I've had little time for ranting recently but, this news article about that bastion of northern standards, Barnsley, has made me reach for the old keyboard. Whom should this story be all about? Why, none other than that bunch of black clad, shaven headed, thugs that we now have to recognise as ' The Police Service'.
I do realise that news reports, especially those of Cyclops Brown's running dogs, the BBC, rarely give the whole truth of any matter. However, let us assume that this particular story from the old Beeb is accurate.
It appears that parents in Barnsley have been criticized for drinking alcohol when dropping off and collecting their children from the Doncaster Road primary school. Now if, and I think that even in Barnsley it is a big if, people are swigging cans of treble strength lager whilst awaiting the release of their little b'stards from school then, unless they are commiting an offence, it's absolutely cock all to do with anybody, including Mervynn Hughes's valient bunch of heroes. It might be stupid, it might even be morally wrong, but, as far as I know, it isn't against the law.
Nevertheless along comes a senior plod by the name of Detective Inspector Mark Spooner to give all grown up people a piece of his, undoubtedly, limited mind.
' In my view that's clearly unacceptable. It's not acceptable in a modern society and we will put a stop to it'.
Well Mark old son, if you can read, here is my view. It is not your job to decree what is or is not acceptable in a modern or any other society, that is the job of an elected parliament, which is the ONLY power in the land allowed to make or revoke laws. If they get it wrong then the electorate can boot them out after a maximum of five years; ah, if only we could do the same to you.
So, Mark, take your, reported, merry band of Chekists, Community Support Officers, Impact Wardens, and Neighbourhood Wardens off to your next pagan festival and let the citizens of Barnsley make their own decisions about what is or is not acceptable. Furthermore, whilst you and your bunch of rabid followers are dancing naked around the stone altar, ask yourself what a Detective Inspector, is doing in charge of a Safer Neighbourhood Team.It is surely a job more fitted for a newly promoted uniformed flatfoot or, more appropriately, a semi- intelligent baboon from the nearest zoo.

Brits on Holiday

My thanks to The Devil's Kitchen for some background to this 'story' on Radio 2 news today.

'Britons are turning to drink on their holidays says research carried by the Know Your Limits group.'

The Know your Limits armoured division is, of course, funded by the Department of Health and is the latest probe by units of The Army of Absolute Bloody Puritans which, again, is funded by the good old DoH. Sorry, that really should read as funded by the taxpayer, you and me. It naturally has skirmishing forces headed by our old feinds Donaldson, Gilmore and Shenker and, if dear reader, you have no idea who these dangerous control freaks are, I suggest you find out pretty damn quick, before all your freedoms vanish up some Calvanistic minded Nazi's suppurating bunghole.

WellI know my limits and these prats are fast approaching them. Take care Liam and Friends, the citizens will one day hound you back to the festering cowpats that you hatched from.

Choose Freedom

I was sitting by the old computer thingy, gently musing over the odd snatches of Kipling and Betjeman, when my eyes happened to idly pass over the ever present packet of twenty, strategically placed in front of the keyboard. ( I must stress for any older readers that I no longer have any use for a pack of three if, indeed, they are still sold in that quantity. At the risk of digressing I remember that three were considered sufficient for a complete weekend. I suppose that nowadays they copulate at the same rate as they drink, so the modern request would be for at least fifty. I can't imagine how the barbers get the drawers big enough to contain the demand. No bloody sense of proportion the modern society)

Anyway, back to the ciggys , I noticed that the statutory notice plastered over the back of the packet made the following statement in block lettering.

Choose Freedom ring 0800 161 etc. etc.

Now if thought for one minute that the medical facists who demand such labels had a sense of humour I would actually smile at such nonsense. But no, they don't, and what is worse can't even see the irony in that particular slogan. I suppose that there is some junior grade doctor who, in between

licking the halfwit Donaldson's fundamental orifice, actually sits in an office somewhere writing out these supposedly intimidating slogans.

Just picture the scene.

Minor female M.D. sits picking it's nose whilst searching for inspiration in a textbook of various foul illnesses. ' Ah', it thinks, gazing at a lurid picture of a syphillis riddled penis. ' I can twist that and use it as warning that smoking hinders mens sexual activity'. A quick, semi literate scribble, and we are warned that ' Smoking can cause loss of erections'.

