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January

Thank God that's all over! No, not the global warming scam; no, Christmas is over. A fortnight or more of non-stop gluttony, which is what Christmas is all about. And we had snow, lots of lovely snow. It's always amusing to watch people fall on their bottoms in the snow and ice.

But why is there snow and ice on the streets? It's not too much to demand the unemployed be given a shovel each to clear the roads, is it? Obviously by our authorities it is as they appear completely surprised that snow should fall in winter.

And That, My Lord, Is How We Know the Earth To Be Banana-Shaped

The other good thing about snow is it brings a lovely muffled silence over the country, mostly from the global warming charlatans who try and insist the coldest winter for 30 years is proof the earth is warming up but can't quite keep a straight face; especially when it's hit by a snowball. I only hope the gullible greens are keeping warm in their clothing plaited from oakum and their wind turbines are providing enough electricity to cook some home-grown vegan mush because they wouldn't be using carbon positive electricity after all the sermons about precious resources. That electricity is only for us deniers and flat-earthers. Well, if I'm to be honest, I hope they're shivering in their own misery and faeces. I understand they make fecal matter into bricks to put on the fire. Sweet!

However, I have the perfect answer to warm up a liberal whitey's backside and give myself some post Christmas feasting exercise too.

Christmas Cards

No Christmas card from slave Gareth this year so I suspect he's probably lain dead for the past month or so from an unnatural death encased in some bizarre rubber bondage suit or is awaiting trial in some foreign hell-hole called a prison. Hopefully not in Africa otherwise they've probably eaten him. No doubt you all enjoyed my Christmas cards, although my first choice of a man having his penis nailed to a cross and his pubic hair set alight will have to wait until more enlightened times.

For those of you who were not lucky enough to have received a book token for Christmas, take heart: Axyloid has written another story and I'll put it on my website soon. So you'll be able to practice your reading before too long.

A Gentler Age

A little gem of a programme appears on BBC2. Difficult to believe considering the BBC's propensity to televise socialist propaganda or foul-mouthed filth pretending to be "edgy" comedy, but anyway, Great British Train Journeys presented by an unemployable ex-politician is a lovely reminder of how most of Britain used to be before we were overwhelmed with rank-smelling junk food outlets, politically-correct multi-cultural diversity, mad mullahs screaming for our death, swaggering untouchable criminals, uncontrolled immigration and all the rottenness of socialist government.

I also enjoy that everyone interviewed is able to speak English in a clear and precise manner, even in a dialect, as we all used to without this ridulous T-glottal stop or th-fronting (bruvver instead of brother) grunting that passes for speech in Britain today. So thankfully, there are no illiterate chavs, squealing imbeciles who scream at anything "coz they's on er telly" or people crying their eyes out because they "reeeeaaallllllyyyyy wan' this coz it means the world to me, boohoo". And no-one bloody dancing either.

Corsetry

As I get older, I begin to feel the need for some corsetry, or shapewear as it's now called, so I might begin to do sessions wearing a corselet. I've already bought a Playtex girdle and corselet and I especially like the La Magia website and I'll order slave Ian to buy something from it for my birthday.

19 February 2010

What on earth is our incompetent government getting hot under the collar over foreign nationals using false British passports to commit a crime in Dubai? It happens all the time in Britain. Anyway, it's not as if the Middle East doesn't have enough terrorists, so who cares if there's one less? Not me.

Bottom Of The Class

Someone's got to be having a laugh, surely? Professional hoyden Harriet Harman voted "rear of the year"? Never. Are you sure they're looking at the right end? Maybe she's been voted "Arse Of The Year" because there's a subtle difference you know.

Anyway, what is it with this dim-witted woman that she wants equality for everyone? I don't want to be equal with some chit of girl working as a shop-assistant. Or equal with a feckless, burger-eating, single "mum" from a council estate? Whatever next? I'd much prefer to stay at home and have my toenails painted a pretty colour by an adoring slave than trudge off to the benefits office.

Just as well Mrs Dromey, nee Harman, came from a very rich family because I can't see someone as dull as her getting to the top unless she slept with someone in charge.

So what happens if I get a African and a muslim both wanting an appointment at the same time? I'll tell them I'm busy, to contact someone else and not to dare telephone me again. That's what I call positive discrimination!

Penitence

Axyloid has written another story for your pleasure, as he likes to give pleasure. This story is called Penitence. Axyloid has also challenged me to a bondage duel. He says he'll escape. We shall see.

It'll All End In Tears

Whatever happened to the British stiff upper lip? Everyone is bursting into tears at the drop of a hat nowadays. It's hiliarious to see grown men and women bawling because they really, really want to be a pop star and now they have to go back to stacking shelves in Tesco boo-hoo. I've caned thousands of people over the years and not one of them has cried but tell someone they can't sing and you'd think their children have just been killed by over worked social workers.

So, not only have these "singers" shown themselves up as deluded, talentless cretins, their teachers always knew them to be, but then they then go on to humiliate themselves further by pleading to make a fool of themselves again - all for the pleasure of the viewing public.

I especially love to see politicians pretending they're human by blubbering like ninnies. As if they've got anything to cry over. Naturally, it's all about them, not about anyone else. For instance, "I didn't do anything that's not in the rules Boo-hoo!" or even, "I'm s-s-sorry, but I've been through sooooo much during the Iraqi war..............inquiry". And yet not a single tear for any of the soldiers who have been killed. There's a word for scoundrels like that - despicable!

Black Bottoms

Well slap my ass and call me Mary! A cheeky chappie has been caught spanking women students in return for a bogus education certificate. Whatever next? I knew the education, education, education system had gone to pot since 1997 but I didn't realise it was that easy to get into Oxbridge. Naturally two African girls volunteered to sit their A levels across his lap. That probably explains a lot about education today.

I can offer you the same thing. Take a good hard caning and for an extra £20 I can print you off a "diploma" just like you'd get from the Inglish colleges foreign "students" pretend to be studying at before disappearing into the Black Market.

And That, My Lord, Is How We Know the Earth To Be Banana-Shaped 2

In case you didn't know, this is a line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail where a "scientist" tries to explain to King Arthur how the earth is, in fact, really, etc. I suppose you already know where this is going....

Doesn't anyone smell a rat that the leading climate change "expert" is an Indian railway engineer?

Wait a minute! He's not that Mahareshi fakir who convinced The Beatles he could fly, is he? Saying, "I told you so" feels soooooo good.

25 February 2010

Since starting to write this "blog", as young people call it, I've fallen over and fractured my arm! That's right, Miss Spiteful is a fallen woman. And no, I was not drunk at the time! So all of you who think this is funny and it serves me right, you know who you are and I know who you are, too.

However, this gave me a great opportunity to view the great unwashed underclass of egalitarian Great Britain at the local hospital. Who said vaudeville's dead? This is far better entertainment than watching the television and you don't have to listen to the BBC's government propaganda and be made to pay £142 for the privilege of having your intelligence insulted. Here, you can insult the intelligence of the people sat next to you for free.

Now I know you're all going to say, "Miss Spiteful, you must not make fun of poor unfortunates and judge them and pull faces at them because they are scum". Well tough! If you can't laugh at a fat, drunken woman fighting with the police in the local A&E department, what can you laugh at in New Labour's septic isle?

I also met a delightful Somalian woman who helped dispel any fears I might have held that they were only here to live in a six bedroom mansion at the tax-payer's expense by claiming she lived in a council house. Although I'm glad to see there are generous benefits for the unemployable too, since all had top-of-the-range mobiles and X-boxes to keep their burger-addled minds occupied.

