The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

Breeding Always Tells

Our sebaciously smirking, coke-snorting chancellor has a sebaciously glistening, pouting younger brother whose respect for the medical niceties approaches that of George's colleague Jeremy Hunt. As one of the four scions of the mucilaginous wallpaper barony that is the hard-working family Osborne, Adam Osborne evidently shares his brother's famous commitment to playing hard and working the rules. Five years ago he was suspended from practice because he falsified a prescription for a drug-addicted escort girl; now he has been struck off the register for having sex with a woman he was treating for anxiety and depression. Doubtless it was just a bit of harmless fun, like George screwing the taxpayers; but a potential embarrassment arose when the unfortunate lady tried to kill herself just after Osborne dumped her. Naturally, Osborne deeply regrets any offence he has caused and realises now, with hindsight, that his behaviour was inappropriate and wrong; evidently they forgot to tell him about boundaries when he was studying for the profession. Perhaps he attended a free school, or a Catholic one. Anyway, since it was never his intention to hurt anyone, Osborne gave the temptress fair warning that he would make her pay; so given his family connections we may presumably expect to see her name and picture unflatteringly spattered across the scumbag press in the near future.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Wave Goodbye

Since the British Isles, like many islands worthy of the name, are more or less surrounded by water, the Government is naturally dragging its feet over whether it should bother keeping a manifesto pledge to support a tidal energy project at Swansea. Britain's Head Boy was frightfully bung-ho for it before the election; but as with so much of the other guff one throws out during our Mother of Parliaments' quinquennial ratification and rah-rah from the proles, the ardour tends to cool once the electorate has again delivered up the goods. The tidal project has not actually been cancelled; but negotiations have been going on for a year, the company in charge requires a decision within a few weeks, and a further six months will be required before the relevant minister can understand why it wouldn't be more efficient just to frack the Gower Peninsula and buy more oil while it's going cheap.

Tuesday, February 09, 2016

More Disappointments From the Muslims

Like many little jollifications of the same sort, the recent wog-bombing in Libya has achieved all kinds of worthwhile goals and has been kept from roaring success only by the backwardness and recalcitrance of the natives. Sir Peter Ricketts, Britain's Head Boy's national security monitor at the time, has been having a bit of a blather about it, and has proclaimed the 2011 adventure such a success that military intervention may now be required to mitigate the consequences of our previous military intervention. As soon as the Reverend Blair's convert and erstwhile chum Colonel Gaddafi was out of the way, it was assumed that the natives' urge towards freedom would naturally come into its own and that market forces or, at a pinch, an appropriately co-operative dictatorship, would prevail in no time. Matters have not turned out quite so favourably because the Libyans failed to seize their chance to "get together to form a coherent government with a coherent security structure and basically reinvent their country", which is a great disappointment to the security adviser who advised bombing their country into all that glorious potential for coherence. It now appears that Islamic State fighters are attempting to move into the Libyan oil-fields, doubtless with nefarious purposes in mind; which could yet make the whole business even more disappointing than it already is.

Monday, February 08, 2016

Keep Our Cliffs White

So effective are Mad Tessie May's wog disposal methods that our exit from the EU would result in refugee apocalypse, according to Downing Street. A spokesbeing for Britain's Head Boy was extruded to squeal that we must remain in Europe because if we don't Britain's borders will move back to Britain, the Frogs will send us their wogs, and a bunch of migrants will swarm across the Channel overnight, colonise Kent and radicalise everybody and their granny before you can say Dunkirkistan. Rather than foaming about boat people (we do, after all, have a submarine or two), the Head Boy himself was careful to confine himself to sniggering at the mugs in France who have agreed to be the custodians of Britain's borders and ensure that the wogs stop at Calais. However, he did strongly imply that in the event of Britain voting to turn the EU into a competitor the Euro-wogs, in their envy of our low-tax, low-welfare, low-down economy, could very well turn nasty; and that the minions of Mad Tessie May would almost certainly have trouble coping, particularly those efficient G4S people who seem to have trouble coping with almost everything.

Sunday, February 07, 2016

The Dust Settles

The blackened bag gapes out a toothless grin;
Soft groceries protrude, strain out dark ends.
The carrier, though little mirth attends,
Widens its smile and cannot hold them in,
And waits for finer fissions to begin.
Through spattered light the modest dust descends;
The dry, white drizzle still serenely wends,
Pale droplets of disintegrated skin.

You would not know, to hear their peace resound,
How noisily the offal pieces played:
How they complained, and dragged themselves around,
And shopped, and shed so much of what has made
This quiet epitaph which moves and lies
Amid the mumbled elegies of flies.

