen Fuchao realised his construction business had failed and he was in debt, he climbed to the top of a bridge and threatened to throw himself off. The police arrived, and tried to get him to come down.

Police: Come down, you sirry cunt.

Fuchao: Cannot. I am poor and am wollied about foocha.

Police: Come down now, or you go to plison, you prank.

Fuchao: I am too wollied to come down.

Now, this utter fucking charade carried on somewhat, and the traffic that had been stopped from crossing the bridge caused a major snarl up. People were left high and dry in the Guangdong province. Now, I have been to the Guangdong province, and to be honest chucking yourself to your death might be a bit of a wheeze there, but traffic delays are one thing the Chinese hate. And Americans, obviously. Traffic and Americans ... and the Vietnamese, naturally. And pasta.

Cometh the hour, cometh the man.

Lai Jiansheng approached the police and, having put his shopping bags down, offered to go and talk the bedwetter down.

I suppose it went like this.

Lai Jiansheng: Herro. You want me to tawk the bedwetter down?

Police: Piss off home, and take your shopping too, you plickhead.

Lai Jiansheng: Fuck you then.

However, Lai Jiansheng is a man of action. Did he just get on his bike? Did he fuck as like. He used his Chinese inscrutability and evaded the police, slipped through the cordon and scaled the bridge. Once up there he approached Chen Fuchao, sat next to him and they talked.

Lai Jiansheng: What are you doing. The fucking tlaffic is borrocksed.

Chen Fuchao: I am wollied about financial lisks. I am leady to jump.

Lai Jiansheng: Don't be a platt. Come home with me and I give you money.

Chen Fuchao: Okay, thank you my fliend.

Lai Jiansheng: It's a deal. Shake?

Lai Jiansheng offered his hand to seal the deal. Chen Fuchao accepted it. At this point, our hero, Lai Jiansheng, took control and chucked the bedwetting bastard off the bridge!

His reason? The man's "selfish activity" had caused five hours of gridlock.

Lai Jiansheng, I fucking salute you.

Beattie Got It Wrong

Now, in life, there are times when you sit back and observe, times when you ignore wrongdoing, and times when you speak out and say, 'No, you Tartan ponce, you went and done it all wrong'. That's what I'm saying, today, to Mr Alec Beattie of Clydebank. Now, normally Mr Beattie makes me chuckle, so much so that his blog has a link on these pages. However, the other evening, having been to the other end of a vodka bottle, I figured I'd check out his blog.

Actually, that's untrue. I wanted to watch the Rook sketch by the Two Ronnies, and after seeing that and looking at some dwarf porn, I checked out his blog. What I saw was a post entitled Spot The Evil Bastard, where the challenge was to pick an evil bastard from Mother Theresa, Bob Geldof, Martin Luther King, Claire Grogan, Jesus and Nick Griffin.

Now, we all know that Mother Theresa was a scamster running a lottery swindle, Bob Geldof is a self-serving smug twat, and Martin Luther King apparently went to more schools in the US than anyone ever born of human kind. The lovely Claire Grogan wouldn't let me finger her box, so she's obviously mentally unstable, and Jesus was a lying communist parasite who was invented solely to repress the masses and make them get up early on Sundays. That leaves Nick Griffin, who apparently is the devil incarnate says Beattie (aged 97).

Now, this blog entry reminded me that I had forgotten to watch the BNP's televised election broadcast, so I departed the blog and visited YouTube. This is when I realised that my esteemed but haggis-gobbling colleague (no, I don't know him, it's like a creative ruse to give this yarn some legs) was utterly wrong. Griffin is odious, maybe a snake oil vendor, probably fetid with canker sores on his arse, but evil?

Then I discovered the face (well, voice) of true evil.

Think on this. Griffin pointed out he wasn't racist, but that he wanted to defend us from pig politicians. He pointed out that by dying in wars, the British had earned that right. He reminded us that we were all in this together, the English (hurrah), the Scottish (eh?), the Welsh (no, no no) and the Irish (how the fuck did those ginger-haired craicmeisters get in there?). We (it's that fucking 'we' again) were against the pigs.

