22 January 2009

Now children, sit up straight and pay attention.

I shall be continuing my tour of conquered European countries this year by visiting both France and Italy; all at slave Ian's expense of course as he is an overpaid civil servant. I'm sure you're all happy about me enjoying myself at hard-working families' expense. Hopefully by then the pound will be back to its rightful place of being equivalent to about 4 or 5 Reichsmarks or whatever it is they call the monopoly money on the continent; that's if our Quisling government hasn't already sold us out to Brussels for a bag of magic beans.

Anyway, why is our government of low-achieving dullards worried about a losing a couple of trillion pounds? Southern Rhodesia has trillion dollar notes so borrow a couple of them off Sir Bob. They could sell him a peerage and he could make it all back in a couple of weeks in backhanders; no wonder all those die-hard socialists want to end up in the House of Lords.

Panto season

I know this is very difficult to believe and very disturbing but a Labour MP has finally owned up and said that dyslexia doesn't really exist. Dyslexia is just an excuse dreamt up by the government to explain why teachers are not very good at their job. Perhaps if teachers stopped indoctrinating children with Marxist theory they might make some progress. Not much point being able to sing the Namibian national anthem if you can't remember your nine times table. Do they have dyslexia in Namibia? I understand they do not.

We used to have dyslexic children when I was at school but that's before it became fashionable. In those days they were called a dunce and made to stand in the corner with a conical hat on their heads. It did them the world of good and got them used to being labelled a failure. Nowadays, they have their own social worker, encouraged to audition for X Factor and labelled a failure on national television.

I find it very disturbing that a Labour MP would ever tell the truth; I suppose his tongue turned black and fell out of his head (after his bosses caught hold of him).

O bummer!

Yes, our new President has demanded the Gitmo Bay holiday camp be closed and whilst all the inmates will be queuing up to fly back to the Yemen, Sudan or Somaliland, no doubt our bumbling, dull-witted Prime Minister will invite them all to live a life of luxury as honoured guests of Britain. Funny the yanks don't want them. The inmates must all have the golden touch too as no doubt they'll all win the National Lottery within weeks of arriving here because, how else would they be able to afford to live in a five bedroom house in Notting Hill? I bet they sell their orange jump-suits on e-Bay and become special advisors to the Home Office.

No, I didn't go to the love-in in Washington; my invitation must have been lost in the post, thankfully, as I'm trying to cut down on being force-fed sugary, syrupy sycophancy after Christmas. I'm surprised the BBC News programmes didn't come with a warning about causing diabetes, being so sickly-sweet.

Yankee Doodles

Also from America, Axyloid has written another story, which I've decided to split up into a serial as it might be a bit too much to take it for some of you, especially if you're dyslexic. I shall come around you all to hear you read the story and mark you out of 10. Those of you who fail will be made to stand in the corner. The story is called The Story Of T.

Brian, who fled to the US from the cruel single-tailed whip I used on his back, has also asked me to link to some sites he's created for the House of Gord. Now I know you're all going to think that you know who Gord is but you'd be wrong. This is a bondage site and you should visit it if you know what's good for you.

Pancake Day, 2009

It was my birthday the other day and so I thank everyone who sent a card, a present or just wished me a happy birthday. As for those of you who did not, I shall be speaking to you, later, in private.

With the turning of the years I begin to yearn for children. They're an absolute goldmine! You can get lots of money for having them and you get a free council flat you can rent out to someone else. When they're young you can train them to work as unpaid servants and then they look after you when you retire. And they're so gullible; you can tell them anything you want and they'll believe it.

Now, I don't really want to start squirting kidlets out so I was delighted to hear a tax-payer funded environmental "expert" say you should only have two children each. If you've got more than two, just pick your two favourites and send me the others; don't forget to send their benefit books too.

See Me After The Lesson

What is it with these foreigners? They can speak perfect English despite growing up in some faraway land, speaking a different language. The other day, I spoke to a delightful man named Frederick who spoke English in a gracious, charming and concise manner. Contrast that with a number of young men who telephone me who sound as though they're grunting some bizarre nadsat English/Jamaican patios. How odd that they've only recently left school in the last ten years so surely they should remember what they've learnt, shouldn't they? I blame their teachers for not beating them properly with a cane when they make a mistake and instead fill their heads with left-wing drivel.

"Yes children, that's how the evil British Empire was destroyed by a handful of freedom-loving peasants who then ruled their lands for the benefit of their people".

Yeah, right. Maybe the teacher should receive six of the best.

Roger The Lodger

It's always enjoyable to hear a smug socialist parvenu bluster some nonsense when they're caught with their grubby little fingers in the till, like that stupid looking Home Secretary pretending she lives in a bedsit in south London. How classy to fiddle your expenses. How typically New Labour. She could have lodged here with me, I've got the perfect place to keep her overnight.

O Boy

El Presidente de los Estados Unidos welcomed our disgraced former PM, that ghastly man Blair, to Washington as a man of morality. Now I know the gringos should have voted in the Dominatrix.

Ash Wednesday, 2009

I'm sure we all raised a glass or two of free-trade bubbly in celebration on hearing about the release of Islamic jihadi Talibinman Mohammed from Gautanamo Bay. I bet his legal aid team did anyway, having won the jackpot. Yet I fear this is just the start of his torture; what he went through at Gitmo Bay is going to be nothing compared to what he'll suffer in Gitmo Britain.

