OLD MAN’S RANT – BAHRAIN THIS MONTH – NOVEMBER 2015
Hollywood to the British Bumbastic Service, vehemently deny that sex and violence on our screens influence the public in anyway. “We are all far too intelligent for that”. What a crock! Then why do politicians use the media to campaign?
How on earth did Che Guevara protégé Jeremy Corbyn get elected then? Maybe he is a murdering psychopath just like Guervara which millions sickly worship. Unless another Illuminati conspiracy, what could have influenced this catastrophic debacle? It is all media sensation! Let’s vote for anyone called Jeremy, after the relentless media coverage of Jeremy Clarkson, who is more famous than World Wars or the Titanic? Guffaw all you like; this clan of pseudo Marxists in the vast media beyond, along with the well-worn BBC sphincters are twitching nervously, fearing that Donald Trump might get elected too. Don’t be surprised if the Democrats seriously consider putting blissfully unaware Republican Kim Kardashian up to counter.
Corbyn is living proof that suicide is fashionable. ‘Is that a nuclear deterrent in your pocket or are you having an election’? Nothing is ever straight is it – said the urologist. Furthermore, it could have been Tony Blair in a David Cameron mask making the speech at the recent Conservative Conference, demonizing both left and right. They all cave in to their massive egos and the vote. Will the real Slim Shady please stand up.
Decent people have lost their way; swamped by a minority of massively egotistical deviants who patronize and oppress the majority, turning Political Correctness into a religion of force as they control governments and the entire media. Meanwhile, Edmund Burke’s sad lot sat back and did nothing. (Burke apparently didn’t say it either, but we must have heroes).
Feeling had yet? Sardonic at best, having been likened to Jeremy Clarkson in many more physical ways than just gob, regally speaking, one should ascertain whether or not one believes everything one writes, or if one does it purely to get up one’s nose – are ‘YOU’ the chosen ‘ONE’ this month? But seriously, with several reports of the last page of this very magazine mysteriously disappearing at letter boxes, one suspects a BBC fatwa is at play. Just in case the CIA or GCHQ get wind of this article and decide to deploy the vanishing cream, let’s add an ‘Elephant to the room’.
To reiterate, the BBC is one great big cottage industry discriminately recruiting the likeminded. You are highly unlikely to get a job with this bastion of agenda unless you teasingly speak with a ‘lisp’ off microphone or are a member of the fur trade. Broadcast media in particular, are rife with this out-of-control control all across the European Union; dictated to by the least purchased paper of all, the piddly Guardian which endlessly pouts its own credence. This minority cartel of obliviously indoctrinated journalists along with barracudas in government have infiltrated every nook and cranny of society since suspected reptilian and covert Bolshevik ‘Arold Wilson crawled out from under his red bed in the late 60s.
Character assassination is endemic and permitted aimed at those who don’t eat the same cake, but you try and do it back. Example: “The million-plus fans who petitioned the BBC to recall Clarkson should be ashamed of themselves”, wrote journalist Christopher Stevens. A statement that is convolutedly acceptable! It’s also wholly contradictory, advocating (Burke’s) million to one minority rule. “Thankfully no racial slurs” (during the last Top Gear Programme) wrote another luvvy from the ‘hang Clarkson’ citadel. The comment was typically nasty and pointed. So it’s a racial slur if we try to teach pigmies ‘limbo dancing’ because it goes above their head. Of course, it’s Kosher to make fun of Clarkson’s colleague tiny Richard Hammond who turns into a three-legged midget when on Viagra.
Clarkson will never be knighted since he’s not spent time in paediatric wards or become a member of The Central Station Club in Kings Cross unlike so many of the rest of the BBC. Are we ever going to see that great Satan disbanded and all assets sold off? Ok, those in agreement stop shouting; ‘Clarkson for Prime Minister’. Donald Trump would be much better…………..Cough!
OLD MAN’S RANT – APRIL 2015
Page 201
Bahrain this month April 2015
SOAPBOX FOR THE OLD AND GUMPY 3
Spoiler warning: The following article contains flash photography and an authentic sense of humour embodied with language which many who have lost touch with reality will find offensive. Furthermore, the risk of triggering bouts of Jeremy Clarkson syndrome for those affected is quite high
Don’t you just love living in Bahrain where Political Correctness has as much presence as a Casper in a bacon factory here. Bahrain is the classic Hotel California; ‘You can check out any time, but you can never leave’. Utterances like; ‘How dare you’ and ‘apologize now’ are as rare as unicorn dung and you are going nowhere with it even if you try. So for the PColics, here’s an apology before you palpitate; ‘Sorry, you are in Bahrain and you love it. Get over it – now’.