What a dork. The only things that can make dear Percy refuse to rise to the occasion is an over indulgance in decent cask ale or, the sight of a sour faced female doctor who would be better employed as Medusa's personal hairdresser. The type who, everytime they venture out in public, cause the sun to set, drunken sailors to flee back to their ship, and, don't realise that the strange noise they can hear is mens zippers welding themselves shut. ( To be fair the male doctors are equally disgusting)

So, prat face warning writer, I will take your advice. I will choose the freedom to smoke, drink, fornicate, think for myself, and do any other damn thing that I, personally, find enjoyable and also things that I hate doing, just as long as you disapprove of them.

Furthermore I sincerly hope that your trained lickspittles waiting by the telephone help line all die an excrutiating death from extreme boredom or, get beaten to death by a rampaging horde of floppy penis's newly released from your deranged imagination.

I

G whatever demos.

Good news on the airwaves today. Twenty people have been charged with offences of brutal violence, thuggery, and breaches of the peace following the G whatever demonstrations in London.

Well that takes care of the police, now, what about the demonstrators?

Pagan Plods

It appears that paganism is rife amongst the valient few who make our streets safe to be mugged in. Recent newspaper articles reveal that around five hundred of our baton wielding fiends are officialy registered as pagans and, as such, are entitled to take Pagan Bank Holidays as part of their annual leave.

I was so proud of the diversity allowed by the ' not fit for purpose' Home Office that I immediately penned the following letter to the local Chief Blue Meanie.

Sir,

I feel I must put pen pen to paper to express my admiration of the way your constables have maintained The Queen's Peace during my recent visit to South Yorkshire.

Walking along Doncaster High Street on Saturday afternoon I was alarmed to see a column of smoke rising into the still air. About to summon the Fire Service my fears were dispelled when the smoke cleared and I saw seven of your constables holding hands and forming a circle around what, I later learned, was a sacrifice to propitiate the gods of the Central Police Station Wormery. ( I feel sure that the driver of the untaxed Ford Fiesta would have approved of his body being used in this way, especially as your officers had been thoughtful enough to remove the twenty five bullets lodged in his head, thus avoiding any chance of toxic fumes affecting the enthralled onlookers).

This was a superb demonstration of how to lessen the impact of crime on law abiding citizens. I personally observed no fewer than three gangs of armed muggers merely beat their victims to death, instead of stabbing them, as they hurried across to gaze upon this magnificent spectacle.

I must say I was momentarily surprised when two of the constables dropped their left hands to enfold their neighbour's buttocks but, I feel sure, that this was just part of the very intricate ritual.

The arrival ofthe 'Air Support' helicopter caused quite a stir and I shall never forget the sight of the four naked constables rappeling down to join their ground based colleagues. I believe the recommended way of leaving aircraft in such a manner is to use ones hands and I trust that the officers have made a full recovery from the rope burns on their genital areas.

At this point I had to take my leave as the downwash from the helicopter's rotor blades had caused the burning sacrifice to disperse in several directions although, fortunately, the ceremony did seem to have concluded as four of the constables were putting their clothes back on.

I understand that the ensuing conflagration destroyed most of the town centre but feel sure that the citizens of Doncaster feel it a small price to pay in exchange for such innovative policing.

As one of your officers noticed the small crucifix I was wearing and I only escaped by hiding in a nearby herbalist shop, it is unlikely that I shall revisit the area until after the Winter Solstice.

Wishing you and all your constables a Merry Winterval and a Prosporous New Moon,

Yours sincerely,

So, the collection of halfwits, cheats, control freaks, frothy do- gooders, and mendacious morons that comprise our, fortunately, incomparable government are surprised that the ' Piggy Flu' helpline is overwhelmed with calls. What do these festering turds expect? They, and their robotic helpmate, Liam Donaldson, fall over themselves to distribute highly suspect figures about a flu pandemic and, then are surprised that the ninety percent of the population incapable of rational thought are in a state of panic.

Having disseminated so many lies about , smoking, drinking, eating, and climate change that the sheeple all believed, they now face a crisis of their own making that may make the NHS grind to a shuddering halt. Not that the few normal people left would notice of course.

