Tag Archives: misogyny

A proposal concerning a change of use for Buckingham Palace

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Due to a freedom of information request I have come into possession of this letter from government records. It seems to be a memo from George Osborne to David Cameron. I decided to risk libel action for publishing it, for ethical/heroic reasons.

To The Rt Hon David Cameron MP Prime Minister,

As you know, the Royal Family is currently enjoying a period of unparalleled public adoration, similar to, for instance, the initial popularity of Adolf Hitler. We, the people, collectively recognise that it offers significant value for money in terms of increased tourism revenue and national branding. All the proposals contained herein, stem from these facts, which I hold to be self evident truths. I hope that you will implement my recommendations in time for the forthcoming Olympics festival of sport and the crowd-pleasing Jubilee rally, so that we can profit from the unique set of current circumstances and use them to maintain our position on the global stage (that of spotlight operator).

Therefore/thus even the most earnest misanthropic republican will agree that it follows naturally that we should do everything in our power to promote, expand, and capitalise on this important asset. I am of course suggesting that Buckingham Palace be converted into a brothel. Up to 90% of American visitors to London, are attracted to the Theatre district and are most likely perverts driven more by the sordid honey of Soho. The Queen herself would be a highly sell-able commodity to these tourists and the prices we could charge, along with substantial gains from auctioning off the lower level staff would more than cover the losses made due to lower sales of Jubilee memorial coins by elderly people who will doubtless be against these proposals, along with everything else, as per usual. The over sixties are after all the last prim generation, and these important modernising steps will be shunned by them in the same way that they can not and will not understand the internet.


Figure 1. Possible flyer design.

Kate Middleton’s sexual attractiveness accounts for eight tenths of tabloid interest in the new couple (a canny pairing Hague! You showed a lot of foresight, mate). With her and William doing two shows an hour at one thousand pounds per ticket and an audience of three hundred, we could write off our debts, which were handed down to us by the last Labour government, in a couple of years, probably.

However, adult entertainment is not the only obvious use for the Royal Family. I suggest the bulk of the grounds be sold to Disney, who have a better record than HM government for producing trashy, cliché driven tourist attractions and aggressively engineering sinister global brands. It might also be sensible to use the smaller buildings on the palace grounds for manufacture and distribution of narcotics, again a very profitable enterprise and a valid inference from the argument from increased tourist revenue. If so, it is important to maintain the current practice (in line with Disney policy anyway) of only having one Queen visible at any point (the actors, or “Queenettes”, will be paid minimum wage).

I have one further possible suggestion, admittedly not so mild as the inevitable changes I highlight above. Working on the conservative assumption that the queen human can operate at 50% the efficiency of a queen ant (100 eggs/hour) she could share the burden of propagation and save the humiliation and cost of child rearing for a generation of young couples. The ordinary people are not capable of asexual parthenogenesis and can only produce 2 or 3 a decade at best under modern financial and social constraints. Perhaps everyone reaching thirty years of age could be sent an egg from the queen to put in a plant pot and then it turns into a baby clone of the Queen for them to cherish forever. I also recommend building a boat.

I finish with an ode to our queen that I suggest we sing at the opening of Disney BrothelTM.

The queen human lays an egg a minute
She puts her perfect genes in it
May her reign be infinite
And this metaphor hold out for two more stanzas

Her nest is as big as any other
May I make food for our mother?
Or should I say lover?
No, that’s too much

Bottle her jelly!
Ebay her welly
Sell every inch of her belly
To Network South East or First Capital Connect.

Yours sincerely,

The Dishonourable Gideon Osborne.

Thanks for watching,

.

Miss Thomas

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The clearest way to describe Claire Thomas is to say she is fat. It isn’t genetic or due to some other ‘modern BS’. It is because she frequently scoffs. She scoffs indiscriminately. Domino’s Two For Tuesdays by the two, eggs by the eight, and milkshake. She loves food like an English teacher (which she is) ‘loves words’, but she eats a lot more than she reads, and reads a lot less than she drinks, and eats and drinks to excess. That is the main fact. Anything else is conjecture. She is also lazy.


