Archive for the ‘Stuff’ Category

#JeremyCorbyn #LabourPartyLeadership #TheDarkLord

Mea Culpa

Firstly, apologies to our International readers. We’re having a bit of a political spat here in the UK following our recent general election. Basically we’re in turmoil as a government with a majority – though elected by a minority – feel they have carte blanche to run roughshod over the weakest and most vulnerable in our society by incentivising the poor with less money whilst incentivising the rich with more.

Consequently a number of posts over the next few months may seem somewhat disconnected from the greater world at large.

Anyway…

That said, and with the above in mind, the last few days have seen me scrabbling around in the Springstien Archives by way of a late spring-clean on some old drives. By chance I stumbled upon a folder containing approximately seventy dusty sketches. I’m unsure of both the date and the reason they were written?

At a guess I’d say they are from 2001 and were written possibly for a wonderful animated British satirical TV show called 2DTV. The folder is tagged ‘Sketches – Un-Optioned’ so I presume they were never bought.

Either way, the interest, for myself at least, is implicit in the content. I’ve chosen the following two for no other reason than alphabetically they were near the top of the folder.

The first of the two is called ‘Coming Out‘, whilst the second is entitled ‘A Little List’. They both explore the nature of being a Tory in Britain at the turn of the millennium following the demise of Margaret Thatcher as a political force.

Backstory

For younger denizens of these shores, the term ‘A Little List‘ stems from a minister in Thatchers cabinet called Peter Lilley who famously had a ‘little list’ of dangerous individuals who he was to gleefully target in yet another round of swingeing spending cuts. One such enemy within were single parents.

The reference (in the same sketch) to Thatchers’s health originates from her anger at the Tory lurch from the extreme-right to the Blairite centre-right following her party’s defeat. Seeing her neo-liberal agenda ameliorated in favour of future electability actually made her ill to the point where her physicians prescribed a halt to any and all public speaking. A course of treatment greeted with some joy by what remained of her Nasty Party.

Their resonance echoes the current oppositions lurch to the right (now called the centre) in its search for electoral viability at the cost of integrity.

Coming Out Party Sketch

Coming Out Party – Sketch (circa 2001) Click on the Image above.

scripts 2

A Little List/War on Single Parents – Sketch (circa 2001) Click on the Image above.

Anvil Springstien.

Ten Days To Save The World –  Vote ‘Dark Lord’.

[Note: None of the telephone numbers, addresses, or email addresses in the sketches are current]

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On this day in 1973 I awoke to find I was fifteen years old. I was a man. I wore flares, penny-round collars, and my hair, when wet and with my head arched as far back as it would go, would touch my protruding hip-bones.

My ‘mates’ had decided that the evening would be spent celebrating in a pub. Underage and attempting to avoid recognition we caught the 61 bus and travelled about five stops before reaching a place called West Derby Village. Originally a real village until an ever expanding city of Liverpool engulfed it with a tidal wave of post-war slum-clearance housing estates, West Derby had retained its high street quota of watering holes which seemed to be perennially packed to the gills.

David Bowie blasted from the jukebox of the first pub we visited. Commandeering a table in a smoke-filled corner we argued as to who would be the first to try and get served. Being the ‘birthday-boy’ and looking by far the youngest of our motley crew it was decided that I would be exempt from this element of our daring-do. “What you having, then?” said the nominated bravest. “Er, just a pint.” I replied. “Yeah, duh! Dumb cunt! A pint of fuckin’ what, yer spastic?” I reddened with the realisation that I hadn’t a clue what to ask for. I’d considered mouthing a ‘pint of beer’, but after seeing the vast array of pumps as we passed the bar I knew this would be received with another hail of teenage testosterone-filled abuse.

As it happened, my ‘Mam‘ had a penchant for the Bingo, and would, on the occasion of a win, return home with a couple of bottles of beer. Specifically ‘Guinness Stout‘. It was her favourite along with another stout called Mackeson. I’d tasted both, of course, but hadn’t liked either, gagging at the bitterness before being laughed at in the way that adults do when they let children take a sip of their drink. The word ‘Guinness‘ floated to my tongue. Saved for the first, and not the last time that night, by my Mam.