He reminded us that our country used to be a good place, a safe and clean place, a place where trains ran on time and doctors cured cancer and ladies had tight chuffs. Then the immigrants came.

Okay, I liked that vision of Britain, although I cannot see that the immigrants destroyed it. I thought it was self-serving British politicians and their tendency to suck-off the EEC that screwed it up, but old Nick seemed so enthusiastic, and then they played some music and showed a battlefield, and the music got louder and I thought that maybe he meant to say, 'fuck the EEC' instead of being a racist fuckwit, so I let it go.

Then he got passionate, the music peaked, and I thought that maybe, just maybe...

Then the broadcast ended, and as the voice-over man reminded us to vote for freedom and the BNP, I heard the dirty cunt sucking spit. I was stunned. I replayed the clip, and listened more intently. It was there again. trust me, try it out yourself. At one point the dirty fucker pauses and you can clearly hear the horrible dirty Nazi bastard sucking the piss-stench saliva out of his dirty fucking arrogant facist mouth.

Now, that's evil.

So, Mr Beattie, when the crown of pure evil is placed upon a head, it must be placed on the head of the BNP voice-over man rather than Griffin. After all, it could have been Griffin's jizz!

An Open Letter to Willie Walsh

Dear Willie Walsh,

I was reading this morning about the losses experienced by British Airways, and was interested in your comment - in your role as BA Chief Executive - that you saw "no signs of recovery anywhere", and your claim that much of the blame for the losses could be laid at the door of the economic climate.

Okay, your stance might take a few people in, but I think you and I know something a little different, don't we?

Let's face it, BA is a fucking travesty, a badly run arrogant business in a time when customers are considering very carefully where to spend their money. A company that is untrustworthy, incompetent, ignorant, unbending in its delusions that it is 'special' and blatantly under-performing is never going to succeed when it charges a premium over other airlines for a service that is, quite frankly, as pleasant as month-old flange gunge.

I have long since given up trying to book any flights with BA. There are so many hidden extras it's harder than dealing with a Nigerian money laundering scam. When you do finally get a ticket, it means fuck all, because the last five times I used British Airways, you tried to bump me from an over-booked flight. The level of over-booking from BA is legendary. I once watched while two of your bitches (and I use the word advisedly) bullied a Chinese girl (who spoke little English) into accepting a few fucking Euros to give up her seat on a flight to Hong Kong. Despite her tears and pleading to be put on the flight, your staff told her she had NO option. That's a customer, and you're telling them they have no choice but to accept they can't have a fucking seat they paid for. That, my old Son, is fucking nothing short of robbery.

Your staff are fucking arrogant, and any enquiry is dismissed because their attitude is BA first, customers last. It's typical behaviour across the board. Your company has become a beacon for piss-poor bad service, dishonesty and utter ignorance when dealing with customer service issues.

Now, maybe ... and you'll no doubt disagree ... if BA looked after its customers, more people might fly with you. However, until those responsible (and I'm looking at you Willie, I really am) accept that they're incompetent and resign, and someone with a fucking clue about customer service takes over, I feel that your company might be somewhat shafted up the behind.

Sort it out, Wille!

Yours sincerely,

Vincent Santa Cruz

Put the Cat Food Back, You Bitch!

What do we know about the elderly, apart from the fact that they drive very slowly, they faff around when at the front of very long queues, they smell of piss and they're up for a gang bang at the merest sniff of a Werther's Original? Well, we know that they're a bunch of fucking thieves ... or are they? Now, my old Nan is dead and rotten by now, but her idea of a 'buy one, get one free' was to put one bottle of gin in her trolley and another in her coat pocket. She was a thieving bitch, no mistake about that, but all too often the elderly are accused merely because their memory is on the wane.