A copy of the photo by Liu Zheng. Does anyone know the copyright situation with this sort of thing?

Splayed, and it wouldn’t be unfair to say ungraciously, over her bed like a dead octopus on a chopping board, she was masturbating furiously. She could just about concentrate on her pornography for a few seconds at a time between checking the news headlines, some of which were reporting multiple fatalities, and reading an email from her school’s headmaster. After around ten minutes and without a proper resolution she gave up any pretence and relaxed, sighed, and turned the volume up on Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. The now muted laptop still blaring The Garden of Earthly Delights. The film was (is) unsatisfactory.

Now, Claire is watching Stefan Graves, an incompetent maths teacher, telling some children off for making light of Nazi war atrocities. She finds this most amusing and it makes her penguin biscuit doubly enjoyable. She chuckles through chocolatey lips, bubbling hot tea to a dripping foam. She imagines the warm embrace of her bed with its luxurious duvet and ready access to Terminator figurines (and lets be frank, to Terminator paraphernalia more generally). This thought inevitably leads to sexual dreams of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s career making character and the thrill available to her by drawing his genitals. To do for them what Dali did for the unconscious; to render them visible. Around ten such drawings are tacked around her room as if to draw this was to own it; to see it was to experience it, and to display it was to go too far maybe. Imagining the machine’s penis is an impressive feat when all that is available to us is the barmaid’s reaction in Terminator 2: Judgement Day.

There is a second thing that Claire takes an interest in: The 2011 Royal Wedding. She was lying in her overfilled bath staring at the same patch of flaking wall paper that she has seen every week for the last thirty years. She is next to the room with the bed that her mother died in, demented and miserable, and she is thinking about all the men she has slept with. Atheist, republican, and with an intense interest in Kate Middleton she was again making a show of pleasing herself knowing she would ultimately give up the ghost. She sang ‘I cain’t get no… satisfaction’ and laughed. Her phone beeps, she has an email from me informing her that it is my belief that the Terminator has only a mound, that the waitress’ response was a directorial error, and that all her theories are wrong, that her terminator fan fiction is shabby at best and that I will not allow a further Terminator/Royal Wedding tie in story to appear on the forum I manage.

Yours sincerely,

James Bond (asexual gay Lord and master of sexy epigrams)

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This post is dedicated to Sirs Isaac Newton and Bobby Charlton (They don’t make them like they used to).

Figure 1. Sir Bobby Charlton, “A Football Man”.

Bond had just graduated from Oxford with a massive degree, inferior in magnitude only to his perception of it. The careers office recommended the civil service but little did they know that he was not going to be civil, and even less servile was he going to be.

MI6 it was then.

One evening, while Bond was composing bizarre introductions and engineering contrary opinions regarding the correct serving of cocktails, he got his (phone) call to arms. M told him by text to go to Darlington and get the train timetable off of some guy working for Great North Eastern as a test.

Those of a nervous disposition should look away now. Even the most hardened reader, used to the frank, honest, and often uncompromising style of this weblog, may find the graphic homosexual pornography that follows too much to bear, and… hardened might also refer to the state of male genitalia during sexual arousal. I must also apologise for breaking one of my own rules of sex scene writing that one should always include a pathetic fallacy but never a pathetic phallus.

It drizzled. The antiquated Bond was obviously a huge homophobe but his first assignment was to get the train times from this fat controller by any means necessary. He was going to have to be a gay Lord.

Against my better judgement I am still amused by the phrase gay Lord.

Bond lay still, ruined. He pondered the etymology of the word gay and wondered where it might go next. A desperate mixture of blood and semen dribbled from his anus to the bed, beating a primal rhythm, syncopated with the pitter-patter of rain on the window of this northern motel. This seemed to suggest that gay might describe a new school of linguistics? A homophobic teenage boy? (e.g. look at those gays studying Nuts magazine and learning misogyny) An ecstatic metaphorical explosion?

The next joke is set in the year 2000.

