From formertory in the comments:
Nothing has been learned, has it? Perhaps we should just sacrifice some random men at the stake to appease the feminist gods:
Rape victims are eight times more likely to get justice in some police force areas than others in England and Wales, Home Office figures reveal.
North Yorkshire police force is the most successful with one in seven (14.2 per cent) rapes resulting in the sex attacker being charged, according to the data for 2018/19 …
It contrasts with under three percent of rapes resulting in a charge in the eight lowest police forces, led by Kent with 1.6 per cent and followed by Essex (2.4 per cent), Norfolk (2.6 per cent), Surrey (2.6 per cent), Suffolk (2.8 per cent), Hampshire (2.8 per cent) and Cambridgeshire (2.9 per cent).
My bold, seeing as both the police and the Telegraph – and it’s not even the Wyminn’s section this time – haven’t been taught the use of the word ‘alleged’.
Jason Momoa, who played Aquaman, and Khal Drogo on Game of Thrones, is the actor who first started the pile-on against Chris Pratt for drinking from a plastic water bottle. Is he a good guy? Hollywood, the greens and the leftists seem to think he’s a hero because he’s a full-on environmental and climate change loon and a United Nations Advocate for Oceans. But he seems to me more like a Kingsmen-style super-villain:
“We are a disease that is infecting our planet.” — Actor, Jason Momoa at #UNGA
Climate change & plastic pollution, present unique challenges to Small Island Developing States. See how @UNESCO joined forces with governments to tackle this global crisis: https://t.co/pK2zaM4VDF pic.twitter.com/Al14IfTwLd
— UNESCO (@UNESCO) October 1, 2019
‘A disease that is infecting our planet’, says the shoo-in for the next Humanitarian of the Year Award.
(And note also that UNESCO, which is, according to the UN charter, is supposed to be about protecting human rights and freedom, thought this was such a worthy and uplifting comment that it had to tweet it.)
There’s something else that’s worth knowing about Jason Momoa too. He has started a canned water company, which will be competing against plastic water bottle companies, so there’s a commercial angle to this whole thing as well. (Imagine shelling out extra cash for a can of water! But then decades ago everyone said ‘Imagine shelling out money for a bottle of water’.)
“Whether it’s water in bottles that are especially biodegradable, or water in cans, it’s something that’s a little better than plastic but shouldn’t be done at all,” says Peter Gleick, a scientist focused on water and climate issues and co-founder of the Pacific Institute. “Canned water is a marginal improvement over bottled water.” Even if someone created a 100 percent-recyclable bottle, the impact of transporting water to a packaging plant is notable, as is the packaging.
But Momoa, who, incidentally, has a son with Lisa Bonet called Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha (a name that I was going to chose for my son until my narrow-minded wife stepped in) is ramping up the emotion:
Together with you, Mananalu will rid the world of single use plastic bottle containers.
Eliminate Single Use
Plastic Drinking Bottles
Mana is the sacred spirit of life.
Nalu is a powerful wave that pushes across the ocean.
Mananalu represents the unstoppable wave of change that is coming. The change of consciousness that won’t allow the perpetuation of plastics to litter and suffocate our oceans and damage the environment any longer.
Together with you, Mananalu will rid the world of plastic water containers and start a wave of change that demands our purest water be packaged in aluminum, one of the most recyclable materials in the world.
And again, Momoa stands and looks at things (this is actually on the front page of his cannery website):
This is Chris Pratt’s back yard.
No, no, I jest. It’s worse than that. According to the Mananalu website, this is in Jordan. That’s right. Chris Pratt ships all his empty plastic bottles, at great expense, to Jordan, to be dumped in a desert. And Momoa flew all the way to Jordan just to stand and look at it like a chump. No wonder he’s pissed at Chris Pratt.
Momoa’s take-home message from a few dozen empty bottles that he flew halfway across the world to look at it is that people are evil and either we kill them or they have to start buying the most expensive water-bottling method in the world, which he happens to own.
Whereas my take-home message from this photo is that these Jordanians aren’t very good at picking up after themselves.
