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You Can't Say That

Lynndie England (An American guard at Abu Gharib prison in Iraq)

She sexually tortured men, beat them, humiliated them, dragged them around on a dog's lead, whipped them, made them masturbate. What, exactly, are they complaining about?

During lunch one day with Slave Gareth we were laughing over something I'd written on my website. He told me he'd read it, laughed, then thought "You can't say that".

Oh, but I did.

10 February 2007

I'm back. A number of people have written to say I haven't updated my site for a while; that's because I'm lazy. I've also been trying to help our beleaguered half-wit of a Home Secretary clear the backlog of prisoners by offering to cane them mercilessly - because they need understanding and love: I understand they deserve punishment and I love thrashing them. I've already offered to give an extra 36 strokes to those who make their living from crime, such as solicitors, judges, etc. now, I'm going to extend the offer to anyone employed at the Home Office to help them buck their ideas up a bit.

I think I should become an evangelist too because when I cane these miscreants, after about 50 strokes they start moaning for God.

Unfortunately, I've increased my fee since Christmas, this is to help reduce my carbon footprint and save the planet from getting hot when the sun shines. Or something like that and it also helps to buy my groceries too. Anyway, it's cold in the UK at the moment and there's snow on the ground so the price increase must have worked. Green? It's not me who's green.


Our incompetent government is forever trying to tax us on our property so I was excited to read that they, the government, are planning some sort of celebration of slavery later this year. I'm surprised they haven't tried to ban it. I intend to take Quilp along with him dressed in his rubber slave harness and his new chastity device, to show him off; proud and rampant. I do hope they'll be some sort of market where you can purchase a new slave or two; I need a couple to do the housework. I believe there used to be a slave market in Kennington in the 1990s, I think, but it's so good to see the old traditions of Britain still going strong. I wonder if they'll have a firework display; maybe I'll meet Ken Livingstone.

6 March 2007

Maybe I shouldn't keep laughing at the chimps' tea-party that calls itself the Home Office because now I've received a demand to fill in a diversity form to ensure I'm punishing enough people from ethnic minorities. Apparently I'm punishing too many white English people and I have to make amends. Therefore, I'm going to insist that some of you black up when you visit to help fill my quota. If that doesn't appeal, maybe you could wear a burka and pretend to be a transvestite; that would fill a month's quota in one visit. I just hope I don't get a visit from 'elf and safety.

Still, at least I've got most of the colonials and Empire ticked off.

I shall be invading Poland on 14 May for a couple of days. Invading is the correct term, isn't it? Everyone else seems to use it. I'll be going to Krakow to be precise and I love visiting these old, east European cities as they're so interesting and I like the Poles. Anyway, it'll be like home from home because most restaurants I visit nowadays are staffed with Poles; makes me wonder what all the Australians are doing.

18 April 2007

A bizarre beginning to one of my sessions with Mistress Leona. Leona is just about to arrive with Derrick for a severe cbt session and I'm dressed in a Gestapo uniform when our stupid postman turns up trying to deliver a large parcel. Thankfully I looked through the spy-hole before opening the door (thinking it was Mistress Leona) to an embarrassing encounter. Unfortunately, most people seem to take offence at almost everything these days so I had to wait until he'd gone. Derrick suffered a lot for that.

More nonsense from another slithery government minister who wants to reward ill-disciplined louts and yobs with an iPod and some cinema tickets. Believe me, if someone books for corporal punishment with me then you can guarantee they won't be listening to music downloads on a free iPod. However, before this idiot is universally condemned for his stupidity and sacked for his incompetence, maybe he has a point because, thinking about it, all my school-boys and adolescents always commit further offences for which they need to be punished; and I always punish them severely so maybe caning doesn't work after all. I can't believe I could have got it wrong all of this time, so I blame you all for this. Perhaps I should offer more facilities, empathise and show kindness and consideration to these poor, misunderstood kidz.

Yeah, like that's going to happen.

Writing of simpletons and their crackpot ideas, Lord Chief Justice Woolfe now wants the courts to impose the cheapest justice possible. Well I charge less than an iPod and my justice is a lot more effective than giving the benefit of the doubt to the criminally insane.


Sam has written to me to say he enjoyed reading my website, which he thought funny, and thought I was wasted writing here; I'm always wasted, Sam. Actually, it's great fun writing as I do because I never have to worry about self-censorship in case I offend some smug, self-righteous prig.