"But Miss Spiteful, you are a better person than that", you cry. Yes, dull and simple lad, I am a better person than that.

Now, where was I?

3 March 2010

More News From a Fallen Woman

Although I'm not sure I like being described as "damaged goods", as slave Ian laughingly called me with my fractured arm. I feel as though I'm a burkha'ed chattel about to be handed over to some grinning, bearded jihadi with the obligatory bad breath and flatulence from eating too much al-halal food. Where is the good vicar of Stiffkey when you need him to save fallen women?

I'm not sure I'll let him take me to Paris later this year - slave Ian not the smelly jihadi, even if he does write another chapter of The Dominafuhrer. Anyone remember that?

Oui! I'm going to Paris in September just to make sure it's as lovely as it was last time I was taken there. I hope so. At least the French treat their minorities properly: with disdain! So we can learn a lot from them.

Our lily-livered authorities have absolutely no idea how to treat these people; they're all falling over themselves to apologise in case they were tortured for information during Ramadan. I, on the other hand know exactly how to gain a confession from a miscreant.

Whilst convalescing, schoolboy David telephoned me to tell me he hadn't completed his homework assignment. I told him he'd been seen running with a can of oil in his hand and I had slipped over. He confessed immediately, after being told it would go in his favour, and presented himself for a beating: only 126 strokes. I didn't even have to dunk David's head into a bowl of water. So why can't MI6 operate as efficiently as that?

Me Doctor

You know, the more I have to do with the medical profession the more I feel thankful that Mrs Harriet Dromey's (nee Harman) mad obsession with equality hasn't come into effect. I don't know about the likes of you but I'd much prefer to have a doctor who was top of the class rather some dope who gained his doctorate because he's a gay, black, disabled, Irish muslim and who likes to wear his wife's burkha on Saturday evenings and whose immigrant, gypsy relatives live off benefits.

You need the best in these positions not someone who can give Harriet Harman an orgasm.

Anyway, if they need a place to dump the idiot spawn of the upper classes there's always a place for them on the bench as a circuit judge. The judiciary's full of people who have the IQ of an idiot. At least Cherry Blair can proudly boast she wasn't made a judge because of her looks.

Miss England

All those self-righteous, right-on liberal whiteys who castigated Lynndie England for simply running a dungeon in Baghdad Prison must have choked on their free-trade muesli when they read in The Guardian that disgraced former Prime Minister Blair thought of resigning when he saw photos of Mistress Lynndie abusing Iraqi prisoners. What's the point of being in charge of prisoners if you can't abuse them? That's part of the fun.

So, 179 dead British soldiers and Blair feels he should quit over a PR disaster.

I still don't understand why they all complained about Lynndie England; she was obviously doing a good job by the look of it.

We're Only In It For The Money

When Saint Bob Geldorf screamed obscenely on television "Send Us The F* Money", I thought it was because he was skint as his pop career was going down the pan. Anyway, Live Aid saved him from life on the dole as a one-hit wonder has-been and gave him a new career as a sanctimonious, foul-mouthed bore, so beloved by the BBC. Weren't you meant to be collecting alms for the Ethiopians, Bob? Maybe you mis-heard them when they told you what they wanted the money for. I bet all the guilt-ridden liberals feel much better now they know for certain their donations were spent on guns for the rebels.

Maybe we could send the Ethiopians Harriet to lecture them on human rights.

10 April 2010

Elf n Safety

Following my head first dive into a wall, I've had a lot of telephone calls and messages from old friends and visitors wishing me well, which means a lot. And not one saying, "Serves you right you nasty, wicked woman for all the horrid things you have done to me over the years. I am still scarred both mentally and physically." Although he's probably still being held in a secure unit for his own good and not allowed any sharp implements to write with. Anyway, after consulting elf 'n' safety, I now have to fill in a risk assessment form for every session and send this in to them 21 days before the appointment. I've already had a visit from an elf 'n' safety advisor and he thought everything looked fine. Thankfully he didn't see the blood spatter on the ceiling.

Luckily it was my left arm, not my caning arm, that I fractured so I only need it for using my fork. Well, I use my left for something else too but hapless slave Blake is usually available to deal with that.

Now, sit up straight and try and look intelligent.

And They're Off!

No! Not my knickers! Report to me at 4.00 that frightful boy at the back! All our policitians are off trying to convince us of their honesty, probity and fitness for high office. This should be really good. I'm going to vote for the party who promises to bring back corporal punishment and discipline in schools or whoever offers me the most money.

I'll vote for the discipline party because teachers are always belly-aching they've no authority these days even though they're only teaching for 2 months of the year. Maybe they should start a campaign against pupils bullying teachers in schools - they could call it STOPP! School Teachers Opposed to Physical Punishment. Oh no, they tried that in the 1980s when they threw all their authority away, didn't they? Never mind teacher, you can always take your grievance to a Pupil Panel.

These panels are a great government wheeze to ensure teachers tow the party line by getting pupils to humiliate them by making them perform all manner of asinine tricks in front of the "kidz" to pretend they're cool. Bet you wish you had the cane to hand now, Sir, innit? These panels have the power to employ teachers so they only pick the pretty ones. I'm sure Harriet will be happy with this as apparently she's quite a dullard, so she'd have to rely on her looks to get a job as a teacher.

But don't knock it; this is a brilliant idea! We should elect our government through a Pupil Panel. Kidz believe they know everything anyway so we can't go wrong, can we?

"Mr Brown, we want you to black up and sing Camptown Races in the middle of Trafalgar Square. Miss Harman, you must wear more make up and show us your lovely legs in a shorter skirt. Mandy, you too. The Dedward Brothers - you're both stupid enough already - You're Hired!" The good thing is they'd all be more than willing to perform like circus chimps to get elected so we can make them all do anything we say.

Maybe we could get the leaders to perform stand up comedy. I'd pay good money to watch Gordon forced to do a comedy routine; probably slave Ian's money. Gordon's what they call an alternative comedian - he's not funny and he hasn't made anyone laugh in years.

If it was televised on the BBC they could turn it into a 13-week series and we could all get a telephone vote; it could pay off the national debt by the end of the series.

Are we still allowed to sing Camptown Races?

Harry Brown

Or 'Arry Brahn as our disgraced former PM Blair might call it with his fake working class cockney accent, is an enjoyable film. Which is ironic considering Mr Sincerity brought about the conditions that the film Harry Brown is based upon. Everyone I know who saw it on the cinema told me it was a very depressing, morose film but I found it so uplifting with a happy ending. If you haven't seen it, all the drug-dealing low-lifes get killed and people can walk around their council estate late at night in safety at the end. Just like in real life - only in real life it's OAPs who get murdered and drug-dealers walk around safely at night because the police are too busy persecuting luckless shop-keepers and home-owners.

I've said it often enough, OAPs should turn to a life of crime so they can enjoy a cossetted and contented life doing porridge instead of trying to live on the stuff.

I hope I didn't spoil the ending of the film for you if you haven't seen it.

22 April 2010

The Worst Kraftwerk Gig Ever ?

I'm so glad I missed the Three Stooges interview on television the other night as someone described it as the worst Kraftwerk gig ever, which is pretty funny (and rather profound) if you understand it. I can't believe it was their worst gig ever though and I don't know what that zany band of electronic techno-krauts did to be compared to the Marx Brothers.

I know all three parties are Euro-socialists at heart and will sell us to the European Union of Soviet Socialist Republics the minute they think we'll accept it but, surprisingly, I'm thinking of voting for the laughingly titled Labour Party; as if they've ever done a day's labour. And no, not because Cherry Blair appeared in the paper flashing her cleavage at small children, persuasive and tasteful though that was.

