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,