UN GRAND TREMBLEMENT DE TERRE.
Not so much an earthquake,
more a modest geoligical twitch.
A third of those so entitled voted in what we must call the UKIP local elections Earthquake. Roughly, generously speaking, a third of that third voted for Mr Nigel Fruitcake's NutKippers. A third of a third is a ninth, almost one in ten. These elections, however, were not for entire councils, just for, in most cases, a third of the council seats; a third of a ninth, therefore, earthquaked its way into psephological history; a third of a ninth is a twenty-seventh; of those eligible to vote, therefore, in local elections, less than five in a hundred, less than half-a-person in ten, rocked the Richter Scale. Never mind, on such thin fare does the commentariat dine.
It is true, of course, that such numerical realism applies equally to the electoral brigandage, the democratic deficit of other parties - a minority share of a minority's total vote can enthrone a minority on the Great Latrine of State, with a working majority, there to enrich itself for life whilst shitting in our faces; there is nothing new in Farage's counterfeit ebullience, nothing new in MediaMinster's hyperbolic exaggerations, locally, Mr Fruitcake's mandate is microscopic, but don't ruin a good story with the truth.
Messrs Cameron and Clegg and their masters in MediaMinster, insist that they were elected, insist that - perhaps via some undiscovered form of mass, national telepathy, some effort of purposeful mass consciousness - those who bothered to vote last time exactly calculated how each of them should vote in order to precisely elect a coalition of nutters, criminals and incompetents.
I am not making this up, just recall for yourselves how many times Cameron has said Getting on with the job of prime minister which I was elected to do. He wasn't. Nobody voted for a coalition, it wasn't on the ballot paper; it was a usurpation of such watered-down democracy as previously existed, a coup, in other words. The poltroon, Clegg, is more grandiose even than CallHimDave, martyring himself on the altar of his obedience to the public clamour for his Deputy Premiership, as though he was dragged, kicking and screaming into his limousine. We are told daily that we gave this job - of cruel robbery, not of but by the banks, to the Coalition, to get on with. These, you recall, are people like David Laws and Chris Huhne and Maria Miller, people like Liam Fox and Peter Cruddas, filth.
There is a vivid example of this misleading and spurious terminolgy here, in Scotland, the best part of England. Devolution brought into being a Scottish Executive, a local parliament with restricted powers. Upon winning an election, Alec Salmond's Tribesmen changed the name of the executive to the Scottish Government thus, logically, at a stroke, abolishing their own raison d'etre; if they are a national government, from what are they seeking independence? It is bollocks, of course, there is no Scottish Government, there is merely a linguistic nonsense, reality corrupted to no other purpose than the satisfaction of Salmond's mountainous ego. This is what they do, they say what they want and in short order the press jackals go along with it; Elected Coalition, Scottish Goverment, take your pick, horseshit, all of it.
No, this, like Mr Snot's, is not an elected government but a cabal of cheeky opportunists, no rational person could judge Nick Clegg or David Cameron capable of any responsible task whatsoever, nothing; even such skills as one routinely picks up through living and working are denied these two, because through privilege and nepotism they have done neither, they are good for fuck all.
What, therefore, should we make of the equally bogus skills of Nigel Farage, as he proclaims his tiny, flaccid earthquake? Well, he is quite fluent in Man-In-The-Pub; as a very well paid and pensioned MEP he has no need to work and receives huge expenses, these have given him ample opportunity to prop up the bar, between visiting branches of his harem; the very least he could do, by way of gratitude, would be to learn the Why-Oh-Why language of the half-pissed, bar room bore. That's about it, I think; he speaks Man-In-The-Pub and he has been speaking it at a time when, thanks largely to the blogosphere, many are finally wiping MediaMinster's shit from their faces - the place, the time, the script have been handed to him by others. Aside from that he is overdressed, overpaid and over-confident, one of them, in other words, pretending to be one of us. And half a person in ten loves him, probably the half that has the arse in it, the arse they talk out of.
WORDCRIME.
THE THEFT OF THE NIGGER WORD
Never knew what racism meant, me. Don't know how old the word is. Certainly it was not part of my parents' regular vocabulary. No blacks, no dogs, no Irish certainly prompted my mother's tears but I doubt that my parents saw this as racism, just as the blind hatreds of pig-ignorant, tripe-eating Brummie trash. I didn't then and I still don't see those - still present - attitudes as amenable to good anti-discriminatory practice, to anti-racist awareness programmes. Imposed Multi-culturalism may have caused these attitudes to take cover, find camouflage but as we see, they are alive and well, succoured by filth like Jack Tortuer and Roy Hatterjee, their actions fertilised UKIP's flourishing, uneasy rhetoric.
Maybe it's a creation, racism, maybe it was brought into common use by my g-g-g-generation, not my generation in total but by the gobby ones, the I-Know-Besters of my generation, the pushy, censorious, accusatory ones; quick, under the guise of rights'n'freedoms, to shackle and enslave, as quick to chain and punish, the Word-Criminologists, in their own righteous way, as the Georgia plantation owner, the Glasgow slave freighter.