He'll be forced to live like a lottery winner on benefits and unable to find honest work because of our corrupt capitalist system whereas if he was shunted off to some fly-blown Islamic republic he could earn an honest day's living beheading infidels for the Internet.

He'll be surrounded by temptations like drink, hedonistic lifestyle, nightclubs, fast cars and a life of leisure. He won't be able to eat fine foods like goat-meat or falafel, only Big Macs, pizza and pork. He'll be forced to see scantily-clad young women walking around the streets, whereas he'd probaly prefer they were covered head to toe in a black dust-sheet. Stoned women will be high on drink and drugs, not adulterers buried in building rubble.

And then the celebrity circuit, he's a cert to be a guest on Jonathan Ross and The One Show; worst of all will be the obligatory visit to Parliament for Jack-al Straw to lick his bottom clean. And Cherry Blair, she said she's sympathtic to Islamic suicide bombers. I think I'd rather live in British Somaliland than meet that lot.

Let's hope he doesn't blow up parliament when he's being feted there like a conquering hero; although, on second thoughts, that might not be such a bad idea.

Here Comes The Sun

Slave Ian has begged me to visit his second home in Lyon. Don't worry, this is not his main home and he's not fiddling his expenses to pay for it, unlike the government minister he works for. However, I see he's booked me to travel on a child's ticket; I do hope he doesn't expect me to wear a gym-slip to get there. I know he loves that sort of thing but I couldn't bear to travel wearing a very, very short skirt and stockings and suspenders with my legs open all the way, abusing other passengers.

Global Warming

What good news that Antarctica is warming up. Once all the snow melts BP be able to drill for oil and the price will come down. Everyone's a winner! Just like the jihadi and his legal team.

St Patrick's Day, 2009

"Christian Crusade Against Islam" said the muslim's placard. Anyone know where you can join?

Suddenly, everything becomes clear! I've always believed that the mad mullahs kept their women covered up in a dust-sheet because the women were all plug ugly. I couldn't believe the scolding, shrewish harridans of New Labour would be happy allowing all these women to be subjugated by men. After all, the marxists claim we're all equal but that's only what they think and, as usual, they're wrong. However, after watching that unwholesome looking mob of muslim terrorists racially abusing our gallant soldiers returning from some God-forsaken country, I suddenly realized why their four wives wear tents on their heads: it's because they don't want to be seen with their husband. Can you blame them?

I saw one burka-ed minx taking photographs on her telephone, no doubt to fantasise over a clean shaven squaddie removing her chubby, unshaven legs from a stained burka. If only Abdul and his mates hadn't managed to get a day off work all those burka clad girls would have been welcoming our soldiers with open arms and legs.

Naturally, when the beardy-boys abuse our hospitality, it's obligatory for some liberal ninny to excuse them and proclaim they would die in defence of the mad mullahs' right to protest. No they wouldn't! All these bearded lefties will be squealing for the army to protect them when the civil war breaks out.

I've no idea what the police were doing there; there weren't any old-age pensioners refusing to pay their council tax, were there? Only people threatening to murder unarmed soldiers. Just as well our benign government wants to appease these protesters because we all know that appeasement works.

So why can't we torture these people? I can fit them in on Friday afternoon if they want.

The Shield

Ahh, my favourite police series is back on television. Bliss. The police kill drug dealers, steal their money, start a war between street gangs, beat scum-bags up to make them confess: that's how to deal with crime and the causes of crime.

Nearly 18 months now since I was burgled and the old bill still haven't any clue although they told me to have a look on e-Bay for my property. No doubt the miscreants have spent their ill-gotten gains on drugs and scarpered back to eastern Europe. Tell me, Home Secretary, why don't criminals fall out of windows trying to escape any more? Probably because the police are too busy protecting terrorists.

18 March 2009

Reading through that left-wing rag, The Daily Mail, I see our Masters running the Fourth Reich in Brussels want to outlaw the title Miss! Can you believe that? Well I suppose you can because almost every lunatic idea comes from this corrupt, bloated organisation. We must no longer use sex-specific terms such as Miss, Mrs or Fraulein. Well, I take no notice of this bunch of criminal free-loaders so I am staying as Miss Spiteful; hopefully it annoys them.

So, billions of pounds wasted every year and the best idea these slack-jawed imbeciles can come up with is to outlaw the title Miss. Well that'll help. I blame you all for this.

25 March 2009

Google Me

Thank heavens no-one was photographed outside my house, furtively walking up the garden path, on this new Google street map. I would have thought Quilp would have been a dead cert as he's here all the time, bothering me. Anyway, he's so fat he would have blocked the view of the house. The odd thing is, give someone a map and they always look at where they live, as though they want to reaffirm their street really exists. Tough luck that slave Ian was photographed smoking outside a sex shop, especially as he was supposed to be in work at the time.

Benefit Fraud

Yet another one of Her Majesty's comrades has been caught with his fingers in the till by fiddling his expenses, just like that woman of ill-repute everyone pretends is the Home Secretary. They used to have a word for people like that; they were called thieves and one would hope they would be arrested by the police. Nowadays they're called members of parliament. Funny how all these men and women of the people, who want to re-distribute wealth, only seem to re-distribute the wealth to themselves. I suppose it was all those wasted years on the breadline selling The Socialist Worker that made them so greedy for money.

Backhander? Yes, I'd give him a backhander if I saw him.

Do you know, I've always wanted to be known as a woman of ill-repute.

