How Inappropriate’s Election Guide to the Big Ones
We know now that the majority of you consider How Inappropriate to be your most reliable source of information in this crazy world in which we live. We're very proud of that fact but also consider it a great responsibility. This week we intend to give you all the info you'll ever need about the 3 major British political parties in order to better prepare you for when you can't be bothered getting off your fat arses to go and vote. Without further ado we give you mainstream British politics in a nutshell.
 Gordon Brown |  Key Policies: 1. Cut public services to reduce deficit. 2. Regulate banks to ensure conditions that created deficit do not arise again - but only a bit. 3. Encourage economic recovery through raising stamp duty threshold and supporting first-time house buyers. 4. Securing The Future. 5. Bringing Honesty back to Politics. 6. Changing a Fairer Britain. 7. Fair, honest, future, change, future futurey, changey change, fairy fairer. 8. Um ... 9. Er ... 10. Approve a new Heathrow runway. In the event of a Hung Parliament: > Will get into bed with Lib Dems. |
 David Cameron |  Key Policies: 1. Cut public services to reduce deficit. 2. Regulate banks to ensure conditions that created deficit do not arise again - but only a bit. 3. Encourage economic recovery through raising stamp duty threshold and supporting first-time house buyers. 4. Building A Bigger Britain. 5. Power to the People. 6. Real Change For an Honest Society. 7. Fair, honest, future, change, future futurey, changey change, fairy fairer. 8. Um ... 9. Er ... 10. Approve a new Wind Power station. In the event of a Hung Parliament: > Will get into bed with anyone. |
 Nick Clegg |  Key Policies: 1. Cut public services to reduce deficit. 2. Regulate banks to ensure conditions that created deficit do not arise again - but only a bit. 3. Encourage economic recovery through raising stamp duty threshold and supporting first-time house buyers. 4. Hardwiring A Powerful Future. 5. Securing Honest Change. 6. Mild Green Fairer Liquid. 7. Fair, honest, future, change, future futurey, changey change, fairy fairer. 8. Um ... 9. Er ... 10. Reject a new Trident system. In the event of a Hung Parliament: > Will collectively jizz in party pants. |
Holy Christmas – It’s Empire FM’s annual review of all our programming in 2009 type thing!
So you've eaten your fifteenth serving of turkey and there's absolutely nothing else to do than to curl up on the sofa and watch Victoria "Dead" Wood and listen to Auntie Sheila involuntarily break wind, eh? Wrong! Because as a special end-of-year treat (because we couldn't be arsed writing anything new) Empire FM is proud to bring you the highlights of all its traditional, i.e. racist, output over the last year. So sit back, actually come a bit closer to the screen, bit closer still ... STOP. Now grab your mouse and start clicking through to multiple pages of FUN!
News that's twice as nice: Empire FM!
Britain's Favourite Radio Station* kicked off the year with a brand new breakfast show that brought you all the news you didn't know you needed to know, just when you didn't have any time to listen to it! Presenters Patrick Creeper and Stephanie Slapwell soon enamoured themselves to their listeners with their unique blend of inane banter and clueless interviewing, whilst their intrepid reporter in the field, Martin Hammertime, asked the difficult questions no other station was prepared - or bothered - to ask. Thanks to Up and at 'em England!, we found out ten fail-safe remedies for swelling of the joints, and why Adamski is now yodelling for a living. But we still have no idea what we were doing in Iraq, so it was probably a good thing we left when we did.
In April Empire FM celebrated St George's day the only way we knew how - by devoting 24 hours of impartial programming championing the best of British, and explaining why all the rest are a bit backward to be honest. Plus we got to find out what a Komodo dragon looks like. May brought you important government advice about bringing you neighbour (who is essentially a fanatical terrorist minus the beard), to justice, and we found out that the UK was now on a burnt sienna terror alert. So we should all be thankful that we are even able to read this review of the year in one piece.
Gerry making merry, down on the farm.
That month we also heard the first outing of Escape from Goldenmeadows Homestead, where presenter Gerald Wuthering-Heights invited two city slickers to his farm in Cornwall, and forced them to duel with pigs and learn to make nettle soup. Luckily, plenty of Gerry's famous homebrew was imbibed and everyone had a great time, apart from Gerald who spent most of his time utterly depressed and desperate for a nice donner kebab and a bottle of Blossom Hill from his local Costcutter. Unfortunately, the end of that series saw Goldenmeadows burned to a cinder after a particularly drunken Bonfire Night special, and Gerry now spends his days singing for booze in a theme pub in Twatt.
