Jeremy Corbyn walked into Glastonbury and wooed the people with a rousing speech about equality and taking the power back. It was a refutation of his politics and his touch with the people on the sharp end of the wedge. And how did the Arsepress decide to report this? Like this:

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Richard Desmond is a hatstand. No matter what happens in reality, he will report the opposite. If Theresa May is found in a big pile of shit, rubbing orphan’s blood into her skin to preserve her robotic youth, they will report ‘May In Touch With the Young!’

When I was collating the figures in the early days of The Corner (when it was chucklesomely called ‘Cunt Corner’ as ALL THE RIGHT WING PAPERS ARE CUNTS!!) The Daily Mail used to be the cunt paper of choice, but ever since the Brexit debate started tickling the nation’s nuts, Richard Desmond and his bag of old lady’s hairy front bottoms have come total Nazi (yes, yes, yes, it’s easy to hark back to the Nazis and drag out the old Godwin Rule again, but seriously – go to the Imperial War Museum and the fucking headlines for Der Sturmer are exactly the same as The Mail and The Express).

Richard Desmond cannot be blamed, however. He was created via test tube as a twisted experiment to produce the world’s biggest cunt. However, the experiment went wrong along the way, and it ended up creating Dacre, Duncan-Smith, Gove, Boris Johnson, and all the rest of those scratty little arse nuggets that litter our lives. Give it time, and they may crawl back under the rock they came from, although the reality is these cock trumpets will carry on blathering the same old dribbling man-fat we’ve come to expect.

Richard Desmond is off in fantasy land once more with the concept that Theresa May is actually standing up to the EU and telling them in no uncertain terms that she’ll capitulate to anything they want her too. It doesn’t actually state how she did this, and mumbles something about fellow European leaders not flicking the V’s at her as she’s agreed to let EU citizens remain in Britain, but that won’t stop Desmond from weaving a magical land of unicorns and pixies where everyone still loves May and she’s not a clunking bag of hairy old nadgers.

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The Arsepress has a habit of getting fixated on certain subjects and then beating the subject to death. After Diana died they couldn’t’ stop banging on about her. After they’d flogged that dead horse they then moved on to the housing market. Now, since Desmond and his bunch of beaten hounds masquerading as journalists are under then misapprehension that what the world needs is more right wing bullshit, we have a few more years of this kind of bollocks to put up with.

Mind you, it gives me something to bang on about, like a facking stuck record!

Q: What do you call Richard Desmond in a blender?
A: A good idea.

The Mule do their bit for propping up the lame duck May once more by claiming that she has graciously allowed three million EU citizens to stay in the UK. Not a sausage about the EU actually telling May she can’t be a total bastard if she wants the Brexit negotiations to go in a favourable manner, just the fiction that she kicked open the doors to Brussels and told those darned Eurocrats that they were letting the EU citizens to stay or she’d go crazy ape bonkers with her chainsaw and pliers.

Paul Dacre actually lives in a hermetically sealed chamber which loops Enoch Powell speeches. His lackeys are instructed to only feed a Trumpian-like fiction to him; that May is popular, Corbs is useless, and the EU spend their time quivering under the might of the UK Parliament. It is this fantasy which has led to today’s headline. Let’s face it, Corbyn could be throttling May in every popularity poll, and Dacre would still report back that May is more popular than a big pile of free money. I wonder if he, like Trump, selectively views reality to fit in with his own warped ideology?

The answer, as always, is Paul Dacre smells of tramp’s wee.

 

Again, only one headline to report on, but what the bluddy blime! No, that’s not sweary enough. What the flippin’ lum!! No, still not sweary enough. What the fucking cunt piss shit wank toss balls bollocks shitty cunty fucky wank knobs!!!???

Okay. I understand it. All the other tabloids are trying to avoid the death toll, by printing wank about the Royals and whatnot, but what the fuck is The Star doing. They are pimping for the Tories. After all that inaction by the arseholes in charge, they are now promoting something The Corbs said should have happened days ago! The Mule is no longer The Lapdog In Chief. Now, they have a new master.

