The deal unravels

So Jim Allister has left the DUP over Ian and Gerry's love-in. How noble. It would have been more noble if he actually resigned his Euro MEP seat too, because let's face it, he's only there because he was the DUP candidate, and he knows he'll be bollixed in any future contest. And now David Simpson, the man who ousted David Trimble as the MP for Upper Bann, says he has reservations about the deal and effectively wants a quarantine period before the Shinners can hold office.

What fucking planet are these people on? Here we have the two great enemies sitting down to break bread, and up pipes Jim and Davey to say 'no taigs in government'. I'm not happy about Paisley becoming first minister, given Third Force and Ulster Resistance, but I'm prepared to tolerate it, especially if it means that cunt Hain fucks off back to Blighty. What the betting that some ragtag bunch of tattooed loyalists take Simpson's words to further action?

Allister, Simpson and the likes of Geraldine Taylor and that other wanker Gerry McGeough have fuck all to offer this country. Taylor and McGeough were told to stick their brand of politics up their hoop at the Assembly election. I pray it won't be too long before Allister and Simpson are given the same message.

Scattered

Sorry that posts have been a little bit scattered this last while back, I've been busy. I'm hoping that normal service will resume shortly.

By the way, I've had to change the settings so that only registered Blogger users can comment. Unfortunately there's an arsehole who doesn't have the balls to give his name making comments that I have to delete. Honestly, you would think that someone who interferes with the genitalia of pre-pubescent boys wouldn't have the time to troll on blogs, but it just shows how wrong you can be.

Here's hoping that you catch a fatal illness and suffer a horrible demise, you time-wasting, shirt-lifting, pillow-munching, turd-punching, child molesting waste of jism.

Stamina Required

I hear that the Ministry of Defence are issuing Viagra to their soldiers in South Armagh because they just can't keep their choppers up...

The important issues

Corporation Tax ya-de-dah.

Income Tax down by 2p - yawn

Gas guzzlers double tax hike - dum-de-dum.

How much are the fegs and the drink up by Gordon, ya cunt?

Know Nothings

Why does every St. Patrick's Day bring the absolute dregs of society out into the open?

I went out for a walk on St. Patrick's morning at around 11am. In a wooded area near where I live there were 15 young scumbags congregated, armed with bags of drink. At 11am. Each one had a Celtic top on and one or two had draped the national flag around their shoulders. They were noisy, shouting at the top of their voices to the wanker standing next to them, and smashing their empty bottles on the pavement.

Some display of Irishness. If I had asked them who the Taoiseach is, or what is the county town of Clare, their eyes would have have bulged, and then their heads would have exploded. They know nothing of their country's history or culture, or even of St. Patrick himself - no, they show celebrate Ireland's national holiday by dressing in the shirt of a British football team and wearing the national flag, of which they know nothing of it's meaning.

Let's round them up and chainsaw them to death. It's the only way.

St. Patrick's Day

Saw an ad for Magners while stuck in traffic on the Lisburn Road today. It has the customary 'health warning' with it now:

'Enjoy Magners Responsibly'

I promise I won't spill a drop.

Hope you all get blitzed this St. Pat's weekend.

Green taxes my hole

Am I the only one that is getting sick and tired of hearing about green issues and global warming?

It's in the paper every fucking day now, and seems to be a particular favourite hobby horse of the beard-stroking, cardigan-wearing, 'hug-a-Muslim' Guardian. I know that it is a serious problem, but what is the point in me cutting down in car usage and electricity when big business just doesn't give a bollix about what it pumps into the air?

My humble opinion: the government is gonna squeeze this green agenda thing for all it is worth, and that can only mean more taxes for the plebs. Look at it this way. The powers that be could turn round and say, 'Right Treason, me old china, we're putting your car tax up by £200 a year and we're slapping 25p on a litre of petrol.' That puts me and a lot of other people off the road. The rich, however, will just shrug their shoulders, pay the extra whack and continue to drive little Timothy 100 yards to the prep school every morning in the gas guzzling Merc. Ordinary Joe Bloggs will be priced off the roads in pretty much the same way he has been priced off the property ladder and out of third-level education.

And what will the government do with that extra money? Spend it on environmental concerns? Fucking sure they won't. It'll end up the way all taxpayers' money does - spent on keeping the lazy workshy bastards sitting on their fucking holes all day long, and paying for people to be in this country who shouldn't be here; and all the while the stupid cunts like myself who actually work for a living get screwed left, right and centre. That's why I see it as my personal, moral obligation to pay as little tax as I can possibly get away with. I get my petrol from over the border. I get my booze at knock down prices. When I smoked, I bought contraband cigs. And I have a wee sideline that brings me in a bit of cash that the taxman doesn't see.

If the government can't spend my money responsibly, then it will see less of it. Cunts.

It Beggars Belief

Why are there so many beggars on the streets of Belfast these days?