Momoa hasn’t really thought this through very well, has he? As the above picture illustrates, the main problem is that people dump their containers after using them (and this is mainly a problem in the third world, where the vast majority of ocean pollution comes from, not the West). Making the containers aluminium cans rather than plastic bottles doesn’t do much to solve this issue, because people dump cans as well.
Things would change, they’re right:
Mainly the mortality statistics.
The Lorenzos stumble out of the Psychology building in the late afternoon, after finishing a fairly fruitless session trying to work on their TITE group project, due at the end of the semester. They blink in the bright sun, which has just come out, and Ren suggests they go to the student bar.
‘We need a drink after that session,’ he says, although mainly he just wants to gaze at Lily some more. We are privileged to have such a prominent member of the gourgeoisie in our ranks, he thinks, although he uneasily notes that many females would also consider Miles to be a member as well.
They sit on the lawn in front of the bar. This is one of the few bits of grass left on Greenwood Glade (which is what the main campus is called). Sitting out here is vastly preferable to sitting inside the bar, which is a windowless, airless, black-painted dungeon, full of undergraduates, and inevitably fogged with smoke. Even the smoke can’t quite disguise the smell of mould that inheres in the walls.
The Lorenzos are feeling good because it’s sunny, and it’s the end of the week, although it’s not the end of the week really, as they’ll all be working over the weekend, but it feels like the end of the week. They’re all still getting used to this concept of the ‘working week’ after their years as grad students. Especially Ren, who used to get drunk on any night of the week he felt like, who’d sleep in for as long as he wanted, and who sometimes lost track of what day it was. Life as a grad student is a privileged one, he thinks. At least it is if you’re smart and in the Humanities. It’s not so good if you’re a plodder in the Sciences.
The other three are happy to have put their grad student days behind them, to be on the next rung of their academic ascent, and to have some money and respectability and kudos. They gladly accept the loss of freedom, and the shouldering of responsibilities, that goes with all that. Ren doesn’t. He doesn’t really want to be an academic. It’s just that he’d rather die than get a normal job. He has plenty of philosophical ideas, though, and he wants to get them out of his system. He plans to do that, and in the meantime line up something more interesting and glamorous. He doesn’t have much of an idea of what, but he’s sure something better will turn up.
They’re all feeling relaxed, when Lily takes her top off, and she’s just wearing a singlet, not too tight, but tight enough, and then it’s like they all get tractor-beamed up by this fabulous sun to some empyrean realm. Then she rubs it in further by letting her hair down. It’s not so much that she’s more beautiful doing that than she was before, it’s just that the sense of her loosening up draws them further into her aura. She holds up her glass of white wine and it’s like it has waterproof LEDs inside it, and the glow reflects onto her lovely, amused face. The boys, the overgrown boys who all fancy her, are sucked in by the vacuum cleaner of love, suddenly yanked over the threshold that separates fancying and love. Or perhaps it’s just the line between fancying and infatuation. They’re grabbed by giants from behind and thrown through the air so that their stomachs feel funny. Do I know any giants, Ren thinks? Well, there are the giants of my field, Plato, Locke, Kant… no, more likely to be a modern giant. Rudolph Carnap perhaps. Rudolph Carnap is throwing him around, like a dwarf he has torn off his shoulders. ‘You feel dis in groinal tubes, ja, shortzen stuff?’
Ren knows what the others are feeling. He can sense the sap rising all around. He can think of nothing worthwhile to say. Not that that ever stopped him before. But now it does. At least don’t say anything stupid. They’re all just sitting there, sitting slack-jawed, staring at the smiling Lily. Ren’s tongue dries up, literally. He’s got the Saharas in advance of his hangover. Going through the hangover process in reverse would be interesting, he thinks. You’d feel a bit shagged out two days before your binge is due. Then the next day you’d start out pretty tired and listless, and you’d feel worse and worse as the day wears on. You’d maybe start vomiting, if you’re the vomity type, and a mega-headache would increasingly impose itself upon you until you can take no more and you have to go bed and sleep it off. You can at least sleep; in fact, you’re incapable of being awoken during the night, until you suddenly wake up next morning completely crazy. You jump out of bed, stumble downstairs dangerously, and then you start weaving all over the kitchen, knocking things over while you stuff yourself with snacks while singing away to yourself, and then you can’t wait to meet up with your friends who are also off their nuts, so you all get taxis to meet together and laugh hysterically over stupid things, while you knock back whiskies, which makes you less crazy. Then you all have a few more hours of drinking beer and wine, which knocks the edge off the mania, but still leaves you feeling happy and sparky, until you’re feeling normal again, at which point you have to go off to do some work. You’re feeling somewhat flat by that point, and a bit stressed.
