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By Root 674 0

call him Charles. And who’s that other Lib Dem? That Limp Biscuit chappie? The one with the dislocated face? You know … the one who pulled a Cheeky Girl? How in God’s name is he not called Bloody Hell, There’s Hope For All Of Us? Then you’ve got Douglas Hogg, who charged the nation £2,000 to clean his moat. And David Heathcoat-Amory, who bought some manure with our taxes. I think we can be assured that if I used licence fee money to buy a duck house, you’d start calling me Viggers. So how come Viggers got away with it? Historically, I suspect politicians were spared the ignominy of a foisted moniker because they were respected by those who’d elected them to high office. Nobody ever called Winston Churchill Fatso, for instance. But these days, we don’t respect them at all. And the other thing we don’t do is like them very much.

That’s presumably why Gordon Brown is called Gordon Brown. Because we all pretty much hate him and you don’t give a nickname to someone you can’t abide.

It’s why I can’t bring myself to call Peter Mandelson ‘Mandy’. Mr Mandelson is so much more insulting.

Sunday December 27, 2009

1. Relax. It’s not millions and millions of licence fees. It’s private money we’re spending.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Contents

Dedication

How Hard Can It Be?

Clear off, nitwit – I’ll rebuild this hospital

This has been my perfect week

It seems it ain’t art if it ain’t ethnic – Opinion

First, fairy cakes – then welding, kids – Opinion

Oi, state birdbrains – leave our land alone

Give it up, Hamza – you’re too ugly

Skiing through the pain barrier

Bleep off, you’re driving me mad

Oi, shoppers – that’s my petrol

Join me in a saucy oath to Britain

Ruck off, you nancy Aussies

Time to save the world again, lads

Potato heads are talking rot on food

I’d rather hire a dog than a prostitute

Pricking science’s silly sausages

Feed them, or they’ll slash all the seats

A vicious Japanese loo ruined my ah so

Argh! I’ve fallen into a speed trap

It’s just a dumb animal, Mr Oddie

Swim with sharks – it’s easy money

Oi, get your hands off my lap dancers

Dante’s new hell: my work canteen

Look, Mr McChap – you’re part of Britain, so just get over it

Now we’re for it: we’ve stopped behaving badly

Working while on holiday is … wow, just look at that

By ’eck, our funny accents are the envy of the world

Peep in my wife’s knicker drawer and see what you get

Miss Street-Porter, I have a job for you in Cambodia

Hey, let’s live fast and die when ministers tell us to

Don’t let banks lose your money – do it yourself

Fingers on buzzers, you bunch of ignorant twerps

Play it my way, kids, and you’ll save rock’n’roll

Ditch the laptop and suit if you wanna stay alive, Mr Corporate

Take in a prisoner as a lodger and that’s two problems solved

Wake up and smell the coffee – tea is for morons

Into the breach, normal people, and sod the polar bears

The daddy of all idiots at your child’s school sports day

I’m a Tigger, he’s a Piglet, and you must be a Pooh

Sorry, worms, you won’t be getting a piece of me

The BBC’s letting loonies gag me with mink knickers

Ambulance, quick – some idiot’s had a brainwave

Save the high street – ditch bad service and ugly sales girls

Ring a ring o’ clipboards – we all fall down

The world will never be safe until Scrabble is banned

Run for cover – Pooh the Dark Knight is coming

Get another round in, lads – we’ve got some pubs to save

Come quick, Nurse – the NHS is going frightfully green

I dare you to visit Johannesburg, the city for softies

Class-A cocoa, the powder of choice on my crock’n’roll tour

I’m starting divorce proceedings in this special relationship

You’re a bunch of overpaid nancies – and I love you

Stand still, wimp – only failures run off to be expats

It’s pure hell in the mountainous Cotswold region

What a difference now I’ve stopped drinking fish fingers

Gordon the ass is stomping over everyone’s pets

Change fast,