Of course Empire FM's schedules would not be complete without live broadcasts of England's most vicious and least-known professional sport, Heathen-rules super-agnostic-league reticulated cross-sticks. We were hanging on the every word of legendary commentators Sid "Wife" Beater and Jonathon "Jonno" DeBouvedere as they brought us a thrilling Chaffinch Cup final between the Bandits and the Tits. Would the referee's common-in-law partner allow that Upper Lip Pansy in extra fisting time? Why was there an alsatian on the pitch? To be honest, we would never really find out.
I'm back, cunts!
In June Empire FM scored another exclusive by bringing the nation's finest night-time news ranter - Baxter "Bisto" Bistock - out of seven year retirement from a Home for the Unpredictably Volatile, and back onto the airwaves. Bisto lost no time in showing that he was still cheesed off with the big guns - and gunning for the big cheeses - and as he trained his sights on Gordon Brown, Tony Blair and Bob Ainsworth, then knocked back a Tequila Coconut Sunrise over their mutilated corpses. Oh, and he said "cunt" a lot.
We kicked off the Autumn season with a brand new slot Ask the Experts, courtesy of renowned makeover experts Jamie P Spoon and Daniel McSpaniel. What links Jimmy Choo, Karl Largerfeld, Victoria Beckham and rotten aubergines? You wouldn't know, you're just a useless fashion casualty with bad hair and saggy boobs: only experts have the answers.
Wifred Mimsy: extending a hand to the buttocks of loneliness.
Finally in the last two months of the year we brought you spiritual fulfilment in the form of Rude Thought For The Day, presented by The Unquestionably Reverend Ernest T Spatchcock and The Slightly Reverend Dr Wilfred Mimsy, who urged his aural congregation to consider the important moral conundrums of the modern world: can you pray in a utility room? Does God drink Um Bongo? And what would Jesus have made of Midget Gangbang 7?
So what's in store for you lucky lot in 2010? Well to start with, we are all aching to find out What Gerry Did Next. We've also got another thrilling instalment of Jonno and Sid's coverage of the four-day final of the Chaffinch Cup, and a brand new three-parter from our resident experts Jamie and Dan, called (not unreasonably) Being Irritated By Some Experts. But that's not all: we will also be showcasing a hard-hitting documentary about UK knife crime, featuring Celine Dion and Barry Manilow and entitled Sharp Knives in A Flat. Clever, and tasteful. That's all on 33.9 Empire FM, the radio station for bigots, fascists and Boris Johnson.
Happy Yuletide Seasonings from everyone at Empire!
*Right Wing Ranters and Ranters' Mates, readers' poll 2009.
Nostalgia Corner – We are absolutely sodding mental for the 60s!!
Hi-de-hi Memory Laners! Marc back here with another slice of easily regurgitated pot history. And I don't simply mean 1960s pot history (although there's plenty to be nostalgic for in that department, man), coz this time round we're going to rip through the annals of time to remember the top six things that happened in the best 60s decades ever! We are literally going to tear through the centuries as if we were tearing up a big fat history book with our bare hands. Can you imagine that happening? No? That's how insane in the neurological membrane we are in Nostalgia Corner!
6. The 1460s were of course famous for the Wars of the Roses, which was famously fought over many years between the Houses of York and Lancaster, over a disputed Fragrant Spreader rose-bush which grew in the back garden joining the two houses. Who can forget the Battle of Townton, where the most blood was ever shed on snow-covered English soil? Of course it was ironically that beautiful snow blowing in our faces throughout the close-quarters fighting that was to be the undoing of us fearless Lancastrians, and in the end we had to retreat across the River Cock, but not before 20, 000 of our number were brutally dismembered and left to rot. They just don't wage battles like that these days do they?
5. Of course, what everyone remembers about the 1860s were the skirts, which had reached their ultimate width of 18 meters for day dresses, and a eye-popping 26 for evening wear. In those days, when you wanted to take a chick out to the tea house, you had to hire an enormous horse-drawn cart, fitted with an ingenious winch device in order to haul up your bird's acres of crinoline. Oh yeah, she looked a bit fancy on your arm, but I tell you, it didn't half make it tricky to get your hand up there later on though.
