Flashman or Gladstone?

Jacquie Ashley, still desperately attempting to square her pro-Gordo instincts with the obvious realities of his catastrophic premiership, came up with what she may well have thought a wizard wheeze in her Guardian column this morning. Are the Tories more Flashman than Gladstone, she asked? – ohh! provocative, Jackie! Sounds like you may have read a history book or two. Bit of of proper context coming our way? Stand by!

She's got this 100% wrong.

Clearly, Flashman = public school thug = David Cameron = George Osborne/Boris,/Bullingdon Club/beastly hearties is an obvious enough line to take.

But who is really shoving the junior boys' heads down the bog, roasting them over the fire and, swanking around in his study, demanding that his toadies properly terrorise them?

Very, very important message to our American friends

Gordo, our well-known prime minister, stern but all-encompassing in his kindly Scottish wisdom, has explained to you trusting Americans why only he can redeem yours and the world's teetering financial systems.

I urge you to listen.

My message is simple. It is:

America awake! Gordon is among you! Only he can save you!

Be dazzled by his poll ratings! Be astounded by the fact that he has – and IS! – presiding over a mutiny in his Cabinet! Revel in his lying! Be dazed by his ineptitude! Celebrate his nastiness! Above all, be stunned by his country's level of debt – NONE OF IT ANYTHING TO DO WITH HIM AT ALL!

He is truly a colossus.

Quite a lot of his hair, even at the back, hardly sticks up at all. Even on his worst days, his trousers can't be more than six inches too long.

This is the man to follow.

If you doubt me, look at his wife. See! Little more than three stone overweight! Who needs Carla Bruni when you can have Sarah Brown? And she can use a microphone!

Gordo! Man of destiny!

Meanwhile in Burma

What a pointless experience ...

I hadn't really wanted to watch the great McNutter's 'speech of a lifetime' this afternoon. If nothing else, it was certain it would make zero difference to the inevitable fate of this hugely nasty man.

But I did nonetheless, the second half anyway.

What struck me most, amid the apparently spontaneous bursts of applause and the predictable claims that Labour (for which, in his own over-heated imagination, read G. Brown) had been responsible for every 'progressive' advance of the 20th century, was the claim that he, the Mighty McGordo McMadMan, was going to restore democracy to Burma.

This, admittedly, was mentioned only in passing, thrown off amid his other vast claims to immortality (rescuing the NHS, ending child poverty, re-defining the global banking system, etc).

But it was made nonetheless.

That McLoonyTunesGordo is currently the world's No. 1 tosser, lunatic, cretin goes without saying,

That, despite the best efforts of vast gangs of PR stylists (and God knows how much tax-payers' money), his suits always look as though they have been pinched from Howard Hughes's madder, drooling cousin and his hair cut by the loopy aunt everyone thought had been locked up years ago, is similarly beside the point. No one expects him to be anything than what he self-evidently is: a crazed, embarrassing obsessive.

That he has buggered Britain's finances in ways even Neil Kinnock couldn't have managed is no less a given.

But that he should now pose as the liberator of Burma, the stern champion of its oppressed peoples, the implacable enemy of its cruel government (socialist, by the way), the mighty defender of its human freedoms, the beetle-browed champion of its human liberties, is a great deal more than just preposterous.

It isn't just a huge, vast, immense joke. It is a giant-size affront, a grotesque parody, a laughable, sickening insult, a preening piece of nonsense, a revolting inversion of the truth.

For this one demented claim alone he deserves to be tormented for eternity.

The Burmese have been oppressed in ways we in the West can scarcely comprehend. And now, purely because he sees it as one, tiny, aid to his political survival, McBroon poses as their saviour, knowing full well there is nothing he can do to help them.

This is miles beyond shamelessness.

It is properly vile.

And this from the man who proclaims 'fairness'.

Is there a fate worse than death? I'd like to think so.

It would be no more than Brown deserved.

Let's not get excited ...

... but let's face facts.

Gordo is history, baco-foil, toasted to a crisp and beyond, washed up, gone, a tiny fragment, a footnote, an irrelevance.

