Archive for September, 2013

There’s nothing more that your average Brit loves than gathering around the Parliament Channel and watching our rugged party leaders spellbind us all with their ideological rhetoric and shadow puppet theatre.  We sent our ace reporter Acelington Reportertage, out into the field to gather the views of the public.

Bob Bobbington – Normal Bloke

Fucking ‘One Nation’ bastard Labour – every time one of their grinning minions pops up on  the bastard Andrew Marr show or the ITV Screws they have to bang this bloody catchphrase out.  It’s almost like some massive penis in the spin department has decided the party needed a handy slogan to pin all their fucking policies on, because, you know, the general public can’t handle the concept of policies an’ stuff – much better to spam them over the bonce with some cunty catchphrase and hope the witless bellends don’t feel so patronised they end up voting for the Bloody Rubbish Party (this could be any party, so take your pick.)

Stalin Niceworthy – Labour Candidate

Well, some massive penis back at Labour Central – which is an underground volcano, by the way – told us the general public were a bunch of dozy, slack jawed, drooling cow beasts and they couldn’t even spell ‘policies’ let alone watch us lie about them, so it would better for the party if we came up with a handy slogan to keep the sort of people who get distracted by shiny objects voting for us.  Ed Balls came up with ‘Come and Tickle My Balls’ but it was thought ‘One Nation Labour’ would be more patronising.  I optioned ‘The Tories Are Cunts’ but that was deemed to be too subtle.  Can I have a sweetie now?

Bastard McShitknackers – Tory Grandee

‘Thatcher was great!’  ‘All kneel before General Zod!’  ‘Clean the wench up and have her delivered to my room!’  All these were our original slogans for the party conference, until we came up with ‘Fuck Me, We’re Not Up North, Are We?’ as the conference takes place in That Manchester.  Quite frankly I’ll be taking the limo and walking around in a suit of armour, as they’re all thieves and cattle rustlers up there, and not being north of Richmond Park without my butler might make me wee my pants.  On another topic, I fucking hate the lower classes, and the sooner we gas the oiks the better.  I’ll let you into a little secret – when we’re talking about ‘badger culling’ we’re not really talking about badgers.  Now get out of my way – I’ve got a big eyed orphan puppy with an injured paw to drown in a bucket of urine and money!

Alphonse Tarquin Babykiller Farquington – Tory Voter

The problem with the party system we have at the moment is they’re very geared towards a short termist thinking, so we get the problem where a party elected for four to five years is gearing their entire social and economic ideology to getting themselves re-elected.  They feel they have to appeal to the widest, most populist demographic which sometimes goes against the initial party philosophy, so we get a situation where Cameron is talking about an inclusive society and Milliband is for harsher border controls.  From a social and intellectual standpoint politics is the culture of the insane, driven by egotists for personal gain.  If politics had an ounce of sense it would benefit everyone for the better good.  But as a Tory, from a personal basis, I believe we should have a daily gathering where the rich all do a massive shit on the poor and then wipe their arses with thousand pound notes.  I fucking hate paupers!  KILL THEM ALL!

Wibbling Trousers – Lib Dem Spokesbody

I like being in power.  I think Westminster is great.  They have a big bouncy castle and when it’s time for Prime Ministers Question Time we all get out of our nappies and into nice suits and my tie is too tight, and then we have to sit in rows and shout at each other and it’s fun.  Last week I called Dennis Skinner ‘a big plophead’ because he was rude to me and took all my pocket money, and then George Osbourne did a big fart in my face and laughed and then John Bercow showed me some naughty pictures of his wife and I felt all funny in my trousers and then we all voted on the Transparency of Lobbying, Non-Party Campaigning and Trade Union Administration Bill, which is a smelly bill.

Scrotey Old Knackers – Toilet Attendent

Yeah, we get a lot of them politicians hanging around outside the lavs come conference time.  It used to be the Tories all the time but now it’s a load of Lib Dems looking for badgers.  I just get me broom out and shift them along.

Swivel Eyed Nuttypants – UKIP Candidate

I remember a short speech given by one of our founder members.  It went ‘The application of force alone, without moral support based on a spiritual concept, can never bring about the destruction of an idea or arrest the propagation of it, unless one is ready and able ruthlessly to exterminate the last upholders of that idea even to a man, and also wipe out any tradition which it may tend to leave behind.’ No, hold on, that was Hitler.  Still, it certainly provided me and my UKIP pals with a lot of motivation, because we are a bunch of massive racist, bigoted, moronic drooling swivel eyed cockwits, and anyone who votes for us can no longer exist in the civilised world.  Like the Tories we despise everyone beneath us, and would probably feel happier under a fascistic dictatorial regime.  And we all have tiny penises.