Isn't being PC wonderful? That's Past Caring in case you wonder.

A new website

Making a website means you need to ensure the navigation is easy to follow for the slow and dim-witted amongst you. I've never been happy with the navigation on this site so I'm going to re-design it all again. In case you've wondered why I've not put any updates on this site for a while it's because I've been working on someone else's website. I'm not going to tell you which one it is. You have to guess. You have three guesses to get it right.

Lastly, did our government apologise for ending slavery or not?

June 2007

Back from Poland at slave Ian's expense.

This time I managed to get through customs without having to exhibit my choice of underwear and dildos to the amused security staff and, thank heavens, slave Ian now wears an old pair of rolled-up socks in his bra because his false silicon breasts show up like Semtex on the x-ray machines. Always a laugh trying to explain, especially in a foreign language.

Security made everyone take their shoes off to walk through the x-rays but I'm not sure if it was meant as a prank or some form of punishment but they were probably too busy giggling at us to notice slave Ian's corsetry.

Luckily I took a copy of Richard Littlejohn's new book, "Littlejohn's Britain" with me just to remind me how dreadful this country has become.

After coming back from Poland, slave Gareth took me for lunch in town. He's travelled all over Europe looking to add to his vast collection of hard-core pornography but has never visited Krakow. Slave Gareth works as a toilet brush in a gay club and loves animals.

Nuts About Climate Change

While I was away, some animal rights lunatic has written to the government to demand we all go on a vegan diet to save the world from global warming. Well I like animals but they're also nice on a plate with gravy so that's a non-starter with me. But this got me thinking. Why aren't these maniacs locked up in a cell and beaten about the head with a heavy stick until they see sense? Obviously the government is encouraging them by giving them money. So I've decided to send HMG my own daft idea in an attempt to wangle some tax-payers' money for my "scientific research". Throw in some unproven nonsense about carbon emissions and polar bears and I should qualify for a huge grant.

My idea is that everyone should get a good caning every week to reduce climate change, as it's now called. But Miss Spiteful, how will this save the planet? I hear you ask. Well, idiot boy, by thrashing your bottom your cheeks will get very hot and warm you up, therefore you won't need to turn on your central heating and so save energy. Think yourself lucky this service is not yet offered by your local council and is still tax-free.

4 July 2007

Off again next week on my hols; aren't I lucky? This time, it's sunny Somerset. Unfortunately, it's raining torrents at present so I'm hoping for a spot of climate change next week. Climate change is still in fashion, isn't it? I haven't read much about it in the papers recently.

Anyway, as the only place in Britain you can now legally smoke (tobacco, not drugs) is in prison, I've decided to start smoking myself and blow cigarette smoke into the faces of non-smokers as an extremely cruel and unusual torment. As this is my place of work, I'm going to have to fine you an extra £50 for this humiliation. Smokers and non-smokers will have the pleasure of not only smelling like an ash-tray but being one too.

A Competition

My friend Seb Cox has organised a competition, which is open to everyone. The website that has all the details is: www. pranta.co.uk/aleister_crowley_magick.htm. Seb has asked me to be a judge but only to find a winner, not to sentence someone to imprisonment.

30 July 2007

Back! Back from that HELLHOLE that's called Somerset. There's nothing there! No greasy stink from fast-food outlets, no wailing police sirens, no swaggering drug-dealers on street corners, no street-entertainers (drunkards), no foreign pick-pockets, no phony beggars shouting, "Beeg Ishyou". Nothing! Just peace and tranquillity. Why haven't the natives of Somerset fully embraced the marvellously diverse, multi-cultural utopia that our wonderful government has forced onto the rest of us? Next year, I'm off to Devon!

Good News

With all the flooding in England, the extra £20 green tax I charge must be working as no-one appears to write about global-warming these days. Visit Miss Spiteful and save the world. Who'd have thought it?

Bad News

Now for some bad news, or good news if you don't like me. I might have to give up my life of sin as a Dominatrix. The reason is because our vapid looking Home Secretary is thinking of building a special prison just for muslim terrorists. Oooh, I'd love to be a wardress there so I'm thinking of applying. Special diet, shiekh? Yes, you're on a special diet, all right.