Granted, he has as good as left us all bankrupt.

But I think we can take it as read that his 'legacy', so long sought, so pitifully delivered, so painfully endured, will be consigned to one of history's more obscure dustbins.

How very fitting.

Could The Daily Brute ...

... really be back?

He may be.

If only to celebrate the disintegration of Thuggo McGordo's vast and elaborate empire of inanity and corruption, as shot through with vacuous idiocy as it is inept and incompetent.

It goes without saying that McNutter is now definitively round the bend.

All that remains to be resolved is the precise moment of his final defeat.

My betting is this Friday, September 19.

I hope you will then all be able to join me in celebrating the end of the nastiest man ever to infect British politics.

He is – and always has been – properly loathsome.

Twats of the week

This is insane.

Demented, deranged, daft.

Listening

If, as we are now constantly told is the case by Gordo, his government is now 'listening', will it 'listen' to the overwhelming majority who want a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty/EU Constitution and grant a referendum?

I wish someone would put this question directly to McNutter.

David Cameron at PMQs, for example.

And one more thing. If inflation is 2.5%, how come, to quote another favourite government phrase of the moment, people are 'feeling the pinch'?

It gets better ...

This is seriously good news. And it comes, moreover, on a day of already seriously good news.

Looking a bit gloomy for McJonah.

One point that immediately leaps to mind is that if the judicial review does rule that the government must hold a referendum on the EU Constitution that, all jokes aside, can only mean curtains for Gordo. He could never survive such a set-back.

Imagine a referendum is held and, inevitably, rejects the Constitution by a vast majority. What was left of Gordo's threadbare authority would shrivel instantly. This being patently obvious, he would have to step down beforehand.

Still, this is only Round One. Long way to go yet.

What NuLab really means by 'listening'

Perhaps Gordo might like to consider adopting the Geoff 'Hearing-aid' Hoon technique at PMQs.

Downing Street: No news is good news

Struck, like so many others, by McJonah's failure to put in any media performances this morning, Heffalump Harriet wheeled out into the firing line in his place to explain why last night's local election result do not represent a precise indictment of Gordo's catastrophically inept premiership, it struck me it might be interesting to see what the No. 10 website had to say about the results.

And the answer, intriguingly, is nothing. Not a squeak. Not so much as a single word. It gives an interesting new meaning to the 'listening' the government is now so fond of.

You can read about what McNutter calls the 'real economic opportunities in the Middle East and a chance to build peace and prosperity across the region'. You read how Gordo has 'warned against a protectionist backlash' and of how 'hopeful' he is of the 'Darfur talks'. You can even see the flag of St George flying over No. 10 or 'watch footage of prime ministers from the past'.

But information of any kind on the electoral meltdown is . . . well, just not there.

Perhaps this means it didn't actually take place.

Funnily enough, there's nothing on the official Labour site either. Or on LabourHome.

Oh dear.

Who's lying?

Apologies for lack of posts. Circumstances beyond control, etc.

Yesterday at PMQs, asked quite reasonably in the light of Levy's claims that Gordo, self-professed mastermind of Labour's election victory in 2005, must have known about the loans that financed the campaign he so magnificently oversaw, Gordo, almost under his breath, could do no better than semi-mutter: 'I knew nothing about these loans'.

You can see the exchange here.

He is lying. This isn't a matter of half-truths, of shades of grey, of interpretation. What he said was a straightforward lie.

A 100%, copper-bottomed, card-carrying lie.

I can't prove this, of course. I don't have the papers, the e-mails or the evidence of the killer conversations. I wish I did.

But someone does. In fact, quite a lot of people do. Including Blair and his henchmen.

So here's a scenario. It's perfectly believable.

As Gordo lurches from catastrophe to catastrophe, Labour plummeting all the while, wiped out in London, flayed in the rest of country, the prospect of a calamitous defeat in the next General Election inescapable, 100-plus embittered Labour MPs certain to lose their seats, what do those who do know that Gordo was lying do?