My first thought was to vote for UKIP with a "Sod The Lot" message, which is fine with me as MPs have been buggering us for the past 13 years so now it's payback time. I just hope they don't make it obligatory for everyone to sodomise the local MP as I suspect some of them will begin to enjoy it.

But why, you ask? Who would vote Labour except an unemployable single mum with a brood of kidz on benefits living in a 6-bedroom mansion provided they can bovvered to go down to the polling station from the pub? Well I might vote Labour because they've instigated a lot of get rich quick schemes, presumably so they can tax us even more once we're rich and I want to take part in getting rich quick.

There's so many to choose from it's difficult to know which one to apply for. I could join the army and pretend I can't look after lovable old Nick and sue them for a million. They've got plenty as the MOD doesn't spend much on equipment or helicopters for the troops. If ever I wished I was black it would be now as you can always add on a couple of grand for ticking that box. It worked for Sexy T, although looking at her alluring photograph wearing a grubby, knitted see-through top and grossly overweight, I can't believe she found someone to pro-create with even if she was shafting the taxpayer.

Alternatively, I can grass up a benefits fraudster and get £500. I've already informed on the swindlers at Westminister but I haven't had any money back for that yet. I've given the address of travellers living on the local council gipsy encampment so I'm looking forward to the money rolling in once the taxman takes them to task.

However, that was before a labour supporter turned up to be dominated, which is quite an easy session as they're used to someone doing their thinking for them and doing what they're told. I certainly gave him a piece of my mind once he admitted he was a brain dead socialist. I sang that appalling dirge The Red Flag, the funny version, as a humiliation and, yes, he did kiss it. Keep it flying here? They'll have to extract it from his body first.

So my vote is still there for the highest bidder to buy.

Lunch

Talking about living off the fat of the land at taxpayers' expense, slave Ian and S'manfa are taking me to lunch tomorrow. As both of them are high-ranking civil servants, I expect it will all be paid for on expenses as it usually is. Now, let me see, that bloke in charge of the Equality and Human Rights Racket ordered a bottle of wine for £94, and as we're all equal, according to him, I shall be ordering the same. I could get used to living like an MP.

6 May 2010

The Good Old Days

"Any hobbies?" asked the salesman. "I enjoy tying people up in bondage", I reply.

"Hahahahahahaha! I'll put you down as enjoying television".

That encounter happened when I bought a mobile phone and I thought I'd have some fun with the condescending salesman. What is it about telling people a bizarre truth that makes them look at you in disbelief?

Another bondage session with John Plimsoll although no photographs this time; unfortunately when I thought he was in a euphoric orgasm, he was actually screaming from cramp. Whoops!

So what turned me on to bondage? I've always been excited by bondage ever since I saw a drawing of a man tied up on a barrel in a children's annual. Children's annuals were always a great source of stories for bondage and CP and are probably responsible for everyone over the age of 30 being involved in BDSM. Where else would you find stories of school-girls being kidnapped and tied up and school-boys getting up to mischief and being throughly caned for their misbehaviour? Nowadays, things are much better under a socialist system and any story depicting a school-girl tied up would draw the attention of social workers, police and all manner of busy-body authority. But how on earth is a young man to grow up dreaming of dressing in a school-girl uniform and being overpowered and tied up by Miss Spiteful if he never gets to read this type of story?

These bondage stories always took the same theme. The head girl, usually called Susan, would stumble across a gang of ne-er-do-well foreigners (who were ALWAYS German spys) she would get captured and be tied up to a chair until they'd completed their mission to bring about the downfall of the British Empire. Susan would then be rescued by a couple of her classmates and the spys would be carted off to serve well-earned prison sentences. And jolly well done too, gels!

The odd thing is, the Germans were always comprised of a baron, in charge of everything, some mad black-haired Dominatrix style woman who smoked a lot and the muscle, often called Otto.

Now I know today's police and UK border guards are pretty dim-witted and tend to believe any old twaddle they're told by foreigners illegally entering the country but back in the days when the police were comprised of ex-servicemen and not uniformed social workers surely, SURELY, they would have spotted these three characters the minute they entered Britain and given them a good hiding in the "interview room" to make them confess. Obviously they didn't racially profile in those days either.

And canings! How are young men to become enamoured of being sent to the Head Mistress for six of the best without this type of literature or television programmes like Whacko or Bunter. Do you see how cruel left-wing liberals are when they ban CP? It's much kinder to put the cane across the miscreant's bottom than beat him almost to death with a dumb-bell. This is how William Brown turned up for his beating and I only hit him with a cane.

Are We There Yet?

How much longer is this election going on for? It's been going on for weeks now. Don't they ever stop?

And who should I vote for, I wonder? Socialist Alliance? Work hard and give all your money for the good and benefit of the Volksgemeinschaft. Mmmm, tempting but I'm not in a very give to the workshy and the rest of humanity place right now so thanks but no thanks.

What about the 3 main Euro-Quisling parties? I'm afraid I always tell them I vote BNP just to annoy them. They love it when I remind them of their pledge to defend to the death my right to say such a thing. They always guffaw when I tell them Britain's a democracy. When the BNP candidate turns up, I black up and wear a turban but he has to pay me extra for that.

That just leaves the Greens but I prefer greens with meat and gravy not covered in dirt and looking like they've been dragged across a muddy field. Don't they ever wash? Two of these grubby creatures accosted me the other day in a market and asked me if I liked animals. Of course I do, they're delicious and I often wear leather and fur and I'm all for fox-hunting although this didn't appear to be what they wanted to hear.

Burhka Ban

What is it with the French? No sooner has slave Ian booked and paid for a week's holiday for me in his Parisian hotel room when the French ban the burkha. What am I going to wear now? I'll probably have to get him to buy a new wardrobe of clothes for me as a burkha's really handy when you can't be bothered to wear anything special. Thankfully he's an overpaid civil servant so he'll be able to afford lots of clothes; hopefully he'll buy them in my size rather than his.

24 May 2010

Glorious Devon

Who on earth would want to go abroad for a holiday to some foreign place, with strange customs and people speaking English in a bizarre accent, when you can holiday in Devon instead? Certainly not me! I'll be glutting on cream teas and Devon sunshine await Miss Spiteful because I'm going on holiday on 12 June. Lovely. Thankfully, the weather's getting warmer due, no doubt, to global warming so everyone - please stop re-cycling until I'm back from holiday; that's if anyone still bothers re-cycling nowadays. I always dump my rubbish (used condoms, rubber gloves, sticky tissue paper, etc) in next door's bins anyway but I'll be fly-tipping until I get back home from holiday. If I've got a lot of rubbish then I bag it up and leave it on the doorstep of Oxfam or someone like that. That way, if someone sees you, you can pretend it's a charity donation and it makes you feel good about yourself too. That's what they mean by re-cycling, isn't it? Only an idiot would fly-tip on parkland anyway.

Mmmmmm Devon. Last time I was there, Michael Jackson died but you can't expect something like that to happen every year, can you?

Goodbye, Good Riddance

Well they've gone, at long last, after clinging on for dear life by their dirty, bitten fingernails like some aged Aunt you're hoping will benefit you in her will. Confined to the dustbin of history at last. I'm only surprised they didn't try a human sacrifice to stay in power. I hope somebody's checked on Harriet because she's been very quiet recently. Has anyone counted the silver? That ghastly Blair woman was very acquisitive and claimed to be a scouser too, you know what they're like, so she might have run off with the knifes and forks and left plastic ones for the Browns. Good riddance to them all and their infantile student revolutionary politics.

