The Curmudgeon


Monday, October 24, 2016

Fruit Cake

Christian humility - the unassuming belief in an omnipotent, omniscient sky-daddy who created heaven and earth and all things therein, who begot a son upon mortal woman for the redemption of the sins of the world, and who also happens to share your virtuous personal distaste for what some people get up to in private - has taken another blow on the cheek (one of the upper ones, we must piously hope), but shows no sign as yet of giving up cloak as well as coat or of going two miles when asked to go one. The born-again Christian has not been delivered who can recognise his baser motives or repent his self-righteousness; hence the legal battle in question has never been merely about one objectively disordered cake, but only and always about the moral danger of promoting an anti-Biblical message that might cause bother to the Almighty. Accordingly, the case of the Northern Irish Christian Cake-wrights versus the Forces of Legalised Sodomy looks set to drag on yet further, the soldiers of God having been defeated in the Belfast court of appeal. "This ruling undermines democratic freedom, religious freedom and freedom of speech," complained the martyr, whose idea of freedom of speech incorporates breach of contract, sexual discrimination and censorship by confectionary. A further appeal will be mounted, doubtless in all due chastity, at the supreme court in London, presumably in the hope that the Government will have managed to abolish a few more human rights by the time judgement is pronounced.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Barnstorming, Buccaneering Border Control

In a reassuring sign of hitherto latent continuity and coherence, the Government is applying its Brexit policy to the problem of wog disposal. Much as the late Head Boy did even less to prepare for Brexit than he did to win the referendum, and much as the David Davis publicist David Davis has resolved to see off economic meltdown by being confident it won't happen, the Ministry for Lock 'em Up and Kick 'em Out has spent the past six months disbelieving that the Calais concentration camp is going to be demolished, thereby avoiding the expense and inconvenience of making any preparations. Now that the perfidious French have decided, on some malicious Gallic whim, to do as they've always said they would do, the race-baiting Clegg-pledger Amber Rudd and her minions are all of a tizzy. Although the Government has stipulated that only woglings with family connections in Britain can be accommodated, in most cases the necessary background checks have not been made, owing to civil service red tape which has been drawing up advisory documents on the subject for the past thirteen months. Of course, Britain always muddles through, and besides the cultural advantages of our bold, free and cantankerous Press we've still got good old child detention to fall back on.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

We Have Taught Them Much

Even after half a century of independence, flashes of Imperial glory continue to fulgurate forth in Kenya, where British values are so firmly entrenched that the government is kicking out Somali refugees at the rate of four hundred a day. Democratic elections, which have almost certainly taken place in Kenya ever since the Imperial British East Africa Company rationalised the land, are again on the way; accordingly, the Kenyan government has announced an echt-British expulsion bonanza and has begun punting failed asylum seekers back where they belong. Kenya is home to the world's biggest holiday camp for asylum seekers, which holds approximately the population of Coventry; self-evidently, Kenya is even more full up than Britain, which balks at a couple of dozen not very large Syrians. Because Somalia is still a war zone, the UN and other foreign do-gooders have criticised Kenya for kicking people out too fast, even though the majority are women, children, elderly and disabled - the very categories most likely to put further strain on Somalia's doubtless already over-extended welfare system, unless they are healthy male job-stealers in disguise. Among the conditions of the repatriation package, therefore, is the stipulation that returnees give up their status as refugees in Kenya, so that if conditions in Somalia worsen they will be unable to return and will instead be internally displaced, which is clearly a more honourable calling and, thanks to the difficulties of getting aid to people in war zones and the resulting starvation, often tends to be a self-solving problem.

Friday, October 21, 2016

Not Quite Up to Speed

The dead-eyed warden of HM Prison UK has excreted a characteristically Conservative diplomatic doing at a dinner in Brussels, or possibly Strasbourg. Mad Tessie proclaimed that Britain would expect to play a central role in meetings and decisions until we finally stalk out of the EU with our national nose in the air; it remains as yet unclear whether these central meetings and decisions are the same sneaky, undemocratic, anti-British meetings and decisions over which we are supposedly leaving. In any case, the lesser breeds have responded with their usual touchiness, although one might think that by now they would be used to British politicians reassuring their own back-bench baboons through the handy medium of finger-wagging speechifications ostensibly addressed to foreign dignitaries. Evidently the shock of Britain's looming entry into the international global market has caused a degree of discombobulation. Still, with the Russian Bear wading up the English Channel to wog-bomb Syria as if it owned the place, and with only the doughty pluck and gumption of the Royal Navy protecting the natives of Calais from imminent Putinisation, it appears that the Euro-wogs are in need of yet another reminder about who won the war.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Offensive Imagery

Despite its international reach and its relative seniority in online corporate terms, it appears that Facebook has yet to outgrow the ethical standards of the American adolescent male. Last month the site repeatedly censored a famous historical photograph posted by the Norwegian prime minister; this month Scandinavian values have caused further controversy with the deletion of a Swedish video on breast cancer awareness. The video features cartoon breasts aimed at showing women how to check for lumps, which the American adolescent algorithm has evidently taken in quite a different spirit. The Swedish Cancer Society has registered pardonable bemusement; but Facebook, offended beyond all possibility of negotiation, seems to have locked itself in its bedroom with its headphones on.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Bone Density