They make clear to him they have the evidence that shows he lied. And then present him with two very simple choices.

Gordo either steps down on plausible grounds of ill health to allow a new leader to take over. Or the evidence of his lying is trickled out and he is destroyed for good, all credibility vapourised.

These sound like reasons for Gordo to be very scared. A watery retreat, instantly seen through, or complete humiliation.

Yet another triumph for the towering intellect that is the clunking fist.

Barmy beyond belief

Is this the No. 1 barmy news story of the year?

How can it not be?

It only begs the question whether Jonah McNutter Brown might like to give it a go, too, on behalf on the Kirk.

Only the biggest brains . . .

Picture a vast brain whirling at higher and higher speeds, neurons flashing faster and faster, connections sizzling and smoking, the whole not just on the verge of total seizure but perilously close to exploding. It's the only explanation I can come up with for this bizarre assertion yesterday at PMQs by Gordo McNutter:

Why does he [Cameron] not admit that as a result of our tax credits, which we opposed ...

Only Gordo can do this! Simultaneously propose and oppose a policy! There is nothing this giant among men cannot do!

The lady's not for turning

Gordo is though.

"I don't think I've been pushed around at all. I have never shirked from tough decisions.”

Ha! Ha! and Ha! again.

Has there ever been a more precise measure of the cowering, simpering bully than his convoluted back-track over the 10p tax rate?

Has there ever been a more precise example of just what Gordo means by 'conviction politics'?

You can understand the rush to buy his book on 'Courage'.

The Bottler on 'responsibility'

Gordon McNutter yesterday speaking – or possibly pleading – to the parliamentary Labour party:

"We can't have a Budget defeated. We have a responsibility to listen, to hear, to understand, but we also have a responsibility – all of us – to unite."

Which translated means that 'listening', 'hearing' and 'understanding' – or at any rate pretending to – are less important than party unity, which in this case means maintaining the Bottler in No. 10. That is all that counts.

So bugger the poor.

The great black hole of 2012

A Labour MP no less – note that: a Labour MP – one Don Touhig, a member of the Commons Public Accountants Committee - has called the budgeting of the 2012 games the "most catastrophic financial mismanagement in the history of the world".

The story, hardly news to those such as your humble Brute who have long been predicting that the games will be an unmitigated disaster, is here.

What is genuinely intriguing about this is why, having knowingly presented an essentially bogus budget in the first place, anyone in the government can still conceivably believe they are not now facing a financial horror show on an epic scale, one that will make the Millennium Dome seem a model of far-sighted and prudent planning, the whole of course played out in the full glare of global publicity.

If McNutter Gordo is still after a definition of the hideous new Britain he so gruesomely presides over, I suggest he might like to consider something along the lines of: When in a hole, keep on digging.

Unknown Labour MP to plead 'not guilty'

You really couldn't make it up.

It's Joe Orton gone barmy.

'The shock move comes over allegations he clambered over the bonnet of a parked van to board a city bus.'

Here are the breaking details.

Overheating Britain

On April 28 last year, the Independent printed an article by Michael McCarthy, then the paper's environment editor, under the title:

Overheating Britain: April temperatures break all records

Will this be the summer when Britain reaches 40°C and the effects of climate change are painfully brought home?

You can read it here.

It began with this statement:

'The possibility is growing that Britain in 2007 may experience a summer of unheard-of high temperatures, with the thermometer even reaching 40C, or 104F, a level never recorded in history.'

Now, as we all know, however freakishly warm last April was, the summer as a whole was anything but, as those affected by the floods in late July can testify only too well. This, of course, despite the fact that the Met. Office in January had predicted that 2007 was set to be the 'warmest on record', a fact faithfully reported by the BBC.

I write this as one of the grimmest, wettest and coldest Aprils unfolds, day after day of shivering temperatures and howling winds. And rain, Above all, lots and lots of rain. There is, moreover, if the forecasts are to be believed, no end in sight to this miserable weather.