(These fuckers are everywhere, incidentally; there is no area of our lives unplagued by a pestilence of gobby, pushy, dictatorial fuckwits. I was listenting to Gardeners' World, on PBC4, and - even there - there was a braying, pushy nitwit of a woman - I met loads of her, in the '70s, they called themselves the New Diggers, then, librarians and teachers, steeped in inexpressible grievance, with not enough proper work to do, trying to take over the allotments, turn them into a Movement, instead of a hobby. I'm telling you, you are not safe from these people, they never go away and whatever it is you're doing they will want to reclaim it for their own higher purposes, gabshites; some of them become councillors. Anyway, this skriking bint, probably with a masters degree in preciousness studies, wanted there to be, demanded that there be Free-Veg, community gardens all over the land, where the worthy, pseudo middle-class can plant kohl-rabi, aubergines and artichokes for any poor pleb to come along and pull up to take home and eat with their pizzas and doner kebabs. Stupid bitch.)
I just checked and the first recorded use of the word racist was in 1902 by what we would now be obliged to call a right racist bastard, this guy, Richard Henry Pratt,
who felt that native American Indians would be fine human beings if only they had the Indian knocked out of them. Pratt felt that it was racism to denigrate people because of their race when their racial defects could be educated out of them.
In my young adulthood, however, the term racist became applied by clever people to those whom they considered stupider than they and in relation specifically to inherited societal attitudes towards specifically black people and specifically - since they were, at that time, the majority of black people - towards those who were by then - having been called coons, niggers, jungle bunnies, wogs, darkies and blackies - called West Indians but are now called, equally racistly - or separatistly - in my view, Afro-Caribbeans; who would want to be so denominated? My equivalent race-label would be Viking-Norman-English-Scots-Ulster-British, but there is no stopping the linguistically gaudy anti-racists conjuring ever newer nomenclatures, descriptive titles of Otherness, with fancier, more geographically and historically precise name-clusters. Pure, shameless cuntishness.
I am speaking here of the UK but the same paradigm shift occurred in the US where acceptable terminology moved swiftly
from nigger to coloured folk, to black to people of colour to African-American; still a racial differential, just differently differential; separatism, Otherism. They just love segregating people, those anti-racists, stupid fucking bastards, as though a geographical precision made name-calling respectable. Oh, you are of Afro-Caribbean descent and I respect your cultural heritage; this is WordCrime-speak for Hi, nigger. Po-faced, sanctimonious hypocrite bastards. Accidents of technology and geography notwithstanding, there is only one race, isn't there? The human race.
I use the word nigger here, not mischieveously or carelessly, I quite deiberately put it in the mouths of those who, examined by their own definitions are racist, people like the Clintons, who fried a retarded Arkansas niggerboy to celebrate Spunky Bill's first inauguration and who subsequently presided over a massive increase in the black prison population, not only imprisonment but cruel, mediaeval, maximum security lockdown torture prison and who, like GlobaCorp's Uncle Tomming houseboys, the Obamas, were and are happy to bomb and kill people of colour all over the world, anywhere; show Obama an uppity nigger and he'll shoot him with techno-horror nightmare weapons, burn him, drone him or bang him up and torture him in some secret illegal prison, all the time saying ain't it great for black folks, now they got us in the White House; this is why I publish stuff like this:
Me, Barack and our girls, liddle wosstheirnames, ain't no way we ever gonna be hauled off into the bush and sold to slavers, fuck no.
That shit's for niggers.
Whilst Blair was impertinently introducing Holocaust Day - as though we mortals needed reminding about such serious matters, as though it was the duty of our betters, like him, him, the the biggest whore ever in Downing Street, to police our morality, Fuck, I ask you - George Dubya and Tony Blair bombed and torched and tortured their way across four countries but would probably never say the nigger word in public, just in private, all the time. Michelle's husband,
Now, you jes be a good nigger,
an' gwine back to yer mastah, ya hear me?
Yessir, mr president.
rejoicing in his counterfeit status as the first black president, as well as trampling on blacks at home, has Bush'n'Blaired six countries, beggared his own country in the interest of his masters, spied on all of us, the cheeky cunt, and sought to promote further lucrative and illegal conflict anywhere he can, in Syria, Ukraine and - God help us all - even in the Orient, the man is a criminal monster; America's exceptionalism, its lawlessness, its hatreds and its estrangement from Decency exponentialise themselves with every minute that Obama is in office. But, hey, the main thing is we don't use the n-word, cos that's you know, just the most offensive thing.