The best part of the entire process is watching these weasels loose their seats. Jackie Smiff, that silly girl who pretended she was Home Secretary was almost in tears. It's never very nice to see a woman cry - so push off and close the door behind you, dear.

Now we've got the spectacle of a leadership battle; always funny to see rats fighting each other. Harriet must have done the casting for the lead role because we have an overweight, black woman and four white men, two of which look certifiable lunatics. Good call, Harriet, if the black woman's got a limp you've managed to tick most of the boxes.

I've already written to the old woman who's now been put in charge of the police to demand action on the burglars who robbed me of my possessions 3 years ago. When these miscreants are dragged up in front of the beak by the scruff of the neck to face a stiff dressing down, they'll be laughing on the other side of their faces now the Tories are back in power.

Oh yes, it'll all be different now, won't it? Now the Tories are back in power; no need to worry about the Liberals because they'll do as they're told. Men will doff their caps in the street, children will be well-behaved, women won't get drunk on the weekend and make a spectacle of themselves, Europe will thank us for saving them from German domination, everyone will be well-educated and knowledgeable about England's history, the Human Rights Act will be repealed.

Just one little point, for the life of me this new crowd appear to be the same euro socialist party that just got kicked out.

Anyway, we'll see! In the meantime I'll be thrashing everyone as usual.

Football

I understand there's some football tournament in Africa shortly, which the Spanish are going to win I understand, so I was almost "delighted" when walking across Parliament Square recently to see an African shanty township in the middle of the square, peopled by some scruffy, long-haired feckless youths. Apparently they want peace in Afghanistan. I would have thought if they were serious about that they'd be better off joining the British Army and shooting some jihadis rather than camping in the middle of London bothering people and making a mess.

I wonder if the benefits office know they're wasting their dole money idling about the centre of London? I mean the feckless youths not the jihadis, idiot boy.

More Holidays

One of the nice things about working for myself is I can take holidays whenever I want and I take them when someone wants to take me. Slave Ian has begged me to go with him to Paris, as nobody else wanted to go, and like disgraced former PM Blair and his wife I'm never one to turn my nose up at a freebie. But what currency am I to take? I know we all laugh at the misfortunes of the continentals and I can't help feeling a little smug at the fate of the euro but do I take the Reichsmark, euro or Pound? France has already banned the burkha so that's spoilt my fun now I won't have any fun offering to pay for a coffee with a five pound note as they'll snatch it out of my hand, grateful to handle a proper currency.

9 June 2010

Holidays In The Sun

Well, it's nearly time for yet another holiday in rural Devon and I'm looking forward to lazing around on warm sunny beaches. Thank heavens I didn't decide to go to Scotland for sunny weather as they're expecting ski-ing in the mountains this year. The Scots must be re-cycling their whisky bottles like crazy to cause snow in summer or maybe the global warming charlatans got that bit wrong.

I'm only gone for a week so we should be back in London about the same time as the England football team. It's funny how we can defeat all these countries in battle but we can't win on the football pitch, probably because we don't bribe the officials enough I suppose.

Still, it is nice to see our lads doing what they're good at: invading foreign countries dressed in crusader tee-shirts, with their beer-bellies and tattoos on display, drinking vast amounts of beer and entertaining the colonials to a rousing chorus of the latest football chant. We'll be right at home in Africa, as we were for many years, and as we taught the natives English to civilise them, they'll all able to understand when our boys order something, like more beer. With all our ex-colonies, it'll be like a home match every game.

And I understand there's an extra piquancy to our game against USA with their El Presidente being rather anti-British. You want change, Mr President? Maybe your side could turn up in time for the kick-off; that would make a nice change.

Naturally, all of Britain will be cheering on the England team especially the Scots as they didn't manage to qualify again. Slave Ian told me the Welsh and Irish don't have a proper football team, so they'll both be happy to see England do well too.

Anyway, Devon here we come; hopefully to a cottage without a television set and the unintelligible, inane drivel spouted by football commentators. Or any mindless talent shows.

Imperial Britain Again

At last, an iota of sanity is coming back to Britain with the news that Britain must now officially use miles instead of something called kilometers. This is really going to mess up the BBC, I'm happy to say, because they hate anything to do with Britain and prefer to speak in metric. Does anyone know how long a kilometer is? I know a mile is 1,760 yards because I was taught that at school; I doubt schoolchildren are taught such useful information nowadays, probably too busy learning Eskimo and how to save the polar bears from western civilisation.

Now let's go back to feet and inches and stones, pounds and ounces for some more common sense. If fact, let's go back to the way this country was before all this socialist inspired PC nonsense took hold and tried to turn us into something we're not - Europeans.

Teachers would teach again instead of being "a mate" to the pupils. Children would learn how to speak and write in English again instead of some nadsat Jamaican patois or text argot and learn how to do mental arithmetic without a calculator or it'll be six of the best for those boys too dull-witted to use their brains. The police would have a "quiet word" with the local miscreants before the villains fall down a flight of steps. Scoundrel MPs would be taken to court and disgraced before being found guilty of fraud. Social Workers would mind their own damned business and prisoners would be punished for their crimes instead of being "indulged".

It really is quite simple to change all these things if the government had the will; they just have to change their thinking. The overpaid ninnies and gullible liberals in charge of HM Prisons are wringing their hands because prisoners are becoming muslim as they perceive muslims get better treatment. "Oh, what are we to do?" they wail. The answer's simple: treat all muslim prisoners so harshly that nobody wants to be one. That'll sort the men out from their bitches.

"Yes, shiekh Abu, you'll still be getting conjugal visits but the sex might not be how you expect it to be, after all, you are wearing what looks like a dress to the other inmates".

Dullards.

I Blame The Parents

I never quite understand people who want to act as "human shields" and then squeal when they get shot. Isn't that what they're there for? Judging by the middle-class names and photographs of the boat people involved with fighting the Israeli army and navy, they should have known better (none of them were from crime-ridden council estates or called Chelsey from what I've read). Surely, people who look well-educated and come from good homes should have realised, from recent history, that the jews might just have had enough of being hit with sticks and would be getting a bit fed up of it by now. Oh and don't go all Gandhi on me and start whining about injustice because if British soldiers were being attacked by foreigners wielding sticks, the protesters would all be offered asylum and benefits for life and the name and address of a human rights lawyer to sue the taxpayer. Cherry Booth would be counting the legal aid pounds before you can say "Come out with your hands in the air". That's injustice. At least the Israelites know how to treat stick-carrying peace loving maniacs.

Judging from the dreamy-eyed pictures of these sandal-wearing, middle-class jew-baiters, I suspect most of them should be locked up, either in an attic at the family home or in some mental institution for their own safety, as most of them have the intelligence of a doorknob and probably shouldn't be left unattended with anything sharp. What on earth were their parents thinking when they let them out of the house unsupervised, they must have known their idiot off-spring would get into trouble? As for the rest, I'm surprised MI6 didn't stop them leaving the country as they seem to be dangerous communist radicals to me. Don't they shoot these sort of people any more? Or at least arrest them on some trumped-up charge?

And now they've involved the Turkish navy I can just see some dull-witted Turkish naval rating setting off a couple of rockets in the mistaken belief he's just pressed the button for a coffee with milk.

Now class, before you're conscripted into the armed services to fight for Queen and Country, there are two vital lessons for you to learn here: pay attention in history lessons and if anyone hits you with a stick, make sure it's a professional doing it.

Miss Spiteful is available for both Bar Mitzvahs and Ramadan stag nights.

Meat Is Murder

Awwwwww, aren't these little micro-pigs cute? I fancy getting a couple of them myself. They'd fit snugly into the oven and if you fed them apples they'd be delicious. Cute and delicious - that's my sort of animal.

