Tell them about the money, honey...

You must forgive me for my bloggy tardiness this week. I have been detained in ways the details of which you need not know. Suffice to say, I am now at large and at liberty to divulge that which I have gleaned.

Ensconced in close company with an earnest Left I have learned at first hand the serious error of my judgement. I must now atone for my former sin of believing in market forces and base human nature. So quick, make haste and gather close, for I have a tale to tell which may not wait in the telling. Two things have I learned: 

In my hand I grasp the fertile beans of the Socialists’ Magic Money Tree. Sown wisely they will reap prosperity for all and I bestow to you the formula, as vouchsafed to me by that elder. I know you will use it to benefit all mankind. 

State employees are paid out of taxation. From this tax-funded wage, they in turn pay tax, which creates employment for those who collect the revenue. So, the principle is clear; public employment actually creates more employment. By logical extension then, employing more public employees will eventually create full employment and end the need for a welfare state, which was all the fault of the capitalists in the first place, according to gospel. 

When I queried where the money came from to pay these wages I was informed, as if to a backward child, that it came, of course, from the original tax take. “From the private sector?” I offered, to be met with skyward-rolled eyes. “No, silly,” he said, “we get it from the first batch of public employees.” I objected that as they are paid more than they are taxed this couldn’t work, but “Aaaaah” he said, tapping his nose, if we tax them at 25% then after four weeks we’ve got it all back and after five weeks we’re in profit!” 

So, there you have it, the key to all the world’s economic problems. Close the factories, board up the mines and let the fields go to grass, for all can be solved by employing everybody as tax collectors, inspectors, ministers, councillors, coordinators, evangelists, champions and various other jobsworths in Marxist heaven.

Lest you think this is levelling up the playing field by progressively digging down to bedrock and then keeping going, let me reassure you that the wise one would brook no argument against his thesis. The money tree is real. 

Ho ho! That's magic!

But wait! I said I learned of two things. The second is almost as far-reaching as the first. You may need to sit down to hear this particular gem, but to this old fool – and there’s no fool like an old-skool fool – the BBC is nothing more or less than the propaganda arm of the establishment. That’s right, folks. According to the Left, the BBC is institutionally right-wing. 

You couldn’t make it up.

PS: For anybody who subscribes to any form of left-of-centre ideology, I should explain this this blog may best be described as satirical reportage. You know, because you have no sense of humour and all that...

Braveheart

It's a brave man who burgles. So said Judge Peter Bowers in contempt of his own court as he failed to jail a recidivist burglar the other day. It would be a brave one who tried to burgle Batsby Towers all right. It was certainly a brave decision by Judge Bowers who apparently believes prison doesn’t work. Maybe he should have the opportunity to judge for himself – a stretch inside might be just the job to protect the rest of us from our own judiciary. 

But maybe he had a point? Maybe we should look to more positive ways of dealing with crime? After a glorious year in which Britain has rediscovered its appetite and ability for sport, we should be taking a leaf out of the athletes’ book. I give you Sporting Justice, in which both sides – the sinned and the sinners – get a fighting chance for a satisfactory outcome. The sport I have in mind is shooting. 

It has long been open season on the victims of crime, with angst-ridden, guilt-mongering Lord Longfords blaming anybody but the criminal. Now it’s time to declare a Glorious Twelfth on criminals. Don’t jail them; let them loose on grouse moors along with the judges who would merely have them tagged. 

If it sounds a tad barbaric it's nothing compared to the level of barbarism perpetrated on householders robbed blind and sometimes assaulted in their own homes. Victims are often traumatised by these ‘brave’ marauding souls and go on to suffer fear, depression and withdrawal for many years. So there’s nothing barbaric in my book about the perpetrators being given a sporting chance of avoiding a swift execution of sentence. 

On your marks... Load, aim, fire!

Sporting chance? Of course - they can run, can’t they? And a moving target can be pretty tricky; I reckon a handful every year will escape entirely… but they won’t be quick to burgle again. 