4. A few years ago, in 660,000 BC, you were able to hunt and kill your own woolly mammoth, drag it back to your cave and feast on its delicious raw ears to your heart's content before having a cheeky hand-shandy to some boss Neanderthal cave-porn. Then Homo Sapiens comes along, with his fire, and his wheel, and his ergonomically designed heated car seats. And what happens to yours truly? Miserable, ignominious extinction, that's what. Bloody humans, just because they have opposable thumbs.
3. The 1960s recession is undoubtedly my favourite recession of the later half of the 20th century: astronomically high unemployment rates, incredibly high inflation, and a suicidally bad GNP rating? All hammering down on Joe Pub's pocket, causing consumer confidence in the system to plummet and thus creating a downward economic spiral that swallowed 50% of small to medium-sized enterprises in under one year? In Gillingham? Outstanding.
Harold of England: massive pussy
2. What everyone remembers about the 1060s is the Battle of Hastings, the decisive victory in the Norman Conquest which paved theway for years of Froggy rule in England. Why they remember it is because old Harold got an arrow in his eye and died. And I'll grant you, I got one of those babies in my right testicle during that battle, and i's not a walk in the park. But then again, isn't it tougher to get shot and survive? If Gordon Brown could suffer a detached retina in the field of conflict and live to tell the tale, you'd think Harry could have done so too. Conclusive proof that he was history's biggest loser.
1. I have to say that, despite the massive competiton, the 1560s were my most memorable decade, mainly for my own demise. During my short city break to Paris, Catholic mobs instigated the infamous St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre against the Hugenots. One moment I was quietly minding my own business, eating a lovely pain au chocolate on the banks of the Rue de la Pong; the next thing I know my body is being thrown from the window into the street, mutilated, castrated, dragged through the mud, thrown in the river, suspended on a gallows and burned by the baying Parisian crowd. Bloody French, just because they don't have antiperspirant.
Well that's all for now Nostalgia fans: as always, please let me know your favourite decade ever in the comments box below, and come back next time when we'll be remembering all the mad things that happened in the noughties, like twitter feeds, ipod touches and swine flu ... golly, they really seem years away now don't they?
TB to Jean-Claude Juncker: Feel my second coming, bitch!
Are you lookin' at me?
Howdy Euro-philes (in the word of my good mate George W)! What's cooking?
I'll tell you what's smokin' on the hog-burner (also in the words of my best buddy Dubya): me. Yup, I am truly bringing the shizzle (in the words of my also good brother, Snoop The Dog). If you can't stand the heat, you should remember that the European Parliament formally requires manufacturers in all member states to advertise the maximum temperatures of all domestic heat-exuding appliances. Dang bitch! (In the words of beloved late former Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, Mo Molam.)
And why am I in such a chipper mood, I hear regular readers of How Inappropriate asking? Well, it's quite simple. It's because I am about to be enthronised (as I believe is the correct term) as the first President of Europe. Get outta here (in your words)! No, it's a cast-iron FACT that I will be the ruler of the free Europe by Christmas. (Even my heroine Maggie never managed that!) The reason for my confidence is three-fold: 1. the useless Gordon has finally started campaigning for me (rather than against!) And, given the massive amounts of respect that miserable myopic misanthrope commands on the world stage, that counts heaps; 2. I haven't publicly shown any interest in the position at all. In fact I have let the spineless Jean-Claude Junker think that he is the only bunny in the race, despite the fact that he is a) the prime minister of Luxembourg (where were you when we needed a coalition, you half-country?) and b) slightly more spineless than a sack of tofu; 3. (and here's the really cunning part) the job doesn't even exist!
Sometimes I have to send myself an awe-struck congratulations card when I realise how brilliant a strategist I am. Not to declare my hand for a non-existent job and in the process make everyone else think how desperate I am for it that only Gordon Brown will publicly stick up for me - that's the blackest of political magic! The job's as good as mine and why not, pop-pickers? Why give it to some banana-straightening no-mark Euro-bore, with his 15 languages and dubious heritage? Can anyone say that I am an undeserving candidate? Have I done anything that rules me out of the running? Is failing embarrassingly to get Britain into the Euro, despite imposing draconian public spending rules that crippled its health and education services wrong? Is sending hundreds of Brits to their death in seven meaningless colonial wars wrong? Is trying to pick up several of the most attractive women of the night in Finsbury Park on a Saturday night wrong? Frankly my dear, who knows!