Gleetie Moocher

Saturday, February 06, 2016

They're Everywhere

Is nobody safe? The youth wing of the Farage Falange, comprising mainly those angry, loud white men whose hair has been shaved off rather than fallen out, has been infiltrated by the forces of foreign fascism. Beyond the demonisation of Muslims by those elements of the mainstream media which are owned by an Australian-American economic migrant, and even beyond Daveybloke's cosying up to Latvian Waffen-SS fan club in Europe, British fascist groups are being forcibly reinvigorated by persons of Polish, Ukrainian and Italian heritage.

Tragically enough, in light of the obvious danger to our common Britishness, the strutting Caudillo of the Farage Falange was apparently not asked to comment, or else was busy with his crusade against the infidel Turks, or was stuck in a wog-generated traffic jam.

Friday, February 05, 2016

Bridge Between Nations

Police in Thailand may have misapplied British values by arresting a number of migrants in what sources said was a gambling den. Thirty-two people, mainly British but including lesser ranks, were taken into custody in Pattaya after a special unit from the interior ministry raided their bridge club. Like Westminster with warmer rain, the resort town is much valued by foreign mafias and is famous for its sex tourism; and, like the United Kingdom, Thailand is run by some not very elected people who have promised to mend what they claim is a broken society, and to that end have given the police unprecedented public accountability by abolishing the distinction between worthwhile tip-offs, malicious denunciation and crank calls. Fortunately, Thailand's wog disposal methods are less enthusiastic than Britain's, especially when the gambling migrants in question turn out to be bridge-playing expats instead.

Thursday, February 04, 2016

Infant Rehabilitation

Given that the Government's prioritisation of mental health appears to consist in slinging the vulnerable into prison and leaving the problem to solve itself, it should come as no surprise that the Home Office is now plotting to put police commissioners in charge of "troubled children". Since the last parliament's attacks on schools and the law have worked out so jolly well, Mad Tessie May has decided to ram the two together Mandingo-style and see what comes of it. Possibly Mad Tessie May has been absorbing Foucault's Discipline and Punish, which draws some facile francophone comparisons between prisons and schools; more likely she is thinking of the commercial welfare of those charming people at G4S, with whom she has almost no marital connection whatever. She has also been inspired by a Conservative police and crime commissioner who, having all the requisite qualifications (viz. an MSc in Politics and Government), plans to open a "free school" with a "crime-specific curriculum" for "troubled children" of four years and older. The school will also aspire to mould "young people on the cusp of crime or interested in joining the police" - that or having, of course, not the slightest tinge of Boolean over-inclusionism. The borstal is already oversubscribed, and it remains to be seen how many of those cherry-picked for attendance will be "troubled" and how many will instead be the kind to keep a policeman's lot a fairly happy one.

Wednesday, February 03, 2016

Prevent and Contest

Well, here's a thing: the Government's Home Front strategy in the war on uppity Muslims appears to be inclining towards the counter-productive, though fortunately only if one is concerned with such fripperies as evidence and expert testimony, which the likes of Mad Tessie May have long since shouted down. The programme consists largely of one-word imperatives like Prevent! and Contest!, presumably because shouting is cheap; on the practical side, schools have been ordered to spy on their pupils for signs of "radicalisation", but the Government has not deigned to provide the sort of training which might enable its press-ganged surveillance operatives to make reasonably sensible judgements. Prevent! is apparently short for Prevent, Wogs, Or Else!, and is part of an overall strategy, if strategy is the word I want, called Contest!, which enables citizens to compete in identifying persons at risk of radicalisation from "all groups, such as Islamist extremists or the far right", or anyone else whose values run counter to British ones.

Tuesday, February 02, 2016

I'm Feeling Lucky

Doubtless motivated by nothing better than sour Gallic grapes over Britain's Head Boy's recent triumph against the migrant hordes, a Euro-wog finance minister has had the temerity to cast aspersions at Google's recent triumph over the taxpayers. Google and Osborne have reached a nice, cosy agreement whereby Google, like the Queen, agrees to pay whatever tax it finds convenient while dodging as much as it can get away with and graciously permitting Her Majesty's Government to lobby in Google's favour over Bermuda, where a further thirty thousand million is believed to be basking. The French finance minister has grumbled that the arrangement "seems more the product of a negotiation than the application of the law"; and indeed French tax officers have been known to treat Google in a manner which British enforcers tend to reserve for whistle-blowing journalists and uppity migrants. It remains to be seen whether Michel Sapin's retirement will be more cosy or less cosy than that of the smirking sebacity which gave us the Osbornomic miracle.