It doesn’t sound that appealing, so he takes a sip of his beer to irrigate the Sahara. Miles and Douglas do the same. Douglas is looking at Ren and Miles like he doesn’t think he can compete with them.
‘You seem to have an extra big smile, Lily. Are you extra happy for some reason?’ says Miles. Ren can tell that Miles is cursing himself for saying something so dim-witted, although it’s better than anything he could have come up with at that moment.
‘Yes, I’m happy because my boyfriend has been promoted. He’s going to be a Professor.’
Down, down, down they tumble from their empyrean realm high above the Earth, down through the various levels of reality, down through Plato’s world of the Forms, down through the realm where everything exists in twelve dimensions, down through Cockaigne, or cloud-cuckoo land, down past the castles in the air, down through the realm where everyone is a cartoon drawing, down through the level where angels sit upon clouds, and back down to Earth, with a bump. The sun has gone behind a cloud. It’s not the same Earth as before, is it, thinks Ren. This is a different place. Evil Twin Earth. Like Earth, but everything is corrupted and foul and depressing. Douglas looks like he’s going to cry. As well he might, he probably now has a meth lab hidden at the back of the Physics laboratory area, and he sells meth to the students. No, that’s not evil enough. He sucks off tramps for sips of Special Brew. No, too much, dial it back, the meth lab it is. Miles will be a gigolo on this planet. I wonder what I do now? Do I sell essays to students to fund a drug habit? Perhaps I do moral philosophy now. God… a shudder goes down his spine. Maybe I’m in Theology in this world. He drinks some more beer to get a grip. Douglas looks miserable, but Miles looks like he’s already convinced himself that it was no big deal, just a passing fancy, the next honey will be along soon enough.
‘Well, this calls for a celebration then,’ says Ren. ‘Champagne?’ At least he’s got his voice back again.
‘I wouldn’t trust any champagne you get from the student bar,’ says Miles. ‘They’ll probably just give you white wine with lemonade added to it.’
‘White wine with lemonade’s a bit fancy for a northerner like me,’ says Douglas.
After Ren has been to get them all another drink, Lily tells them about her boyfriend. He’s a forty-two-year-old Senior Lecturer – soon to be Professor – at the LSE.
‘Forty-two? Forty-two?’ says Ren. ‘That’s positively mummified, Dr Burkenhare. Are you getting him a pair of slippers as a present? Or an iron, to iron his skin?’
‘Yes, Ren, he’s all wrinkly,’ says Lily. ‘And he smokes a pipe.’
‘Well, good timing, you bagged him just as he’s about to retire. Just in time for a round-the-world cruise.’
‘I think Lily has a Daddy complex,’ says Miles. And immediately regrets it, because Lily goes a bit red at this.
‘Just because your Daddy was your granddad, Miles,’ says Ren chivalrously, trying to take the attention away from Lily’s embarrassment.
‘And my great-granddad,’ says Miles. ‘Give the man the credit he’s due, thank you very much.’
‘And your uncle?’ says Douglas.
‘Goodness me, we’re a respectable family. I don’t know what sort of things go on in your family, but we have some morals.’
‘He was also his aunt,’ says Ren to Douglas in a stage-whisper. ‘Miles is a bit sensitive about that.’
‘What’s your boyfriend’s name?’ asks Douglas.
‘Econ?’ asks Miles.
‘A conference affair, I expect?’ asks Ren. ‘They’re so romantic, after all.’
‘Whoa, those Econ conferences,’ says Miles in a Californian accent. ‘I hear they’re, like, totally crazy, dudetta.’
‘What field is he in?’ asks Ren.