Reading

No, not the town in Berkshire, you dullard; reading. Read the Story Of T by Axyloid because it's very good and a lot of you have written to me to tell me how much you enjoy it. This story has been re-edited by Axyloid to reflect my caning style; aren't you lucky little boys. Here's another two episodes to keep you quiet while I get on with my work.

And Did Those Feet, In Ancient Times

At last, we're allowed to celebrate St George's Day in England this year. I well remember celebrating 23 April 1999, I carved a swastika into poor Michael's bottom with a stanley blade then poured candle wax over it. He sent me his underpants he wore home afterwards and I still have them in a bag. Of course, this was in the days before 'elf and safety spoilt everyone's fun.

Anyway.... all of London will be decked out with the cross of St George, which no doubt will upset and cause offence to the politically correct so that's a worthwhile idea; our Quisling government and the liberals who support them would prefer we flew the flag of St George but without the red cross on it.

Now, I realise that some of you boys living out in the Empire don't understand some of the things that are happening in Great Britain so here's a heads-up: Britain has been ruined by years of socialist mis-rule and civil war is about to break out. Raise an army and invade to help save the motherland.

May Day, 2009

I know, I KNOW. You're all waiting for me to update Axyloid's story about The Institute. I haven't had time because I've been re-decorating like some ragged-trousered philantropist. Well for all of you waiting on tenterhooks, here's another two episodes. I'll try and load another two episodes after the weekend.

Lyon-heart

Just so you all know, while struggling with the credit crunch, I'm being treated to a couple of days in Lyon by slave Ian in his luxurious penthouse hotel room. Everyone tells me that Lyon is the gastronomic centre of France but as snails are on the menu in France, I'm not sure if this is meant to be a warning. Anyway, no emails or telephone calls 10 - 13 May as they won't be answered.

The Honorable Gentlemen

Isn't obvious why our treacherous, deceitful marxist government won't allow the Gurkhas into the country? It's because they (Government) know that once they (Gurkhas) become British citizens, they (Gurkhas) will realise just what damage they (Govt.) have done to this once green and pleasant land and decide to take over and run the country themselves. Anyway, the Gurkhas are far too courteous, hard-working and a benefit to the country to be accepted. Our government prefers to have immigrants who are going to create lots of work for social workers, immigration services, lawyers, police forces, translators, teachers, benefit office staff, outreach workers, diversity officers, immigration tribunal workers and all the other highly-paid officials who make this country what it is today.

St George's Day

St George's Day is still St George's Day and, thankfully, I didn't have any "swastika-carving on the buttocks" sessions this year! Thank heavens it hasn't been rebranded as Mau-Mau Unity Day or St Maindealer's Day. Although our left wing councils have to be careful about re-naming everything Maindealer after Winnie Maindealer was found to be not quite as sainted as they first thought. A murdering African tyrant; who would have thought it? Not our socialist masters who usually support them.

14 May 2009

Lyon, France

Oh the embarrassment of the English abroad! No sooner do we bumble our way through, "Bonjour, deux cappachinos si vous plait Gar con" when the French respond with "Ha-ha. Les Rosbifs with your corrupt English government and your silly PM wearing make-up like some fancy woman". How very humiliating to be taken to task over dishonest politicians, by the continentals of all people.

Then of course the food! I'd already been warned that Lyon was a gastronomic centre but I hadn't quite realised what that meant until I tried Salad Lyonnais, or as it should be called inedible pickled gristle and slimy pork bits. "Bon appetit" said the garcon, I didn't know that meant "try not to throw up afterwards". Slave Ian enjoyed his bowl of L'escargot though, whatever they were.

Mea Culpa

Yes, it's true that I have been taking money off you all and spending it all on myself.

Just like the Immigration Minister, I too have been buying women's clothes and toiletries with the money I've had off hard-working taxpayers although what he looks like wearing women's clothes, I've no idea. I've also spent some of the money on plugs but while they're black and rubber, mine were designed to be inserted into the anus, not a plughole. It's also true that I bought half a ton of horse manure simply to bury Quilp up to his neck in. What? I didn't make him stand on his head in it.

I do have a second home, it's a cage in my dungeon and I allow people to live in it overnight. I'd hardly call it luxury though even though I receive vast amounts of cash from those lucky enough to be allowed to live there.

I have to employ staff to help me. My maid Dorothy comes in and cleans up my house for which she pays me a very reasonable fee, well above the minimum wage I might add. However, I should point out that I have never bought pornographic flims, unlike Mr Home Secretary. Watching Quilp's fat arse when he's trying to stumble to his feet, it tends to put you off looking at naked flesh.

I have also used the money given to me to refurbish my home and garden but, like an MP, I have no intention of paying the money back. Yes, I know there's a smell of fecal matter but that's from the Houses of Parliament, not my butt-plugs as they are all licked clean.

I hope that clears up this dreadful mistake. Now, I suggest you all read the next couple of episodes of The Institute and let me draw a line across your bottom with a cane.

D Day, 2009

Oh yay, all those lucky MPs having their photographs in the papers; if it wasn't for the expenses scandal no-one would know who they are. Who would know, for instance, which socialist, working class cheapskate MP claimed a £5 church donation on expenses, without all this exposure? No wonder they didn't build any prisons, they knew they'd all end up in them. All right, their photographs are usually accompanied by the words "Wanted For Criminal Deception" but at least they're recognised in the street now; hopefully by angry and abusive constituents throwing stones. You couldn't buy publicity like this, even on expenses.