Because, as I asked JM whilst we were leering at the Titian nudes in the main gallery of the Tate Britain last week, what makes a man? Is it the cut of his cloth, or the measure of his deeds? I mean, obviously I am a pretty sartorial fellow, and not for nothing do I wear Lacoste nudy-lady underpants whilst I'm snacking on brushetta in the exquistely decorated drawing room at Connaught Square, but I also get the job done. Especially the job of being a President of a whole bunch of countries, none of whom agree on anything; not even if they actually like each other. Eat that Obama (who thinks he's so cool he doesn't even have to return my eight urgent calls for support on Tuesday). Who's going to be eyeing up the First Lady of Europe when Cherie and I dance the foxtrot on the world stage? Who's the daddy now eh? In the words of my old pop hero, Michael "Whacko" Jackson, who's bad??
Have a blessed Halloween, my children.
Dr. Strangeroute
This week, How Inappropriate brings you yet another exclusive glimpse at what is being dubbed the hottest movie of the year, about to be released by TfL Films. It's a black comedy about a group of improvements-obessesed Transport Officers in London who plan to implement the nuclear option for Londoners: total travel apocalypse. Through a series of strategic sell-offs and planning cock-ups, the whole of the nation's capital is brought to a standstill and mayhem ensues as eight million residents are unable to get anywhere and are faced with the options of dying in their isolated homes or moving underground (but finding it's shut)! You'll laugh but mainly cry as you find that reality is stranger than fiction in this dystopian picture of today! Key characters include:
Gord Helpusall
Gordon Brown plays himself as the well-meaning but entirely useless U.K. premier Gord Helpusall, who is intent on selling off the Tube, Waterworks and any other utility you care to mention, in a desperate bid to save the nation's economy, and his own job! Hilarity ensues as he pushes through a private finance deal to run the Underground which is opposed by everyone else and inadvertently sets off a lethal wave of improvement works which pound Londoners for the next thirty years. Classic quote: "Ah, you know how we've always talked about the possibility of something going wrong with the tube....The tube, Bally. The London Underground....Well, now, what happened is that, uh, one of our consortia...they went a little funny in the head and did a silly thing....they went into administration and attacked three of your city's main transport arteries."
Gen. Doug Roads
David Owens plays Strategic Water Command Executive Officer, General Doug T. Roads, who lets loose his Thames Water bid on the UK. As head of the capital's water-base, Roads takes huge amounts of taxpayers' money to rip up the streets of London because of his paranoid belief that Victorians are sapping and contaminating "all our precious fluids" as part of their plan to provide extremely good public services. Classic quote: "I'm the only one who can call off the roadworks bringing complete chaos to North London. Tell me Bally, have you ever seen naked office workers wrestling to the death?"
Major Incompotence
Boris Johnson plays Major Bally Incompotence, Chief of Staff at the Greater London Authority, who manfully struggles - and fails - to manage his Transport brief as head of TfL, and is unable to prevent Doug Roads from blasting the streets of London apart and turning residents on one another as they fight to the death to get to work. A hysterical buffoon with stupid hair that reminds the viewer of wurzel gummidge having a nervous breakdown, he'll have you splitting your sides and voting for anyone else at the next mayoral election! [Surely: "begging for more?" - Ed.] Classic quote: "Now look hear, old fellow, I may be a dimwitted upper-class Bullingdon-Club-card-carrying toff, but I tell you, if I don't get through to the Prime Minister in the next few hours, well, I'm just going to have to cycle to Downing Street. We can still cycle through Whitehall can't we? Oh, hell."