‘Oh various things, industrial structure, economics of climate change, labour economics…’
‘You’d better get that ring as soon as you can, girl, he sounds quite a catch,’ says Miles. ‘You must be dizzy with excitement.’
‘Ha! Like your stuff is excitement personified!’ says Lily.
‘Miles tried to tell me what he does last week,’ says Ren, ‘but I fell asleep within seconds. But climate change? Labour economics? Not a teensy bit lefty, is he?’
‘Well, a little bit, yes. But he’s gradually been coming to his senses. He started off very left-wing.’
‘The one field where you might meet some non-lefties, and you bag yourself a lefty.’
‘But he’s a sweetie. And it’s not like I’m right-wing myself, you know. Just because I don’t like the radical left, or Continentalism, doesn’t mean I’m Milton Friedman. Or that I want to marry him.’
The section will be continued in Part 4
So Hollywood called out actor Chris Pratt for using a single-use plastic water bottle, and a suitably-shamed Chris Pratt grovelled out an apology:
Yesterday I wrote about disbanding the BBC and Channel 4. This, I think, is the best course of action a Conservative government could take. But it’s a course of action that the Johnson government is extremely unlikely to take, plus there are other problems with it, such as likely court action in a hostile anti-Conservative legal environment, and an Establishment/chattering class backlash.
So is the only alternative to take away the licence fee and force the BBC to become a subscription service? No. There is another option. (In fact, there’s also the option of do nothing, which is probably what the Conservatives will do. But let’s not just close our eyes and hope for the best.)
This option is to keep the BBC in place, and keep the license fee in place, but radically reshape it. (As for Channel 4, you can either do the same, or just axe it.) First of all, sack the BBC Board, including the Director-General. Sack all the division heads. Replace them people who aren’t biased, although many won’t need replacing. (Personally I’d just do this straight away. But if you want, you could have an enquiry into BBC bias, but that could only work if isn’t run by people who are equally biased, and run by people who aren’t going to fold under pressure.)
Then dramatically cut down the rest of it. Cut the TV back to one channel, which will contain a mix of cheap light entertainment, quality non-woke drama but on a budget (theatre-based if necessary), and science and educational programs. All sport is to be left to the commercial channels. No summer rock music festival coverage. No soaps. No celebrity-based reality shows. No charity tie-ins. A small amount of kids’ shows, but no more bland anodyne rubbish that is designed to offend no-one, but which kids find boring. No more expensive co-productions with other channels. In fact, no more co-productions full stop. No expensive talk show hosts. No news shows — it’s not appropriate that a state-funded broadcaster should do news. Or current affairs either, which means Newsnight needs to be axed, which it needed to be anyway, as its audiences are always taken over by Labour party activists pretending to be ordinary people.
Most of the BBC radio stations should be axed, including the regional stations, and especially Radio 1 and Radio 2: commercial pop music doesn’t need the help. Possibly keep Radio 3. Radio 4 I’m not entirely sure about, in its current format it’s a cancer on society so I’d love to see it gone, but perhaps there is a place for a revamped Radio 4. But I suspect that even a revamped Radio 4 will eventually turn leftist again, so getting rid of it is probably the best option. Ideally, just get rid of BBC Radio altogether.
The BBC website needs to be nuked, the BBC never had a mandate to expand to the internet. It should show TV listings and not much more. Maybe a few public service listings, like election results (presented without punditry). No news. No sports results, that is for the commercial sector. The recipe section, which is good, should be sold off.
All BBC shows should become public domain after, say, ten years. Perhaps some of the performers and writers of shows that have already been made need to be given a payment to compensate them for lost royalties, but for all new shows it needs to be made clear that performance royalties are time-limited.
The license fee should be reduced to about £20-25, which will reduce the BBC’s income to about half a billion, which is still a shed load of money. No more licence fee inspectors stalking the land and harrassing people. If there is mass refusal to pay it from some sections of society, then the BBC will just have to cut down. There is no need for the BBC to broadcast overnight, or even all the way through the day. In the internet age there is no shortage of things to watch 24/7, the BBC is not required to be on all the time.