25 June 2010

Football Crazy

Back from a peaceful and relaxing holiday in lovely Devon but what the Hell is that vile noise coming from my television? I go away for a week and Satan takes up residence in my telly. Quilp, in his never-ending thirst for useless information, tells me it's some sort of South African trumpet; surely they blow it through the mouth and not the way he suggests? Well I think Lt. Chard VC had the answer to this mindlessly foul racket: "Front rank, fire! Rear rank, fire!" and so on.

So this, apparently, is South Affican World Cup entertainment; it's different and I'm sure slave Ian will be delighted to have a couple of fans blowing these things behind him when he's enjoying Arsenal play at home. I always support our colonies (NZ, Aus, Rhodesia, etc.) at these affairs as when they win, it's the same as England winning, isn't it?

Anyway, Devon was blissful, as it always is and there were plenty of spaced out dope-fiends lying around on the ground - it's easier to steal their benefits money when they're like that before calling the police to have them removed for a good kicking in the back of the police station.

Phew, it was so hot down there I felt tempted to don a burkha to keep the sun off. I never realised this before but those muslim women aren't as daft as they look wearing those dust-sheets. I wouldn't like to wear one all the time though, I don't think I'd fancy sex with all the brothers and uncles.

USA vs England

What is the matter with the Americans? They want oil, they've got oil. Plenty of it. They'll invade anywhere to get it but boy! do they whine when it slides in on the doorstep. And a bonus is the poor can eat the pelicans and other sea-birds being washed ashore too once they wash the oil off. They eat squirrels in the Confederacy so they won't baulk at fishy-tasting birdmeat surely. But the good thing about all of this is el Presidente Obama is now showing his true colours, yes I can see he's black, but I hope all the right-on liberals might get up off their knees now they realise he's as shallow as a flan dish with an irrational hatred of Greater Britain. No wonder the liberal do-gooders love Obama, he sounds like a job description at the BBC.

I told you the Americans should have voted for the Dominatrix from Alaska. Maybe we should stop drilling in the US and drill for oil in the Falklands; at least the Falklanders are still glad to be British and if there's an "accidental" oil-spill drifting towards the mainland, well, so much the better.

Dead or Alive

That was a bit of bad luck for the Belgium Domme who ended up with a dead body on her hands after a good hard session. Thankfully that's never happened to me but rest assured that if you do expire during the session or while you're still on the premises your secrets will be kept safe from your family and friends. I'll dump your body in the Thames, so there's no come-back to me. I might just re-dress you with your clothes on back to front but that's just my sense of humour and it'll give the police a good laugh when they find you.

Now, what's on the television? Oh good, yet another football match; let's hope it's another nil-nil tactical draw.

15 July 2010

Phew, What A Scorcher

Thank heavens it's getting cooler as it's so difficult to work in rubber clothing in this heat; and I've already had my holiday so I don't care if the weather turns cold and wet. I always avoid taking my holidays when the schools are out anyway because you always get screaming brats at the seaside that you have to pretend to be nice to while hoping they drop their ice-cream.

I have thought about getting a fan to keep me cool, maybe someone to black up as a Nubian in a loin-cloth to stand in the corner and fan me with ostrich feathers. Slave Ian comes to mind as he always blacks up to deliver his extraordinary rendition of Al Jolson's "Mammy" at HM Treasury team building events; they're quite a zany bunch these high-ranking civil servants apparently.

The End Of The World

Just the Cup, that is. Wasn't that enjoyable, children? Let's all hail our German conquerers for a well-deserved win over our gallant England team, who took their defeat with typically good-natured sportsmanship. But there's no need to feel glum, a couple of hours of practising your penmanship skills always lifts the spirits of the most down-hearted pupil, I find.

I do feel a bit sorry for the goal-keeper as he'll probably get joshed by opposition supporters: "It's behind you - no, not the ball, your career!"

Can it really be all over? You mean I don't have the pleasure of football pundits patronising township blacks who, I am told over and over again, are all really, really happy to meet overpaid television presenters and ex-footballers? Yes, of course they all look really, really happy; you're all going back home to your mansions and they're still living in tin-shacks but hey! they've got some lovely football stadia.

And I can't wait for the obligatory CD of Vuvuzela Hip-Hop "songs" from some brain-dead, talentless rapping "yoof" being fawned over by the BBC. I blame the teachers for this appalling state of affairs. You can't blame the parents because they'll naturally believe their idiot-spawn are going to be famous. Parents see beloved multi-talented artiste; everyone else sees slack-jawed gibbering idiot who'll end up in prison. But teachers should tell them straight, "You can't sing, you haven't any talent and your "rapping" is a childish, tuneless dirge. Now, learn to read and write so you're able to sign for your dole money. Imbecile!" Well they've got to learn!

I wonder if they'll incorporate the Vuvu into The Proms; knowing the Beeb, they'll probably insist upon it. They love destroying British traditions to be inclusive to people who don't want to be British.

Anyway, The World Cup. Riveting, eh? Wouldn't you rather be?

He Ain't Heavy

Disgraced former PM Blair treated like a brother by the Libyan leader? What, he had sex with Gaddafi's daughters? Good Lord! I hope they all got their looks from their mothers, he looks in a worse state than Albania.

Crime and Punishment

If any proof were needed that Britain is still ruled by the same old treacherous left-wing Euro socialists who have caused so much damgage to Britain, you only have to listen to the hand-wringing over prisoners. Vote Adolf Hitler, get the same old namby-pamby, milksop approach to capital punishment.

We all think about butchering our nearest and dearest at some time but we're only stopped by the thought of being banged up with criminal low-life scum and sexually abused by the screws in the local nick.

But not any more! That nice, quiet middle-aged man who spends so much time in his basement might not be the only serial killer living in your street now the Home Office needs to save a couple of bob. Naturally this won't apply to OAPs who can't pay their BBC tax or council tax, only murderers, rapists and benefit swindlers or MPs. I can't wait to invite Shiekh Abu in for a cup of tea and tiffin when he moves in next door.

And why are we hand-wringing over torturing Islamic jihadis? For the life of me I can't see what's wrong with that? They want to blow us up, destroy our civilisation and kill our children and soppy liberals want to appeal to their better nature. They haven't got a better nature so why are we worrying about pulling their testicles off? Believe me, it takes nothing to set someone's pubic hair on fire, the trick is to put it out before you damage the family jewels. Poor old Jim was soooooo mad with me over the blisters that caused.

Don't worry about them suing the taxpayer afterwards, just out them and bury them in a barrel of lard under the Olympic foundations. If the security services can bump off a renowned government scientist and pretend to everyone it was "suicide" then a jihadi should be a doddle. Just put it about he's gone to a wedding in Afghanistan, everyone knows Afghan weddings usually get bombed by the Americans. And whatever happened to the old, "he fell out of the window trying to escape, Sarge," excuse. That always worked before High Court judges began to believe they were a branch of social services.

How often does it need to be said before the Home Office understands: a burglar shot dead by a fully armed householder is not going to burgle again. A troublesome gang of drug-taking hoodies beaten to death by vigilantes won't cause trouble again. That's why putting criminals in prison works and keeps them, and the streets, safe.

26 August 2010

I wasn't at all surprised to learn that social workers are organising trips to Amsterdam for some of the so-called "clients" they have to deal with so they, clients, can have sex with someone who's not going to fear for their lives and call the police; all at taxpayers expense naturally. That must explain why some of you are so obviously social misfits who should be locked away for your own good.