It confuses the life out of expatriates of the appeasement generation who have elsewhere collectively dominated not only what we say, but how we must appease, live and act among each other. A particular flare up issue is and always will be the imported and imposed cultures; those who in principle leave their unhappy, often violent homesteads to pursue a better life in the west, but through bloated Political Correctness are allowed to create what they left behind in the new paid for home. ‘No problem’ reads the flyer; just make sure you vote Socialist. Wait! Sit down, take some water, you are having a Jeremy Clarkson reaction already.
Is it ok to carry on now?
So you have arrived on these shores and are initially horrified by the total disregard for sensitivities other than religion but have somehow fallen in love with the place. A conundrum as Radio Bahrain’s Mr. Fisher would put it and Christopher Hitchens a self-proclaimed Marxist, Neo Conservative (no confusion there then) and polemicist – expounded as to how depressed he was. Even he couldn’t fight his own doctrine. Confused he says; ‘Living in a country where you can be told “That’s offensive” as if those two words constitute and argument’.
While Da’esh physically and terminally wipe priceless artefacts off the earth, limp ‘Peeceeuraucrats’ as far afield as Alaska have engaged in apocalyptic paternalism for the past 40 years or more (Look it up). This culminates in the abstract removal of one of life’s greatest arts, by actively suppressing any form of laughter as they attempt to eliminate all traces of the once upon a time intangible hormone called ‘a sense of humour’, simply because it is deemed offensive to someone somewhere; known or unknown, close by or maybe 50,000 light years away, or even dead. ‘They’ have near succeeded too, judging by the number of trolls out there.
Clarkson’s antics, hype or real has started a colossal world opinion war which could be the obtuse catalyst for a physical revolution. The BBC chocolate box boss says with naïve brainwashed, privileged but amateur confidence; ‘No individual is bigger than the show’. Oh really sir and on which piece of Marxist Fabian parchment does it support that? In this case Mr. Luvvie might consider calling his favourite chiropractor to help him extract his head from behind his belly button. And if Jonofon Roff gets the job it would be a war crime.
It is strikingly obvious; UK and Europe in particular are a mess with a massive volcano about to erupt, as missionary statements commanded by this now echelon of society are being challenged. Forcibly by law ‘they’ have dictated speech content using a viral language called ‘clichéd rhetoric’ in response to anyone who starts a sentence with the words; ‘I think’.
Despite the plethora of peroxide blondes on Fox News never having wanted to master ‘clichéd Rhetoric’, the unearthly profusion of closet members at the BBC are extremely fluent in it. Ask yourself, why did Esperanto fail? Because words like ‘foreign’ (eksterlandaj) and ‘obese’ (graso bastardo) were just too long
The echelon, ‘they’ have successfully been forcing equalization and drabness upon us, even degrading exam standards so as not to offend the dopey. With droves of ‘clichéd Rhetoric’ speakers in tow; mouthpieces like the BBC and newspapers such as The Guardian, Independent, Huffington Post and a good few more, literally ‘speak for us all’. Megalomaniac egos overpower reason, with a desire to neutralize the voter base, in other words make us all totally indistinguishable from each other. You know the rules; do not profile at a crime scene or airport. Vanquish all thoughts that this person might be different because they have a beard or wear tribal like clothes and enforce colour blindness on everyone. Damn Clarkson.
Here’s a simple tip to detect ‘they’ when being subliminally nobbled. Every time you listen to a radio advertising message, promotion, current affairs presenters and now so-called entertainers, be conscious of the voice and demeanour. It is almost like it is one voice or clone of for all now; this incessant sickly, girly sing song replica of that BBC pop channel implant, spewing out insincere happiness. The liberally infected ‘Pronoun Virus’ ever present as she hangs words at the end of every sentence. Je suis all ‘WE’. If not her, then it is an equally effeminate male (we think) with a lisp, doing much the same. The Star Gate is somewhere in the Meteorological Office. Whoops! Severe Clarkson moment. Doctor!!! Plus, clock the clothes, particularly the BBC presenters. The female species so often wear vibrant blue or bright yellow and is as significant as a bird mating ritual. Blokes removing ties would be just too much for now, so wear pink for the same reason and red for allegiance. They even have the gall to wear arm bands if Bono from U2, Paul McCartney or Bob ‘Comfortably Numb’ Geldof strike up a cause. It is all so incestuous and closed shop. Clarkson has never been part of that, having slipped through the corridors years ago and like double jeopardy managed to hang on, but it was never going to be easy.