Carry on Camping

According to Harold Camping, tomorrow is The Rapture. Not just any Rapture, THE Rapture people. The end of the world.

He of course predicted this before in the 90s but he claims a mathematical error was at fault rather than his being mental.

I wonder will he be disappointed tomorrow when the world doesn't end? Perhaps it'll end for him, he doesn't look long for this world.

I myself can't wait. I initially was looking forward to meeting the Lord our God and the father of the baby Jesus, but having given it some more thought, I fancy staying behind. It's what I've always wanted really, much much less people in the world. And it'll be the most fun people that are left.

I plan to move to Buckingham Palace and I will drive around in a Ferrari that I will steal from a deserted Ferrari dealership. I also plan to have a kick-about at the Emirates and eat all the sandwiches I can digest all free of charge. That's my idea of heaven.

Of course, apparently we only have until October to enjoy ourselves as this is when the Lord our God and the father of the baby Jesus will destroy the sinners and put the boring people back. Similar to what would have happened in Smallville had Clark not saved the day.

Therefore, I apologise to the Queen in advance for the mess. Sorry Ma'am.

And now for something completely different

Well now, what with the abundance of c**t of the week contenders that needed recording we haven't had time to discuss anything else on the blog these past three days so let's put that right now shall we.

Wednesday was annual review at the big house. This of course is a day we don't look forward. It is quite possible with extensive naps and a pig headed refusal to stare facts in the face to ignore the deteriorating nature of CF on a day to day basis.

However, the annual appointment presents one with irrefutable evidence that the previous 12 months have not been kind. In real terms I am old now. Officially. They don't even really give me the results of my various tests anymore, they just sort of tilt their heads to one side, smile, and ask me if I'd like a biscuit. Change the subject much?

In practical terms the upshot of today was a recommendation that I always carry O2 around with me which will of course require a bit of an adjustment as I'm reluctant to walk about with tubing coming out of my face. The Borg might be OK with it, but I'm a little more self-conscious.

I know society has moved on from Victorian circus freak shows, but for a while at least this is how I will feel about wearing O2 nasal specs about town. In my head I envision people stopping and pointing at me and little children crying and hiding behind their parents and policeman asking me whether "sir might be more comfortable only coming out at night."

I hear a burly cockney type addressing a fascinated crowd of onlookers inside a circus tent, "BEHOLD...tube face man" as he pulls back a red velvet curtain to reveal me sat in my lounge wear eating a sammich and watching Smallville to gasps and cries of BY CHRIST IT'S NOT HUMAN. A lady screaming, another fainting. Someone vomiting and urchins running screaming from the tent.

I'm kind of hoping the reality is less exaggerated.

What of course we have to avoid now is becoming a recluse. If we stay in because venturing out is too taxing physically and too uncomfortable our condition will only deteriorate further thus requiring more oxygen and more lounge wear. A viscous circle if you will.

I clearly have to man up and cease being such a whining nancy boy. With this in mind I will tomorrow venture forth to Nottingham for the DTD Grand-Prix 3 to seek my fortune. This for non-poker playing readers is a seven day £50 freeze-out poker tournament which is hoped will break the European record for the most runners in a single event.


I believe they're aiming for 1,600 runners. Five day 1's and day 2 and the final day over the weekend. By my calculations I should have thousands of pounds in £50 notes in my possession by about 2am Monday morning.

With my newly acquired riches I plan to hire a nurse to take good care of me. Preferably one who plays the harp and is liberal enough to wear the house uniform in the winter, which to be fair makes the Rio cocktail waitress outfit in Vegas look like a Burkha.

An artists impression of the uniform of the house yesterday

C**t of the week changes hands

The cunt of the week award is being keenly contested this week. Paddy Power style I had all but paid out on Chris Huhne for setting aside his Parliamentary duties in order to hide from the media because he knows sure as eggs is eggs he should be in jail, but with the ink not yet dry on the certificate quoth Ken Clarke such an extraordinary speech of bullshit as to re-open the competition.

According to Ken, who mistakenly thinks it's 1811 rather than 2011, rapists ought to get a 50% "discount" on their sentences if they plead guilty to being rapists. Which is to say, the quickest way of halving your time in jail is to admit doing what you've been accused of.

No someone hasn't just turned over two pages at once, he really does think this. Now of course, I'm no lawyer, but this does quite seem to be the thinking of a man who's brains have rotted away and been left with nothing but a musty void between the ears.

By my way of thinking, and again I concede I'm not a lawsmith, if you've raped someone and deny it and put your victim through the ordeal of a court case and waste everyone's time and money, and are then found guilty, you should then have your sentence extended. If you admit to your guilt straight off the bat, you should get the standard sentence for whatever they're dishing out for rape these days.