Please note that if you are going to bring your social worker or probation officer with you, you should let me know before you arrive. This is only so I can hide any incriminating evidence before they turn up because you know how nosy these social workers are; anything to get you on some sort of database so they can keep tabs on you and then they never stop griping they can't cope with their workload because they're always so busy.

I also need to know in advance because I charge "special" rates when dealing with people of your ilk. Don't moan because it's standard practice to put the price up a lot when it's taxpayers' money paying for it. You don't think the Olympics would cost £15 billion if the people running it had to pay for it themselves, do you? Well it's the same with me. If I'm going to have to humour you because I'm doing some "inappropriate touching" then I need to be well recompensed. You have special needs; I have special rates. And you'll have to pay for any damages caused by your social worker prying through my underwear drawer too.

Evening All

Mmmm, I'm beginning to believe these coalition people in charge aren't as bad as I thought they'd be. Okay, so they've reneged on almost every promise they made such as repealing that Human Rights fiasco, enslaving us further to Europe and almost everything else they promised but hey! they're going to let us join the police! The chance to judge and threaten any neighbours you don't like with arrest and to strut around in a uniform. I'm in for some of that. I know the socialists had some great money-making rackets such as Child Benefit and Incapacity Benefit but they all meant you had to spend time in some dreary Social Security Office with people of the lower orders just to give low-ranking civil servants something to do. This is much better, more like a licence to print money scheme.

Tough on crime? Well yes, it gives you the chance to confiscate any money your local Somalian drugs dealer might be carrying. They're not going to complain to the other police as they're probably an illegal immigrant. And of course, there are always on-the-spot fines; they're always handy when you need a bit of spending cash. Naturally you have to target the criminal classes like cigarette smokers and insured motorists as they'll pay up without question. With drunkards, you wait for them to pass out and then fine them. You can also film your male colleagues practising water sports on them and post it on Youtube for a laugh. Well, it beats the drunkards urinating over a war memorial, doesn't it? And the truncheon will come in handy for a bit of anal penetration on my days off.

But what about coming across an Islamic terrorist, I hear you cry. Well, shoot to kill would be my favoured tactic and you can always hide a weapon on them, once they're down. How would I know they were terrorists, you ask? Well anyone who looks a bit Islamic like wearing a beard or burhka would be a suspect, I suppose. Where do I sign for the firearms, Sarge? Oh, don't bother, I've brought my own.

Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do you?

Thinking of law and order, Axyloid has sent me another story, which he wrote "on the run" as he termed it. He apparently managed to slip his guards on the chain gang (he's serving time in Alabama) but is now being pursued by three female bounty hunters and he tells me he quite fancies being caught by them. Anyway, he's sent me a story called The Escape Artist, which personally I think is wishful thinking considering my rope bondage. Don't bother trying to trace him, I've already informed the authorities and claimed the reward money.

Also, another miscreant called Smiffy has sent me his story about his visit here. It's a factual re-telling of his time on the floor while I bastinado his feet. Of course if the police ask, it's all nonsense and I've never met this madman but apart from that, Smiffy tells it how it was. Read the Judicial Bastinado and then book your appointment.

Gay Paree

I'm going to Paris 6 - 12 September, so no emails or telephone calls as they won't be answered; well not by me anyway.

16 September 2010

Sit up straight and pay attention everyone. I shall tell you all about my holiday in Paris; Paris is in France. I travel first class on the train to the continent but I don't suppose the likes of you will have experienced such luxury so let me share my delight travelling first class with you: it's very enjoyable and the food and service are far superior to second class, or where poor people sit as slave Ian calls it.

Thankfully the French have seen sense and are forcibly removing gypsy beggars and thieves from their illegal hovels so decent visitors to Paris can stroll about this lovely city without being continually pestered for money. Unfortunately, one such dirty creature had evaded the gendarmerie and accosted me at the Tour Eiffel, that's the Eiffel Tower in case you don't speak French, and demanded to know if I spoke English.

"Of course I speak English, I'm from England, you stupid girl," I replied. Upon which she thrust a grubby piece of paper into my hand and begged me read. Well! The spelling was atrocious and I gladly pointed out her errors. Oddly, she appeared not to care that she had written "my mather is dying" but just kept asking for money. I offered to instruct her how to write a grammatical and literate plea in English but she wasn't interested and ran off with the scrap of paper; probably to complain about her lack of education to her dying mather.

Naturally we had to do all of the tourist spots and slave Ian insisted on climbing to the top of the Arc de Triomphe instead of shopping in the Rue du Fauberg. Although thinking about it, he'd have been more at risk of a heart attack shopping at Paris prices than climbing the Arc; but as he was paying for everything (he's a well-paid civil servant) I couldn't complain; well not too much anyway. My annoyance was vented on some foreign vendor trying to sell me a bust of Napoleon. Again I had to point out that, being English, a bust of Napoleon is about as welcome as rabies in Britain. Quel?

Parisian men and women are, by nature, very stylish apparently; but that's if your preferred style is elderly fop or street-walker as that's how most of the Parisians dress. Still it is nice to see women walking around in skirts and dresses as opposed to the bulging, straining sweat-pants and lycra leggings that our corpulent, burger-eating English girls all seem to wear nowadays. And oddly, although we were walking around Paris late at night we didn't see anyone drunk, being sick or fighting. I don't understand, that's how English girls behave, isn't it?

Or course, it's easy to make fun of the French with their funny accented English but you have to admire the way they honour their dead heroes such as Villeneuve, Marmont, Foch and Bonaparte by naming grand boulevards, rues, hotels and restaurants after them. In Britain, we name ours after African and Islamic terrorists; hopefully just as dead or soon to be dead. I'm only surprised that some liberal whitey multi-culti apologist hasn't demanded we rename Harrow something like Abu Hamza Secondary and make all the children eat al-halal meat. Just give it time.

And so we returned, first class, to Great Britain; as if we ever really leave Blighty.

Don't

Mention the war? Well you shouldn't have lost it then, should you?

Hands Up

Yet another stupid idea from The Frankfurt School for left-wing liberal fascists: don't let children put their hands up to answer questions in class. How are teachers supposed to pick their favourites if they don't know which ones are the brightest?

But Already It Was Impossible To Say Which Was Which

I don't know if anyone else has noticed this but if the ex-Communists vote in one of the Dedward Brothers as leader then all three party leaders are going to look identical, which is great in one way because all three parties are really the same Euro-socialists anyway so if one goes missing, you can use an alternate and no-one would notice. The other Dedward looks as though he should be beaten about the head by a couple of men with cudgels; the rest are all Foinavons.

Maybe they should vote in that fat, black woman so we can all tell the difference between them. Hmmmm, maybe not.

Come Again

I've given up on being in the police (see above) as it's not as much fun as I thought it would be. Apparently police brutality went out in the 90s and now it's all touchy-feely in the Old Bill. Now, I'm all for a bit of touchy-feely myself but, personally, I wouldn't touch or feel the criminal scum and untermensch the police have to interview with the proverbial barge-pole. Apparently you have to "empathise" with the criminally insane and scum as though they're victims of their circumstances. Yeah, right; I'd make them victims if I get the chance.

Anyway, a better, and safer, idea than robbing drug-dealers of their ill-gotten gains is to sell sperm over the internet. This could be as big as adopting a tree or buying carbon; it's about as daft I know but who am I to poke fun of someone's misery. In future, I'll be expecting you to masturbate into a small bottle at the end of the session (at the start of the session for you, Smiff). Then I'll advertise your body fluids over the Internet to be used by whoever wants them. It could be a lonely spinster, some wild-eyed mad-woman for her "Moon ritual" or some bloke called Frank who wants to keep it in his fridge. Who knows where your children will end up? Isn't this exciting? All the enjoyment without any responsibility. Don't worry about future paternity claims because you're probably giving me a false name as it is.

