Category: Kids
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Custard Woman vs The Dark Lord
If you think America has it bad with a rapist paedophile president hell-bent on fascisting his way out of the international blackmail trap he happily stumbled into with his pants around his ankles… wait ‘til you hear about the UK’s current predicament.
Our rapist paedophile ex-prince aside, and the King’s late rapist paedophile man-of-the-people “jingle jangle” advisor aside, we find ourselves with a prime minister who thinks it’s ok to have a key political advisor who is best friends with a rapist paedophile.
Kiddie-fuckers are bad, but not so bad that you can’t stay in touch and even stay in their mansion while they’re in prison for fucking children.
Of course, its not even the kiddie-fucking that’s the problem. The problem is that the kiddie-fucker looks like he was a foreign asset or a spy. And the key political advisor passed on highly privileged sensitive information to this foreign asset.
Fuck the children! This is about national security and the national interest!
But remember, for all his faults, the key political advisor isn’t a paedophile, as far as we know.
Three strikes and we’ll chop off your broadband.
He does, however, have a history of fucking our children’s (and other poor people’s children’s) futures. He wanted to reduce aid to developing countries as long ago as 2005. And he wanted to expand Heathrow. And he wanted to cut off the internet for seven million Brits found to have downloaded copyrighted material.
Enter Custard Woman. Custard Woman bravely made some vegan custard (unusually smooth, according to her mum), dyed it green to match the green slime she imagined coursing through his’s veins, and promptly accosted him with it, throwing it right into his creepy, frightening-looking face.
To Mandelson’s credit, he brushed it off and carried on with his day. He reappeared five minutes later, custard-free, and claimed the custard was organic and non-toxic. If anything, he looked positively glowing and revitalised - as if he’d just received a hydrating facial massage and a blood/slime transfusion simultaneously. At no time did he complain of being assaulted, or of violent left-wing fascists, unlike modern-day far-right snowflake warriors. Although he did whine about a minor skin irritation on his face. Fuck him!
What brought all this on? Well I was going through my email archive to make sure I wasn’t inadvertently connected to Mandelson, Epstein, Savile or any other kiddie-fuckers or their friends. I a spirit of openness and transparency, this was all I found.
This, and a couple of messages from my fellow not a podcasters. One saying how creepy and frightening Mandelson’s facial mannerisms are. The other saying he is “worse than a bronchoscopy”.
Little kid is back into space big time again. He’s been playing Universe Sandbox and watching all the associated videos. He keeps going off on long and technical descriptions of planets and their orbits, ending up by describing a planet that is “habibabububble”. It’s reached the point very quickly now where he does it deliberately and purely for laughs. It’s our favourite in-house stand-up running joke.
Today, on another matter entirely, I was interviewed by a proper journalist about a massive housing development in Southall. After my usual rambling spiel about broken promises and toxic land, I said, “One question you might want to ask the developers and the council is how many affordable homes there will be. Because in the planning permission it’s not clear at all. In fact, they don’t mention affordable homes at all, only rooms that are habibabububble.”
Trump bombs Iran, Iraq, Yemen, Somalia, Nigeria, Venezuela, kidnaps Venezuela’s president and his wife, threatens Colombia, Mexico, Greenland (and NATO); sets up “Board of Peace” and invites UK to join.
UK Foreign Secretary: Putin.
UK holds off joining Trump's peace board over Putin concerns: bbc.com
I know it’s been said before about Donald Trump, that he’s like a six year old child, but this morning I heard one of little kid’s new classmates talking and bragging about his xmas presents. He even had Trump’s distinctive New York accent (which at first I thought he must be mimicking, but it must be where he lived before he moved here).
“I gotta Nintendo Switch. It’s VERY GOOD. Nintendo Switch TOO. Better than Windows. Windows is VERY BAD. If anyone steals my Switch, I’m gonna STEAL THEM. I’m gonna take out their EYEBALLS!”.
Big Kid and the Umbrella
Big kid had lots of big ideas.
He wanted a big house so all his friends and family could stay and play together.
He wanted a big school so everyone could learn everything they needed to know.
He wanted a big hospital so that everyone could get the help they needed when they needed it.