It's not uncommon for elderly tossers to be arrested for shoplifting because they forget to pay for a tin of cat food or a packet of biscuits. They're old, and they've paid taxes all their lives. Would it hurt to let it go once in a while? Certainly not, say the supermarkets, who have a policy of always prosecuting. The Police agree, as does the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS). Many Magistrates agree too.

As an aside, I was recently charged the incorrect price for an item in Morrisons. When I pointed it out, they wanted me to fill in a form with my details to process my 'refund'. I refused, explaining that it wasn't a refund, but was the return of money illegally taken from me. The spotty till-jockey called the manager. He explained it was a mistake and offered me the money back without giving my details. I asked what would happen if my old Nan had 'mistakenly' taken a tin of cat food without paying? He didn't know she was long dead, so said it was the store's policy to prosecute. I asked what would happen if she offered to give the cat food back? He reiterated that it was store policy to always prosecute. I informed him that was my policy too, and I took out a private prosecution against the supermarket for theft. Mind you, that's another story.

So, what we see here is that the British police and CPS will use taxpayers' money to prosecute little old ladies with bad memories. That, surely, sets a precedent, does it not? Now, let's look at the case of Member of Parliament Elliot Morely, who claimed expenses to cover a mortgage on a second home. He 'forgot' that he had already paid it off. Now, I might be in the minority, but if I'd paid off the biggest debt in my life, I'd fucking know about it. Elliot, aged 56, apparently forgot. Then there's Bill Wiggin, who 'mistakenly' claimed for a mortgage that didn't exist. Bill, aged 42, apparently 'forgot' whether he had a mortgage on his second home.

There are countless other cases currently sloshing around the British Government. They all 'forget'. Many say it was an innocent mistake. Many have offered to pay the money back. Bollocks to them; the UK should always prosecute! It's our fucking policy!

Let's face it; if we can put the elderly through the justice system for forgetting to pay for a tin of cat food, then these parasites need to be prosecuted. After all, a 'mistake' is still a 'mistake', whether it be an OAP or an MP; yes or no?

Let's have an amnesty for theiving scumbag pensioners and nail these politicans' arses to the fucking floor. They claim it's all 'mistakes' and 'forgetfulness'; I think it's all bullshit, and they've been caught drinking from the toilet bowl of disgrace. Let's slam the lids on their very indecent and ugly pumpkin-sized heads!

The circle of life is evident; lock up the poncing MPs and feed them on the cat food that the pensioners' have stolen. Suck it up, you fucking freeloaders.

Vely Tight Pissfraps

Now, we might consider the Chinese to be a short-arsed race of inscrutible bicycle riders with a taste for dog/cat/human babies, but apart from their funny eyes, they're actually a lot like you and me. Indeed, they're a fuck of a lot like you if you happen to be a Chinaman (or a Chinawoman - apparently, I should say that, because women have feeling too)!

There are a million statistics about how many Chinese there are on earth, but I can't be arsed to Goggle it, so if you really want to know, go look it up yourself. However, for my purposes, it is sufficient to say that there are a lot of them; quite a lot of them.

Now, you might wonder why there are so many Chinese, and the answer is that they fuck a lot. That's it, in a nutshell. I suppose when all you have to look forward to between bouts of marching and listening to propaganda is a bowl and rice and bicycle salesmen banging down the door, having a fuck must be ranked as a fairly high pastime. I'm not Chinese, but I can see the attraction in spending every spare hour up to the bristles in one of their lovely female kind.

It is therefore of little surprise that China has built the world's first sex theme park. Now, you might argue that Pussy Angel in Bangkok gives it a good go, and Phnom Penh's Sharkey's Bar comes close, but this is a fully fledged sex theme park with giant snatches you can get inside and big rubber cocks that you can ride around on and the Clitoris Rollercoaster. It also has some naked dancers, a dozen sucking booths and plenty of bearded ladies seeking back-door action. Just for good measure, you can also get advice on family planning and safe sex.

If, like me, this news has you reaching for your passport, calm down for a moment. You can't visit it. Why? Because having built it, the Government has ordered it to be bulldozed. The silly communist cunts say that: 'the owners were interested only in profiting from sensationalism'.

