Saturday, June 30, 2007

Zimbabwe : Weapon of Mass Destruction is Found!

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Finally it has happened. As the west had predicted, a tin pot tyrant would eventually get his hands on a weapon so powerful, that millions of innocent people would die long suffering deaths.

More destructive than your average atomic bomb, this weapon is simple to operate and amazingly can be used again and again, so long as it s supplied with basic raw materials easily available world wide. The most alarming fact is that it was the west who gave Zimbabwe the technology in the first place!

What is so sinisterly clever with this weapon of mass destruction is the subtle way it works. Once the weapon is activated and left to operate, spewing out its deadly pile, there is little any one can do to protect themselves. Many flee, risking life and limb to escape too another country. There they struggle to exist and send what they can back to relatives slowly dying back at home.

Why, you may ask, has no western government reacted, like they did in Iraq?

This is because the Government of Zimbabwe is very clever. This weapon is designed only to kill its own people. Slowly but surely those that are trapped in the land succumb to its deadly affects. Since the bomb was activated seven years ago, like cancerous tumours the deadly stuff just grows and grows. Only the elite, those that started the weapon, are still immune, but some fear it has become like a Frankenstein monster, running amok and out of control.

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Many experts predict that the weapon will self implode at any moment, but rumours abound that should this happen, a new updated version would replace it with a modern digital version capable of printing a million bearer cheques with a million dollar face value a minute and continue its destruction deep within the vaults of the Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe.

President Robert Mugabe remains defiant and ridicules all reports of the country’s economic demise. At a recent speech at the funeral of a leading member of ZANU (PF) hierarchy (who had mysteriously decided to park his car on a railway crossing, just as the train arrived), the great liberator said,

‘The street beggars are still accepting sacks of Zimbabwe Dollars, so there is nothing wrong with the economy, stupid!’

He also added,

‘Our security forces have recently infiltrated a training camp for the off spring of Ian Smith’s Selous Scouts, who were intending to invade us. However we have successfully routed them.’

The film, showing this successful mission by ZANU (PF), whose emblem is the chicken, has been shown constantly on Zimbabwean television.

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Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Tony Blair - Good Bye and Good Riddance

For those who may not know it, the great leader of the United Kingdom has today done a runner, jacked in his job and will ride off into the sunset and make loads of money by talking more unbelievable lies to idiots who pay to hear them.

In my homage to him, I searched the net to find a general picture of the type of populace that voted him into power and kept him there for 10 painful years. It was difficult as there were so many examples, all having their own merit but in the end I settled on this one.

As you will see in this short film, these Labour supporters tend to be well educated, completely in control of their mental capacities and, as in this example, the backbone of the British economy. The glue that holds British society together is apparent in the comradely way this clip has been presented. The young man starring in this moving tribute is unquestionably a role model for the word Great before the Britain.

What did interest me, and you need sharp eyes to notice it, is what appears to be a very large GERMAN influence! Watch the video and see if you can spot what I did.

Did you spot it? Yes, the beer tin looks suspiciously like it is a Summerfield’s own brand Bavarian Wheat Beer 5.3%. I do have a special affinity to the stuff, as it is the real Mc Coy. As an expert on wheat beer, or as it is correctly pronounced, WeissBier, this wonderful brew is on the par to the famed weiss beer made by Paulauner of Munich. In fact, I secretly think it is from the same brewery. So, look for that silver and blue can, sometimes it is on a special at 99 pence a pop (weep blood, Paulauner is selling at 28 pence a pop in Germany), and give it a go!

Then you too can also get so shit faced, that you will demand that the new Prime Minister of Binging Britain, Gorden Brown’s first job is to reduce the tax on alcohol. That, after all, is guaranteed to get him loads of votes.

Free Marco Weiss

Do you remember the story of the 12 year old British girl who had sex with a 19 year old Turkish waiter whilst on holiday in Turkey? Do you remember the hoo-haa that followed? The Muslim wedding, the press coverage and exclusive interviews for sums of money undisclosed from News of The World and The Sun tabloid papers.

It all blew away, presumably the girl went back to school and the waiter became a small celebrity and starred as himself in a film about the whole sordid affair.

