SEND FOR THE BOLLOCKING SHEARS NORMAN.

The last trump has been sounded for the men of this nation. Look to your tackle lads, Harriet Harman is after the country’s nuts. Anyone sporting a pair is under threat from the insidious Harman, or, as I prefer to call her, Henrietta Harpy. The damn woman is hell bent on taking the bollocking shears to the male population, God alone knows what she will do with her testicular dividend, probably start a collection, although it would not be as classy as the Wallace. Harriet could perhaps take them home, and decorate the walls of her halls with balls of the men who won’t vote for her, at least they would be an item she could not charge up to the tax payer.

The fons et origo of all this bile is our Harriet’s equalities bill, for that label alone, the dame should be done under the trades descriptions act, it is nothing to do with level playing fields. Harriet is not interested in equality, Harriet is not at all interested in equal opportunities for all, she would not tolerate such liberal nonsense for a moment. The queen of hypocrisy is leading the charge against the race of men on behalf of the militant harridans of the feminist tendency, in return for their support for her leadership ambitions. You know the ones I am referring to, those unsavoury old broads who refuse to shave under their arms and have not worn bras for so long their tits are dragging in the mud. Such is the self delusion of these Guardian toting tricoteuses that they think any man who looks at them has rape in his soul. Oh Sappho, what absurdities are worshipped in thy name.

On behalf of these sad creatures who think no male should be allowed to roam the streets unless he has been to the vet to have his tail docked, Henrietta Harpy plans to make discrimination against men the law of the land. All in the name of equality you understand.

Some of my readers may find the logic of all this hard to grasp, but, you do not want to waste time faffing around over logic, after all this is New Labour, you know, that arrogant shower who no more understand logic than they have ever come to grips with the concept of doing an honest days work, never having done one themselves.

The upshot of all this is that employers faced with gender audits, gender diversity audits and God alone knows what else to ensure that employers are not giving British jobs to white Anglo Saxon Protestants, will up stakes to India, or anywhere run by sensible folk who do not regard possession of a full tackle as a criminal offence.

All this frenzied activity by the cerebrally atrophied morons who rule over us will lead to even more unemployment, and having buggered up the economy, thus forcing thousands on to the dole where the authorities will harass them unmercifully for being so feckless as to have allowed themselves to be sacked as a result of the Government’s economic incompetence. The purpose of all this of course is to keep down the official unemployment figures which their policies created in the first place, which will be of tremendous comfort to those equalised by Harriet.

I could write more on this subject, I could fill more volumes than there are in Britannica, but honestly folks, I really do not feel equal to the task.

HAZEL BLEARS, LA GAZZA LADRA.

Dear darling Hazel Blears, New Labours sparkling little china doll. Bright of smile and full of shite, but then what else would one expect of this ornament of Gordon Brown’s administration? A diamond is Hazel, albeit one with more flaws than flash.
La Gazza Ladra, which, as you are aware of, or, in all probability you are not, is an Italian opera. You can’t describe yourself as being cultured unless you know a bit about wop composers. La Gazza Ladra, as you undoubtedly realise (All right, I’m taking the piss) is an opera by the incomparable Rossini. In English it reads as The Thieving Magpie, Getting it now dears? Christ, talk about flogging a dead horse on the way to the knackers yard.
Yes, it is easy enough to correlate The Thieving Magpie with Hazel Blears, one of the leading kleptocratic cows of this arrogant administration, although in her case, thieving midget would be a smidgeon closer to absolute accuracy.
If there is one image above all others which will define the Members of Parliament’s expenses scandal, or, the school for fiddles as we should really define the affair, it is that of the thieving midget waving a cheque at the television cameras. There she was, the egregious trollop, with a grin as red and as vivid as a monkeys bum, demonstrating the level of her contrition by taking her fingers out of the till long enough to stick two of them up in the direction of the tax payers.
The usual excuses were trotted out. It was a mistake, of course it was luv, it always is when one diddles the tax man, nobody in public life does it intentionally, or at least, that is what the Parliamentary Kleptocracy would have us believe. Unfortunately for baby Blears and her ilk, we the voters are not nearly as gormless as the politicos think we are, and those pantomimes of innocence just do not wash with us. The thieving sods are as guilty as sin and nothing will convince us otherwise.
What really sticks in my craw is the fact that the midget can wave a cheque at the camera thinking it solves everything, “There you are folks, all paid back. Now go out and vote for me” But let’s get one thing strait, Blears bless her vertically challenged soul, has not paid a penny back. Because of some arcane technicality, the revenue can not accept the money. It gets better does it not? So comforting for the people herded into bankruptcy by the pitiless tax authorities and left with not so much as a bath plug with which to bless themselves, but, that is the comforting reality of political life, one rule for us and no rules for them. Ain’t life grand.
In a few days time we go to the polls, and this will be one occasion when the people’s pilferers will not be so eager to smile for the men from the tele. This time round, the politicians of all parties will be well and truly hammered by an entire nation which is up in arms. The blood bath we shall witness on Thursday is nothing in comparison to the one which will occur at the next general election. The magpies have thieved to their hearts content, now, they are going to have their wings clipped.