Dr. Strangeroute
Vernon Everitt plays TfL's mad communications expert, Dr Strangeroute, a man who has problems controlling his right arm - not to mention the travelling public! In the War on Commuters room, Strangeroute explains how Incompotence's efforts to get London moving again are inevitably damned, because fifty years of underinvestment in the capital's infrastructure has set off the ultimate political weapon - the Doomsday Scenario - which would see Londoners forced to vote Conservative at the next election or move to France if they want to travel around a European capital with any measure of convenience. Classic quote: "If routes 141, 347, 73 and 56 are all put on diversion again this weekend, selective procreation would have to be introduced to ensure the survival of the capital's workforce, mein fuherer!"
Dirty Old Man: Tony Blair exposes himself for How Inappropriate
Greetings, faith-followers!
Hey everybody! Tony here, and I wanted to say how grateful I am to be able to let the regular readers of How Inappropriate know about all the exciting things that have been going on in my life since I stopped ruling the world - I mean the UK world of course. Y'know, it really has been literally non-stop! For example, on Monday, I had to tend to a nasty spot of green-fly on the tomato plants in Connaught Square; then on Tuesday I had to give a world-exclusive address to the Catholic Mothers of the Great Climate Clean-up Challenge at Winslow Hall, our modest seventh home 20 miles from Chequers, explaining how my conversion has succoured me in times of spiritual need.
Wednesday saw me wanking furiously to the images of some hardcore carpet-munchers going at it hammer and tongs in Stoke Newington Cemmentary, while on Thursday I was speaking for £1, 000, 000 an hour at the Neo-Catholic Heretic-burning Matriarchs' Initiative, and on Friday tending to the spirited - and fleshy - needs of one of my voluptuous former consituents in the 20 acre garden of the Myrobella in County Durham. Naturally I spent most of Saturday morning working on a two-state solution for the middle east in my favourite pub, whilst dreaming about the landlady's fulsome lips plied around my tumescent member, before launching my brand new Tony Blair Peace, Love and Understanding Foundation. On Sunday, I had a bit of a rest. Phew, tough gigs, eh?!
TB's 3-step plan to heath and happiness - Step 1: Neutralise pests
But, y'know, as I said to my best mate John, when you're making a bridge roll, why stop spreading the love-paste? After all, I am - as I frequently remind the regulars over a mug of tea at my working-middle class men's club - the most successful, and good-looking Labour prime minister in British history, bar none. Our government sorted out all the wicked problems of the modern world: worklessness (it's a bad thing), childcare (it's a good thing, if completely unaffordable, because it reduces worklessness), free speech (a good thing if we control it), the Lords (a bad thing because we can't control them, unless we appoint them), fox-hunting (really easy thing to ban but an impossible thing to control), drinking (good, except outdoors), smoking (bad, except indoors), smoking cannabis (bad, then good, then bad again), terrorism (very bad unless you are a Lockerbie bomber, in which case it's not that bad at all), and the BBC (worse than terrorism).
Step 2: Assemble allies
So as I enter my golden years I find myself, in the words of Fukuyama, standing at the end of history, dressed in Paul Smith bathers and Oakleys wrap-a-rounds, heading for the beach in St Tropez. Indeed, if it wasn't for my successor, the useless Gordon, we would still be in pretty good shape, but of course the Presbyterian ne'er-do-well has made a right old fanny-dingo of our green and pleasant land since I left the scene. It really isn't that hard. All you have to do is suck up to the City boys, put the fourth estate on a tight leash, construct vacuous populist policies that seem to please everyone while changing nothing and costing less, and sit on the GMTV sofa quite a lot, giving Penny Smith the glad-eye. I keep expecting the droopy-faced curmudgeon to call me up and admit he needs me to come back and sort it all out, but ... nada. Zip. Zilch.
Step 3: Who knows?
Well, I said to JM whilst we were watching two young women riding their bicycles through Hyde Park; their short skirts riding sensuously up their tight posteriors, their impressive bosoms straining against their tight tops as they rode their well-oiled steeds hard: good luck to the charmless sod. I passed him the best hand at the table, and the house won. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes when the Camerons start measuring up those cornflour blue curtains in No 10 next May - hah! Because, as our Lord Jesus Christ once said: who knows? Who knows if history will be kind to us, like a pleasant, comely matron, gently bathing away the sticky extrusions of our political miss-fires? Or who knows if instead she will take the form of a filthy leather-bound dominatrix, strandling our prostrate, gagged form whilst threatening the semi-permanent whelts of ignomious political exile? Who knows? Who knoooowwws??
God bless you all.