Tuesday, 30 April 2013

cap'n dunc's duelling dictums

on the eve of the official launch of iain sunken smith's welfare flagship, hms universal cockup, one can but sympathize with the precarious position of our poorly-served night-watchman prime minister, his reputation already riddled with friendly-fire, nails bitten ragged to the quick, as he prays, to any god prepared to offer him the fleeting courtesy of half-an-ear, for a smooth snagless slipway to guide the british-built public vessel, which holds together all his party's electoral hopes and dreams, into the merciless ocean of common reality - although no doubt a good portion of his pious petition will be devoted to despairing pleas that his mizer for work and pensions may not choose this particular mayday to perform that oh so emotionally-honest impression of a loose-cannon for which his cabinet colleague has garnered such national renown...

...just a tip mr smith, but i really reckon that the damp decadence of smashing a jeroboam of top-tipple champers across the bow of this byzantine benefit boat of babylon may not go down too well in the country at large - and personally, i recommend a vintage can of super-strength skol lager, the viking's choice.

clearly, mr smith's religious commitment to the social safety-net is completely unparalleled in contemporary political history, and he has unquestionably been almost irrepressible in his tireless desire both to make the system more transparent (by cleverly cutting down on the raw material required for its manufacture) and to design bigger safer holes (in order to cater for the unfortunate eventuality of innocent british citizens becoming irretrievably trapped beneath it). nevertheless, there does seem to be a duality, and maybe even a dichotomy, in the minister's philosophical approach to reform, which, being a right-of-centre blog, we here at spark up! are duty-bound to give some form of cursory examination, whilst stopping short of out-and-out moral judgment, of course - for although his 'cap' on benefits is laudably universal, the decision to deduct surplus monies solely from claimants' weekly living-allowances does indeed foster the almost certainly illusory appearance that the cap'n is deliberately discriminating against our communities' shopkeepers in favour of our landlords; a small point perhaps, yet mr smith might consider, in these critical commercial circumstances, that his passionate love for our welfare system might well be more fully expressed in an altogether unbridled and uncapped state...?

...and then there is the albeit minor question as to whether the well-off should repay unrequired sums of benefit back to the government, so that funds may be rightly redistributed to those in actual need - followed naturally by that other, complementary question, which must surely pop-up like a big bobbling belly-dancer and groovily gyrate around in the dissonant dialectic of the cap'n's intellectually rigorous mind: should those who decline the state's assistance be obliged to pay any taxes whatsoever...? at the very least, some might like their contributions back, or so one could well surmise...?

now, to be fair to the minister for flogging a dead horse, some of our more intuitive westminster commentators are currently suggesting that the chaos caused by this meddling and tinkering with the benefit payments-system is not down to duncan at all, but is in truth of fact the purely paranormal result of psychopathological poltergeist activity by maggie, a miscreant former inhabitant of those offices...

...however (and i propose this alternative view as an untested theory and by no means as established fact), there is another quite plausible explanation for these potty political phenomena which are now being witnessed by the witless in whitehall and confirmed as regular daily occurences - but in order to understand this most convoluted of hypotheses, one must delve dangerously deep into the very psyche of the man, duncan smith, himself...

...you see, i intend to publish a paper on the subject, and it pans out something like this:

cap'n smith possesses two great yet eternally conflicting loves in his life, or maybe they perhaps possess him, on that point i'm not precisely sure - his first love, chronologically-speaking, is none other than the limbotic spirit of the battering baroness herself, margaret thatcher...with his second love being the volcanically voluptuous venus which we each know as the british welfare state...now, when his obsession for the welfare state forces itself to the fore, why, he wouldn't even harm a fly...but when his ardour for his mental matriarchal mentor is triggered to rise into the ascendancy, and becomes dominant in the flimsy frontal lobes flopping off from his cerebral cortex, his placid personality suddenly undergoes a terrific psychological transformation and gross gender transmutation such as you would never ever wish to behold ever...and then, dear readers, 'she' is prone to a wailing, a flailing, a fearful gnashing of teeth, and a paranoic although perfectly logical predisposition to stabbing-up her perceived metaphysical rival in love, the welfare state...these aforementioned events constituting a serious psychotic episode which usually culminates with 'her' slashing wildly in the shower.  so whacky.

what a woman.