What you haven’t seen on the news and it appears only now to have trickled into the British press, is the incarceration in Turkey, of Marco Weiss, 17, a volunteer with a German aid agency. He is accused of assaulting a 13 year old girl, known as Charlotte M, from Manchester, at a hotel in the resort of Antalya during the Easter holiday. He was arrested after the girl’s mother filed a complaint against him.

Reading both versions of the story, this was a holiday flirt that went horribly wrong. There is no ‘assault’, just the debate did the kid prematurely eject with or with out the fully clothed girl’s encouragement, whilst in her hotel bedroom. The mother reported Marco Weiss to the police. He has been sharing a cell with 30 other prisoners since April 11th. Turkish prisons aren’t exactly up to European specs!
Marco’s father, a taxi driver, is suffering from leukaemia and can ill afford to see his son for the allowed 8 minutes a week.

The whole sorry affair has now blown into a full scale political row between Berlin and Ankara. The biggest tabloid in Europe, the German Bild Zeitung, is having a field day stirring up passions and a large percentage of the German population see this as another reason for not allowing Turkey into the European Union. Pressure is building against the German government to appeal to the girl’s mother to drop the charges and let Marco, described as a model student, to go home.

I think it is a good idea before this gets really out of hand. I would be the first to say a big thank-you to Charlotte M. and her family.

After all, Antalya is well known for the type of clientele that frequent its cheap all inclusive resorts, little girls who are 13 but look older, who seem to have access to alcohol and are allowed by their parents to stay out late at night in discos.

The Turkish authorities have now requested help in questioning the girl from the British police.

Article in today’s The Times at

Latest article in Germany’s Bild Zeitung

Friday, June 22, 2007

Happy Birthday to ME!

Exactly nine years ago I nearly got shafted by a big Blackman in Jamaica. For my 40th birthday I decided to spend two weeks in dreadlock paradise and spent 14 days completely wasted on local grass and Bolivian cocaine. Whilst I had heard that drugs were easily available, being a proper Boy Scout, I thought I better ‘Be prepared’ and became the first idiotic tourist to actually import dope into Jamaica!

I realised that my fears had been totally ungrounded as between the airport terminal and the bus, that was to take me to my run down dump of a hotel on the Negril beach, I scored for 10 US bucks enough grass to keep a troop of baboons permanently stoned for a month.

At the hotel, now semi-wasted after a couple of joints during a pit stop in the three hour bus ride over roads of Congolese type quality (i.e. full of giant water filled holes surrounded by loads of Black people doing fuck all but laugh as the vehicle, full of petrified whiteys, plunged in up to its axels), I was fleeced for 5 bucks by the hotel porter. He promised to fix my bed, which for some reason was sagging in the middle all the way to the floor, and noticing my jet-lagged state offered me a little wake up powder for a 100 US.

Wham – that sorted me out, pure Columbian, greyish in colour with crystals to match the beauty of snowflakes!

The hotel was occupied by a curious mixture of all inclusive tourists from Germany and, of all places, Manchester. The World Cup football was on at the time and much to my delight the pool side bar had a television showing almost every game. I soon had a routine - wake up trashed, a quick line of good old pick me up sniffed up my nostrils and wander down to the bar with a paranoiac grin and my bug eyes well hidden behind mirror glasses. At 11 the first match would be shown and much to the bemusement of the other vacationers I supported Germany, England and every country from Africa.

Lashings of beer replaced any food I needed and the 1pm match would end at the same time as the heavens opened up for the afternoon shower and that was my cue to head for my room. There I would drag out my portable sterio of CD walkman and battery powered mini speakers and set them up in the hallway come balcony. As the rain lashed down, on went Bob Marley and to the sounds of
‘excuse me while I light my Splif,
ahh God how I need a lift’
etc etc, I would puff on an extra strong Marley whilst chucking several captain Morgan 71% proof rum and coke down my throat to slow down my heart which had been pumping blood around my body faster than an F1 race car since I got up. By 7 pm I was in lah lah land but certainly wasn’t going to waste my time sleeping, so after some more of the South American jungle magic up the nose, I was ready for anything. That includes Karaoke down at one of the beach bars.