Bond hated political correctness and whenever it was mentioned would say “I believe one is incorrect to take the correct approach to anything. 1+1=2! That is mathematical correctness gone mad!” in his usual nonsensical idiomatic style. He did not play by any rules, and certainly not the rules of formal logic. He was extremely proud of this personal brand of cod philosophy and, now, it led him to a choice. Should he remain a low level spy in the hope of future promotion to heterosexual humiliation in more expensive hotel rooms, or should he stop being such a Top Gear type, car fan, and arse?

Right there, right now, he decided to change his life and become a professor of language, right where our story began…

Figure 2. Professor James Bond, professor of syntax and philology at the University of Oxford.

It shows how personal decisions can impact real lives. Real people. Real lives.

Thanks in advance,

Raph Shirley (prophet)

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I was walking down the street the other day, and I bumped into this woman (I don’t know if you’ve ever met a woman, they’re basically mad hideous monsters, like men) and she’d got into her head the misguided idea to manufacture a person. Now, if it was me I would probably do this using a computer controlled 4D special laser printer but she considered the appropriate course of action to be to grow one inside her stomach.

I remembered how my mum, Sharon Shirley, had accidentally sacrificed her own innards to the nefarious purpose of creating a mutant hybrid between herself and my old man after placing too much faith in the stress resistance of polyurethane. I relayed my experiences to the wench before me and reiterated my belief in laser printing technology. We adopted a little Chinese girl as a compromise. She was a little two dimensional grey one from my HP LaserJet P2050 Series PCL6. I added a third dimension by spraying it with Impulse Jasmine (body mist).

“I’m confused by the word ‘this’, it’s like a piece of string between the world and the sentence” I said. She said that all words were like that and asked me why I was standing on top of the gigantic whoopy cushion I’d been gradually blowing up. The noise that followed was genuinely hilarious. We all laughed and had pancakes for dinner. Except our beautiful daughter who was killed in a tragic shredding accident.

The end,

A fair system for toilet use

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My mother, Sharon Shirley, recently made the unreasonable demand that I put the seat down after using the toilet. Here is my response.

Allow me to neglect poo-poo for the purposes of a thought experiment.

Imagine there are two social groups A and B who require the toilet to be in states A and B respectively, for wee wees. There is some effort incurred in changing the state one way, EA-B, which is essentially equal to the effort incurred in changing the state the other way, EB-A.

What system of use would be fair and proper? Is it the current system, where state A is considered to be philosophically superior to state B and that group B have to change the state to their required state pre-toilet and then change it to the opposite state post-toilet to spare group A the indignity of changing the toilet state? Pompous group A pricks.


Figure 1 A hypothetical, perfectly fair toilet for which equal effort is required of all genders and creeds.

I put it to you that group A’s position is entirely bogus, and I will no longer change the toilet state for them. There will be net lower indignity if this mode of operation is adopted worldwide. Moreover, there will be equal distribution of indignity between the two groups.

And what is a lid even for? Can we please get rid of that? Also, we are out of toilet paper and duck.

Now I will consider the impact of number 2s.

Of course, groups A and B agree on the toilet state for number 2s. This complicates matters slightly because some of group B will be saved effort by other group B members changing the state for them post number 1. However, you will see that net effort is still lower if my system is adopted because only necessary state changes occur.

I apologise for discussing this delicate matter with you. I feel the situation has come to a crisis point requiring brave men like myself to come forward and speak up against prejudice and hypocrisy.

I rest my case,

p.s. mum, could you give me a lift to the pub tonight around 7.04pm? and not Chicken Tonight tonight again please. I do not feel like Chicken Tonight tonight. I might be persuaded by Sausages Tonight…

… tonight.

Creation

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One
It was morning time and I needed a shower bad. I realised that I couldn’t remember why I was dirty. Then God rudely came in my bedroom without asking and presented the most splendid tart. There were a load of weird animals like half-zebra/half-worms around. One of them came over to be stroked. Then it opened its mouth and out popped a Twix. I ate it because the sinning witch told me to with sexy looks. She looked like she was straight out of Zoo magazine except with bigger tits and vagina. It was a bit disappointing to be honest on account of the ephemeral nature of sensory pleasure.