(due to an unforeseen virus rampaging through the editorial department, tonight's special column was composed, off-the-cuff, by esteemed spark up! ghost-writer, professor pinkwinkel brainstove the third)

snooker-ass steve sleights indian subcontinent

in the course of presenting a potted history of snooker for the british broadcasting corporation, six-times world-champ sir steve gravis has besmirched the strict etiquette of professional player-conduct by committing a blatant foul-stroke but failing to call it to general attention; essex-bred steve allegedly brought the popular billiard-spin-off sport into disrepute by deviously white-washing from his commentary the historic asian contribution to the invention of the modern game - instead attributing full ballistic honours to the british army.

despite provoking a widespread clatter of serious public unrest which has rebounded across every corner of the eastern hemisphere, the pouting sir steve has stubbornly remained po-faced amid mounting international pressure for him to give television audiences satisfaction by sitting on his cue.

to analyze the complex socio-political angles created by a venerated british sporting-ambassador conveniently swerving around the accepted historical truth, spark up! has consulted no-less an expert than steve gravis' pool-hustling peer, sir trev "trickshot" trillips, who when interviewed today found himself in a favourable position to string together a few short yet astute observations in order to give us the direct benefit of his vast knowledge and experience in such matters:

i must regrettably report that, primarily as a consequence of a well-misspent youth, my former club-mate sir steve gravis has foolishly flouted educated advice and insisted upon expounding a theory on the origins of snooker which has insulted indian culture in the most indiscriminate and ignorant manner. 
according to the encyclopeedia britannicka (my ultimate reference-point in life), the game of snooker was devized in 1874 at jabalpur british army barracks, india, by a certain sir neville chamberpot and fellow officers, who, whilst under the high himalayan influence of nepalese charas, confused the rules of billiards with the ancient local pastime of karrom. further research into this incipient indic board-game reveals that it was in fact nicked from the greeks who in turn nicked it off the egyptians - this latter discovery being a frisson-inducing finding which opens the anthropological doors on theories that snooker possibly first emerged in the african rift valley, where pre-historic homo sapiens tribesmen happened to spectate upon a strikingly similar game (played by a since extinct early hominid, or ape-man, species using spears and their enemies' testicles) which they were subsequently inspired to develop and hone, through the tireless striving of thousands of years of craftmanship and ingenuity, into a portable package sufficiently civilized to flog-off to the pharaohs.
indeed, the deep african influence is still evident in the modern game of snooker which we all know and cherish today, and thus i believe it to be absolutely non-coincidental that the black-ball bears the highest value, whilst the white-ball assumes no intrinsic numerical value whatsoever, being but an expedient device with which to take pot-shots at the many and various coloured balls - almost as if the table were in some strange way analogous to this our crowded earthly world and the players the sublimely intelligent gods who created it...

in conclusion, might i remark upon the less obvious african connections of those illuminati who have in recent times graced the green baize of this great game and done so much to frame its irresistible appeal - first, ronnie "the conscious" o'suliman, who has always bravely acknowledged his 'dark side', and finally, sir steve "gingernacks" gravis himself, whose proud nubian ethnicity is disturbingly disguised by a cruelly disfiguring screwback gene issuing from a progressive welsh missionary.

i rest my case.

Wednesday, 10 April 2013

how the braindead enable evil to establish an 'event'

having received certain missives indicating that certain persons in certain sections of our community might just possibly have been untowardly upset by a recent spark up! exposition, i can, in my defence and all sincerity, only state that, in my heart-of-hearts, i consider this effect of my causing to have been entirely and unequivocally unintentional.

here at spark up! we strive to rise above the petty puerile squabblings of the left-right-and-centre of the arstablishment in order to highlight prevailing socio-political issues worthy of a damn good rogering, and in this respect, i am reluctant to engage in the over-reactively emotional lamentation or celebratory commemoration of the croaking of an ancient briton whose active influence on our current-day lives has long since passed, there being of course much more clear and present monisters on which to keep a carefully-focused cats-eye - big bad-assed benefit-exploiting monisters indeed, who will be revelling in the god-organized opportunity, afforded by the deliberate distraction of ten days' national-mourning and idiot-driven mockery, to dip right out of public-view and brew-up yet more miserable poisoned broth for the manipulated masses, whose lawful vilification constitutes a cordon bleu meal-ticket for the cunts who facilitate its slimy legislative path through parliament.

this said however, the dear departed's largely tax-payer-funded funeral arrangements (weighing-in at roughly £6 million) at least merit a cursory inspection - draining, as they do, the communal cash-pool, curtailing, as they do, city-based courier earnings, and buggering-up, as they always do, both traffic-circulation and the general london-economy for a whole bloody week.

