Fucking love these guys.
I’ve seen them a few times but this is the first time I’ve been close enough to take a snap. Last time they had a huge banner!
In case you haven’t gathered, they are a group of bikers who follow Medway Council’s cctv car around with high-vis jackets and signs to alert people to it’s presence, negating it’s stealth-fine-issuing purpose. Fantastic.
I wonder how long before they get prosecuted on some trumped-up charge?
Gordon Brown “has pledged” that we won’t run out of gas. So that’s all right then.
In other news, the article on Reuters the other day about the boost in traffic to adultery website Illicit Encounters had become “dating websites” by the time it made it to BBC Breakfast this morning…
Damn, ran out of salt.
I’ve no idea who Lord Monckton is, and to be honest he looks a little strange, but here he is giving some Young Warmist peopleVolk a verbal lashing:
H/T the Facebook Climate-Gate group.
I’m distraught. People at work started receiving the jokes before 8 o’clock, but I didn’t receive my first until 10:07, and then it was this obvious one:
Michael jackson managed to whisper a brief message to paramedics on his way to hospital: “put me on the children’s ward”
Very disappointing. I received others, but nothing to compare to this from TDM:
Uri Geller, Jackson’s friend and now acting King of the Freaks, said: “I feel so desperately sorry for all the freaks today. He was their Diana, their Elvis, their Mother Theresa and their Jade Goody all rolled into one. Which is actually what he looked like too. Check out this spoon.”
And for the record, the first time I heard “everyone will remember where they were when..” it was said by Jesse Jackson.
From The Times:
David Blunkett, the former Home Secretary, suffered a broken rib when he was hit by a stampeding cow.
The blind Labour MP had been out walking with his guide dog, Sadie, on his 62nd birthday in Derbyshire’s Peak District on Saturday.
Pfft.. pffffffftttt.. hehhehehehe… hahaha…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Ahem.
Sorry.
I haven’t been online much this week, in between being infested with man porcupine flu and being busy at work, I’ve been hammer-and-sickle tongs trying to finish Atlas Shrugged (I’m appalled how long it’s taking, a couple of years ago I’d have been through a book like that in a week) but I did manage to see this from CaptainFF/Man Widdecombe:
Class.
It has happened. I haven’t done much on WordPress lately, so I was not expecting much this morning when I checked my stats. Imagine my surprise then, when I should find:
Search Engine Terms
These are terms people used to find your blog.
Today
Search Views
site:www.newsoftheworld.co.uk nigel grif 1 More stats
husband watching his wife getting fucked 1 More stats
What the fuck? While I hesitate to type into Google those search terms, in case Google’s latest camera cuckold car should turn up (It’s the logical outcome of Google’s attempt to get into (Boom boom!) every aspect of your life, I’m sure) I’m pretty sure I must come quite far down on the list. I hardly use the word “Fuck” – except in this post – and I can’t really remember using the words “Husband” or “Wife” either!
This is all highly bizarre…
Thanks to The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for posting this, thanks to Obnoxio for sending me there, and thanks to whoever wrote it in the first place!
I spend my lonely weeks in London
Working for Gordon Brown
And crash out on my sister’s floor
Just as the sun goes down
On Friday nights I head back home,
My second home that is,
To spend some time with my true love
And get some married blissDick’s waiting for me in Redditch,
Get me there driver soon
I want to lie in his strong arms
And go into a swoon
I want to collect his DNA
For my own database
I want to open my bursting blouse
And thrust them in his faceOn Friday night when I got home
My second home that is,
Dick said he was all shagged out
And just gave me a kiss
On that fateful Sunday morning,
I read it in the press
Dick’s been watching some dirty films
And got us in a messIt seems he’s been paying five quid
For “Dirty Debutantes”
Despite what’s bursting from my blouse
It’s not me that he wants
No Tarantino, no Scorsese,
No Bergmann, no Kubrick
You can’t beat old J Arthur
Says naughty, naughty DickNow I’m the two homes secretary
And hold the highest rank
But Dick he isn’t that impressed
He’d rather have a wank
Another Monday morning dawns
I’m heading back to town
The saddest thing is that I’ll be
Working for Gordon BrownOh Dick! Oh Dick! You stupid prick
I don’t mind pay to view
But you claimed it on expenses
And gave the press their cue
Next Friday when I come back home
My second home that is
I’ll be expecting rather more
Than just a friendly kiss