The main advantage of this approach compared to making the BBC a subscription service is that you neutralise the BBC as a malign propaganda source, whereas the other approach might turbo-charge it. But there is, of course, the risk that a future Labour government, or a Labour government in coalition with other parties, will seek to restore it to its former glories. But that won’t be as easy as you might think if there has been five or ten years of the BBC having become much less prominent in people’s lives. And by then people will have moved further away from traditional television channels, and millions won’t be happy about having to fork out an extra £100 a year to bring back the past, especially a politicised past.
There will still probably be legal action over downsizing the BBC, of course, but changing the BBC is less legally risky than vaporizing it. So it’s a good option. But will the Johnson government, assuming there is a Johnson government, even have the balls to do this? If they don’t, though, then they’re letting an enemy who is no longer even pretending to follow the rules, and is undermining the Conservative party at every turn, continue on a path which is going to see the Tories get more and more flak from a media culture that is only going to get worse and worse. They should at least start with doing something about the open goal that is Channel 4, and see how that goes.
Donald Trump understood well that the liberal media are not just irritants in political life, or mild spinners, but major players, and major enemies of conservatism. In fact, they’re major enemies of Western civilisation. As such, they need to be treated like enemies, not indulged and allowed to continue on unchecked, taking ever more liberties with truth and rationality, while our countries crumble. Allowing things to go on as they are will spell the end of conservatism, and then the end of the UK.
In a notorious talk given to Conservative Future in 2009, Sean Gabb made the following radical recommendation:
On the first day of your government, you should close down the BBC. You should take it off air. You should disclaim its copyrights. You should throw all its staff into the street … You must shut it down – and shut it down at once.
I have for many years been torn between thinking this a good idea, and thinking that it would result in such uproar that the government would immediately fall, and be replaced by a new government who would restore the BBC. But the question was purely abstract anyway, because no Conservative government would even contemplate doing such a thing. No Conservative government was even going to contemplate taking away the licence fee.
But finally, after three years of disgraceful conduct — well, extra disgraceful conduct — the future of the BBC is finally an issue that that can be broached. It’s finally an issue that can be talked about without people throwing up their hands in horror and demanding you be thrown out of wherever you are. People will listen sympathetically if you suggest that the BBC can’t go on like it has been. People will join in enthusiastically if you say that Channel 4 is a disgrace that should no longer be state-funded. Well, not if you’re in the common room. But in the ordinary pubs around the country they will. They will at the dinner parties that are being held outside the M25. And even some inside it.
So what should be done? The conventional conservative/libertarian idea is that the BBC should be moved to a subscription model. The more radical Gabb idea is not one that has ever been talked about much. In fact, it’s an idea that until recently would have shocked most people, even most conservatives. (If you read to the end of the Gabb article, you’ll see that the young conservatives were themselves outraged by Gabb’s idea). But actually it’s a very good idea. Because here’s the thing. If you privatise the BBC, it may do very well for itself, and then it would be free to spin the news far more outrageously than it currently does.
If you doubt that it could do well, if you’re thinking, well, how are they going to bring in 3.5 billion pounds a year from voluntary subscriptions, the answer is that they don’t have to match their current funding. Because once they’re private they can jettison a lot of the stuff they’re forced to produce, cut down their output radically, and focus more on the stuff they can sell overseas for a shedload of money, while ramping up the political shows which aren’t that expensive to make. Say they only need one billion a year in that scenario. If they get ten million subscribers, that’s only £100 a subscriber. Or £200 if it’s five million subscribers. I can imagine they’d manage that, every virtue-signaller in the country would want to subscribe as a point of honour.
There was a time when naive conservatives and libertarians fondly imagined that the rigors of the free market would knock some sense into the BBC, as it would any other industry, but the last few years have surely seen that delusion laid to rest. Gabb, I note, never fell for that:
You should not try to privatise the BBC. This would simply be to transfer the voice of your enemy from the public to the private sector, where it might be more effective in its opposition.