naturally, none of this elaborate extravagance is in any way of the untimely deceased's own making...in an ideal world, the down-to-earth former prime-meddler's mortally stripped-assets would have enjoyed:

  • the simple common delights of lying-on-a-crate in a democratically selected east-end corner-shop

  • a cortège of white vans tastefully sprayed black in deference to the solemn occasion - all driven courteously by specially chosen basildon men each with his foot to floorboards to maximize profits

  • a scenic al fresco hearse-ride to the funeral-venue on a hastily converted milk-float chauffeured by norman deathbite

  • a brief chapel-service consisting of a few quick apt words of wisdom taken from st francis of assisi - concisely summing-up the general sentiments of the gathered proletariat

  • a no-frills no-fuss heave-ho into the furnace - closely followed, in strict accordance with royal aryan tradition, by the voluntary 'sati-style' self-sacrifice of every living conservative cabinet minister, past and present

nevertheless, in the event that the demented empress had chosen interment as her favoured option of transferral into the afterlife, i'm sure that, being an unpretentious woman, she would have gone for:

  • only a modest-sized pyramid

  • an unostentatious but practical black-leather-bound sarcophagus with shoulder-length straps, an attractive brass-buckle, and a handy compartment for storing tissues scrawled-over with quotes

  • just the one burial-chamber - although sufficiently spacious enough to accommodate all her ex-colleagues, a fridge for her milk, a year's supply of whisky, and a few gross of brussels

Monday, 8 April 2013

moribund maggie merks miliband

in a final impeccably-timed stroke of dedicated disruptive political defiance, baroness splatcha has, for the greater good of the conservative party, selflessly snuffed it in order to block out news headlines of iain dunderhead smith's impending parliamentary demise as he slowly succumbs to public-pressure under an a4 avalanche of incendiary anti-government petitions and slow-burning leftwing lawsuits.

we salute the strategic stealth of the ironing lady's stubborn churchillian spirit, but are still seeking to locate any serious solid evidence of a viable social conscience.

too tight to rent

according to an anonymous call received very late yesterday evening, this blog can exclusively reveal that there's currently a few serious sparks flying in the duncan smith household...

the unknown source, who was described by staff as being 'fairly emotional', was disposed (and indeed desperate) to give our news-room editor the following insightful telephone interview:

ok ya one's had it up to here with the lord of the dunce ya...this morning one was untimely wrenched from an absolutely appallingly surreal yet somehow totally indecipherable nightmare (about being so poor one was compelled to use a 25000 page petition on which to wipe one's bum) only to be treated to a personal recital of the latest chapter in his epic saga of love on the sponge, as sensationally serialized in the daily wellygraph every sodding sunday.

no, he did not live with one illegally in a bedsit in the early eighties, the randy rat used to sneak round from dossing in his bosom buddy's room at the pratt's club for a quick consolation shag whilst getting over his depression at playing an
 integral rôle in losing two bollocking great big bits of the bloody british empire in succession - because you see for some strange reason which ultimately eluded one ya, he found the (all-too-erratic) erotic experience 'afforded him deep psychological comfort'...ahh...

...and then before breakfast ya one used to boot his useless arse straight back out onto the street and tell him not to disturb one's janet reger's again until he'd found himself a real job with real money - obviously ya, one thought he never would get any proper employment and that one would never see the pathetic penny-pinching prick again, but hey the best laid plans of mice and sado-mastic women and all that...and then blow one's farmyard fanny if he didn't land some poxy dead-end position (through some dodgy ex-army mate) and return to haunt me...

...well after all one had said, one obviously had to give the stupid tosser another chance ya, and seeing as one didn't actually possess a television set at the time ya, it seemed like a good idea ya...and so anyway ya, eventually he wormed his way right up into one's trendily down-at-heel chelsea studio-room and then one's haute-couture silky french knickers, permanently ya - basically after the daft old bag who ran the place took pity on the spare-brained pillock when he nearly electrocuted himself changing a light-bulb or plug or something...

...and ya to cut a long and altogether harrowing story short...one blasted disaster then led to another and one supposes one could probably well say that in a certain manner of speaking the feckless failure-prone ponce has still got his fingers in his landlady's socket even unto this very most dark and despondency-inducing of days...if one gets the general drift of one's meaning ya...

one just wonders who that lady was?