Yeah, and the point is what exactly? Love Land, for that was it's intended name, was actually going to be an educational experience. Instead, the Chinese will continue to multiply, often with their siblings, as they fumble through the sex maze that is teenage angst under the Red Flag.

On a more serious note, I do hope the Chinese authorities think again. There are serious issues in China with teenage pregnancy, STDs and ignorance about sexual matter. Plus, I for one would happily pay the equivalent of 17 pence to see a Chinese lass take on a donkey in a sombrero! 

Ja, Ja, Wunderbar! The BNP and Me Get Jiggy

Many years ago, when the National Front were the headlining act in British Facism, I was on the underground (for our overseas chums, that's a train that goes underground in London, not a bunch of French twats trying to dispel the stigma of shitting bricks when they saw a Mercedes), and opposite me sat a skinhead. He wore a t-shirt that bore the slogan 'Ain't no black in the Union Jack'. As I rose to get off at Camden Town, so did he. We stood at the door together, waiting for the train to stop.

I nodded at his t-shirt and said, 'Nice shirt'.

He grunted.

I then added, 'Shame it's factually incorrect.'

He looked puzzled until I clarified things. 'Unless you actually forget the black bits ... in the Union Jack, that is'.

As I walked away I was amazed that he simply stood silently, mouth open, with a look on his face that was reminiscent of a puppy caught pooping on the rug. He was confused, and I often laughed thinking about how long it might have taken for him to realise the truth.

The thing that reminded me of this was the amount of shit post I received the other day, including a number of flyers for the forthcoming Local and EU elections. Again, for those from overseas and the stupid amongst us, let me explain. In the UK we have a general election that votes for the Government. They lie, steal our votes and then blow all our money on home furnishings, before blaming previous Governments for the mess. In Local elections, the councillors lie, steal our votes and then blow all our money on a leisure centre with the swimming pool fitted upside down, before blaming previous councils for not writing 'This Way Up' at the top of the plans. In the EU elections, they lie, steal our votes, and then give all our money to a man named Heinrick.

To cut a long story short, amongst the junk mail was a flyer from the BNP. This intrigued me, because nowhere did it state 'We are a bunch of ignorant fuckwits'. Indeed, it actually painted a fairly innocuous picture of their racist homophobic facist cunthookery.

It bore the image of a Spitfire (for Americans, it's the plane that won WW2 before you lot strolled in and claimed a hollow and unsubstantiated victory), and stated that the party was about putting British people first. They obviously missed the trick of excluding the Scots, Welsh and Northern Irish; perhaps if they were a different colour, eh? They also point out that 'it's not racist to oppose mass immigration and political correctness - it's common sense'.

There was a picture of a racist-fuck doctor and a racist-fuck old couple, all thinking racist thoughts, with quotes that explained that they weren't racist (or black, Asian or Jewish). Apparently, the leaflet concludes, we (who the fuck are 'we', are they including me in their shit-heap?) have earned the right. How have we earned it? Simple; Trafalgar, the Somme, Dunkirk, D-Day, the Falklands. There you go, suck on that, Johnny Immigrant!

I then discovered that the BNP would be canvassing in the High Street, so I took a walk to see what they were selling. It had to be good; I expected Panzer tanks, leather uniforms, death's heads and swastikas; it was going to be a rally and a half. Sadly, I couldn't find the rally; it was obviously blocked from my view by the two fat cunts in BNP t-shirts (I'm sure one had curry stains on it, that tikka red and tumeric yellow) and a snide fucker in the Pringle jumper.

Now, the Nazis might have been bad neighbours, but they had style. This lot looked like the scum left over when you torch a sub-standard housing estate. I asked about the curry stain. It was denied. I asked whether he liked a good Indian, especially when it left his arse tingling. He ignored me.

So I approached the Pringle man.

'Excuse me, are you racists?'

'No, we simply support the rights of the British people.'

'Even black ones?'

'We're not a racist party; we're about common sense.'