And I'm soooooo pleased that smirky little ginger dolly with the "Aye Oop" northern accent has gone. Is it any wonder she had a stupid grin on her face having stolen hard-working tax-payers money. Is it just me or does everyone else want to slap that woman silly for a couple of hours? And who's that one that looks like a cheap slut in need of a good wash? I can't believe she was a government minister; she's got to be someone's fancy woman, surely.

Talking of government ministers dressing up like a slapper on the pull, why hasn't anything been said of the minister who bought a load of women's clothes on his expenses? I don't think I've seen him here but I'd certainly recognise him and know who he was now.

Laugh? I had to change my panties. Would you like to wear them, Minister?

Nawashi

Check out the new site by my old friend, Nawashi Murakawa. Lots of new photographs of women tied up in rope bondage. Now I know you're not interested in seeing women in compromising positions but try and force yourselves because it's a great site. If you fancy, he's running tutorials on rope bondage at his studio so you'll be able to tie up a naked young woman without being arrested by the police. He's also running drawing classes on this subject (Nawash is a graphic artist) but you'll have to produce something, not just sit there masturbating like a wild baboon.

We Shall Prevail

I knew something was amiss when I visited Lyon last month! The French are obsequious and submissive, normally, especially their serving staff and, naturally, we appear superior because we are English and they are French. However, the French appeared rather arrogant and surly last time and now I know why - because our bumbling PM forgot to invite the dear old queen to the D-Day landings celebrations; is there anything this man can do without making a cock-up? It's intolerable that all of France are laughing at us for allowing this imbecile to ruin the country. We should invade, or maybe, to teach them a lesson, maybe we shouldn't.

The Institute

Well that's the end of Axyloid's serial The Institute. I know a lot of you enjoyed the story because you wrote and told me. I don't know if Axyloid will be writing any more because I think he's in Alabama State Penitentary and I understand you need a pencil to stab someone who wants to make you his bitch rather than write SM fantasies. Enjoy the story and try not to play with yourself.

19 June 2009

Glorious Devon

Isn't life wonderful when you're on holiday? Tomorrow I'll be in Glorious Devon enjoying myself. Why go travelling around the world to foreign climes when most of the world comes to live in Britain anyway? Walking through the Socialist Republic of Greenwich, you'd be mistaken for thinking you were in downtown Mogadishu. Oh, those wacky left-wingers with their failed policy of multi-cultralism. Anyway, I shall be glutting on clotted cream teas and genteel living next week.

The nice thing about being in Devon is it's not very fashionable so you don't get self-important celebrities lecturing everyone not to eat meat or to send your life savings to a "charity" in Africa. I always rely on the wisdom of drug-addled fading rock stars and luvvie Act Ors when I need philosophical guidance. Also, the people in Devon know their place.

I'm taking a load of Euros with me too, in case Lord Mandelason overturns 2,000 years of history and scraps the pound without asking our permission.

Climate Change

Anyone remember those old wives' tales about the end of the world, the demise of polar bears and the need to tax us into penury if we don't throw our rubbish in the right bin? I haven't heard anything about that nonsense since the fraudsters in parliament have hogged the headlines with their thievery. As I'm on holiday next week, I've been fly-tipping and taking taxis everywhere in the hope it would increase the temperature a bit but it's still a little cool. I'm going to burn all our plastic waste in the backyard tonight, maybe that will help. Anyone else got any ideas about increasing my carbon footprint? I've always thought buying something intangible, like carbon emission certificates, is a bit like giving your bank details to all those Nigerian finance ministers who are trying to move money out of the country but apparently people still fall for it.

Anyway, if the weather turns nice and I've got too much carbon I can always sell it to some dopey couple living a green lifestyle; you know the type: Guardian readers in Islington, probably called Roz and Tony who put their re-cycled toilet waste on their veg.

Jackanory

More reading practice for you all, this time from Canada Bill, who promises me that he's not on the run from the law. He's written a story about the dangers of drinking in pubs but thankfully it has a happy ending; click here to read it.

You'll be happy to know that I've cleaned up all the blood from my session with David, author of Webb Encounters (read the story to understand).

The Glorious Twelfth

The usual miscreants turn up to be dealt with: tax-dodgers, drunken drivers, errant school-boys and that frightful boy from Mr Cruickshank's class. I tell you, if I were in charge, this country would be a lot safer once miscreants like this were properly punished. None of your namby-pamby "love the sinner" nonsense then.

Actually, with the perverted, topsy-turvy values of the Socialist Welfare State of New Labour, I honestly don't know why OAPs are still free and living amongst us. Surely they should stop paying their council tax and get sent to gaol. This is the most heinous crime in Britain today because it denies council leaders the right to keep receiving their undeserved, bloated salaries.

As prisoners, they'd get free television, free food, keep warm during the winter; they'd get their own carer, called a Prison Warder and great company. Don't worry about murderers, rapists, muslim terrorists and kiddy fiddlers, they've all been released on to the streets early by ex-Communist Jack-al Straw. They could stay there indefinitely too by getting a bit rowdy, like having a sing-song or playing bingo.

That's got to be better than living alone with only a fat African minimum-waged "care-worker", stealing their small change and spitting in their tea, for company.

I Like To Be In America

In Los Estados Unidos, being branded a socialist is an insult, over here, in Airstrip One, it's a requirement. I wonder what all our ex-Communist Party of Great Britain members who are now Labour Party MPs thought when they saw El Presidente Obama's face whitened with the word Socialism underneath. They probably had an orgasm, even dim-witted Harriet. Now there's a thought!