So why free the BBC up from any sort of requirement to be objective when you can just liquidate it instead, and throw the bums out onto the streets where they have to get a real job? I would have said that three years ago people would have been too horrified at the thought of closing down dear old Aunty BBC for it to be a realistic option, but now dear old Aunty has revealed herself to be a mad old obsessive who won’t stop going on about the same topics over and over and telling everyone else in the family that they’re bad. She’s clearly gone do-lally, the kids stopped listening to her years ago, and the grownups have noticed how much she smells. And how much she costs.
Richard Delingpole tweeted this sort of idea recently, and got thousands of likes and retweets:
Call me a Radical, but I wouldn’t just stop the licence fee. I’d close down the BBC. Sack everyone. Demolish the buildings. Salt the ground.
— Richard Delingpole (@DickDelingpole) November 24, 2019
So the idea is no longer so alien. Particularly amongst younger people, who just don’t watch the BBC any more. They generally don’t watch much TV at all, they prefer YouTube and TikTok (which are filled with rubbish, it has to be said, but that’s another story), but they especially don’t watch the BBC (or channel 4). So most young people won’t even notice if the BBC is closed down, although about thirty sociology undergraduates will eventually tweet about it once their lecturers tell them what’s happened, and then the Guardian will have a fit and try to make it a big story, but there’ll be no BBC to amplify that, so it won’t be that effective. And the other channels are unlikely to shed too many tears over the shutdown of a subsidised rival (although I expect that the news staff will as they’re all lefties now).
Also, the BBC doesn’t make anything worth watching any more. The only thing that people really cling on to now is that ballroom dancing show (which I wouldn’t watch even if you paid me). Everything else that people used to love, like Doctor Who, has been ruined. Bake Off has gone elsewhere. Most of its comedy shows have for years been abysmal. There’s not much sport on it. The kids’ shows are so anodyne that they’re unwatchable. Who’s really going to cry if they realise they’re not going to see as much of Clare Balding as before, other than a few sporty lezzos?
Also, shutting it down will be easier now that most of the programmes are made by outside production companies, rather than in-house. That means there won’t even be as much gear to sell off as if it you’d done it twenty years ago. And its new location in Salford means that it lacks a strong London media-friendly focal point for protests.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, there is genuine anger in much of the country over the blatant bias that the BBC is now showing. It’s so naked and in your face that there’s never been a more auspicious time to blow the BBC up, and have half the country rise to their feet and cheer. Even those who stay seated won’t miss it that much.
So I think it is doable. One problem, though, which didn’t exist so much when Gabb wrote his article, is today’s highly politicised courts. There will be a huge series of lawsuits launched if the BBC is shut down overnight, to do with existing contracts. These can be paid off, of course, but you can expect the activist Supreme Court to also come up with some legal ‘reasoning’ that enables them to declare that it’s all unlawful, and the BBC must be restored at once, and never touched again.
But the real problem, of course, is that the Conservatives would never do this in a million years. They might just – might – turn the BBC into a subscription service, eventually. They might just shut down channel 4 if a portly pink bird with a snout is sighted. But shut down the BBC? The Tories would be on the front line defending it.
There’s another option, though, that I’m going to explore in a further blog post soon. Update: That post is here:
Update: This is what people outside the bubble think of the BBC now — Nish Kumar booed off stage:
The guy who posted the video has just locked down his account.
So just in case anyone else missed #NishKumar getting booed off stage… here it is again.
Outstanding 😂😂😂👍 pic.twitter.com/3MxjKvvYHx
— News Addict (@addicted2newz) December 3, 2019
Can't imagine why be wasn't popular… pic.twitter.com/7CfAmrxuwM
— Diet Prorogued (@Ninjamoose69) December 3, 2019
It turns out that Joe Biden was all along this genius surrealist comedian doing an act, and we never spotted it until the sheer amount of quality material became overwhelming:
Biden: "I got hairy legs that turn blonde in the sun. The kids used to come up and reach in the pool & rub my leg down so it was straight & watch the hair come back up again. So I learned about roaches, I learned about kids jumping on my lap…" pic.twitter.com/GXSgRVSti6
— Rita Panahi (@RitaPanahi) December 1, 2019
Seriously, though. This man is actually leading the polls for the Democratic nomination. Months ago pundits from all over the political spectrum were declaring that Biden was finished, that the Democrat party was going to make sure that he was taken down. He was too old, too gaffe-prone, too senile, too creepy with young girls, not woke enough, plus it was starting to look like he’d enriched his family using his connections with Ukraine. And you had to think they were right. So how has this corrupt old weirdo, a man going around with a bus with the slogan ‘No Malarkey’ on the side, like he’s the Abe Simpson candidate, doing so well?