With my new friends (all Germans, as I understood them better than the Mancurian riff-raff, whose conversational skills consisted of, ‘beer, beer, look at me chick again, I ficken glass ya!’), we went on the piss and I came second with a brilliant redemption of REM’s ‘Loosing My Religion’. By that time I had lost everything, including the plot, never mind religion. I was complimented on my superb ability to match the smoky type redemption of the original. That was because my vocal chords had been systematically been burnt by large quantities of home grown for the last week. The winner was a local Jamaican girl who picked up the 100 dollar prize. However I was informed by one tourist that she won all the time and was employed by the pub…Aaah, all is fair in love and whores, which there were plenty off on the beach, being pimped by there ‘brothers’. Even blasted out my skul, I kept away from that nonsense.

Sadly, my local drug dealer, the ‘porter’, was given the sack after turning up for work one morning ranting like some demented loon. Prior to that happening, I did manage to get a hammer and some nails and repair my bed, but now I was bit stuck for more Columbian smelling salts. The beach is riddled with dodgy dreadlocks offering everything from their mothers to heroin, but at my next transaction I was given baking powder mixed with salt. Cleverly, against the advice of my latest ‘best friend’, to check its purity in public, I did and promptly howled my head off! I didn’t give a monkey and waved the bag of junk around whilst proclaiming loudly that I had been knocked by ‘this mother-fucker’. A hundred hurried apologies and ‘a terrible mix up’ – yeah right, like the Coke is stashed in a tin next to the baking powder in every Jamaican kitchen, and within a couple of minutes was given the real McCoy.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end and looking seriously tanned and at least 5kg lighter (Coke is great if you want to loose weight, you simply can’t be arsed to eat), I arrived at Munich airport. Much to my amusement, quite a few of my fellow passengers were dragged off to be given an A1 search job and peeping through the window, I had a good laugh watching peoples’ shampoo and suncream bottles get squirted all over the place.

Me – this Boy Scout was far to clever to risk bringing anything back. A crying shame really as I landed up giving a massive handful of own grown away to the bloke in the hotel room next door.

And now I am off to get wasted...catch ya laters....

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Lets All Drink To The Death Of A Clown

Bernard Manning is dead at the age of 76. He was fat, ugly, uncouth and vomited obscenities faster than a Pakistani protesting over Salman Rushdie’s knighthood.

What made him unique was the fact he was pure Anti-Political Correctness. He took the piss out of all and sundry and as a result was branded a ‘rascist’, a term he just simply laughed off. I certainly wouldn’t consider myself as a fan of him because there is only so much gutter talk I can stomach before I find it boring, but I certainly respect him for sticking to his principles. Quite simply he was one of the last comics who refused to bow to PC pressure and till his dying day happily told jokes at the expense of all and sundry. Jews, Blacks, Irish, Pakistanis, Gays – you name it, he took the piss out of them.

Behind the scenes he did his own thing, donating to charities, regardless of race or creed and far away from any publicity promoting stunts. His obituaries in all the major newspapers today are swamped with reader’s comments, all acknowledging his genius and most repeating their favourite jokes.

I watched an interview with him just a few months ago, where he was telling about the day the BBC kicked him off television for ever as ‘times were a changing’ and that it was no longer PC correct for people like him to be on the box. His reply –

‘you’re about 4 million quid (£) too late!’

He is, as far as I know, the only British stand up comic ever to get a slot at Las Vegas (sold out), lived a relatively humble life and died with a fortune estimated at 10 million pounds. Not bad for a man who came from Ancoats, one of the poorest parts of Manchester, a city he loved.

Some say he died of a broken heart as his beloved football club, Manchester City, could never come out of the shadow of its mighty poncy rival, Manchester United.

One joke went like this –

Went down to (Manchester) City football grounds the other day and a bloke asked me how to get into the ground.
"You go round the corner & there are two queues- a big one & a little one.
Dont get in the big one - that’s for the chippy" (Fish and chip shop.)