Two
The mid morning brunch-lunch period was bloody pandemonium. At the end the woman handed me a note which said ‘I am a metaphor for sin’ which I thought was a bit sexist really and probably a simplistic interpretation. Anyway, it was all a bit of fun until about 5.30 when God came back to lecture us a bit.

Three
Come evening time I had a really bad stomach ache and very much regretted the Twix which seemed to be transforming into a bureaucratic machine made of my intestines. On top of that there were now a load of even weirder animals around playing elaborate jazz solos on things like a five piped saxophone and a one key’d piano. One of them started saying a load of totally crazy shit at me. It was really freaking me out but not as much as when I looked down and there were giant ants whose legs were dirty hospital needles and bees with senescent human faces and slugs vomiting maggots. Man this is shit, and worse than that, it went on, quite literally, for ever. I blame that stupid woman because the Twix and all the rest of it wasn’t worth this.

Yours, as ever, magniloquently,

Church synod allows Jewish bishops

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The Church of England’s ruling synod has decided that all bishops must be at least 20% Jew, but there are further steps to take before they can be ordained.

Despite criticisms that this was ‘almost as stupid as Christianity itself’ mad churchey types everywhere agreed that the current system was anti-Semitic.

Rowan Williams remarked ‘if it’s good enough for Jesus it’s good enough for bishop[s]’, to which newly bishopped Aaron Adelstein replied ‘Jesus? That tawdry street performer?’.

Since the Catholic church allowed a non-celibate Muslim, ‘Randy’ Rawahah, to be The Pope last yeah the Church of England has been under increasing pressure from pressure group’s such as Steven Spielberg’s ‘The Church of Hitler more like’. This follows Spielberg’s recent revelation that the Ralph Fiennes character in Schindler’s List was actually a subtle allegory of The Church of England.

But while this flippant parody fizzles out it is important to stress that there are arguments on both sides… of the argument:

If The Church of England can’t be racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semite, idiotic,… etc, who can be?

I’m satired of this shit,

Cosmopolitan

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10 signs he’s interested:
1) You are currently having sex. etc…

Your body confidence – stripped bare

Want to know what men really think? We’ve been getting real guys to confess all. It’s time to get inside the mind of… Hegel.

Have a good week,

The Labour leadership

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Hello Labourites,

It has been well documented of late that Labour did not win the last election. The Labour Party (oxymoron), is now looking for a new leader. I shall be giving a low down on those seeking to lead.

David Milliband
This man is actually a slug moulded into the shape of a man and controlled by a small bee in the toe shaped region of the slug. That is not true but it may as well be because as we all know, slugs might make good grub in survival situations but they are no politicians. Milliband gave me a kiss once but I didn’t want to take it any further because he made me puke over himself. Vote Milliband!

Ed Milliband
This brother is one thousandth of The Beatles. That was a lame pun but this guy is lamer still. He believes in capital punishment. You have to spend an hour talking on msn LIKE THIS!

Ed Balls
Despite the popular misconception, Ed Balls actually doesn’t have a silly name. He does have a silly head and body though and should not be trusted around children or adults.

Diane Abbott
This one is fucking mental. Seriously. On the plus side she is both black, and female, and an MP, and someone who’s name is Diane. A rare combination indeed. Will her novelty features allow her to avoid embarrassing questions about her loony sensibilities?

UPDATE – Andy Burnham – UPDATE
Oops, Andy didn’t make the original list. This is categorically not due to the sloppy management of a sloopy blog. It was definitely an intentional and subtle allusion to his lack of presence in the campaign. I am convinced he is a robot and that he will kill us all if elected or if not. UPDATE 2: just realised I did one of those shit jokes where you go I’m not doing something I’m evidently doing. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again.

Who should I vote for? I’m thinking Abbott. That seems like the most sarcastic vote.

Thoughts?