Which leads me to wonder: how does hook-handed Hamza wipe his backside? Judging by the pained expression on the face of the Prison's Inspector, Ann Owers, I suspect she goes in every day to lick his bottom clean. I love it when wet liberals have to defend scum who would happily murder their friends and family. But no, seriously, how does a terrorist with only hooks on his arms wipe his bottom? If I'm to be in charge, it will be with great difficulty and very painfully.

1 October 2007

I know, I haven't updated the website for a while but who are you going to complain to? Me? I suppose I'm here to listen.

Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, the weasel lawyers and corrupt, who claim to run this country on our behalf, come up with another posturing crackpot idea (PC thinking, haha). Apparently, it's now illegal to publish pictures of people smoking (there's a website which explains how the law works within BDSM at Pandemos) so my photograph on the Site Map is now illegal, even though I don't smoke.

So why has this turn of events come about, I wonder? Is it because we have women in charge of running the country? "But we all love being under the rule of women, Miss Spiteful," you all cry. Well, dull and simple lad - they're the wrong sort of women. You need Dominatrixes in charge, not humourless, frightened, submissive women, who apologise for everything. Even the men ruling us are like submissive women.

All these women in charge wear an expression that suggests they've been forced to give blow-jobs to the inmates at the Guantanamo Bay Hotel and their hair makes them look as though they live in a hedge. Take note, next time you see them on television. How have we ended up with half-witted, green, vegan madwomen in charge of things? I blame you all for this.

Speaking of people who look and smell as though they live in a hedge, my friend S'manfa told me a number of these dirty creatures were protesting against climate change (yes, that old chestnut) by gluing their hands to the walls of buildings. Well, if their hands are glued to a wall and they can't move, the first thing anyone should do is go through their pockets for money and any valuables, such as dole cheques. Then you can have a bit of fun by taking their trousers down and pinning obscene messages onto their backs; they can't stop you because they were daft enough to glue their hands to a wall. If I were there, then I might give them the benefit of the quirt across their bottoms too and demand to know why they aren't in gainful employment.

Miss Spiteful Knows Best

You see, I was right all along. If you read my page on Corporal Punishment, I explain how it's much kinder to thrash, with a cane and tawse, young impressionable adolescents rather than let them develop into thugs and hooligans and receive a judicial punishment. Now, because the do-gooders and liberals ignore my advice, the police are going to start using taser guns on youngsters to control them, which is a wonderful idea in itself, I suppose. I shall be going to Germany next year where tasers are readily available so I'll be buying a couple to use on local youths in the street. Naturally, like the police, I'll only be using a taser on children over the age of eight as pepper spray and rubber truncheons are the best methods for incapacitating and subduing infants and tiny tots.


As Britain is now the only country in the world, apart from most of Africa and and much of the Middle East, to use racism and discrimination as official government policy (in Britain's case it's also against white, English Christians) I've decided to become a black muslim. Does anyone know where I can get my government hand-outs and free council house from? I wouldn't want to live there but I can rent it out to four or five families of East Europeans. And these 72 virgins, where am I going to get them? Surely, wearing a burka they wouldn't be able to out-run their brothers, would they?

Not only am I now a member of a valued and cherished minority, I'm also carbon neutral - since 1999. Of course it's completely unproven but some gullible dope will believe it. What's that line about the Catholics? There's one born every minute? Remember the Millennium Bug? Well this is an even better money-raising scam because this has no time limit, unlike 1 January 2000 when, phew, nothing happened. Who'd have believed it? Most people did.

Now that I claim to be black on diversity forms (purely to mislead those who wish to know), I open my government-subsidised copy of Black Nation and see the people's champion, Red Ken blubbering like a ninny over slavery. Don't stand there crying, Kenneth dear, offer them lots of tax-payers money; that's all they really want, not you feeling their pain.

Well, hopefully that's successfully offended everyone I can think of but if you were left out, don't bother writing because you're too insignificant.

10 November 2007

You see, Miss Spiteful has been proven right yet again. Now prison officers want the power to use batons and truncheons on rioting youths in borstals. Well, who wouldn't want to use a truncheon on borstal inmates? I know I would, but I can't help thinking that if these louts had been well disciplined at school then that would have saved them from a life of crime and punishment. Teachers have a lot to answer for and I hope they realise this when they're getting beaten up by some school-girls in front of the class. They love it.