I am ranting about this because elderly playboy, Andy Neil,
formerly Murdoch's fellator-in-chief cum greatest living newsman - Christ, Guido Fawkes-Staines is a greater newsman than Neil, although equally down on his knees before Rupert -
had some insufferable luvvie cunt on his dreadful show the other night,
a black American, Clark Peters, who was sighing and swooning, stagily and repulsively clutching his bosom and Oh-the-pain-of-it-alling at the very idea of the n-word, whilst, of course, plugging his upcoming appearance on the terribly, terribly highbrow kiddy programme, Midsomer Murders. The main thing, according to Darling Clarke,was not that Uncle Sam was furiously, crazily, savagely anti-wog, was not that black children all over the world, even today, cannot get a drink of fucking water, no, the main challenge facing civilised people today was the eradication of a word. I would cheerfully burn this cunt on the fiery cross.
Stooging their poxy arses off, Alan Cuckold and Micky Portillo empathised like crazy, Oh, the n-word, we would never, never, never say that, we might bomb niggers and ayrabs and ragheads by the fucking million but we would never say that dreadful word. We're not racists, it's just that black and brown people need killing and enslaving so very badly. Not obedient, Labour-voting coons or rich, Tory voting Asians, not Trevor Phillips, or David Lammie or our new shadow business chap, ChumbaWumba, I believe his name is, no, no, one could easily sit down and have a free dinner and a few free brandies with chaps like these, chaps who know their place.
Quite, yes, one actually could. Actually, as a matter of historical fact and to burnish my ongoing media profile I, myself, am actually half-Spanish, half-Scottish, half-American and half-nigger, Whoops, I didn't mean that, it just slipped out, rather like Mr Clarkson, I, like he, was thinking nigger, although I would obviously never, ever say it.
Michael, what you're saying is that it's OK to hate people, as, for instance, I hate poor people - did I ever tell you I went to unversity and got a first class combined honours degree in MurdochFellating and Thatcher Cunnilinguilaling? - you hate trade unionists, Michael and Alan, a trade unionist of sorts,himself ....
that copper, by the way, the one who was knobbing your missus, was he in the Police Federation, no, only joking, it's just that they are in the news....
No, no, 'salright, Andrew, 'sall water under the pension fund, and we had 'im sacked, anyway, and as for unions, well, I hate them now, meself, just used mine to get into parliament and become Chancellor of the wotsaname, yeah, I know, crazy....me......chancellor of the wotsaname..
.......so as long as we don't use the n-word, which I never would, either, it's OK to hate people, unfairly discriminate against them, mistreat them through the criminal justice system and blow their countries of origin to fragments.....
Quite, Andrew, that's right. Like in Iraq, D'you know Iraq was the very cradle of civilisation - I know this because I'm half-Iraqi, myself - and we blew it to fucking smithereens. And here's me earning a crust blethering on about St Pancras station, rather like I was, Pevsner, was that his name, chappie who was an expert on English buildings? I mean, to be fair, I only pretend to be a historian, when it comes to history I'm like a whore at a hockey match, leave all that ree-surch stuff to the production team. But no, whatever, I would never say the word nigger, certainly not.
So there it is, Racism Incorporated; by their own definition they can be as racist as they like, up to and including holocaustal violence, just as long as you never, never, never say nigger. WordCrime.
And here we are, now, in this glorious Farage weekend, in an orgy of WeAren'tRacists-ism. So all-encompassingly, so earnestly anti-racist are those now damning Mr Fruitcake that they have invented racism where there is no race to be -ist about; what race, pray, is Romanian, or German? As far as I know, there's a handful of races, Asian, Caucasian, Negroid, Oriental, something like that, maybe some sub-divisions of those but Romanian isn't one of them, Romanian is a nationality. These stupid bastards don't mean racism, they mean Otherism but they dare not open that can of worms for fear that their own careers as professional Otherists would be revealed and so they stick with racism and homophobia as their default insults, even though linguistically and rationally they are meaningless.
Oh, we may be rotten, thieving, warmongering, child-molesting, shit-eating, hypocritical degenerates, we may be a poxed-up whore rabble of money-grubbing, brutal, wickedness but at least we're not racists, like Mr Fruitcake is, even though he isn't. Being studiedly and phonily non-racist, of course, as a badge of honour, is akin to saying that since he was a vegetarian Hitler wasn't all bad; probably never said nigger, even once. Send all zese fucking yids to ze gaschamber und experimentation wards but on no account must you call ze fucking subhuman bastards nigger, or it vill be ze Russian front for you, liebchen. And whilst we are talking of Nazi Otherism, we should remember that Mr Ian Duncan Smith and his colleagues, on all sides, forget about incoming Labour opposition, Schmidt and Co, who require that we buy and bequest them at least one luxurious home and the profits therefrom, also demand that poor, weak, defenceless disabled people be evicted from their homes in order to satisfy some braindead DailyMail redneck fuckpig horde. IDS, of course, would never say nigger.
Being lectured about racism, from Radio Four, by Angela Eagle,
one of NewLabour's HorseLesbians of the Iraq Apocalypse is one of Life's more surreal moments. Mr Fruitcake, for all his arseisms has not yet launched Armageddon on millions of working class Iraqis. But you would think he had.