Sunday, 7 April 2013

a precipitate of petitions

yep, you heard it on spark up! first:

the change.org petition, challenging iain duncan smith to survive for an entire year eating only his own words, has given birth (out of wedlock) to a bouncing little baby petition - eminent biologists examining the phenomenally rapid rate of reproduction are speculating that some strange form of asexual budding is probably responsible for the recent emergence of the spewing spluttering sprog.

if you care to sign this new letter petitioning the prime minister of the united kingdom to either sack iain duncan smith or demand his resignation, please hurry - as space on the page is limited and demand high.

Friday, 5 April 2013

write to rant

tonight's guest in our freedom-to-look-a-berk slot is the politician with the pursed lips, mr george odballs - i believe he has a few emotional words to say about a mindless outrage which has recently hit the news headlines:

yes, duncan smith is responsible for these absolutely horrendous crimes and these are crimes that have shocked the nation; the courts are responsible for sentencing him.

but i think there is a question for government and for society about the welfare state...and the sort of people who deliberately burn it down killing all those innocent young children who seek shelter within it - taxpayers are subsidizing the outrageously licentious lifestyles of career criminals like duncan smith, and i think that debate needs to be had.

ok, thank you - that's it really. 
why's my bloody car been clamped?

the skeletons in obama's legacy

south-londoner shaker aamer has been held in guantanamo bay detention facility for 11 years without being charged or tried.  in common with about three-quarters of the inmates in the black hole of congress, mr aamer is now on hunger strike - he has lost 30lbs in weight.

the director of the legal charity reprieve, clive stafford smith, has urged the uk government to do more to help shaker aamer:

shaker has a wife and four british kids – one of whom he’s never met – in london. the uk just accepts routine assurances from the us that all is well, when all is rotten in guantanamo bay. Does the uk really take the position that there is nothing more that can be done if a close ally is committing the on-going torture of shaker aamer?

sure seems like barack obama is aiming to be the american president who over eight long years in office never found a window in his very busy schedule of very important meetings about very important matters to close down the concentration camp established by his predecessor george w bush to imprison any muslim who the cia have an inkling might be a bit miffed about the united states military invading his brothers' country and bombing the bejesus out of their families.

the full story is reported in an interview on london itv news with reprieve legal director, cori crider.  corrr

oliver stone and peter kuznick are also getting geared-up for a spot of non-prejudicial multi-racial president-bashing in their new book and tv documentary series, the untold history of the united states - and according to an interview the two writers gave on channel 4 news, the series apparently attempts, using words-of-one-syllable and not-so-pretty pictures, to convince the american public of the futility and gratuity of historic hit-parade us invasions such as those which devasted the civilian populations in iraq and afghanistan.  good luck mate...

the dissident directorial duo proclaim to be mighty peed-off with president obama's aggressive and imperial foreign policy, yet at least one of the two nevertheless appears to have still been hoodwinked into voting the flunky old git back in...when will they ever learn?  my personal view about politicians and elections - don't vote, it only encourages the cunts.

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

if you're hacked-off and you know it...

...and if you hate iain duncan smith's guts as much as he hates yours, please consider signing this petition on change.org challenging the millionaire secretary of state for working in poverty to put his claim to be able to live off £53-a-week where the sun don't shine his mouth is...

(note: there's the added bonus of being invited to call him a cunt in the why is this important to you? section)

Monday, 1 April 2013

clipped words

the following critical comment, made by bruce and the steaming pile of minotaur shit, in reply to the slog post friedmanite capitalism has aimed low and missed. we need a new higher aim was summarily and shamefully edited out and nicked:

The Crusades and the Spanish Inquisition were, shall we say, cases of serious copybook-blotting, but pretty much once Charles I of England and Louis XVI of France had been separated from their silly heads, Christian values in Europe – and later middle America – used the social principles of State-separated Christianity to produce communities, welfare and humane treatment on a scale never seen before.

leaving aside the fact that i entered this sentence and nearly never found my effing way out again (i was luckily saved by a ball of mental commas in my pocket)...and (given it's easter) gliding glibly over the astonishing new sociological evidence that in the nineteenth century 'christian values' and 'social principles' were busily working together in pefect mystical harmony to transform the face of europe without any human intervention whatsoever...i would respectfully request to enquire of ward whether he refers to a scale of size or rather one of quality...for if he can but bring himself to acknowledge that slavery was not abolished until 1833, and that even then the 'freed' slaves were by law compelled to work as 'apprentices' until as late as 1840, he might admit that any 'welfare and humane treatment' by governments in europe was at best cynical and more often the complete sham which it remains today...

