How to cook immigrants. No 1

I caught these immigrants living in the garden, stealing our sunlight. I cut them in half, scooped out the core, filled them with a mixture of garlic, anchovies, black pepper, sugar and olive oil then baked them for as long as it took. They eventually confessed to being delicious.

My dad haunts my selfies.

Every time I take a selfie my dad photo bombs it.

Kenny Zulu Whitmore and a London Taxi.

Walking to the pub last night I found this London taxi on Portobello Road. This kind of thing is what makes this place so special and of course I stopped and asked the people about their amazing vehicle, It is not a paint job it is covered with individual mosaaic tiles, is truly beautiful and is designed to raise awareness for the plight of Kenny Zulu Whitmore, someone I was not aware of until I saw this cab and asked.

I do not yet know enough about the man to be able to comment further on his predicament but it sounds shitty by any-ones standards. There is some connection to the Black Panthers which I guess is enough for American white folks to lock him up and throw away the key.

This taxi and the people working long and hard to make something beautiful in order to raise awareness of a single human's plight is the best example of its kind (on every level) I have ever encountered.


There is a website HERE

Tertius Peat. The last true Englishman.

Tertius Peat is on his deathbed in a secure hospital in Wiltshire. Tertius Peat is the last true Englishman, by that I mean that he is the sole remaining Englishman without an ounce of foreign blood. Tertius Peat (in his lucid moments) puts this down to  the fact that incest protected the family bloodline from immigrant corruption.

It is true that incest deprived the bloodline of mental ability and physical stability as well as reproductive reliability but incest kept the bloodline English.

The Peat family motto states: 'We may be inbred but we are pure'.

Tertius Peats great great grandfather and second cousin twice inbred Primo.



Tertius told me recently: Well my brother was my dad and my ma was my sister and my grandpa's were my mothers older brother and there is a family book that goes back to domesday that says no foreign blood runs in our veins nor no foreign sperm in our women.

He went on to say: We was shagging our siblings as we built stonehenge and we was still shagging them in 1066 (much to the horror of the French). At Agincourt there was non of us lot there, we was all at home shagging.

Ensuring true English blood untainted by immigrants.

Our early forebears were ugly, so ugly that none would touch us, save each other and save each other we did from the evils of masturbation and cross breeding.

We had no surname until the first census and then took our name from the fact that our ancestors dug peat. Since then all us Peats have, well, you know, just dug Peats.

Prime Minister surgically removed from Man's arse.

The prime minister was surgically removed from David Cameron's arse earlier today in an operation later described as 'a piece of shit' by surgeons.

A NHS specialist stated that there had been a number of reports of someone talking out of Cameron's arse and tests had shown, without a doubt, that it was Cameron himself (a keen ventriloquist) lodged firmly up his own jacksie.

Mrs Cameron has issued a statement claiming that it was just wind.

Advice to Vegans on arriving in Hell. Meat your maker.

Believe it or not quite a lot of vegans go to hell. Percentage wise there is no difference between vegans, vegetarians and omnivores (all carnivores naturally go to hell).

On arrival in the inferno the average vegan might think that he/she had arrived in heaven because the only food available is quinoa and brown rice with occasional tofu which is always out of stock.  Let me tell you, quinoa and brown rice day after day, year after year is hell.

There are barbekew pits in hell but, as no animals go to hell the only meat available is human flesh and rule 17 of the terms and conditions of entry states that only volunteers may be roasted for human consumption.

Lucifer, at his waggish best, informs all vegan arrivals that, should they give themselves willingly to the barbekew pit, they will be reborn in Vegas. Vegans queue to be barbed only to discover, on incineration and human consumption, that they find themselves reborn in Las Vegas with a chronic gambling habit, no money and a craving for pork. Therefore condemned to an eternity of scouring the sidewalks for dropped coins to feed slot machines and hot dog leftovers while they stew in guilt.

At this point Vegans often turn to meat. To meat their maker so to speak. To speak of the injustice of judging man by his diet.

Dole scroungers have it hard enough without Immigrants.

A guest blog by Jan Nieupjur.


As a dole scrounger of 50 years I find it sickening that my way of life is being threatened by these immigrant johnnies muscling in on my hand outs. My Jewish grandfather did not come to this country from Holland to see it overrun by families on the run from tyranny and war.... No, he thought: Let me be the only one for I am chosen.

Send the immigrants to Antarctica, they have not taken a single one yet. Oh, and Atlantis could take a couple of thousand.