Does Socialism work? You only have to look at all the characters involved in the Baby P scandal from the vile murderers, the incompetent social workers suing for rightly being dismissed from their jobs and the NHS doctors who missed a snapped spine to see the sort of people who thrive under this socialist government. A perfect snapshot of Britain today. Anywhere else, they'd all be taken out the back and shot in the head.

Depressingly, it didn't take the Obamas long to ride the slavery train; Mrs O wailing her eyes out for slaves sold by Arab slavers. That's black slaves only of course, not the white ones taken from England and Ireland as it's not politically correct to mention them. Well she hasn't done badly out of slavery anyway, if great grand-pappy hadn't been taken to dem old cottonfields back home, she'd probably still be in Africa cultivating roses at two bob a dozen for Tesco. And they say the Americanos don't understand irony.

Wet Wet Wet

I don't want to gloat and say "I told you so" but "I told you so". How can anyone believe the Met Office's crazed ravings about global warming and barbecue summers when they can't get the forecast right for the next day, let alone 50 years down the line? Why doesn't the BBC question that instead of spouting government lies all the time.

Climate Change? I blame you all for this.

Must Do Better

So now it's claimed that dogs are smarter than two year old toddlers. I would have thought they were smarter than most 11-year olds as most of them can't read and write at that age. At least you can teach a dog to count.

I think it's time we brought back selective grammar schools - for everyone, not just the children of politicians. Everyone who can pass the 11-plus, that is. Now, before you write an illiterate email to say "you 'ad a comprehensibable headucation an' you isn't fick, ennit?" let me inform you that the good thing about grammar schools is they allow bright pupils to get on without being bullied by hyper-active council estate yobs and gipsy children. Also, Secondary Moderns teach the dullards how to speak and serve customers properly. Since the rise of comprehensive education, it's almost impossible to find a shop-girl who can serve me obediently or a plumber who knows his place and doesn't want to be my "mate".

So, teacher, drop the government funded propaganda about Climate Change and emoting that, boo-hoo, people in Africa aren't as well off as mummy and daddy and teach something useful, like logarithms.

Climate change? I couldn't imagine Mr Quelch teaching such nonsense.

Trouble At Mill

Okay, I want those boys who smashed the MP's car and slashed all four tyres to own up. Otherwise I'll cane the lot of you.

The Green, Green Grass

Back from Glorious Devon and the back-to-reality doldrums have kicked in!

The only problem with Devon is all the aging hippies living there. Almost everywhere you go you find dopey hippie women wearing ethnic skirts and a cannabis-induced inane grin. Oh, and you have to look vaguely interested when they give you a lecture that their wind-powered beach hut coffee-bar only uses free-trade ingredients, flown in from across the world, in their mung bean and tofu quiche. Something to do with keeping Asian children in work, I think, probably in Tower Hamlets, I forget, I wasn't listening.

Eco-warrior: that's a slang term for gullible nutcase.

I'm thinking of becoming a hippie-traveller myself as I enjoy being on holiday a lot. Anyway I've travelled to and from Devon so why not? Like all so-called "travellers" I'll be living in a house, stealing for a living and I'll be exempt from paying tax, a bit like an MP, I suppose, but not quite so corrupt.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to go to the anarchists' tea-party No More Borders to help the world's riff-raff cross the Channel and live a life of luxury in Britain. Luckily they all managed to get the same couple of days off from looking for work otherwise they'd lose their benefits. How odd that all these noble-minded young revolutionaries never seem to want to open the borders of Albania and live on the dole there.

Government Surveillance

This weasel, underhanded government has tried to trick me! When I came back home (from Devon, in case you didn't know) I read my emails and saw two identical emails, one purporting to be from a Mr Smith, the other from some foreigner with an unpronounceable surname. Naturally, I threatened to thrash the living daylights out of the foreign chap if ever I caught hold of him and offered a summary 60 strokes to Smith. Would you believe it but it turns out to be a government scam to see if I'm guilty of racial discrimination of all things! Apparently, it's only okay to discriminate against white, English people but as you know, I discriminate against everyone.

I know all this because some dim-witted woman called Harriet, who claimed to be in charge of everything, phoned up and told me. She said I was doing a great job favouring under-privileged ethnic minorities rather than white, middle-class men because she didn't like them and wanted to discriminate against them. I don't think she quite understood how I earnt a living but evidently it's usual for government officials not to understand what "earning a living" means.

Teach Them Nothing But The Facts, Mr Gradgrind

If you've ever worried that your off-spring are thick and stupid then take heart with the imbeciles who couldn't pass a history examination because they didn't understand the word despot. Good news though, children, you've failed history but you've all managed to pass the dope test so put that on your CV for prospective employers to read.

I don't know who deserves the cane more, the dullard pupils or their equally dull, New Labour inspired left-wing teachers. If only these liberal teachers were more a bit more liberal with the slipper, tawse and cane then the children might not be as daft as they look.

Sweet Home Alabama

Axyloid has managed to smuggle out another story from his cell in the Alabama State Pen; apparently he keeps a small pencil hidden about his body. If you enjoy this new story, Axyloid wonders if you could send him a small luxury such as toilet paper or maybe a cake with a file in the middle wouldn't go amiss. Axyloid has managed to smuggle out another story from his cell in the Alabama State Pen; apparently he keeps a small pencil hidden about his body. If you enjoy this new story, Axyloid wonders if you could send him a small luxury such as toilet paper or maybe a cake with a file in the middle wouldn't go amiss.