I think I might need a licence but I never bother with anything like that; who buys a television licence these days anyway? I'm going to have to grade the quality of your sperm too so let me know if you've had idiots in the family or a cousin with an extra thumb.

This will make my Christmas list soooooooo easy this year; I can just imagine the look on slave Gareth's face when he receives an exclusive gift set of pedigree sperm. I can get Quilp to dress up as Santa to deliver it personally; it'll save on the bottles.

30 September 2010

Oh! My! God! And no, I do not mean some foreign deity but an omnipotent old white man who speaks English. When I wrote (below) that some tax-payer funded white apologist would demand we must all eat halal meat, I had no idea that we were already being force-fed it. Thankfully I don't frequent pubs, sports events or fast food joints so it's doubtful that I've inadvertently eaten any. However, I'll be having a word with my pork butcher to make sure all my meat is killed properly without an imam reciting mumbo-jumbo over the poor lamb. If I wanted a sandal-wearing, bearded wild-eyed lunatic in his nightgown performing some magic ritual before slitting the throat of my Sunday roast, I'll ask for the Archibishop of Canterbury, thank you very much. Anyway, I thought these people would prefer to behead the poor beast rather than sing prayers at it.

And where are all the bullies and bean-eating vegans from the Animal Liberation Army when you need them? It's no good digging up some poor, blameless old lady in your self-righteousness but I don't see you outside the local mosque demanding an end to halal meat for the unbelieving masses. Bit too dangerous for you, is it?

As you know, I love animals: veal, pork, foie gras, they're all delicious as they are so I don't want my Sunday roast converted to Islam before it's coverted to topside, silverside and fillet steaks. I'm all for animal welfare and keeping animals happy before they're served up with roast potatoes and veg so I would have thought they'd be very unhappy and distressed to realise the odd looking man chanting at them is going to cut their throat and serve them up in a greasy kebab. If livestock could talk, they'd probably say it's not how they would have wanted to go.

Oh, Brother

Who was it that sang that dreadful song, "It Should Have Been Me"? I bet that's going to be popular at the next Milliband family gathering. Anyway, I always say you should pick your favourite child and concentrate on that one otherwise you get the situation of brothers in competition with each other. This is the big problem of being born into a familty of Marxists: they pretend everyone's equal when quite obviously they're not. It's funny that Marxists always come from wealthy families, I would have thought that Marxism was about dividing wealth between all. I digress. Imagine the awkward situation at the Millibands' Christmas table this year with everyone poking fun at dopey-looking Dave now he's lost the election to his upstart of a brother. But if they'd always favoured the one over the other then the idiot would have been used to being called stupid and laughed at for coming last. That's much kinder than telling them that all must have prizes when obviously it's not the case. Still at least Mum can boast one of her sons is a winner and ignore the loser.

Never mind, David, there's always panto.

Smile Please

The photogenic amongst you might be interested to know of a fetish photographer, based in Bristol, who's contacted me for a link exchange. I suspect for some of you the last photograph you had taken was a police mug-shot so you might want some new ones for your on-line "friends" on Facebook to laugh at or you might want some for a dating agency that are not going to make you look like a serial killer. Alternatively, you might just enjoy looking at people with no clothes on. Try this: www.nakedpets.co.uk

Doctor, No

I gave someone a damned good caning the other day who turned out to be a doctor. After the session, he told me I was too fat and I was going to die. What? I have to give up cream cakes? How could it hurt you when it looks so good? Around this time, I started to wish I'd been a little less lenient and caned a bit harder. How has this situation come about? I blame you all for this and I shall be taking retribution on each and every one of you. In the meantime, I'm on a diet; maybe I should become a muslim for a couple of months to stop me eating meat. I can always convert back for Christmas.

22 November 2010

Stop writing and put your pens down. I know I haven't updated this page for a while but that's because I've been preparing to go to Hell at the suggestion of some Islamic infidels. This is a Christian country, Achmed, or whatever your Christian name is, so you're the infidel here. Everywhere in the papers there are photographs of some unwholesome-looking jihadists holding placards claiming islam will dominate the world! Too late, young man, America and Britain have already done it. That's why most of the world speaks and writes English, not Farsi and we do not write in scribble.

And there's never a crowd of football hooligans around when you want them as they would have made short work of the infidels. What on earth were the police up to? Protecting them from the gallant, clean cut lads from the EDL? Surely a bit of police brutality wouldn't have gone amiss.

These people are all so hairy and ugly too, I'm not surprised they have to arrange a marriage with their cousin; no-one else would have them. Still, having all those extra fingers will come in handy when indulging in a bit of self-abuse, especially when all four wives have been committed to the local lunatic asylum.

And what on earth is our treacherous government doing to keep us safe in our beds from these terrorists? Appeasement? But by giving in to their demands they'll just keep asking for more. Maybe the government could try some hand-wringing? That always appeals to the liberals in Islington but it's hardly going to stop jihadis wanting to kill us all, is it? I wonder if anyone's tried singing, "All You Need Is Love" to them? Probably. Most of the people who are now in charge in this country were once long-haired idealistic hippies so obviously singing that dirge at swivel-eyed, dribbling religious fanatics will make them see sense.

Oh here's a good idea, give them a million pounds each. Brilliant! In America these terrorists get sentenced to a life in prison, in Britain they're sentenced to a life of luxury. I do hope their windfall's not going to mess up their benefit claims.

Remind me again why it's wrong to torture these people?

Now some of you will have been interested to read that our European government are more than happy to dish out taxpayers cash to these poor tortured terrorist souls by the bucket load. That doesn't mean that anyone I've tortured in the past can apply, even if I did nail your scrotum to a table. You won't get any money because it only applies to those captured in Afghanistan carrying a bomb and claiming they were just off to a wedding to marry their childhood sweetheart; or their kid sister as she's known.

Also, that stupid, humourless Harriet Harman, has introduced some nonsense stating you can sue if you were offended by something you heard in the workplace. Well let me make this quite clear, should I have offended you then I probably did it on purpose so it doesn't count. But if you really want to belly-ache about your treatment, let me know and I'll send Quilp around with a complaint form. Maybe the triage nurse at the A&E department can help you fill it in.

Jingle Bells

Christmas comes but once a year; a bit like when I allow Quilp to ejaculate if he's lucky. His sex-face is so bizarre when he climaxes it's best not to let him do it too often in case his face gets stuck; it'll frighten small children. This year, I'm going to get all my Christmas presents off e-Bay so hopefully I'll be able to get all the rubbish that Cherie Blair is flogging off cheap. This must be what the socialists mean when they drivel on about re-distributing wealth. Hopefully she's not including her "contraception device" she forgot to take when she went to stay with the Queen; I'd hate to think what use slave Gareth would put that to if he found it in his stocking on Christmas morn.

Slave Ian will be delighted to receive a cheap copy of disgraced former PM Blair's autobiography; it'll probably sit next to his copy of comrade Mandelson's well-fingered tome on his bookcase. Maybe it'll inspire him to continue his own work of fiction, The Dominafuhrer.

Foreigners

Unlike many in this country, I'm happy to see anyone from the EUropean empire so no snide comments about racialism and Miss Spiteful, thank you very much. I'm delighted to discipline Johnny Foreigner when he comes a-knocking provided, of course, he can pay the full fee; yes I do mean the Irish. Bet you all wish you hadn't fought for independence now you're all in hock and subservient to Brussels, eh, bhoys?

