Thursday, April 14, 2016

Returning Dave's Dodgy Dossier

Don't post it with a stamp to 10 Downing St. Send it to one of these FREEPOsT addresses.



Here's the address to send Cameron's Poison Pamphlets back to:
Joanne George,
Freepost RSBB-XRZT-ZTXE,
The Conservative Party Foundation,
30 Millbank,
London,
SW1P 4DP.
As this is a freepost number, it will cost the Tories a lot of money to receive them.
If you send them back to 10 Downing Street we are effectively paying for them to be sent twice.
Alternative address: Conservative Campaign HQ,
FREEPOST,
4 Mathew Parker St,
London
SW1H 9HQ,

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Givingi it back to Dodgy Dave

Return Cameron's £9m shameful booklet to Conservative Party HQ FREEPOST 4 Matthew Parker Street, London, SW1H 9HQ. No stamp needed.

Monday, April 11, 2016

Send it back!


Here's the address to send Cameron's Pamphlets back to:
Joanne George,
Freepost RSBB-XRZT-ZTXE, 
The Conservative Party Foundation,
30 Millbank,
London,
SW1P 4DP.
As this is a freepost number, it will cost the Tories a lot of money to receive them.
If you send them back to 10 Downing Street we are effectively paying for them to be sent twice.
Alternative address: Conservative Campaign HQ,
FREEPOST,
4 Mathew Parker St,
London
SW1H 9HQ,
or send it back to the german owned company that printed it 29 St. John'S Lane
London, London, EC1M 4N

Friday, April 08, 2016

Please think of the children



If you have a moment, please read the following:

http://capx.co/somebody-please-think-of-the-children/

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Turning a blind eye is cowardice


Even allowing for tabloid sensationalism, this is a gruesome story**. Nobody comes out of it well: local authority, local police, social services and so on, They all turned a blind eye because of the tyranny of Political Correctness, a wicked mechanism that suppresses freedom of expression and straight dealing. Please resist it whenever you can.

**Rotherham is not the only town where Asian gangs groomed and abused young girls. It was only when the first prosecution was brought in Oxford that other local authorities realised they could no longer sit on inconvenient truths.



Reparations for what?


This mantra about "Reparations" really is a distortion. Apart from the lack of logic, it ignores certain historical realities. When I was in Tanzania, I visit a coastal settlement called Bagamoyo, about 40 Km north of Dar-es-Salaam. I then went inland about a 90-minute journey to the ruins of a settlement called Kaole. Both settlements were built and run by Arab slave traders. They paid Bantu tribesmen to go into the interior and kidnap people from peaceful settlements. The captives were brought first to Kaole for processing and then marched down to Bagamoyo on the coast, from where they were shipped abroad to wherever there was a market for slaves. So, the idea that it's all the white man's fault is inaccurate.
What is particularly sad is the distortion in that child's mind as she raises her fist in anger, convinced that all white people are wicked and must therefore pay her in some way.
My saying this opens me to charges of being racist or fascist or whatever is the latest PC insult. It will not surprise you to know, dear reader, that I don't give a shit.

The Easily-enticed Bell-end Pecker

I am quite pleased with my dick. Over the years it has given me lots and lots of pleasure, and relatively few problems. So what follows are observations rather than criticisms.

Dicks, as every man knows, tend to lead a life of their own. You're with a lovely lady, it's all shaping up fine, but at the critical moment, just as you don your matador's cape to administer the coup de grace, the Imperial Todger goes into a sulk, and hangs there drooping like the last turkey on a butcher's slab. Conversely, you are in a social gathering or at a business meeting, and suddenly for no reason the Knobbly Ape stands to attention, tenting your pants, and throbbing like a blind cobbler's thumb. Mega-embarrassment and frustration in both situations, because there's not a lot you can do with a limp dick, and there's even less you can do with a stiff one if you're in the middle of a meeting of your local Parish Church Council.

I have no explanation for this phenomenon. It's probably the fleshly equivalent of the apparent contrariness of things, what the Germans call “die Tuecke des Objekts”, the sheer bloody-mindedness of inanimate objects.

There is of course a condition known to an older generation as “pizzle-proud”, which can give an old rake the illusion in the early hours of the morning that the Cherry-capped Dangler is experiencing a new lease of life. But before he can nudge the Memsahib into a cooperative experience, it's gone back to its normal happy flaccid state, where, to quote the schoolgirl who asked her grandpa what a penis was, and when he showed her, said: “Oh, I see, it's like a prick, only smaller.”

Is there a female equivalent of this phenomenon? Delicacy prevents me from inquiring further, though any comments from the ladies would be most welcome. But please put your reply in a plain brown envelope: this is a family channel.