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Richard Desmond, you are a cunt.

Again, only one headline to report on, but what the bluddy blime! No, that’s not sweary enough. What the flippin’ lum!! No, still not sweary enough. What the fucking cunt piss shit wank toss balls bollocks shitty cunty fucky wank knobs!!!???

Okay. I understand it. All the other tabloids are trying to avoid the death toll, by printing wank about the Royals and whatnot, but what the fuck is The Express doing. They are pimping for the Tories. After all that inaction by the arseholes in charge, they are now promoting something The Corbs said should have happened days ago! The Mule is no longer The Lapdog In Chief. Now, they have a new master.

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Richard Desmond, you are a cunt.

The Corner is back!! And we’ve only got one headline to report on, but what a bluddy doozy!

When EVERY other paper (bar the Scum, Star, Mule) are reporting that the DUP are telling The Tories to suck their hairy nutsacks, The Freakin’ Express has a different take on things.

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Yep, that’s right. According to Desmond and his team of CHUD dwelling sewer cannibals, May will make Britain stronger, because of… well, she doesn’t actually say, but it’s obviously believable because the Express is well known for its journalistic blah blah blah. You know the score. The Express is trying to take over from The Mule as Numero Suckass Number One. There are many big, dangly testicles in the world, and Desmond is sucking on the weightiest of them. He’s still aiming for that gong at the end of the year. Twat.

city on fire

City On Fire by Garth Risk Hallberg

This is another whopper of a book, coming in at just over 900 pages in the UK print, and it’s another literary foray into the dark heart of rich people in New York. There’s quite a few of these around at the moment.

Principally, according to the blurb, it’s about the punk era during the 1970s and the shooting of a young woman, but being one of those hefty Great American Novels it’s about more than that. It’s about life, love, etc – you know the score. You’ve read a million reviews of similar Great American Novels. They’re all over the bloody place! I swear The New Yorker breeds these authors in a big vat filled with words.

City On Fire comes hot on the heels of A Little Life, which was one of the worst books it’s even been my displeasure to suffer through, and which was a steaming great lump of literary pretensions, but whereas Hanya Yanagihara conceived a painfully naval-gazing, pampered, smug, festering cauldron is unlikable protagonists, Hallberg goes in the other direction, creating well rounded characters with believable histories, motivations, and reasons for getting involved in the convoluted machinations of the plot.

If there’s a problem with City On Fire it’s the complete lack of surprise in the story. You can second guess this one all the way, but somehow this doesn’t matter because Hallberg is a competent writer with a good literary turn. Every now and then the story will jaunt alongside a bit of literary playfulness, leaping back and forth in time or shoving a fanzine in the middle of the story to flesh out a plotline, which would seem like showboating but Hallberg knows how to write a good character, dammit.

As for the punk sensibilities, it’s a bit like your grandad talking about the hippity-hop all the young’uns seem to be into these days. Hallberg is too much of a mannered writer to really get under the skin of punk music, but again it doesn’t matter because the level of writing by-passes these concerns. The shooting, the music – these are both minor concerns in the Large Canvas of one fucked up family and the satellite of humanity around them, and Hallberg almost carries it off. What COF could have done with is a bit of Norman Mailer’s testicles to kick it into touch, but – again – in the great scheme of things this is a minor quibble.

It’s a good book, but not a great one, and slightly let down by the hyperbole from the critics on the cover which basically guarantees you an orgasm if you read it. At the heart it’s a thriller and a family saga. It’s a serious book, written in a serious way, but with a potboiler background. And if Hallberg didn’t write his characters so damn well and get into the heart and mind of each individual in the vast army in this work then I wouldn’t recommend it, but he does, and he’s good at it, and it kept me reading, and – in the long run – that’s all that matters.