Pigdogfucker

Those who the gods love die young. Jerry Falwell was 73.

Due to the wonderful nature of the UK property market and those expert professionals who make the really fucking unusual and bizarre task of ‘buying a house’ very nearly as rapid and simple as, say, building a replica of medieval Rome out of rice grains, my possessions and I are temporarily parted.

This means that, certainly until the weekend and possibly beyond, I don’t have access to a home computer – only this irritating glorified telephone and my work PC, from which I prefer to avoid pigdogfucking. So posts will either be non-existent or short and badly punctuated without functional links – yes, that means business as usual.

Thought re Joe Barton: yes, the man’s a nasty little thug. However, I have an equal distaste for people who seek to invoke the police’s authority over trivial matters as I do for nasty little thugs, and last week’s incident was undeniably trivial. Had the boy in whose eye Barton allegedly stubbed out a cigar contacted the police, I would not have criticised him in the least.

Bar staff should wear earplugs. Yes, that one’s been thought through. It’s the kind of thing ‘ooh, we are an NGO, we are so PC’ thing that actually turns you into a Daily-Mail-reading lunatic…

You know what the best thing ever would be? If someone were tie up Guido, Ian Dale and Dizzy, and lock them in a room with John Hirst and an axe. Damn, that would rule.

What a fucking bunch of useless, pathetic arseholes.

Everyone knows Joey Barton is a thug. However, if one of your mates thumps you, you have minor outpatient treatment but are OK, and you’re asked whether you want to press charges, then – unless you are a despicable grassing little cunt, which is probably why you were thumped in the first place, you say that you do not.

Mr Dabo, the fucking French pansy, is pressing charges.

Do not click on this link if you are at work. Or, indeed, at all.

Loose Change is a stupid film; if you believe its premise, then you’re an idiot.

However, Virgin Atlantic showed it had balls by making the film available on its in-flight video-on-demand service: even I could have predicted that doing so would provoke a shitstorm of whining Yank cuntery. Far too many people seem to believe that September 11 is so fucking unique or special (or whatever) that we shouldn’t mock, dissect or ill-infomedly speculate about it.

One un-cheer to Virgin for backing down in the face of the inevitable shitstorm – although then again, it’s probably not worthwhile for one commercial business to bother challenging a nation’s worth of moronic perceptions in order to show a film made on equally moronic premises.

There are reasons why some people might hate Lord Browne, ex-BP CEO. I’m not among said people – I think he did an excellent job of rebranding an oil company (a fucking oil company, for Christ’s sake!) as non-evil, and I’m also amused at the way he shifted the traditional ‘we kill people outside the US in order to help the Yanks’ bottom line’ focus of a major oil company to do the opposite [*].

However, and irrespective of any of that bollocks – the manner of his departure is fucking disgusting. The fact that because the guy is a queer, the Daily Mail has hounded him out of office is one of the most despicable press abuses of power of this day and age.

[*] you may find the death of 15 Texan hicks in order to benefit British pension funds unamusing. If so, fuck off and read Blognor Regis, or some similar ‘swear words and snuffed Yanks aren’t funny’ cunt.