Another –

Richard Branson was asked to take over Manchester City football team. He said, "I couldn't do that. I couldn't have my Virgin logo on the shirts of a team that gets fucked stupid every week!"

A couple more –

A blind man goes into a large department store.
An assistant spots him standing in the middle of the ground floor swinging his guide dog around by its lead above his head.
The assistant says ‘Can I help you sir?’
The man replies: ‘No thanks. Just looking around.’

So, lets all drink to the death of a clown, one of the last of his kind…

A man is running down the street.
A fella says to him, ‘why ya running mate?’

‘There's a lion escaped from the zoo!’

‘Bloody hell! Which way is it going?’

‘You don’t think I'm chasing the fucking thing do ya?’


A Blackman walks into a pub with a huge multi-coloured parrot perched on his shoulder.

The barman says, ‘Bloody hell, where did you get that?’

The parrot replies, ‘Africa, there’s fucking millions of them there!’

Monday, June 18, 2007

‘Ha Ha’, said the Clown.

Having been preoccupied these last few days, trying to catch up on news from Zimbabwe is a hell of a task. As usual it is all gloom and doom. Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all! Surely there are more important things to report locally, that directly affect me, rather than some banana republic thousands of miles away who blames its own demise on the colour of my skin.

Lets see…

First off, I notice that there is much more noise pollution since Wales instigated a total ban on smoking in public places. I smoke, but I don’t do it in my flat for the simple reason it stinks the place out. So I go out onto my balcony to puff on my cancer sticks in what use to be, relatively speaking, peace and quiet. Not any more though. Not far from me is a pub frequented by a social class of clientele whose ability to comprehend the English language is restricted to looking at large breasts on page three of Britain’s best selling newspaper, The Sun. Whilst it was always a tad noisy on Friday and Saturday nights, especially at closing time when half the village is given verbal education in badly pronounced sexual obscenities, screamed out by fat young women at octaves high enough to shatter a pint glass, things have got worse.

This part of the world is rather wet. In fact, it hasn’t stopped pissing down for the last 10 days and that would normally keep the fag puffing louts exchanging social and sexual intercourse, whilst their feet were glued to the beer drenched rags called carpets, inside. But, due to the new rules, they now spend their time outside, under the marquee. So, instead of a quite fag, my eardrums are bombarded with alcohol fuelled laughter of inebriated wit and the little path I use, which exits near this said pub, now has used condoms scattered artfully among the piles of dog shit.

Other things of note – I went away for a while and when I returned the price of a tin of evaporated milk at the Co-Op shot up from 45 pence to 49 pence! Who do I turn too? Is the UK going the same way as Zimbabwe? Rampant inflation rearing its ugly head?

I was invited for dinner in a local restaurant this week, which according to the blah blah on the menu, prided itself on true blue cooking and that if you want fast food, to look elsewhere. Sadly the opposite was true and I will be looking very fast elsewhere – like my kitchen!

Ahh, come-on, I give this town a hard time and it does deserve it, although I blame the council for most of its problems, but one thing I cannot deny is its location of stunning natural beauty. All this place needs is a large section of it having a Mugabe style operation ‘Clean out Filth’ with a few JCBs to sort it out.

A few years ago the UN released one of its million odd reports, where it stated that Africa is unquestionably the King when it comes to spouting rhetoric, and Zimbabwe was listed at pole position. I believe this to be true, but I tell you what, this lot in the UK must be a close second!

Time for a few laughs…

Some ZANU clown campaigning for election in some dried out devastated part of Zimbabwe, some where near Msvingo, told the somewhat bemused voters that he didn’t give a monkeys toss whether they voted for him or not, as Bob, the man, Mugabe is a great pal of his and under the constitution can give him the seat anyway. This makes us recall that the late Simon Muzenda, who was vice president of ZANU PF and the government, who in 2000 once told voters in one rural constituency in Masvingo province, that even if the ruling party chose a baboon as a candidate, their duty was to vote for the animal without ever questioning the party's choice.

Now I think that is an excellent idea! Imagine all the money that could be saved on Mercedes Benzes and 4 by 4s, not to mention all the farms these so called politicians receive, if they were replaced by baboons! At least they would keep their thieving down to a few cobs of maize they might find.