I know it is not yet the end of the month but I have yet to read anything anywhere suggesting that these freakishly low temperatures are evidence that global warming is not happening, rather the opposite if anything.

Where is Michael McCarthy when you need him?

Spot the difference

Fabulous prizes on offer for the Daily Brute quiz!

Clues:
Top picture: Britain's minister for families. Bottom picture (no pun intended): Italy's minister for families.
Top picture: Smug git, thug and and twat. Bottom picture: twat.

Extra clue: Take no notice of the lady in black with the knitting.

How to be like a haggis ...

... according to Lord Desai, that is.

Now it's meltdown

For Mr Dreary to lay into Gordo is ... well, astounding.

This is a government disintegration without parallel.

Gordo is toast.

There can surely be no way back from this degree of disruption.

Astounding.

Telling the truth

This from McLoonyNutter yesterday:

'I've worked with Tony for years and we are very good friends.'

Why does he come out with such nonsense? It is a lie. Pure and simple. Furthermore, everyone knows it.

There is a sense that, for the Bottler, merely asserting an obvious untruth makes it true. He believes it. Therefore it is so.

It is a precise measure of why he is doomed.

Why Gordo is never wrong

There is a seriously bizarre cast of mind – manifested in its most extreme form by Jeffery Archer and Heather Mills, to take only two examples – in which fantasy dislodges every trace of truth and invented events are presented as fact. Reality is not so much distorted as obliterated, subsumed beneath the speaker's deluded, over-arching ego.

If I can't pretend to understand the convoluted psychological circumstances that impel the likes of these poor, sad sods to come up with such obvious lies, I can at least note them.

And now here, courtesy of the Crown Blogspot, we have another example, McNutter Gordo MadPerson claiming that his selling off of so much of Britain's gold reserves at an historically low price was the fault of the Tories.

What pounds through what passes for his higher brain functions that cannot allow him ever to admit to having been wrong? What deranged misapprehensions make him certain that he is always right? Why are failures always someone else's fault?

There is, properly, something profoundly disturbed at work here.

It prompts two obvious questions. One, just what was going on in that odd manse of his when he was growing up? Two, will his brain actually blow up – smoke, steam, flames, limbs flung outwards, etc, gore and nastiness galore – when the contradiction between what he must believe and what is actually happening finally becomes inescapable.

Stand well clear. It promises to be spectacular.

He is, in short, one seriously fucked up human being.

Shuffling around

There has been a great deal of talk lately of how McNutter hopes to regain the political momentum by a re-shuffle. Here is the Coffee House, for example.

I have never understood how these periodic and pointless exercises work. And in this case it seems particularly senseless. One bunch of useless tossers chucked out and a second bunch of even more useless ones brought in. How can this possibly help?

For one thing, the McLoony cabinet has only been in business for 10 months. What is the sense of chopping and changing it so soon? It can only cause disruption. For another, presumably those appointed in the first place by Jonah Gordo were considered the best men and women for their jobs at the time. So does moving them around mean that they weren't in fact any good? That McGordo appointed the wrong people? That he made a mistake?

Even more to the point, does anyone seriously imagine a reshuffle is going in some magical fashion to help transform Gordo from a spectacularly inept thug into an all-wise statesman? Self-evidently not. It will, rightly, be seen as a desperate and futile attempt to revive his political fortunes.

In other words, a total waste of time.

It would interesting, too, to know how much these exercises, entirely party political, cost.

In short, the only reshuffle that could be of any conceivable use would be if the Barmy Bottler were to reshuffle himself off into the distance. And there is not much chance of that, needless to say.

The mighty McIlvanney

If I could just once produce a sentence as exactly perfect as this, I would, I promise, die happy. This from the sumptuously wonderful Hugh McIlvanney in today's Sunday Times:

Perhaps the only adequate way to convey the labyrinthine magnificence of the mess the rulers of English rugby have made of implementing their determination to give Martin Johnson total control of the national team is to say that it threatens to outclass anything produced by the Football Association at the zenith of their capacity for dithering ineptitude.

You can feast on the rest of his column here.