Lovely Trousers – Green Party

Vote for us and get free tree hugging lessons.  Just don’t ask us about the economy.

Mr McSweary – Swearing Champion

Fuck shit cunt piss wank.

Mrs McSweary – His Wife

Fannies!

And that concludes out whacky look into the wonderful world of political conferences.

I used to think The Hobbit was a charming little tale about a short arse and a bunch of tea leafs bimbling about a few caves and forests before hoiking off with some dragon’s loot, merrily flicking the V’s on the way home.  But I was wrong.  It’s actually a bloated, portentous, heavy handed trilogy full of sweeping camera shots, lots of zooming into faces of people scowling, and serious bits which have fuck all to do with the story.

‘True’, some of the more nerd-heavy amongst you may bluster, ‘but all Peter Jackson’s doing is amalgamating parts of the Silmarillion and the appendices from The Lord of My Ring to produce a sweeping epic of grandeur’, to which I say, ‘suck my hairy bellend’.  I’ve read interviews with this tubby bewiskered arse biscuit in which he bangs on about the epic sweep of the narrative and all that cock, but in the end it’s a cynical excuse to rip as much money out of the public as possible as him and his studio exec mates do a merry dance to the cash point laughing and pissing on tramps as they go.

However, the overblown epic is not a recent phenomenon.  You can trace it’s bullshit as far back as the early days of cinema, when films like Cabiria, Greed, and Intolerance numbed the arse cheeks of cinemagoers around the world.  Through extensive studies over many years I’m managed to locate the reason why these films are made, and it comes down to the size of the director’s penis.  A lot of director’s have really small cocks and compensate for it by either making their films massively long and bulgingly thick with seriousness or stuffing a long tracking shot in there so the wanky film mags can bang on endlessly about how great the tracking shot in Goodfellas was when in actual fact it was the cinematic equivalent of picking a camera up and following your mum around the kitchen.

Only kidding.  I’m sure directors have really huge lob-ons all the time, and are probably street and cool and can do wheelies on their Grifters and drink a whole can of cider without throwing up.

But I digress, much like these fucking film directors do.  I mean, did anyone even see fucking Transknobbers 3 – for a start where were the fucking Transformers.  The first half of the film was about a couple of obnoxious shit buckets going through some amazingly dull relationship problems before a few Hasbro toys decided to invade some office blocks and interrupt everyone’s tea break.  Another slice of genius from Michael Bay

Speaking of that overblown eighties looking mullet headed big chinned shiny toothed short leather jacket wearing cunt has anyone seen the trailer for his new turd apocalypse Pain and Gain?  For a start the main characters are based on some really nasty vicious torturers, but that’s not going to stop that festering arse sore from making them seem like a bunch of loveable macho rogues who definitely don’t touch each others bottoms in the gym.  Secondly, Michael Bay is a fucking massive great arse bucket who should be slapped in the face for eternity by the cheesy bellend of a disease ridden donkey’s cock until he actually has to sit through one of his films.  Just wanted to say that.  The cunt.

Anyway, back to the subject.  Long films.  What the fuck is going on?  There used to be a trend of fast action B-movies in the seventies – usually Italian rip offs but also low budget US films – which pootled along quite nicely at an hour and a half.  You’d get a surfeit of car chases, explosions, a bit of fantasy sometimes, and then  the whole thing would be over and you could go and get drunk and pretend you didn’t just sit through American Ninja 2.  Still, they were cheesy fun.  Nowadays these cunts are being turned into three hour epics, and worse still people are going to see them.  And people say attention spans are getting shorter.  At least when Cimino made Heaven’s Gate everyone knew it was toss and avoided it.  Jackson poos The Hobbit out of his bumhole and people turn up to the tune of over a billion dollars!  (Side note:  I don’t care what any of these revisionist cock jockeys say – Heaven’s Gate is a pile of tedious old man jizz.  You can release as many ‘director’s cuts’ as you like but it’s still not going to take away the fact that it crawls across the screen like a snail with no interest in life.)

In my estimation it appears as though Hollywood, and therefore the world at large, view the lengthy arse numbing film as an indication of seriousness.  If a film’s over 2 hours long then it must be edging towards the realm of something serious, but if that fucker clocks over 2 and a half hours then it’s aiming towards the depth of chin stroking contemplation that only philosophers can reach when they muse about the tenets of human existence.  It doesn’t matter if the cunt is full of speeding cars, giant robots, elves being dull or explosions, if the length of the film is enough to make a grown man weep then it must be a classic.

Anyway, as the left clockweight of a dead French film bloke, I say ‘enough’.  Let’s get B-movies back to their original length of an hour and a half.  That way we can all find something else to fill our empty, meaningless lives with!