Well stuff the rotten b'stards I say. Stuff, hang, shoot, impale, drown, and bayonet every one of them, including all the poncing semen stains that ever applied for a job advertised in The Guardian pinko rag and, the entire staff of the BBC. ( Terry Wogan and Ken Bruce excepted of course. )

Another moronic statement from Cameron's wanabee government.

Some character called Chris Grayling, ( I might have got the name wrong; it could have been Peter Rabbit ) who engorges himself under the title of ' Shadow Home Secretary', has proposed that persons engaged in rowdy, or anti-social behaviour, are punished by the police confiscating their mobile phones or, such other electronic gadgetry that may be dear to their stinking little hearts.

Well, Grayling or Rabbit, I've got news that might surprise you, such actions are called THEFT. It's the same as claiming expenses for something that dosn't exist, if that makes it any clearer to a politician.

WTF is the point of giving our moronic' Woodentops' any more powers than they can comfortably abuse in any one shift cycle? Do they have to take a recreational break from clubbing innocent newspaper vendors to death to confiscate these items, or can it be handled by an increase in police helicopter numbers? ( Sorry my mistake. I forgot that the plods already have more air support than the forces fighting in Afghanistan) Anyway, how are our brave guardians of 'law and order' ( a phrase that is begining to attract the same odour as ' health and safety ) supposed to carry the stolen items. They already have trouble moving under the weight of high viz jackets, anti- stab vests, news vendor battering extendable batons, several pairs of handcuffs ( some furry lined for that ' special arrest' ) personal radios, latex gloves ( again for that special moment ) and, great clodhopping boots. They don't have the energy to move out of their tax payer funded, wheeled and sirened, personal work space until their canteen break is due.

The whole point is that COURTS not the ' pointed heads' issue punishments, usually as and when there is proof that a crime has been committed. There are more than adequate existing laws to cover any breach of the peace, so leave the plod service to make the arrest and put the miscreant up in front of the magistrates as quickly as possible. It may seem a strange system but it has worked fairly well for several hundreds of years, so, WHY TRY AND CHANGE IT YOU POLITICAL SHITHEAD.

The Famous Kirklees Wig

So, 'The Famous Kirklees Wig' is no more. The facts, as far as I can ascertain, reveal a story of ignorance, back stabbing, self immolation, and assisted sucicide, a total disgrace to the good name and reputation of The KLR.

This Wig should be thoroughly ashamed of itself, especially as it has given no thought to the ducks whom are now bereft of their winter nesting supply.

It will seem strange to walk the platform at Clayton West without a hoarse, gutteral, voice, yelling at some paying passenger who may have inadverntently strayed into an area that The Wig' considered its' own personal domain. Stranger still to be unable to watch the ever widening patch between ginger and grey; a kind of tonsure in reverse. How Jay will cope without the rough hand on the throttle and the jerking uneven progress of the stock to platform 1, only time and a lengthened engine life will tell. ' How are the mighty fallen and the ranks of the Sick Notes diminished.'

Still, we must look for the silver lining. No more will the elderly drivers be confused by shouts of 'Green flag', no more will a fistfull of ticket stubs be thrust into the cab just as the driver is wrestling with both regulator and brake, and, perhaps, no more will the morning moan reverberate amongst the ranks of hastily prepared engines.

Comrades, enough of these negative thoughts. Although we mourn the passing of nothing in particular, look, and give huzzah, for we have an even bigger Sh*t standing in the wings. Three cheers for our very own Care in the Community.

A wonderful letter in The Telegraph today shows that some of us are fighting back against Nanny and her hordes of brainwashed minions. A gentleman having to put one of the statutary ' It is Against the Law to Smoke etc. ' signs in the entrance to his lovely old church added another sign below it.

' Warning! If you smoke on these premises God, who knows everything, will forgive you. However,The Government, who know nothing, will prosecute you.'

Unfortunately sarcasm, satire, and wit mean nothing to the humourless Nazis who seek to control every aspect of our lives. Short of ' a la lanterne' is there anything we can do to make them crawl back into the ordure from which they hatched?