The Day War Broke Out (3 September, for those who don't know)

Andimo a Milano! With extra anchovies on mine, Giovanni! Ahh, pizza! Food of the stupid and unemployed. Milano is a pizza topping, isn't it? I'm going to Milan next month so please write and let me know if you're jealous.

I've already bought a burkhini to wear on the beach as I always like to keep up with fashion and it is Ramadan or Ramadan-a-ding-dong as lovable old Nick laughingly calls it. I'm told by the owner of Allah Akbar Fashions the burkhini drives all the men wild with lust. Slave Ian has got himself a mankini to show of his figure; if that doesn't make him irresistible to Italian women, nothing will.

My only concern is getting through airport stupidity as they only ever search white middle-class people when looking for terrorist bombers. Maybe slave Ian and I should wear a burkha each to get through the turnstiles as anyone looking like a jihadi is never stopped. Anything's better than having to walk around in bare feet whilst having your private property examined for the amusement of others.

Anyway, I'm away 7 - 14 September. Ciao.

I Don't Believe It

I always knew our socialist government were traitors and now that nincompoop of a Foreign Secretary proudly admits he supports terrorism. Some South African communist agitator turns up on his doorstep and the imbecile invites him in! Any normal person would have set the dogs on the wretch and called the police to push him down a flight of steps and have him deported.

And for what other reason, apart from treachery, did that deceitful duo, Blair and Brown, offer to pay the European Reich £2 bn? Just as well we won the war otherwise we'd now be just an outlying colony in a German-dominated Europe. I hope this doesn't mean we all have to pay £2 bn each otherwise I'm going to have to put the price up a bit.

Now we have to pay this fee to Europe because of our Quisling government, what great luck Britain has agreed to drill for oil in Libya after giving the Arabs one of their terrorists back. We should be able to pay that debt off in a couple of months by putting the price of petrol up when the oil starts flowing. Let's hope the terrorist doesn't start to make the obligatory recovery from near death otherwise there are going to be a lot of red faces when he signs a book deal and tells all.

I can't believe anyone's daft enough to think it wasn't a stitch-up even though the good Lord Mandelson said it was offensive to think otherwise. Surely an ex-Communist Party member wouldn't lie, would he? Apart from on his mortgage application, of course. I should imagine everyone thinks it was offensive too, Milord.

So, who would you rather believe? Mandelson, or the evidence of your own eyes?

Black Or White Minstrel?

That vile creature Michael Jackson was murdered after all! Obviously by a music lover.

The Lights Are Going Out All Over Europe

Not because we're going to fight World War One again but because our unelected Masters have decided, in Luxemburg of all places, we must not use proper light-bulbs. Luxemburg? A country the size of Norwich. How did Britain get into a position where we kow-tow to a country famous only for being a radio station? Luckily I've found a supplier of light-bulbs who is going to defy the ban and sell them so I can keep all my candles for pouring wax over Quilp's pubic hair. I can't wait for the court cases whereby hapless shop-keepers are given longer jail sentences than rapists.

Arrivederci

30 September 2009

Next Stop, UK

Not, I hasten to add, as some Afghan refugee in the back of a lorry but via Heathrow.

"What is the purpose of your visit to the UK?"

"To live off tax-payer funded benefits, bring down western culture and turn the country into an Islamic republic," I answered.

"Okay, but make sure you vote Labour in the coming election" said the customs man on my return. Long sigh. It's good to know they haven't lost their sense of humour.

Ah, Italy! Is there a more perfect place in the world? Apart from Britain? What I can't understand though is all the women were perfectly styled; I didn't see one burkha while I was in Milan. Surely all European governments are appeasing the wildest, most outlandish demands made by their immigrant minorities, aren't they? Just like our government? Anyway, a burkha might be handy to get through UK customs unhindered but its like a sore thumb on the streets of Milan; slave Ian was glad to take his off.

What could be more enjoyable than lazing around Italian cafes and restaurants enjoying Italian food and drink. Or food and drink as the Italians call it. My holiday was only spoilt by the inevitable African beggars demanding money to tie a strand of cotton around my wrist. They're a bit like the charity muggers you find on the High Street here but without the contempt you receive when you refuse to donate. I sent one scuttling off with a flea in his ear after I'd lectured him for 10 minutes why I wouldn't give him a few centimes "for Africa", as he kept repeating.

Why travel thousands of miles to beg on the streets of Milan when they could have stayed home and been beggars in their own country?

Two Little Boys

By coincidence both called William and both deserve a good caning. Maybe it was the jet-lag or maybe because I'm naturally lazy but I allowed William Brown to sweet-talk his way out of his just desserts. I might be going soft but how could I beat sweet William when his bottom looked like this? Then another William who received the cane - from himself! Also mentioned in dispatches are Stephen, who travelled all the way from South Efreka to visit me (so remember that when you think coming from central London is a long way) and Quilp, who is going to have his gall bladder removed. I've suggested that we get a mouth-gag made out of the gall bladder for him to wear during his bondage sessions.

Drugs

Let me reiterate my drugs policy: you have the whole world to take drugs in, you don't need to come here to take drugs. So if you're the son of left-wing MP Mz Hewitt or Jack-al Straw's son, William, I'm afraid you can't have an appointment unless you can prove you're not selling or taking drugs. Lucky for you two young men the Party downgraded drug-taking.