The Talking Eds have been blathering on about “predistribution” of wealth, a concept they’ve had all summer to come up with. (We’ve had it for donkeys years by the way lads. It’s called capitalism and it is achieved by having a small state.) But they’ve given me an idea. In justice how about, instead of getting criminals to make restitution to their victims, we engage in “prerestitution”? 

It’s very straightforward. The police already know who the burglars are, so why not cut the judges out of the process altogether and let the coppers mount dawn raids and shoot them right where they shit? It would be a fucking brave burglar indeed who attempted his antics in the face of that.

I'm Hank Marvin

Hank Marvin = Starvin' in ersatz Cockney Rhyming Slang. According to Save the Children that's the fate awaiting millions of children in Britain this winter as their families choose between "Eat or heat". With respect (which obviously means I have no respect) bollocks.

How easy the lumpen masses find it to push the buttons of earnest Socialists. The Labour party truly is the party of the underclass, dancing to the beat picked out by their stamping feet and snapping fingers. Boy! Bring me benefits and cower as you lay them before me! 

So, this hunger nonsense... The complaint is raised time and again that these families cannot afford the basics and like bleating sheep the whining Lefty malcontents take up their issue without question. There is an entire class of denizen that thinks all food is brown and we regularly hear how 'poor people' can't afford healthy diets. 

While it will cost you about £10 for a four-person bucket of greasy crap from KFC, for less than the cost of a packet of cancer sticks you could rustle up all manner of healthy, filling food from fresh ingredients; stews, stir-fries and the good old classics like spag-bol. Buy in bulk, avoid anything processed and you’ll feed a family of four for less than a tenner a day, never mind per meal. It’s so easy even men could do it. 

Nobody ‘needs’, crisps, bottled drinks, enormous bags of sweets or indeed anything which comes in brightly-labelled ‘designer’ packaging. ‘Snacking’ was invented by the food industry to persuade you to eat more than you need; to graze your way into dependence and obesity. 

Oi, Miliband, where's my fucking crisps?

So, actually, I welcome the opening of food banks. In fact I’d go one better. As you can’t be trusted with money – your Labour-voting ways are evidence enough of that – I’d open up portion-controlled, welfare dining facilities where you will be fed what’s good for you and nothing else. Your freeview-only TVs will be powered by treadmills (on-demand energy is for tax payers only) and you will have to heave your fat arses off your sofas to walk into town to eat. 

Anybody found in possession of snack food will be shot on sight and the installation of weighbridge checkpoints will allow us to monitor any transgressions. Don’t like it? Well boo-hoo-hoo, it’s not as if you’re actually starving, is it?

You Little Beauty

I had half a mind to write about the cabinet reshuffle but decided against on two counts. One; that I’m not really all that interested. Two; neither are you. Finally, everybody else has talked about nothing else for the last twenty-four hours on every form of media known to UKind. (Yes, I know that’s three reasons, but there’s British education in a nutshell.) Instead I’m going to talk about perverts. Are you sitting comfortably? Let’s see if I can’t change all that for you.

On the car radio yesterday I heard Jeremy Vine discussing the phenomenon of US-style, child beauty pageants coming to a fucked-up chav town near you any day soon. Surely nobody, this side of sanity could imagine for one minute that dressing up your three-year-old as a twenty-buck-a-trick hooker and sticking her on a stage will end in anything but disaster? Did we learn nothing from Bonny Langford?

Not surprisingly it was the girls’ pimps – their mothers – who were the ringleaders of this sinister flesh-trafficking industry. Also it will come as no surprise to hear that the greatest detractors were those voicing concerns of predatory male interest. Paedophiles get such a bad press, don’t they?

Who decides who’s a pervert? What’s the cut-off point? A fifteen-year-old girl can easily look twenty, so is ‘not legal’ the same as unnatural? Given that a thirteen-year-old is perfectly (and demonstrably) capable of becoming pregnant, it would seem natural, in the literal sense that they are ready for procreation. How low can you go before stretching a point becomes altogether unnatural? Is it a relative thing? (And when I say ‘relative’ the evidence usually points to a tradition of keeping it in the family.)