Compassionate Conservatism being the whimsical little thingummy it is, no sooner had a handful of refugee children been allowed into the country than the scumbag press began squealing that they were too old. The compassionate chorus was elevated yet further by the moron, David Davies MP (not to be confused with the cretin, David Davis MP), who demanded dental checks and X-rays on all entrants claiming to be children, just in case one of them was trying to cheat the taxpayer of a few months before being legitimately kicked out at the age of eighteen. The Ministry for Wog Warehousing, which does not scruple at breaking up families or throwing minors into prison, has decided not to adopt this extra prophylactic measure, at least until those efficient G4S people can recruit a sufficiently ethical dentition inspectorate.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Something Nasty in the Air

Among the blessings of the London Haystack's mayoral régime was a persistently illegal standard of air quality; and our lords and masters have evidently decided that, as long as the plebs choose to sit around and poison themselves with unprofitable respiration, one more airport runway here or there will make little difference. Nobody wants any new airports outside the capital, because it would take too long to drive from the Northern Powerhouse to London; which narrows down the choice to a straight fight between expanding Heathrow or expanding Gatwick. It remains to be seen whether the Haystack's new blatherdom at the Ministry for Wogs and Colonies will be enough to prevent his opposing Mad Tessie's favoured option of Heathrow; it seems unlikely, since the interests of his constituents are all that is at stake. Less comfortingly, Zac Goldsmith is making noises about resigning his seat if the Heathrow expansion goes ahead. Assuming Goldsmith isn't performing the sort of flounce favoured by those lesser race-baiters at the Farage Falange, the Conservatives face a cruel dilemma: losing their most blandly affable Muslim-bashing mediocrity, or failing to inflict yet further environmental calamity on the city that elected Sadiq Khan.

Monday, October 17, 2016

These Things Go On Every Day

Bound for Glory, an American metal band for people whose legitimate concerns are particularly assertive, has apparently cancelled a planned appearance in Scotland. The reason given was "travel concerns", although it isn't yet clear whether this means that Scotland wouldn't let the virtuosi in or that America wouldn't let them out. Michael Matheson, who is what the fiend Sturgeon does for a justice secretary, indicated yesterday that he wanted to prevent the band visiting Scotland, where the assertive proclamation of legitimate concerns has not reached quite the exalted levels seen in post-referendum England. Matheson even contacted the Clegg-pledging race-baiter Amber Rudd, presumably in the hope that anti-migrant fervour would outweigh any concerns about doing an injustice to that most obtrusively oppressed minority, the loud white male. It remains as yet unclear whether Rudd was able to respond; most likely she told Matheson to look for a British band which could manage the job equally well.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

An Amazing Book

Most Britons would not choose to take the Bible with them to a desert island, even as a reminder of the idiocy they had escaped; which of course disproves all those foolish, faith-based, evidence-free claims that we are becoming a secular country. A poll commissioned by the Church and Media Network has found that only thirty-one per cent of respondents would pick the Bible for one of their Desert Island Discs books; and even some of those would relish it less for its religious significance than for its literary qualities or its copious sex and violence. The chair of the Church and Media Network found it "encouraging" that the number of Britons who "still value the Bible as an important work" now constitutes a minority, and helpfully provided a breakdown of its contents and an advertisement for its life, love, hope, triumph, despair and lots of other things that can be found in the Bible as in the average soap opera. Doubtless it was only the zeal of his enthusiasm which caused him to omit any mention of the human sacrifices and genocidal glories in the Old Testament, or the demented Jew-baiting and eschatological rantings in the New.

Saturday, October 15, 2016


Henri Xhonneux 1989

Quite apart from the director's name beginning with X, the credits include the French writer and cartoonist Roland Topor, which is generally a good sign. Topor wrote the brilliant source novel for Roman Polanski's The Tenant, played the hysterically giggling Renfield in Werner Herzog's Nosferatu, and designed the extraordinary imagery for René Laloux's La Planète Sauvage. Here, Topor is credited as co-writer along with the director, and the project is about as normal, sane and healthy as one might expect.

Marquis depicts the run-up to the French Revolution from the viewpoint of an imprisoned writer, his jailers and various others. As in the more recent Quills, a hypocritical establishment condemns the author's work while hijacking it for profit; in Marquis the piracy is carried out under the pseudonymous acronym SADE.

Apart from a couple of claymation dream sequences, the film is performed by actors in animal masks. Characters include various bovines and ovines, a sexually degenerate chicken and a rodent turnkey (complete with long tail) with an obsessive longing for the Marquis to bugger him. The Marquis himself is a soft-spoken canine whose spaniel ears suggest a balding man's ruff; his prodigiously-sized penis has a face, a voice and a will of its own, and is appropriately named Colin ("little dog"). The Marquis' anarchic member gets him into all sorts of trouble, but also provides him with company, consolation and occasional literary advice.

The Marquis is in the dog-house for blasphemy, but the authorities plan to make him the goat for the ravishment of a fallen ovine named Justine, who has been left in an interesting condition by a beast of quality. Outside the Bastille, revolutionary conspirators hatch their own plots, led by the aristocratic wanton Juliette, who has the prison governor under her hoof.

Dedicated to de Sade and the Comte de Buffon, the story proceeds at a measured pace, its unhurried visuals as far as can be imagined from campy overdrive or cartoon frenzy. Like the work of Buñuel and Švankmajer, and like Topor's own unadorned prose style, Marquis is content to let its lunatic world and demented characters speak for themselves. As another humorous Beast might have said, make of it what you will.