...and as for:

Indeed, it has long been my theory that the Roman Empire crumbled in the end because early Christians in Rome offered a way of life so diametrically opposed to the cruel Imperial ethic, it was by definition bound to be seditious….and melt the iron hammer with which the Romans knocked their conquered peoples into shape.

well, it's probably worth noting that the emperor of rome, constantine, himself converted to christianity in 312 and yet oddly enough the western roman empire did not go up in smoke until 476, when it decamped to the middle east, put on an even more bizarre outfit and survived another funky 1000 years as the byzantine empire - so i humbly propose therefore that ward's decline-and-fall theory requires a little hammering-into-shape itself.

From around 1830 in Western Europe, and America after the Civil War and before McCarthyism, Christian values produced a level of caring social interaction and theory miles beyond that of any other continent. That this didn’t happen in Africa, India, and South America is, for me, a condemnation of the Church as an agent in league with a repressive State – be that Argentina or the British Empire. Conquistador priests and and early missionaries have a lot to answer for. But not only did the British Empire turn out to be far more constructive and benign than any predecessor, the Brits gave it away at the end of the Second World War because (the Labour Government at least) believed in self-determination.

gobsmacking stuff really - to think that ward really believes cultures in other continents could not look after their own without the 'benign' influence of a british empire which, incidentally, the establishment gave away (mainly in the 1960s) to its distinctly nefarious mates, who are effectively still ruling and exploiting ex-colonial lands and peoples by proxy for the british elite until this very day; how much land in south africa, kenya, and zimbabwe was 'given away' considering that much of it has remained under european ownership to the present? how many people in kenya or south africa (to name but a couple of former colonies) have been violently slaughtered and suppressed since the advent of independence? and did the lovely labour government dissolve the british empire because it 'believed in self-determination'? did it ffff - the empire dissolved because its subjects wanted out.

That Labour administration was largely based on Christian-inspired Fabian and Community Trade Union Socialism at the time. I’m not a member of any of those clubs, but the 1945-51 administration still stands out for me as easily the most productive of an otherwise ethically dim British century. Without the inspiration of Jesus of Nazareth, I doubt if it would ever have happened.

pardon me for assuming that fabianism and trade-unionism were inspired by the atheist doctrine of communism, but you learn something every day dontcha?

the 1945-51 labour administration...

didn't they eat well?

bedroom-tax special by spark up! legal correspondent: miss jacquetta oven-baked

beware, iain can-can smith's claim that he could get-by on 53 quid-a-week is probably a seasonal april fool's stunt, but nevertheless it admirably demonstrates his complete and utter lack of sympathy for the poor old job-seeker's predicament. our esteemed minister is right, of course - if forced into that deeply undesirable situation, we could all probably just about scrape through on 53 quid-a-week, with a few spadesful of initiative and a little benefit-regulation-bending help from our friends, yet as i say, the miserly old muppet misses the point altogether, because one of the main hurdles facing the unemployed welfare claimants is the emotional and psychological abuse hurled at them by cruelly condescending and sadistic jobcentre staff, by self-righteous parasitic work-programme advisors, by patronizing free-loading private landlords (who grasp even more rent off their housing benefit tenants than their cash-paying ones), and by the secretary of hate for work and pittances himself.

obviously were the incredibly dodgy sociologist to be set-up in the artificial position of making-do on 53 quid-a-week by some reality suppressive tv-show, he would, being the original mr smug, always know in his heart-of-hearts that he was the millionaire minister of preaching-to-the-poverty-stricken and would chirpily cheap it out for a couple of weeks - possibly periodically popping over the garden-fence to the fully-loaded in-laws for rounds of cucumber sandwiches and bridge...

...however, surviving long-term on benefits for year-upon-miserable-year, whilst observing all the nitty petty life-restricting rules and supporting young children, is a different cup of tea altogether...

...so what would be really nice, would be to find a means of levying a surcharge on the mad-cap minister so as to recover the millions of pounds of tax-payers' money which is currently being mindlessly squandered defending iain's elasticated ego in the british courts - because then he could be bust-to-rights, bankrupted and have his mock-tudor homestead seized by the council in order for it to be relet back to him for the tidy sum of say £5300-a-week rent...

...and naturally, the accidental indigent would have deductions made to his jobseeker's allowance for each and every unoccupied room which anti-socially graced his grandly state-subsidized mansion.