At what point on the scale of admiration does a leg man become a foot fetishist? Beyond which boundary does binding become bondage? How safe is your safe word? Where does one man’s auto-asphyxiation lead to a two-man, two-hand stranglehold? And it’s not just the men; according to E. L. James there’s fifty shades of fetish going down out there, as it were.

Until 1967, male homosexual acts were illegal in England and Wales and it took until 1980 for such enlightenment to reach Caledonia. Even heterosexual titillation was still seen as sordid and it took a new century and the Internet to reveal the full gamut of sexual predilection (or depravity, depending on your tastes) open to humanity. You can not only do it today, you are encouraged to flaunt it - dress-down-Friday becomes cross-dress everyday. 

Not everybody suits a Tutu - ask Tony Blair!

The world is agog, nay, Google-eyed at the sheer number of deviations in delight and nothing appears to be out of bounds… except the kiddy thing.

But there’s good news for pageant organisers. Not everybody is against the bump and grind baby parade circuit. The police heartily welcome the circus coming to town and they encourage the widespread advertising of show times – it takes their mind off the grim prospect of a Prescott police commissioner and it’s so much easier to catch the paedos when you know where they all are.

Mind how you go now.

Feeling Lucky?

According to our supposedly Christian creed it is more blessed to give than to receive, at least that’s what we were always told in the run-up to every Christmas ‘when I were a lad’. So, it’s not very Christian for all the various whingers out there to complain about giving back things which they should never have had in the first place.

It’s back to work this week for the government. With the traditional cabinet reshuffle under way and a horde of malcontents beating down the door to parliament, MPs will return to a barrage of feeble moaning from benefit recipients adjudged to not be in need, kids and teachers bemoaning their more representative exam results and minorities – why do we have so many bloody minorities? - demanding back their unequal rights in the name of equality.

In a telling sound bite from last week, following Atos’s “fit for work” assessments, I heard the demand, “Are we to believe there are deserving disabled and undeserving disabled?” Well frankly, yes. Just as there have always been deserving welfare recipients and undeserving, wilfully idle, it is well established that there are many thousands ‘on the sick’ who are perfectly capable of working for a living; the painful weeding out process is a necessary medicine.

Britain’s forty-year dalliance with Socialism – apart from an all-too-brief optimistic interlude in the eighties - has been marked by an erosion of our national character to be shored up with an absurd sense of individual self-worth, self-awareness and an X-Factor-infantilised population who believe they can all be stars. The cold reality is and always will be that people are what they make of themselves. Sometimes that’s easy, usually it’s hard, but it’s slightly absurd of the disability rights campaigners (with whom we all, no doubt have some sympathies) to use those who have done just that – the paralympians – to lobby for many who won’t.

Governance isn’t about fairy tale endings for all, it’s about doing what we can with what we’ve got and we just can’t afford to deal equally with every marginal ‘social’ issue when we are drowning in debt. Of course that means that all the special needs lobbies will clamour all the more for the scarce resources left, but as that bites harder on those who provide, is it any wonder that support is waning?

Ask yourself, would you really rather we were nice than alive? If Cameron is going to rescue his beleaguered administration, now is the time to tighten the screws all the more. Strong leadership and sod the consequences - bugger the inconsequential and get on with the job while you still have a chance Mr C. Oh and George Osborne? Don’t worry about being booed last night – that’s just the sound of commie-pinko weakness being squeezed from the British body corporate. You keep cutting old son – cut until they have no option but to get back to work.

But a ray of light in all the darkness. Government Minister Alan Duncan, said his constituents Andy and Tracey Ferrie should not be prosecuted for allegedly shooting burglars who targeted their property in Melton Mowbray. Hooray for common sense. In fact this could go further.

Feel lucky, punk?

In the United Dingdom it will be the duty of the police not only to catch burglars but to restrain them while the property owners take pot-shots at them with a twelve-bore.