But most of all, he wanted a big umbrella. In particular, he wanted his granny’s umbrella that she was going to throw away. The umbrella was very old, like an antique. In fact, it was Grandad’s old umbrella. Grandad had sadly died when big kid was a baby. He had cancer. Even though it was very old, and very dusty, big kid really wanted this umbrella. It was a shame to throw it away. And at school they had learned all about reusing old things and not sending them to landfill sites that poison the earth. And it was part of his family’s heritage. And, oh my god, it was BIG! It was a golf umbrella. Not that Grandad played any golf. But he did go on lots of walks in the rain to fetch things for Granny and get him out from under her feet. And now big kid could walk to school and back in the rain without needing to wear a big bulky coat that he would have to carry around with him all day. It would be perfect!
Big kid pleaded with Granny and his mum and dad, and eventually got his way (mum didn’t want “more junk in the house”, so the umbrella lives outside in the communal stairway). Granny is very pleased, and dad gets to use the umbrella, too, sometimes, when he collects little kid in the rain. It’s much better than those silly little umbrellas that snap and collapse in the wind and barely keep your shoulders dry.
Big kid is now very popular at school when it rains at home time. He’s always late home as he provides a sheltered taxi service home to all his friends. They all huddle together under his big umbrella and they walk each other home until he’s the last one and he walks home with his big umbrella all to himself.
Here’s where the story ends.
But in a parallel universe, big kid’s big umbrella becomes a source of envy. Bigger kids want it, and one big kid in particular has no problem taking it. He moves in, full of superficial charm, “Hey kid, nice umbrella! Wow, that’s such a big umbrella, kid. It would be perfect to keep me and my friends dry when it rains. Here, have some Haribos. They’re Tangtastic, your favourites. Let’s walk home together with my friends.”
Bigger kid has lots of stories to tell about how much better he is than everyone else, and, in particular, how much worse everyone else is, and why. “But me and you, we’re the same. We have my Haribos and my big umbrella. We’re a team!”
Big kid doesn’t really know what’s happening but he goes along with it because he doesn’t really have any choice. Bigger kid could just take his umbrella and leave him in the rain to get wet. Bigger kid could take away his Haribos. Big kid’s friends no longer talk to him, but that’s ok because they all soaking wet anyway, and bigger kid’s friends are all kind of bigger and drier. Although they do eat all of big kid’s Haribos. And big kid is no longer big kid. He’s little kid.
Soon, little kid’s big umbrella gets damaged and there’s a hole in it. The bigger kids were messing around with it pretending it was a sword. They stabbed a tree with it. Now not everyone is keeping dry in the rain and some people are getting very wet. Arguments start. Little kid’s umbrella is no longer a source of unity and pride among friends. It’s become a source of conflict and suspicion.
“Some kids are making us wet and need to be kicked out!” they shouted.
“That little kid is making us wet!” said bigger kid. “Kick him out!”
Now little kid has stopped having ideas. They’re dangerous. Bad. Crazy. Like him.
Things could have got better. Or worse.
Little kid’s dad noticed he wasn’t himself and he told his dad everything that happened. Dad spoke to the teachers at school. The grown-ups had some meetings.
Bigger kid told a pack of lies. He said little kid gave him the umbrella. He said little kid stole it from him. He said little kid broke it to stop bigger kid using it. Bigger kid said little kid was stealing his Haribos and selling them to bigger kid’s friends. Bigger kid took the umbrella back to protect it from little kid so that everyone could use it.
Bigger kid’s dad brought bigger kid round and made him say sorry.
Next time bigger kid saw little kid he punched him in the face.
The streets of Southall and the road to hell…
Jack Frost visited overnight and left some beautiful souvenirs on car windscreens this morning.
The pavements, however, are treacherous.
I saw a number of little kids slide and tumble on the way into school. As we climbed up and over the canal footbridge and approached the invisibly icy downward steps to the school side, we all received a text message from the headteacher asking us to be mindful of the slippery conditions. Distracted by the beeps and buzzes in our hands, on our wrists and in our pockets, we all reflexively reached out, shifted our focus and fell like lemmings over the edge of the top step and down into a crumpled, groaning heap of legs and arms, shouts and cries. Well… Not really. We all carried on like the battle-hardened school-runners we are and dragged, coerced, danced and sang our recalcitrant little ones into class as usual. It could have been worse.
I am bleeding
“AND I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH IT, TOO, IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU PATHETIC, SINISTER, CHILDISH, MORONIC TYRANT CLOWNS!!1!”
The framing of this “story” is very interesting, to say the least, for all sorts of reasons.
New archbishop urged to scrap £100m slavery reparations: bbc.com