Six pints of draught Guinness later we were back on the bus. Singing and talking to girls just like what real men do. Graham Roberts pissed on the floor of the upper deck of the bus.

Returning to our estate we had lost all fear of recognition and decided to try our luck at St Philomena’s Catholic Club. There was a band on. I danced with innumerable friends of my Mam, “You’re Phyla Lafferty’s son ain’t yer?”. I swapped spit with two of them on the dance-floor and drank three more pints of Guinness.

I can’t remember leaving the club but recall the drunkards long walk home. Arriving at the house my key took about fifteen minutes to make contact with the lock. I recollect the brief joy as it eventually slid into position only for the door to disappear leaving me holding said key where the lock had once been. A hand materialised out of the darkness and grabbed me by the hair, dragging me into the house, another simultaneously slapping the illicit cigarette from my mouth.

It would be hard, and unnecessary, to describe the torrent of invective and abuse that railed from the lips and fists of my Mother. Suffice it to say that I ended up horizontal on a black vinyl couch with my head spinning. “Mam… I’m gonna’ be sick

No sooner said than done. I erupted somewhat whale-like toward the ceiling. Instantly the uncontrollable anger dissipated to be replaced with maternal concern. Within seconds she disappeared only to reappear with a red plastic bowl that normally resided in the kitchen sink, and a sponge.

Oh, Son… oh, my lovely Son…” She cleared most of the vomit from myself and the vinyl couch but struggled to remove it from my hair. So she took a pair of scissors and cut it all off. All of it.

I love my Mam.

Anvil Springstien.

Addendum:

I’d been taken out last night for a lovely birthday meal by my brother. We then went to an old watering hole of ours called The Cumberland Arms. By the time we’d returned home and I’d drunkenly finished writing this it was past midnight, so not quite ‘on this day‘. Ah, well. Fuck it. Fuck ’em all!

#HeWhoShallNotBeNamed #VoteCorbyn #TheEvilOne #TheDarkLord #DoctorDeath #IveHadaHeadTransplant #TwelveDaysToSaveTheWorld

The Dark Lord

Unaware of his secret plans to build a Death Star, a second major Trades Union and an insignificant Comedian today fell under his Machiavellian spell and pledged their allegiance to The Dark Lord of Socialism, Jeremy Corbyn.

I Just Joined The Labour Party

Twelve Days to Save the World

The following email, translated from the original parseltongue, and intercepted by the security services radicalisation unit, clearly shows how this vile and evil man is using social media to spread his hateful message of equality, fairness, and social justice.

A spokesperson for the so called British government said “If this insidious plot to get the entire UK electorate to vote for ‘Doctor Death’ succeeds, then the British Labour Party would remain unelectable for decades to come.

Readers (sic) of The Daily Mail were seen to nod, thoughtfully, whilst stroking their chins. A journalist (sic) from Fox News was heard to ask for a pen.

labour party membership thank you grab

Happy Birthday to me!

Twelve Days to Save the World

Anvil Springstien.

UPDATE:

Just had a welcome email from Harriet ‘I Support the Cuts‘ Harman, who appears to have changed her tune a tad (you can click to enlarge):

harriet email grab1

Sharp eyed among the radicalised will have noticed that she repeats verbatum the hateful message of “equality, fairness and social justice” – bit spooky that. She then ends with a soupçon of fighting talk:

harman email grab2

Yep, I’ve got yer back, girl! See you at the barricades, then, Harriet.

Remember, stout shoes!

Anvil Springstien.

#RoyalCorrespondent

Royals fall for Holy Water Scam

The British Royal Family admitted this week to being duped after buying so-called Holy Water from the Jordan River – a river in Jordan, which is a country – for the sacrificial-wetting of latest royal addition, blond, Princess Charlotte, aged not one yet.

The water reputed to have been used to sacrificially wet suedo-fictional character, Hey-Zeus Christos (pronounced Gee-suss by some and Yeah-shoo-aah by others who speak different languages) has been sold by unscrupulous dealers for many years and can be bought at source or online from shadowy venders such as Gumtree and eBay for as little as £3.13 (plus £5.69 shipping) – although an accompanying Certificate of Authentification holy waterattaining to uncut full-strength holy water can raise this to as much as £21.33 for less than 600mls.