God bless mankind for he has cast evil in his own likeness and then blamed God.

Nitrous Oxide and how it works.

As a layman I am frequently asked: "How does laughing gas work?"

It is simple really. You decant the cylinder into a balloon then inhale the contents of said balloon while all your mates look on laughing like drains. The resultant feeling of being the centre of attention is said to be euphoric. The euphoria is, however, short lived, soon being replaced by a sense of utter stupidity.

Carnival detritus.


Recreational use of the gas is not a recent phenomenon. It was discovered in 1772 by British scientist Joseph Priestley and within 30 years the chemist Humphry Davy was using it recreationally.
Davy began inviting his friends round to inhale the gas from oiled silk bags and in doing so started a craze. "The nitrous oxyd [sic], or laughing gas was inhaled by a gentleman who after laughing sprung up in the air to the astonishing height of six feet from the ground," wrote a correspondent in the Times in 1819, describing a popular stage show.

Notting Hill Carnival 2015.

Apres Ska.

The real stars of Carnival, after the bands and dancers, are of course the street cleaners who work through the night to remove the tons of debris. They do a brilliant job. Oh and they are mostly immigrants who are happy to do the jobs that we turn our noses up at.

Notting Hill Carnival 2015.

There is always one idiot.

As the hoarding go up in Notting Hill the graffiti guys arrive like a swarm of wasps at a jam pot. Sadly there is always one moron who tarnishes the whole thing.

Carnival. What Carnival?

St Luke's Mews in the heart of Carnival is a surreal place today. A totally dead street yet the air reeks of sound systems and everything vibrates to the abundant frequency of jerk chicken.

Observation. 

All Saints Road. Riot police at the ready.

 

Compulsory smoking for the obese and other government wheezes.

A guest blog from Jan Nieupjur. As usual Jan's views do not necessarily reflect my own. He is completely senile now but that do say that  insanity often spawns the truth.


MY mole in Whitehall recently disclosed to me (over a pink gin or two in the Wheeltappers Arms) a number of proposals being considered by David Cameron to deal with the growing problem of obesity in Great Britain. They include:

1. Compulsory smoking for the obese. This works on many levels; one of the benefits of smoking is loss of appetite so a pre-prandial gasper whenever hunger sets in should reduce food consumption, the tax on their cigarettes could offset the current vast drain on NHS resources caused by obesity, the Government endorsement of smoking would be an enormous fillip to the often criticised 'healthy smokers' and finally an outlet would be created for the millions of packets of Capstan Full Strength currently stockpiled in Kineton Warwickshire.

2. All branches of Greggs and other purveyors of donuts should be forced to reduce the width of their door openings in order to exclude those with an unhealthy BMI.

3. Supermarkets should be instructed to Narrow the width of ailses in which buns, cakes, sweets, sugar and other fattening stuff is sold to a width that would only allow access to the healthy. Obviously parents with buggies would be inconvenienced but in view of the child obesity situation this would be no bad thing..

4. supermarkets should introduce scales at checkouts whereby customers could be weighed and those found to be obese and buying unsuitable products would be charged an extra tax on those items which would go directly to the NHS. This would both encourage the purchase of healthy items as well as bolster up the beleagured health service.

Immigrants. An analogy.

Talking with the kids the other day we got onto the subject of immigrants and their positive effects. I found a perfect analogy in the garden:

We have a blackberry 'bramble' that leans into our garden through the ivy and over the wall from a neighbouring garden. We did not plant the thing, we did not invite it in but we have come to welcome its presence. Each year we enjoy blackberry and apple pies, blackberry jam (2 1/2 Lbs this year and counting) and blackberry ice cream. It costs us nothing but adds to our lives. all we have to do is keep the ivy at bay and ensure it has room to thrive.

It got me thinking about the other plants in the garden... Yes. A lot of them immigrants and some of them sneaking in via the digestive tracts of birds (tunnels of sorts) visiting from elsewhere, appearing to shit on us from a great height yet bringing forth bounty.

Banksy speaks about his drab 'Dismaland'.

Banksy, the Entrepreneur, chancer and snake oil salesman formerly known as a vandal has finally decided to crawl up his own aerosol and talk out of it regarding his latest con trick.

'Yes it is not very good'. He told me. 'But if thousands of gullible fools are prepared to part with good money for a chance to walk round a dump I'm the man to pocket the dosh.'

He then ran out of gas.