By offering "discounts" as Clarke describes it for admitting being what you're on trial for surely you make a mockery of due process and insult the victim. Essentially in fact, in the case of rape, fuck the victim once again. By admitting doing what you're accused off, by anyone's mathematics, how can that lead to an abbreviated sentence?

Ken Clarke is incapable of distinguishing between victims and offenders. To him it's just a difference of opinion. One woman's rape is another mans spirited nookie. He'll never be able to understand the idea of locking people up just to keep them away from the law abiding members of the community.

Any society where criminal behaviour is simply dismissed as an antiquated diagnosis of the psychologically disturbed rather than just a plain and simple fact that some people are utter cunts is always going to be unsafe place to live.

"Yes M'lud I did indeed drag the young miss into the woods as described and yes I subjected her then to a four hour ordeal from which she'll probably never recover. I then ran off and left her for dead while I searched for another victim."


"Ah well, jolly good young man, you've spared me a lot of work there so have your sentence reduced by half." Tonk! Court adjourned.

For completely missing the point and putting people's lives in danger and ultimately making this country a shit place to live I hereby award Ken Clarke the cunt of the week trophy.

C**t of the week and it's only Monday

THIS BLOG ENTRY CONTAINS RUDE WORDS

Guilty as charged, but what are you
gonna do about it?: An utter cunt yesterday

I hate Chris Huhne. I have always hated Chris Huhne. If only when his mother was carrying around this lump of sexually deviant evil in her womb some Providence had not intervened and some how shoved a coat hanger up her jaff we might have never had to suffer his odious, arrogant, hypocritical bullshit.

He represents the absolute worst of everything we must fear and hate about lefty eco-maniacs and almost every politician who sits in the House of Commons. The Liberal Democrats are of course completely bereft of conscience. And this man's soul is so black as to be almost a darkness that could end the world.

If Chris Huhne is not drawing up plans to bankrupt the country with his absurd obsession with wind farms, or dumping whoever he's married to on a given day in order to share a bed with a couple of lesbians, he's breaking the law by driving like a cunt and then asking the wife he's about to dump to take the rap for it.

Even as we speak, while the nation waits for him to come out of hiding and explain why he shouldn't go to jail, he'll be lying prostrate on a red velvet chaise-lounge in his bespoke sex den while two Romanian rent boys wank him off, rub hummus into his testicles and throw piles of £50 notes at his bare chest.

If I hadn't resigned from the world and detached myself completely from this attitude of complete indifference our politicians have for our opinions and contempt they have for the thousand year old democracy and due process, then I might get annoyed by this. The fact that the House of Commons is now exclusively a retreat for some of the most dangerous men in the country and who are quite above the law might cause me some alarm.

The reality that we are doomed and as absolutely fucked as if we were a D list celebrity with big tits at a Footballers christmas party, might keep me awake at night. Like Chris Huhne, it's a good job I don't care. Phew.

Saturday wagering

I've just now been handed a dossier by my head statistician Badger Johanus who has been working with my chief of entertainment, a Hamster called Marvin and also my political analyst, one of those sort of mini Dobermans called Barny, in order to predict the winner of the Eurovision song contest.

It makes for some interesting reading. Essentially they debunk the voting bloc theory on basis of political affiliations. If this were so they conclude, the same small group of countries would finish in the top places every year.

A new voting system involving juries will apparently render all previous data prior to 2008 useless..fortunately Marvin has connections with the Estonian mafia who work with the Russian betting syndicates to manufacture the results.

This year, to cut a long story short, Denmark will win apparently because they have a reciprocal agreement with the Russians and some of the old soviet countries to export cheap bacon in return for a job lot of those cool furry hats the Russians wear.

With Denmark currently trading at 28.0 on the Betfairs, the advice is to get on quickly before it's too late.

There was a second dossier in my In-tray this morning. My football specialist, a polar bear from Greenland who goes by the code name Zero-Minus, and who is actually from the future, sent me a small MPEG of the FA cup final itself!


I had no idea it was today. Since when do they play the FA Cup final before the end of the season? Anyways, the video showed Stoke's goal, a typical Stoke goal from a long throw in followed by a scramble in the box and poked in for the only goal of the game.

With a Danish/Stoke double making me rich beyond my wildest dreams I will finally be free from the burdens of the common man and I plan to take full advantage of this by doing something sordid and taking out a Super-Injunction so only people who use Twitter or have access to the internet will know about it. I tell you this now as I obviously won't be able to blog about it after the fact.