A few weeks ago I took part in a bizarre double session with my old friend Madame Tachibana, who proceeded to hang, by the neck, the victim. Luckily she released him after a while so he managed to live. Always a bonus after a session, breathing. Anyway, it was great to see and work with Madame Tachibana again after so long and not have to stand trial for murder, too.

A chap who visits me regularly works at The Home Office, directly to that soppy-looking girl who's supposed to be running the place. He told me he was having a conversation with a man from the Pornography section (this is true) and apparently, the only video they've ever watched that they had doubts about the authenticity was one where a man had his penis nailed down to a piece of wood. Believe me, it's authentic because I've got blood-stained nails (and photographs) to prove it. I hope it wasn't one of mine.

I've decided I no longer wish to be a black muslim (see above) mainly because I got fed up of being exhorted to help destroy capitalist, western society; and always by members of the liberal-left. You should see the look on their faces when I tell them I'm black - it's a peach! And they daren't contradict me in case I call them racist; oh, the irony. So I've reverted to being known as Other on diversity forms. Only to mess them up and make them valueless, you understand.

In fact, I don't understand why everyone doesn't do this.

Slave Gareth begs me to allow him the pleasure of taking me to lunch again and spending his money on me. Last time, I threw a glass of water over him and slapped his face before walking out. That stopped the conversations. He loved it.

3 December 2007

Burgled! Yes, I've been burgled. Can you believe it? Probably someone who suffered an unhappy childhood; if I catch him he'll have an unhappy and miserable end to his adulthood too. This is why I say that miscreants and louts should be routinely beaten inside prison.

Thieves who come into my house without my knowledge and steal all my nice, hard-earned belongings so the undeserving poor can enjoy them; this sounds like communism to me.

At least the police turned up rather smartish so shouting down the telephone at senior officers does work; you should try it. When the police catch this scum, as they undoubtedly will, and he goes to court to be sentenced to a good telling off, I'll find out who he is; and his solicitor.

Thankfully, they didn't take my beloved golliwog, Mohammed, with them so I don't have to claim for that on the insurance form.

Apart from that, everything has carried on as usual. Robert the beast has donated a lovely humbler, which is funny to use. It allows me to beat the testicles with ease.

Slave Ian tells me that he will be working on the end of his Dominafuhrer story, otherwise I'll inform his employers.

Next, I'm going to start work on my Christmas card, hopefully one that insults everybody. I understand I have to be inclusive to everyone these days.

18 December 2007

Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire

And don't you just know they're going to be Quilp's chestnuts. Yes, it's C-word time again; the word that, bizarrely, offends and upsets so many right-on, smug PC kill-joys so it's well worth shouting it out at them. Loudly. And often. Christmas!

This year I'm wishing for the children of our liberal-left ruling elite to enjoy Christmas dinner in an orphanage.

Also this Christmas, I'm going to be giving ethical gifts so I can feel morally superior to everyone else although the thought of slave Gareth alone in his flat for two whole days with a goat makes me shudder somewhat. I only hope he eats it afterwards. But wait! Goat giving is soooo last year. This year's favourite ethical prezzie is to adopt a tree. All you have to do is send me £500 and I'll send your loved one a photograph of the tree you've adopted in her name. Think of that warm, self-satisfied glow you'll receive when you explain to your wife the Christmas present you've bought her.

Green? It's not me who's green.

And yes, I'll be sending money direct to Oxfam to pay for their "administration costs" or Christmas bonuses as they call it.

As that lovable rogue, who burgled me, still hasn't been caught and pushed down a flight of steps by the police, I've written to that soppy-looking girl who's supposed to run the Home Office but had no reply. Yet I can't help thinking she looks like she'd be more at home working in a canteen rather than running the police. In fact, when you look at the women in the government, they all look as though they should be serving teas and coffees in a canteen somewhere. Maybe this is some madcap prank played on us by that grumpy Scotsman who has sold us into slavery to the European Reich. I thought they'd banned slavery?

George, I'm pleased to announce, has offered to stand in for the thief to be punished in his stead.

Quilp has been ordered to pose for my Christmas card again and I've put some Christmas tinsel on the St Andrew's cross, just to give it a Christmassy feel. Just ask if you'd fancy a mince pie when you're down there.

Have a happy Christmas and if you're offended by that, have a miserable Winterval. Bah, humbug.




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