A Friend Of Dorothy's

What am I to do with my maid Dorothy? It turns out she's an illegal immigrant and she's been employed by me for the past ten years. Does anyone know the name of a good attorney because I don't want to get a 5000 Euro fine? She can barely construct a grammatical sentence in English, eats burgers until they come out of her nose and calls herself "Dorrerfee". These are all attributes of the English lower orders so how was I supposed to know she's a foreigner? Don't say I should have looked at her passport because you can buy one of those on any London high street nowadays.

I suppose I'll have to keep her locked up and hidden away in the loft like some illegitimate child your aunt would have had in the 1950s. I'm going to have to charge her a lot more than the minimum wage in future.

All Souls Day (2 November 2009)

Or dear old Nick's birthday as he keeps reminding me. I've offered to give him six of the best even though he didn't want them; but that's me, generous to a fault. He wanted a jumper. Luckily, Axyloid has sent me another story so Nick has something to read.

Global Warming Madness

At last our treacherous government has started to deal with badly-behaved children. These global warming advertisements claiming all cuddly animals are going to drown in rising sea levels are a real hoot. As dear old Oscar said, "You'd have to have a heart of stone not to laugh". And how clever to rely on television to scare children as they never listen to adults anyway. All you have to do now is tell your idiot spawn that unless they behave themselves, you'll turn on all the lights and all the polar bears will drown and it'll all be their fault.

Naturally this is all nonsense but children believe anything and everything you tell them: the tooth fairy, Father Christmas, this man is your father. Telling children animals drown helps explain where the Christmas kittens and puppies go once they've grown bored with them. Of course, the cane is still the best way to deal with unruly teenagers so use a good whippy rattan on their bare bottoms.

A Faraway Country Of Which We Know Little

How apt that The Czech Republic should consign Britain to German enslavement as we did to Czechoslovakia in 1938. President Blair! I bet the European Market doesn't sound so attractive when you say those words together. I wonder how that title sits with all the ex-Communist Party and ex-Socialist Workers Party members now in charge of New Labour. Not very "Servant of The People", is it? Next we'll have the socialists' wet-dream of "World Government".

What I can't understand though is how will President Blair and his grasping slattern of a wife be able to survive on only 30 pieces of silver.

Ms Crystale

Some of you will remember Ms Crystale, who worked in Camden Town, and some of you will have had sessions with both of us. Crystale worked from around the mid-90s to the middle of the noughties, when she decided to do other things. Sadly, I've just heard from her husband that Crystale passed away on 23 August, 2008. Nick, slave Ian and I have fond memories of Ms Crystale.

Armistice Day

Naturally you all stood to attention at 11.00 this morning to show your respect for the remembrance service, didn't you? Report to me if you did not. Illness or imprisonment are not excuses.

How can a country that did all that and turn out a parade of such solemnity produce a student who can drunkenly urinate on a war memorial? The answer, of course, is 40 years of socialism. I blame you all for this.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

Deck Quilp's balls with boughs of holly. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la. No, not some drug-crazed rambling but with these thoughts, my mind turns to that most abominable celebration of all to the smug right-on lefties: Christmas. And more importantly, Christmas presents. For it wouldn't be Christmas without a couple of dozen crisply wrapped presents to open on Christmas morn.

I expect all the eco-friendly green zealots will be celebrating with presents of home-made candles or lingerie made from hemp before tucking into a hearty vegan feast of Aduki beans and tofu. Serves them right for being so sanctimonious and gullible. I, on the other hand, will be feasting on capon, pork, rib of beef and salmon with all the trimmings flown in from across the world. Mmmmm. Delicious! My home will be warmed and cheery, especially now Britain is investing in nuclear power; that's renewable energy so that should keep the tree-huggers happy. It's a good thing that people are encouraged to switch off electrical appliances because then I can use more myself. It sort of balances itself out.

Anyway all the greens will be flying across the world to meet in Copenhagen to waffle about the impact of climate change. I hope it doesn't snow; they'll make themselves look right fools if the weather's bad.

However, laughing at people who are stupid doesn't solve the problem of what to buy for family and friends. If we've only got 50 days to save the world, I'd better buy ethically. I've looked on the ethical gifts website but most of it looks like the rubbish they get kids to make on Blue Peter.

I had thought about adopting an endangered species but I'm not spending £3 a month on an animal only for some native to come along and eat it. Mmm. For only £35 I can buy a composting class for some Africans. That's right, a class to teach people how to make a compost heap. That might be fine for the Guardian readers of Islington, who probably buy their drugs from Africans, but I don't know any so that's no good for me.

Here's a good wheeze for cheap Christmas gifts, some Government "expert" advisor thinks that everyone should rent their clothing to save the polar bears. I suspect he won't be renting another man's bib and tucker himself but it's a good idea nonetheless. Okay, it goes like this. I'll find all my old underwear and wrap it up as Christmas presents for everyone to rent for a small fee. Everyone's a winner. I doubt if I'll wash them first because it's not very green to wash your underwear apparently; that's why they all look as though they live in a hedgerow. It doesn't matter if it's really Quilp's underwear either as slave Gareth will be happy to rent my clothing to wear around the house. Is there a happy ending? You bet.

Primary Education

If ever you needed proof that education standards have dropped under our Communist government, look no further than the illiterate scrawl that passes for handwriting from that dunderhead, Brown. If anyone handed in work like that to me they'd get 36 strokes across the bare; no matter what position they held in life. Stand in the corner, you dunce! In future, you will write to me in copperplate otherwise expect six of the best.