'So you're not racist ... more funambulist?'

He nodded, and then I saw it; that puppy shitting on the rug look I'd seen all those years ago.

BNP - go to fuck, you tight rope walking cunts!

Oh, You Silly Moo!

Ever seen someone with marginally less intelligence than a carrot? You know the type; furiously pushing a door marked PULL in letters as big as their pumpkin-sized head? Your first instinct is to offer assistance, but as they slip into a deep pool of utter stupidity, you decide to sit back and watch the show. Fuck them, if they spent a second applying some thought to the situation, they'd see the solution for themselves. In the end, you want them to never see the solution; it's a just reward for their fucking stupidity.

So, who am I am talking about today? Aung San Suu Kyi, that's who! Now, I do appreciate that alongside Tibet, Burma has become a must-have cause in the toolbox of the common or garden Pinko activist. I've been there more than a few times, and have long since given up arguing the toss with people who rely solely on one-sided reporting and political rhetoric to understand what is a very complex country.

That said, there is little no doubt that Aung San Suu Kyi is a bit of a dolt. Here's the rub. She was elected as the country's leader, as head of the NLD. The military Government refused to accept the situation, and she was then jailed. Apart from a few spells of freedom, she spent the majority of the years since 1990 either in jail or under house arrest. Okay, it's not good, but back in 1990 Burma was off the map. Today, they realise their future lies in tourism. It does. It's a fantastic country and is exceedingly easy to travel in, legally or illegally (it's your choice).

So, with a Burmese Government wanting to appear slightly more friendly to the West, the next step following the PR travesty that was the monk protests (by the by, the monks are NOT all peaceful and caring people; they have an agenda) was an election. Scheduled for 2010, the powers that be were making plans to involve the international community. It was to be their 'coming out' ball!

You must remember that Burma has an extremely complex history, and each side tells only it's own story. It is also probably more afraid of the outside world than the outside world is afraid of it. Against this backdrop, Aung San Suu Kyi was due to be released on May 27 2009. That was it, job done. She'd be out, the run up to the elections would allow the true face of Burma emerge, and the elections heralded a return to democracy and a run on tourism never before experienced in Asia. It was ideal; the pro-democracy forces got their day, and military got to bow out by allowing the people their say. Faces would be saved, and profit would be the new messiah. What could go wrong?

A fucking stupid American, that's what. John Yettaw decided to pop in to see Aung San Suu Kyi. Now, anyone who understands Burma realises that this is an act more frowned upon than fucking the first-born of a high ranking Government official up the back passage on National TV during the Lottery. Fuck me, she'll be out in a few weeks, have some patience!

John Yettaw gained entry by making home made flippers (why didn't he just buy some; they do have shops in Rangoon) and swimming across a lake to reach her home. Why he performed such a display of twatishness is anyone's guess. Being an American, he probably thought that Burma was a bit like Disneyland, and he'd be rewarded with a cup of green tea and an 'I Beat the Junta' t-shirt. Right now, he's wearing a 'Bum Me Senseless' t-shirt in Insein jail.

Anyhow, John-boy arrives unannounced (allegedly) and Aung San Suu Kyi tells him to fuck off. He stands there in his speedos and home made flippers, and whines: 'I've got cramp, can I stay the night and rest?'

She agrees, and they spend the night together. Did he get some Humpty Dumpty? We don't know. Did he blow his load up her nose. We don't know. Did he finger her snorkel. I've told you twice, and now for the last time, we don't fucking know. Then the sun rises, and idiot John gets caught trying to swim back. For what? It's not like she's a looker or anything.

Now Aung San Suu Kyi is on trial for breaking her house arrest conditions. She's blown it. She'll be jailed for the elections, and all bets are off with regard to the international involvement. Paranoia is running deep in the Burmese Government, and John Yettaw is as thick as a pile of pig shit. That said, Aung San Suu Kyi knew the risk, and blew it all for a moment with a bloke who would rather make his own flippers than buy a pair.

For me, that makes her infinitely dumber.