I had a delightful young German boy who looked stunning as a pretty girl and a lovely Frenchman who looked stunning bent over my bench. Tina told me he's learnt many new English words reading my site although I dread to think what those words might be. Still, it's heartening to know one educates. I'm sure this is how all those bearded lefty lecturers feel when they poison the minds of the impressionable young scholars with their seditious and deceitful treachery. Now if only they were allowed to discipline their trusting young charges in the same way as I am.

29 November 2010

Slave Ian

My dear friend Ian, about whom I've written about extensively on this site, collapsed and died on Saturday evening.

He was never a slave, he was a good friend who loved me and was devoted to me; he was always willing to help me, no matter what. He was besotted by me and I treated him abysmally and he loved it. He put up with my moods, tantrums, unreasonable demands, requests, commands and irrational behaviour. He took me abroad on holiday every year at his own expense.

He was my protector, lover, chaffeur, dogsbody, go-for, whipping-boy, cleaner and anything else I wanted him to do for me. He was a lovely man who I'll never see or hear again.

7 December 2010

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow; if only to shut the global warming fanatics up. Where are all these man-made climate change charlatans when you need some hot air to melt the snow? Oh, yes, they've all flown off to Mexico to discuss what's gone wrong. Still they're not going to be embarrassed by being snowed in this year.

I've been doing a bit of my own global warming starting with someone who claimed to be vegan, although I don't believe anyone is really a vegan; I suspect it's just a scam to stop us eating meat. Then I gave someone 144 strokes with the whip, across his back and a young Mandy Caine got the cane.

Ingrates

How ungrateful the youth of today are! Struggling up to Victoria to collect Ian's personal belongings from his office, I had the misfortune of travelling through east London by "tube". Why people are nostalgic for this mode of transport is completely beyond me. Nevertheless, on the interminable rattling and jolting journey, sat opposite me was some slack-jawed, burger-loving youth reading the very popular novel, "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo". Naturally I was much taken aback that anyone under the age of 20 can read let alone enjoy a book so to save him time, I looked across and told him who the serial killler was, as I'd read the series back in the summer. Did he thank me? Did he hell; he just started to rant some foul language at me. Typical youth of today!

After that, I had the pleasure of walking past a deserted gipsy encampment and fly-tipping centre posing as a "Peace Protest" on Parliament Square. As it was about -10 I suppose they were all still warmly enscounced in their hotels enjoying their slap-up feasts of tofu and lentils all paid for on benefits by the tax-payer. Thankfully, it wasn't the same day as all those grubby-looking students were rebelling against having to pay for something. Well of course it's a bit of culture shock when mummy and daddy have featherbedded you through life and now you're expected to, actually, pay for something yourself. Oh, the injustice of it.

I don't suppose any of them have thought about getting a job? I know that's going to impinge on their non-stop drinking sessions, or lectures as they're laughingly called but that's how most people raise the money to pay for things. "But Miss Spiteful, dares no jobs, innit?" you cry. Well there's always prostitution, isn't that how the prettier ones pay for university?

Hey, a politician lied to you to get elected? Welcome to the real world children; you can have that lesson for free.

Fussball Crazy

Again the entire country has a nervous breakdown over football, because this time - it's fixed. Well who would believe a team game worth billions would be anything but honest and above board?

December 2010

And I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

Just to annoy all the multi-culti, right-on left-wing liberals. They must hate this time of year because they're all afraid that they'll offend someone if they even think about wishing someone Happy Christmas. Everyone else with any sense are enjoying themselves so I do hope they have a really horrible, miserable vegan Winterval; just what they deserve. Happy Winterval? Bah Humbug!

This year I'm going to donate money to charity to help feed the world and to make me feel better, as it's better to give than receive. I know this because I always feel better after giving a good caning. Obviously, I'm going to cut out the middleman as administration costs often mean most of the money goes into the pockets of charity "fund-raisers" so I'm sending every African dictator one penny each with the demand they do the decent thing and feed their people instead of putting it straight into a Swiss bank account with all the foreign aid Britain sends them. Gosh, I feel better already and I haven't sent anything yet. Eat your heart out Mr. Bono. Bono's only saving grace is he isn't St Bob; St Bob's only saving grace is he isn't Bono.

For slave Gareth I'm going to adopt one of those cute baby polar bears for him. I just hope he'll be able to look after it in his bed-sit but if it gets too big to look after, he can always turn it into a lovely rug. You see, a perfect present: cute and playful and then, when you get fed up of it, you can learn a new handicraft. A much better gift than a puppy, you couldn't throw a polar bear into the canal to get rid of it because it would just swim off.

Quilp never enjoys Christmas, mainly because of the indignity I put him through. He is the most exasperating creature you'd ever have the misfortune to meet: the mentality, vocabulary and physique of a taxi-driver and the intelligence of a door-knob. However, I try to mould him into something of an asset to society. This year I've turned him into an unusual Christmas decoration; I know there's a natural opening for the advent candle to burn down but I resisted the urge to go with the obvious.

But this is a great idea! We can turn all those criminals pretending to serve a sentence on community service into Christmas decorations instead of the usual "lights". Christmas lights always offend those suffering with white liberal guilt anyway so council busy-bodies won't need to be involved with this idea. Simply tie the criminal scumbag to a lamppost and wrap him/her up in tinsel with a seasonal message. Children can use them for snowball practice, the religious could count their blessings and think "there but the grace of God go I"; drunkards could use them as a lavatory and everyone else could feel all happy and seasonal with the Christmas decorations. I could sell this idea to the government as a green alternative to using electricity; if they're daft enough to think windmills are going to generate electricity then they'll be daft enough to think this would work. Think of all the polar bears it'd save; think of all the rugs you could make.

A Proper Charlie

Poor old Prince Charles must have thought he'd had his chips when he was attacked by an unwashed mob of middle-class Guardian readers shouting, "Off with his head" in Whitehall. We have a tradition of decapitating the King in Whitehall.

Smell it? I'm sat in it!

Anyway, not that Charlie you dunderhead but some long-haired, drug-crazed hooligan, also called Charl, who's the adopted son of a multi-millionaire rock star. I hope the police are going to charge this wastrel with the theft of oxygen because it's wasted on him. At least the police can get in some much needed baton practice. It's always a good laugh watching the middle-classes being hit about the head by a couple of baton-wielding coppers and then crying about it on national television. Priceless. They get soooooo indignant that the police punch them back. They should bring out a DVD of it for Christmas; it'd sell a lot more copies than the usual right-on alternative "comedian" spouting the same tired old PC stories about Thatcher. Yawn.

But it's so difficult deciding what's the most delicious bit of irony with the student rioting.

Millionaire rock stars leading pupil unrest with illiterate chant of "We Don't Want No Education".
Step-son of millionaire rock star protests about paying for his education.
Millionaire rock stars bewail death of soldiers fighting for King and Country on albums.
Step-son of millionaire rock star desecrates The Cenotaph.
Cambridge history student step-son of millionaire rock star claims not to know what the Cenotaph is for.

And by the way, which one's Pink?

So what are his tutors teaching this charmless self-indulgent yob if he's studying history but doesn't understand what the Cenotaph's for? Oh, I forgot. The Wall was released in 1979 so his teachers probably "don't want no education" neifer, innit? I partly blame myself for this because I bought some of their records so I probably contributed to his lifestyle but I mostly blame the all those liberal ninnies who didn't want to use the cane to instill discipline and didn't think it necessary to teach children British history because anything to do with Britain is racist. That's why everyone wants to live here, in Britain, because we're so racist; especially when we're celebrating Christmas.

Happy Christmas.