Whilst Sir Bob Geldorf, Bono, et-al, are handing out the begging bowl for the starving, perhaps they should take comfort by the massive support from Zimbabwe's hardliner Minister of Lands, Didymus Mutasa. Two weeks ago he
repeated threats to expel the few white farmers left in the country and said
a United Nations (UN) report warning of more food shortages in the southern
African country would not deter the Harare government.

"The position is that food shortages or no food shortages, we are going
ahead to remove the remaining whites.” He vowed "we would rather all die
of hunger, but knowing full well that the land is in the hands of black

This was presumably said by a rag clad skinny thin Ghandi look-alike, busy at work weeding his piece of liberated land, whilst his equally thin children chased away the newest elected member for Msvingo, Bono Bobo Baboon, from his wilting maze crop.

Finally… Keeping up with world events –

I was made to remember an old joke the other day whilst watching the news. As the years went by, the joke was constantly updated to keep up with the times. Robert Mugabe was the only character that was the constant, simply because he has been in power for 27 years. Now the joke has to be radically changed, so here is my new version.

Together the President of Zimbabwe, Robert G. Mugabe, the soon ex Prime Minister, Tony Blair, of what’s left of the United (falling apart) Kingdom, Prime World Overtaker Winky Wanky Woo of China and the President of the United States, George Woos Bush, are flying around the world. Suddenly Tony Blair says,

‘I know we are flying over England right at this moment.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry. Tony points to a 125 mile nose to tail traffic jam visible on the M25 circular motorway surrounding London,

‘all the cars have Polish number plates,’ he says.

The others are suitably impressed. A short time later Mugabe shouts out,

‘we are flying over Zimbabwe now.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry.

Bob, ‘The Man’, points proudly to millions of acres of devastated farmland, clearly visible,

‘because I see 8 million people holding out begging bowls!’

The others are suitably impressed.

A short time later, Winky Wanky Woo (known affectionately as, gabbles excitedly,

‘we now fly over China.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry.

‘Plumes of black smoke from our new industries cover the earth as far as the eye can see’, he smirks contently, thinking he has won the war of posing.

George Woos Bush, now wracking his brain to think of something to impress his fellow passengers, gathers his secret service bodyguards around him and suddenly he opens the door of the aircraft and sticks his left arm out and screams triumphantly,

‘we are now flying over Albania.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry.

‘Some thieving peasant has just stolen my watch!’

Saturday, June 09, 2007

GEE, who ATE the money?

As usual, I like to keep you all informed regarding anything that involves everything of interest, so as such, I got on a plane and flew off to Germany. Why, you may ask? Well, it is obvious that from there I can give real in-depth reporting about the G8 summit that has just ended in Rostock.

I decided to fly with, the low cost budget airline, which along with, are responsible for the greatest increases in heart attacks and other stress related diseases. You will never arrive at an airport and be told that sadly, things were going so smooth, that they left 45 minutes earlier than usual, just to make sure that they arrived on time and it was your own stupid sodding problem if you were too lazy to check on the internet the latest regulations posted 15 minutes after you left the house. Neither is it there problem if you haven’t subscribed to the £2 a word text information system for your mobile phone.

This of course never happens as the plane is invariably late. Now I didn’t fly to Rostock, I flew to Munich, to make sure I was as far away from the few thousand nutters, masquerading as ‘protesters’, as possible. I was delayed both ways. In London I was delayed because ‘there is a delay with the flight from Munich’ and I typed part of this Blog entry in Munich’s waiting lounge, because, ‘there is a delay with the flight from London.’ DOH! If all of them are so delayed, why not simply change the flight times? You book a ticket for 16.00 take off, but it only actually get its act together at 18.00 - what is the bleedin point? Why not simply have the flight for 18.00. If the idiots arrive early for a change, we can be grateful and the pilot and crew can all go for a pint or two.