Although used to encourage miracles or the good favour of Gods, Holy Water from the River Jordan is not suitable for drinking.

Hey-Zeus and Holy Water from the River Jordan first came to prominence following the success of Hollywood blockbusters ‘Space Jew’, and ‘Space Jew II – the Re-Awakening’. Both movies, loosely based on two earlier books, chart the story of a powerful alien who travels to earth using the vagina of a middle-eastern teenager as a ‘Star Gate’. Following a period of transitioning from a small brown Arab boy into a, blond haired, blue-eyed white guy, Hey-Zeus bursts on to the scene with a magic-act that stuns popular local competition, Galilee’s Got Talent.

Top of His Game

Jesusblond blue eyesDuring a nation-wide tour, and at the top of his game, Hey-Zeus meets another man called John who has a failing riverside career persuading people to gain the attention of deities by getting themselves and their clothes wet. Hey-Zeus befriends John, uses his ‘re-birth’ facility, causing a massive turn-around in John’s business fortunes which is seen as a miracle by the Jordanian Chamber of Commerce.

From there the story unfolds into a Machiavellian tale of hatred, betrayal, and the unrequited love of one man for twelve others, spoiled, many critics admit, by an overly complex ending where Hey-Zeus, descending into apparent Freudian madness, believes he has been sent to earth by himself to sacrifice himself to himself in order to an appease himself for his own anger at the actions of two long dead earthlings who no-one on earth knew.

Hey-Zeus Lives!

Complexity aside, the franchise has become at least as popular as Pokémon and has generated almost as many street-sayings as Terminator, or The Matrix – and although “I shall return” and “Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?” hardly compete with “I’ll be back” or “You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes“, it has achieved almost mythic status amongst its followers, so much so that Hey-Zeus is seen at least as often as Elvis, be it on toast, in chip-shops, or emblazoned across the backside of a dog.

dogsarsejesus

This very success has created a burgeoning souvenir industry that many feel is taking advantage of unwary high-profile fans such as the Royals culminating in an increased incidence of sacrificial-wetting by the feckless poor, which in turn has the effect of severe environmental degradation to the River Jordan itself – once a major river of almost biblical proportions, now a mere muddy trickle of brown water and sewage.

Dawkins

Environmental considerations aside, a spokesperson who refused to be associated with the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason & Science said, ‘This is child-abuse. Surely Princess Charlotte, blonde, aged not one yet, should be allowed to grow up and watch these movies for herself before deciding to be sacrificially-wetted. No-one is born a fan of these movies, for goodness sake!’.

Another spokesperson, unconnected with Buckingham palace, said the Royals were unaware they were doing anything wrong until suspicions about the quality of the water purchased first arose when Prince Charles noticed it wasn’t even carbonated.

In other news a family of nine from Luton, England, thought initially to be on holiday in Mecca, have reportedly crossed from Turkey into the Middle Ages.

Anvil Springstien.

SPECIAL OFFER: ‘Tears of Saint Diana of Wales’ – coming soon (330ml & 750ml only). You can now bathe in the tears of Saint Diana of Wales (prices available on request). Some Beans available now.

#TwatShaming

DylanRoof-Twat-Shaming#1

Dylan Roof. 21 Years Old – Twat.

Loosely Related: TwatShaming #2

#MagnaCarta

Nuisance Texts

Woke up this morning only to find I was the victim of nuisance texts from someone called Philae Lander (you can bet your life it’s just a machine and not a real person) who appears to a) know that I was involved in an accident within the last three months that wasn’t my fault, and, b) wants to congratulate me on the 800th anniversary of the signing, or ‘sealing’ of the Magna Carta?

Magna Carta (British Library Cotton MS Augustus II.106).jpgIf you live in a democracy you may know from your history lessons at school that the Magna Carta or ‘Great Charter’ was approved by King John on this very day in 1215 in order to avoid a civil war with a number of his wicked Barons, who, sick of nasty John’s greed and power, wanted some of it for themselves.