I don't mind the odd one who looks like he's been dragged through a hedge and is looking 50p for a cup of tea. I usually end up giving him a pound, there for the grace of God go I and all that. But today was different. There was a guy begging outside the Mall in Great Victoria Street. He was of south Mediterranean appearance. He put the lid of an aerosol can in front of my face and asked me for spare change. He was kitted out in the best of gear. He had better strides than me, better shoes than me and a better coat than me. All in all he was better looked after than me! I just looked at him and walked on. He'll probably end up getting a few quid and then drive off home in his new Beemer or something.

I know charity begins at home, but I'm starting to get pissed off with it. Also in Great Victoria Street a few weeks ago, some local guy begging reached his arm out and tried to pull me towards him. He may have been going for the friendly approach, but he also may have been going for my throat with a knife. I told him to fuck away off before I ripped his head off and stuck it up his hole. He was not so quick to come near me when I walked by again 10 minutes later.

They're starting to become as bad as the charity wanker headlockers than infest the city centre. I wonder how much cattle prods go for on eBay?

While I was away..

No, I wasn't kidnapped by rock n'roll lovin' aliens, I've been very busy watching all the election results and laughing really hard at Rainbow George getting more votes than Bob McCartney. If there's anyone that fully deserves to have a rusty pole shoved up his bangle until his eyes bulge, it's McCartney. Equally delighted to see that Anna Lo cleaned up in South Belfast, especially at the expense of the DUP.

So what's happens now? Will we get our government? I think we will. Big Ian's looking towards his own legacy, same as Blair, and he will want to be Big Chief Dirty Bum of this place before he croaks it, which will hopefully be sooner rather than later. He's got the green light from his electorate to do it (to do a deal with the Chucks, not croak it).

I was kinda hoping, just for a laugh, that the Shinners would have came out with the most seats. That would have really set the cat among the pigeons to see Art Garfunkel as First Minister. The look on Nigel Dodds face would be priceless!

Other than that, I've been trying to kill Phil Collins in GTA Vice City Stories. An honourable pastime I'm sure you'll agree.

Death Becomes Them

As you all know, I want to set up a Department of Cultural Cleansing when I become Taoiseach, and I've been thinking about the ways in which Westlife can be executed live on national television (hosted by Marty Whelan and Gráinne Seoige). Here's what I have so far.

1) They are stripped naked, each tied to a post and smeared in honey in a locked room, then a million wasps are let loose in there.

2) They each have to stick their cock in a ball of mince steak, and four rottweilers are let off their leashes. They'll snuff it from the shock alone.

3) A battle-to-the-death Gladiator style contest in the Point Depot. The last one standing is hole-rimmed to the grave by UTV's Julian Simmons.

4) An old fashioned game of Russian Roulette with unidentified pills.

You gotta help me out here folks. Whoever comes up with the best suggestion gets a seat in the cabinet as Minister for decapitating B-B-Bertie Ahern.

Nice One Frank

Must give a big thumbs-up to Frank Mitchell who gave this blog a mention on his U105 mid-morning show today. I caught the tail-end of a discussion about blogs and I was pleasantly surprised to hear the Voice of Treason held up as 'a blog not for the easily offended'.

World domination can't be far away.

Now Frank, if you really want to get into my good books, you can take a meat cleaver to George Jones' head.

Bob McCartney talks balls

I was watching 'The Politics Show' on BBC1 earlier; it was an hour-long special on Norn Iron, seeing as we are off to vote early and vote often on Wednesday.

The first part of the programme had representatives from the Ulster Unionists and the DUP, and the one-man show that is Bob fucking McCartney QC, the biggest pain in the hole to walk this earth since David Beckham.

Bob was giving both the UUP and the DUP a strict telling off about having/intending to share power with Sinn Féin, and then he came off with the statement that 'both parties want to go into government with those who murdered Protestants and destroyed their property'.

To listen to McCartney, and other unionists, you would think that the whole war here was just an exercise in republican brutality, and that unionists sat back and suffered in silence. From 1987 onwards, loyalist paramilitaries slaughted more people than republicans, and continued to wipe out all round them after the ceasefires were called. The silence from the unionist parties was deafening; some of them such as that tone-deaf preacher Willie McCrea chose to share public platforms with the likes of King Rat. More tellingly, the unionist parties also said absolutely fuck all about the state murder of scores of people when the report into collusion was published a few weeks back. And these people expect the electorate to believe that they are democrats? What chance of them sharing power with nationalists when they shout each other down in a television studio?

The very fact that Bob has to stand in six constitutencies simultaneously for his fUKUP party speaks volumes of his political irrelevance. He also conveniently forgot to enlighten us as to what his alternative to devolved government is. Another 4 years of being under the thumb of Hain and his other blow-in fuckwits from Blighty? Stick that one up your bangle, Bob.

Dead Ringers, 2

Ulster Unionist Party leader Sir Reg Empey and evil Springfield power plant owner Montgomery Burns. Separated at birth? Excellent!