On the way from the UK to the ‘Vaterland’ it was such a cock-up, that I landed being flown by a different airline altogether. Seating was a ‘free for all’ which wasn’t a problem as the plane was massive and every one had a 3 seat row for them selves. As compensation for being delayed three hours we were offered a complimentary Coke. Unfortunately, at that stage, a line of coke would have been a great boost, but sadly, it was not forthcoming.

I happen to be rather fluent in the Deutsche sprache, so it was rather interesting watching the coverage on TV of the summit, and in the news papers.

Firstly – TV. What really moved me (to fits of roaring laughter), was a little snip of footage from a reporter for Germany’s ZDF Heute Journal. She is on a train from Switzerland, where in one carriage she interviewed 3, ‘G8 activists/protesters’ on their way to Rostock. Over two thousand of these idiots are spread over three specially commissioned trains.

The scene:

3 louts, feet up on the seats and on the floor a plastic shopping bag full of beer tins. The reporter manages to engage one of them in conversation, whilst the others stare glassy eyed at the wall.

The reporter had obviously just asked why they were doing the 16 hour trip to Rostock.

Protester, (semi-pissed, barely capable of intelligible speech and sporting a nice ‘Mohican’ hair style-

‘I am against the G8 because they always never keep their promises.’


‘Like what?’

Protester- (concentration on the answer visibly noticeable on his confused face)

‘Er- I haven’t got a clue (the idiot now starts laughing), I am not politically orientated!’

The video is here. It is only 29 seconds long and now that I translated the clip, it is well worth watching.

Nice one Fritz…! I laughed so hard, I nearly sent a cheque for three Euro cents to Burkina Faso.

Meanwhile, reading a quality German newspaper, I came across a little article about Angela Merkel (the German Chancellor) having a secret meeting with Bob Geldorf. (He is that one who still doesn’t know what a bottle of shampoo is.) It appears that a well known German pop-star called Herbert Groenmeyer, who has also fuck all else to do but make annoying noises about the poor blacks in Africa, is making her life a bit difficult. So she throws Geldorf a few more Euros to spunk on new Mercs for desperate despots, if he can plug the said Groenmeyers gob for a while.

But, best of all was a photo of her, Geldorf and that half wit in designer sun-glasses, Bono, having a chat at a table. Merkel’s face spoke a thousand words, which went something like this-

‘Listen you pair of fucking piss-ants, let me explain a few facts of life. I have 3.8 million unemployed costing a fucking fortune, Tony has a land sinking in so much private debt, that he is doing a runner. George doesn’t give a toss and needs every spare cent to pay for more bombs to drop on Arab peasants. The new French president is more than willing to contribute to Africa, such as 4 million of them in France, who have nothing better to do than set their cities on fire. Putin has enough begging peasants of his own and any spare change goes towards buying more English football clubs. The bloke from Canada, I forgot his name, is only here to make up numbers and the Japanese government are either committing hara-kiri, or going off to jail for thieving, so they prefer to keep a low profile.

Now, piss-off and go chat with your Chinese pals, who seem to be taking over half of Africa anyway, and sing some songs in Chin-Chang-Wong at a concert on the Mekong, with your heads full of Bong, and leave me alone! I have more important things to sort out, like trying to get Paris Hilton out of jail. Oh, one small thing. Bob, you know that money I promised you? Well, I am afraid I have to put against it the costs of keeping your flock of braying animals under control these last few days. Last estimate was…mmm, let’s just round it up at about £12 million.’

That’s all for now folks. I dug up an old song by the great Bob Geldorf that perhaps he, Groenmeyer and Bono could perform as the opening song at the next G8 Eat Cake and Africa Eat Nothing concert. It is called Banana Republic. Here is one of the verses…

And I wonder do you wonder
While you're sleeping with your whore
That sharing beds with history
Is like a-licking running sores
Forty shades of green yeah
Sixty shades of red
Heroes going cheap these days
Price; a bullet in the head


Rumours are abounding the net that Paris Hilton ‘has changed her ways’ and claims to have, ‘thought deeply about her entire point of existing’ and that upon her release from prison, promises to ‘purchase Neverland, and stuff it full of starving orphans from Der Far away land in Efrikar, or summin like that.’