And that concludes today’s sports news…
Look at David Cameron. Pointing. All the charisma of a hairball but he went to all the right schools so let’s have him run the country (we’ll have the gay marriage debate later. No added benefits for us, lots of political kudos for him. And some great opportunities for the religiouses to come out spewing their homophobic froth. Speaking of which…)
Giving an interview in the Church Times, a publication that gives toilet paper a run for its money, he hath decided that Christians need to be a little bit more forceful. Because they’re usually really slow in coming forward. Let everyone walk all over them, they do. Always have, the poor little sausages. The last 2,000 years have shown that, surely. So timid they give mice a run for their money. No wonder their symbol is a man being tortured on a cross: ‘Look at us! Everyone is so horrible to us!’
‘I believe we should be more confident about our status as a Christian country,’ he said. Oh! Are we a Christian country all of a sudden? We don’t know ANY Christians. But that may be because we slapped them all and told them to come to their senses and start believing in the fairies that are clearly at the bottom of the garden.
‘We should be more ambitious about expanding the role of faith-based organisations…’ he went on. Oh really? Because faith-based organisations aren’t busy trying to dodge the law of the land in terms of equality legislation pertaining to adoptions while brain-washing innocent children in their schools, are they? The children they’re not busy fucking behind the altar, that is. Yeah, let’s expand their roles. They seem like nice, responsible people.
‘And we should frankly, be more evangelical about a faith that compels us to get out there and make a difference to people’s lives…’ Yeah, we really do need more of that kind of difference. You moon-faced cunt.
Then there’s some nitty gritty: ‘That is why we are not just investing £20 million in repairing our great cathedrals…’ We don’t mind that. They’re beautiful historic buildings that we can all go in and have a nice hour or so.
‘…But also giving £8 million to the Near Neighbours programme, which brings faith communities together in supporting local projects.’ Excuuuuuuuse us? You are giving money to child-molesting, god-bothering freaks to help them get into local projects, whatever they are? Such a great idea! Shame Jimmy Saville is not around to help you in your good works.
‘I welcome the efforts of all those who help to feed, clothe, and house the poorest in our society…’ he blathers on. Erm, how about you introduce a proper living wage for working people and then we won’t need to depend on these monkeys to keep body and soul together? Just a crazy, albeit non-religious-based idea we had.
‘For generations, much of this work has been done by Christians, and I am proud to support the continuation of this great philanthropic heritage in our society today.’
Eat. Us. Out. All of you.
Apparently, he’s an Italian dancer but we’ve never seen him and we’re always out at the clubs. The horse, however, does look a little familiar. OVER-familiar if memory serves us…
Australian rules football. We actually put some research into that *takes credit for workie’s one bit of graft all week*
And that concludes today’s sports news…
Here she is looking like butter wouldn’t melt. Butter couldn’t be BOTHERED to melt, that’s the truth of the matter.
And while she’s bolstering Australian Vogue’s important White Shirt Campaign (because let’s face it, in a world of AIDS and poverty and disease and injustice, nothing could be more worth campaigning for than a white shirt and heck, AV are doing their bit with two of the four compelling cover lines dealing with the subject. At least someone cares, right?)
So, Kylie, who wouldn’t be allowed within fifty yards of a UK Vogue cover, by the way, turns out to have been less than lovely to the runners who slipped out for her skinny lattes on The Voice. Can’t say more but if you ever buy us a drink we’ll tell you. will.i.am – aka gay.i.am – was a different, much nicer, kettle of fish entirely.
‘Hey, isn’t that Tom Hardy?’ passes as a coverline these days, apparently.
This is Orlando Bloom, star of lots of nonsense, in a film called Zulu. We won’t be watching it, and neither will you.
Such a nice change from ‘Son of a Preacher Man’, which seems to be the only Dusty song anyone knows. And can we just say that not enough has been said about how gloriously strange Ms. Springfield was. The hair. The hands. The lashes. The staging.
We salute her being careful not to get our French manicures caught in our borrowed hair.
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