7 December 2009

Pay Attention!

Miss Spiteful is always right; if you want to know why, it's because I say so. That's why I find it amusing to read that some do-good socialists are now saying that a good thrashed bottom is just what naughty children need to behave. That's right, there's no such disease as ADHD, they're just naughty children and need firm discipline. Who'd have thought it? Well, teachers in the 1950s knew it for a fact.

However, this has a serious side too. For instance, if school-girls aren't going to witness miscreant school-boys getting the cane and being humiliated in the classroom, how are they going to grow up and become the local Dominatrix? There's so much to learn about giving the cane, so many subtleties, that I can see a future whereby neither Domme nor supplicant knows how to give or take a good caning.

How many of you remember being hauled out in front of the class by the ear to receive a dressing-down before being caned? And you just know all the girls were enjoying every minute of your embarrassment, don't you? Nowadays it's the teacher who's powerless and gets threatened, told off and judged a failure. Often by the local police and judiciary before they ruin his career.

You'll miss us when we're gone.

An Inconvenient Truth Will Out

Like all those inconvenient emails showing how government scientists are manupulating their data to make sure they obtain funding for their luxury life-styles. Isn't that benefit fraud? Thankfully a lot of people are now beginning to realise they've been duped and are starting to ridicule these half-wits and fraudsters. The dolt who claims climate change is his religion is going to look even stupider from now on.

Well I might not be an expert on this new religion "climate change" like Mr Simpleton but I can recognise a cynical government con to raise tax when I see it. This is a far better wheeze than the ozone layer (remember that?) because they can create an entire industry around it, as they have.

I'll believe all this drivel when all those smug green warriors demanding we pay carbon taxes start living like 10th century hermits, in caves without any electricity and comforts of modern living. If climate change really meant anything then the thousands of sanctimonious politicians would start bicycling to Copenhagen rather than fly first class but obviously they don't believe any of this nonsense because they certainly don't want anything to affect their life-style; that's why they demand the likes of you to turn your lights off.

And is it just me or does everyone else want to slap that little brat across the face in the Mastercard advertisement who keeps pestering his father to save the world? A packet of condoms and a peaceful life. Priceless.

Harry Brown

This is a new film just out about a pensioner living on a council estate in London seeking revenge on a gang of drug-dealers, it might be Gordon's elder brother. I'm looking forward to seeing it but it's obviously a work of fiction because how could an OAP afford to buy a gun on his old-age pittance? They have to decide whether to buy food or put the fire on.

And of course, most OAPs are harrassed by the local council about putting the correct refuse in the correct colour-coded bin or being lectured by a diversity champion on how lucky they are to live in such a diverse and multi-cultured community even though they didn't vote for one or fight two world wars for one. Heaven help them if they fall behind with their council tax payments because how would the council be able to afford to keep homeless refugees in a million-pound lifestyle if all the OAPs didn't pay their fair share of tax?

Anyway, the old bill would only need a whiff of this to flood the council estate with armed police to protect the drug-dealers and muggers going about their business. The OAP can expect his front door kicked in and to be hauled before the courts to be dealt with severely before you could say "Jack Straw, Minister for Justice" without laughing. Maybe they'll put the drug-dealers on witness protection so they can continue their life-style choice of crime in safety.

22 December 2009

Happy Christmas

This is to wish you all a happy Christmas. I know I shouldn't do it and it offends some of you because you might be unemployed, according to some Marxist C of E bishop, but if you can't wish someone happy Christmas at this time of year, when can you do it?

So let me see if I've got this right, your grace, a man has lost his job, has no money to enjoy Christmas or to buy his dearest a little gift and you don't want to offer him a little Christmas spirit. Very Christian. As you know, I always prefer to give rather than receive so naturally, I'll give him a lecture on why he's a failure and the need to have paid attention at school so he would have had a better job but at least I'll still offer him a glass of sherry and a mince pie. Being judgemental whilst doling out charity: what greater pleasure can you have at Christmas?

Something Rotten In The State Of Denmark

Cheap shot, I know. Anyway, there's lots of snow everywhere in London despite all the hot air generated in Copenhagen. Just as well it didn't snow there too otherwise they would have looked foolish. "No, no effendi, it's not the end of the world, it's called snow. It's falling because the earth is getting warmer". Are they absolutely certain this is the hottest year on record? I can't believe that. Thank heavens Gordon was offering £6 billion of tax-payers money as a bribe to African Presidents because he'd never be able to afford to pay that out of his own pocket even by fiddling his expenses.

I'll start believing all this nonsense when Gordon Brown takes the bus.

Are There No Prisons? Are There No Workhouses?

Obviously not because fiddling MPs are still walking the streets. Now someone has come up with the idea of killing a burglar. I'd vote for that. This is a great idea that if you get burgled you can kill the intruder. I'd love to know who burgled me but even though the police have worked tirelessly to discover who this lovable rogue was, they just don't seem to catch a break on the case. Once I find out who he is, I'll send Quilp around to sit on his face.

Homework

Now I don't want you all to enjoy yourself too much over the holidays just because it's Christmas. Just remember what this festival is all about: saving up enough money to buy me a Christmas present. So I want you all to complete your homework assignments over the Christmas holidays and don't forget to be on time for the start of Hilary term.

Class Dismissed.


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