The only answer that makes sense to me is that… his rivals are Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, Pete Buttigeig, etc.
This is unbelievable — you’d think it must come from some Tom Sharpeish, over-the-top satire.
The London Bridge attacker was heralded as a success story of the rehabilitation initiative that he went on to attack, it emerged on Sunday night.
Learning Together, a Cambridge University programme, worked with Usman Khan in prison and after his release and used him as a case study to show how they helped prisoners.
Khan even wrote a poem and a thank-you note to organisers after they provided him with a computer he could use without breaching a licence that banned him from going online.
But it’s all true. It’s hard to imagine how it could possibly be more any more embarrassing for the liberal establishment. He was literally their poster boy. Yes, he actually appeared on a poster they did. And they did a 10k run to raise money for him so he could buy a computer to use at his bail hostel. Khan killed the very people who were working to rehabilitate him. The liberal left have been exposed as utter, utter, deluded, dangerously naive fools yet again (despite them trying to cover this up: the organisation in question, ‘Learning Together’, deleted their website the night of the attack because it contained a lot of this material.)
How is the whole of the establishment not all reigning in shame? How is it that this sort of thing keeps happening year after year, and still the soft left remain in charge year after year, running the government, running the quangos, running the BBC, running the Guardian, running the prisons, running the Universities, running the publishing industry, etc.? Arrest them all.
The other day I got two political campaign leaflets delivered together, the LibDems and the Greens. Problem is, these two rabbles of buffoons managed to deliver pamphlets for candidates from the wrong constituency. The boundaries around here were changed nine years ago, and it seems that our anti-democratic friends haven’t yet caught up.
And here’s the back of the Green Party leaflet:
I had to laugh at how dumb Caroline Lucas is when she talks about the reasons for voting Green. She gives three reasons:
(1) A green vote will prevent climate chaos (sure it will);
(2) A green vote will transform Britain while remaining in the EU (yawn);
(3) A green vote will see more green MPs elected which will keep the other parties honest.
It was (3) that really made me laugh. People voting for the Greens, in case you didn’t know, will result in more Green MPs being elected. Genius.
Of course her point is that having some more Green MPs can keep the other parties honest (although we know that in reality the opposite would be the case), but that’s just a general, anodyne comment. She had the space to give three specific reasons for voting for the Greens, and her third reason really just amounted to ‘A vote for the Greens will help us get some MPs’. Woeful campaigning.
If Devin Nunes was a Democrat, this would be worldwide news. But as he’s a Republican, you never heard of this:
An orchestrated assault against Nunes’ family, including his wife and three young daughters, posed such a threat that law enforcement agents were assigned to the grade school where Nunes’ wife works. Hackers imitated Nunes’ cell phone numbers; calls were made to up to two dozen relatives, including his 98-year-old grandmother and mother-in-law, so they would answer.
One of the Telegraph’s many feminists (not even from the Wimmin’s section this time) is angry that women – feminists even! – are still keen on That 70s Bikini Show:
Why do feminists still love Charlie’s Angels?
The first complaint is that the three angels were
forced to do the bidding of a faceless, powerful man
In other words, they had a job, and a boss. Like most people.
Today’s logic from Labour Party supporters, and even some MPs, seems to be that yes, Labour is a nasty anti-semitic bunch of creeps, but we’re trying to change it. Nevertheless, you should still vote for us.
Not sure that’s really a vote-winner.
This is how a real leader responds to the unprecedented statement by the Chief Rabbi. I am proud of my Church and ashamed of my Party. I am an anti-racist and one of the reasons I am standing for re-election is to fight racism within my Party. I am more sorry than words can say. https://t.co/cDohx7UFET
— Wes Streeting (@wesstreeting) November 26, 2019