If you never grew up in a democracy then think Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves – that’s the 1991 Kevin Costner one, not the dogs’ dinner that Ridley Scott did in 2010 with Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchet.

Cast your mind back to how brilliantly villainous Alan Rickman was as King John’s cousin and representative, the Sheriff of Nottingham. That’s how bad it was back then. People were heavily taxed without any say in the matter, many went missing, were imprisoned, tortured, or killed for no other reason than they opposed the powers that be. Oh, and Christmas was cancelled, often.

If you never saw Prince of Thieves then try and picture a fortnights holiday in Saudi Arabia or the New Caliphate – it’s basically the same thing but with different shaped swords. That’s the real victory of Isis – time-travel – taking us all back to the good ol’e days.

Three is a Magic Number

Moving again in the correct direction through time: Of the sixty three original clauses demanded by the Barons in the original document, only three have any real relevance for us today:

No taxation without representation – that’s the biggie, apparently; then there’s a little clause against arbitrary arrest, imprisonment, and the guarantee of a fair trial from one’s peers; and finally there’s the liberty of the Church (then the Church of Rome) to be free from interference by both monarch and government.

Little did our Robber Barons, who were simply out to get a bit of the action for themselves, understand just how loudly this trio of demands would echo down the ages:

In these three clauses we can see the beginnings of parliamentary democracy, the separation of church and state, and the establishment of a rule of law that all, including those in power, would be held to.

Ripples from the Magna Carta can be seen in John Wycliffe’s (1384) democratisation of the scriptures: he translated the bible into English encouraging believers to read it for themselves and coined the now oft quoted ‘government of the people, for the people and by the people’ – a foreshadowing of all round bad guy Martin ‘Lex’ Luther nailing his scrotum to a Wittenberg church door in 1517.

Following the Reformation, the ‘Three Little Piggies’ of the Great Charter were to influence 18th century thought both in revolutionary Europe and, through continued religious persecution, the British colonies in America – and was ultimately to produce the War of Independence, the American Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

People of the quality of Paine, Madison and Jefferson were patently steeped in the holy trinity of the Magna Carta.

Greeks with Gifts

This fact that was not lost later on Winston Churchill as Britain stood alone during the dark days of European fascism: Churchill planned to remind the United States of this by presenting them with one of the remaining Magna Carta originals in an attempt to shame them into the war against Hitler.

Had he a highlighter he would have picked out the three clauses in iridescent yellow.

Fortunately, for British posterity at least, someone reminded Winnie that the Magna Carta didn’t actually belong to him – so he could hardly give it away.

Besides, the impending ‘monicker’ of having been the ‘Man Who Gave Away The Magna Carta’ became moot as the Americans were forced into entering the war following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour.

Following the defeat of the axis powers the newly created United Nations formed a committee chaired by Eleanor Roosevelt to produce a ‘Magna Carta for all mankind’. On the December the 10th 1948 the United Nations adopted The Universal Declaration on Human Rights.

Europe, now on a roll, formed the Council of Europe in 1949 and Britain proposed a European Convention on Human Rights. Proudly chaired by the UK, the convention entered into force on 3rd of September 1953.

Benefit Porn

On the 800th anniversary of possibly the most important document in the history of our species long march to justice, freedom and equality, many of the population in the country of its birth use foodbanks and the most feckless and stupid of the poor are held up and televised as entertainment rightly described as Benefit Porn. Governments prevaricate about releasing numbers of deaths following suspension of welfare payments, and elements of our community, for whatever reason, appear disenfranchised enough to go and fight – and die – for a fascist, misogynist, homophobic, supremacist ideology, an ideology that must have somehow competed positively for the mind-set of these young men and women.

As the poor, the desolate and the desperate watch the rich celebrate today’s anniversary they can reflect on the fact that the British public have recently voted into power a government which stands on a policy of withdrawing from the European Convention on Human Rights.

Ah, the good ol’e days, eh. It seems the Robber Barons never really went away.

Oops, hold on… another text?

Apparently I’ve been mis sold PPI insurance? How do I shut this Philae Lander thing up?

Anvil Springstien.