Cameron Shoots Himself In The Face.

Shooting yourself in the foot is an easy thing to do. Shooting yourself in the face however requires a special talent for imbecility. Even former U.S. Vice President Dick Cheney could only manage to shoot his best friend in the face.

Prime Minister David Cameron, until this week, was doing so well in his handling of the increasingly one – way “special relationship Britain is alleged to enjoy with the United States of America. He had stated publicly and quite firmly that his government would not be as servile towards U.S. administrations as his predecessors Blair and Brown had been. He had explained the economic facts of life to Barack Obama who thinks the global economy runs on monopoly money. He had even let it be known that the coalition government were drawing up plans to withdraw British troops from Afghanistan by 2014. And he had distanced himself from BP and their attendant scandals thus avoiding the risk of bestowing credibility on Obama’s references to British Petroleum, a name that has been obsolete for many years.

So where did it all go wrong. Whatever possessed the usually surefooted Cameron to say in a speech to an American audience that in 1940, during World War 2 Britain had been the junior partner in the alliance against Hitler and his allies. At that time the Yanks were skulking across the pond pretending the war in Europe was nothing to do with them but content to let Britain’s colonial army in India hold the western front against the Japanese.

Diplomacy that’s why. Those dicks in the foreign office. Diplomats have the easiest life in the world. They sit around in luxurious mansions located in the most exclusive areas of foreign capitals scoffing Ferrero Rocher and smarming up to Johnny Foreigner. Want some preening, posing Third World tyrant to spend some of his IMF conscience money on British warplanes? Get a Diplomat to smarm up to the shit and tell him how admired his fascistic regime is in London. Want to persuade the dictator of some former Soviet republic who deals with political opponents by boiling them alive to sell us oil / iron ore / grain at knockdown prices? Send a diplomat to smarm up to him by saying his efforts to establish democracy in his land have impressed everyone in Britain.

That’s what the Ferrero Rocher scoffing oozemerchants do. Hardly surprising then that our people in Washington were getting a bit antsy. It is well known Obama is as petulant as a spoiled five year old when people do not worship him fervently enough and even worse when somebody disagrees with him. It was inevitable then when Cameron arrived in Washington having travelled by scheduled flight to JFK airport and rail from New York (another dig at Obama who orders up Air Force 1 and has a motorcade laid on to take him from his bedroom to the Oval Office) the boys and girls at the Embassy would be wanting a word.

“Look Dave” they might have said, “You’re going to have to smarm him. He hasn’t forgiven the British for clapping his ancestors in chains, throwing them in a slave ship and taking them from Africa to the British colonies in Kenya to work as slaves on the plantations or for engineering the Irish Potato famine just to persecute his Irish ancestors the O’ Bamas.” Big them up, they’re all emotionally needy. Tell them they won World War 2 and we were just their sidekicks. If you don’t smooth things over he might break off diplomatic relations and send us home and then we will have to get proper jobs and do some work. Smarm him and it will be right

WRONG!

Smarming the Yanks might charm the Yanks but to say that Britain was America’s Junior Partner when in fact in 1940 we stood alone against the mighty Werhmacht, we fought them on the beaches, in the fields, in the pubs and pie shops, the brothels and we never surrendered is the very worst thing a British Prime Minister could do in the eyes of the home crowd, particularly when Nick Clegg is his deputy.

It is always wrong to listen to the professional smarmers of the Foreign Office, they smarm for England, literally. They smarm when confrontation is needed. In 1939 such people told Chamberlain to smarm Hitler and we could avoid war. Look what happened next. If Churchill had gone to that meeting in Munich he’d have nutted the Kraut, if Nye Bevan had been their he would have kicked Hitler in the bollocks.

This had damaged Cameron’s premiership. Can he recover? Maybe, but only if at the next summit he slaps Putin on the head like Benny Hill used to do with a little bald bloke.

RELATED POST:
Obama, BP and the Lockerbie Bomber

Don’t Listen To Him He’s (Phtang Phtang Drrrrrr Yibble Yibble) Mad

If Peter Mandelson’s memoirs are to be believed and that’s a big IF (I saw a clip of Lord Mandy walking in a London Street today and I’d swear he left a silvery trail behind him) Tony Blair while still Prime Minister said Gordon Brown was unfit to be Prime Minister because he is insane.

Now let’s think back, this is the same Tony Blair that believed God spoke to him in a dream, saying “Tony, my good and faithful servant, invadeth thou Iraq for verily I say unto theee that bastard Saddam haveth a stash of Weapons of Mass Destruction that are called WMD and also an elite regiment of invisible elite MWB that are called Men With Beards who are ready to attack the west.”

Does a phrase containg the words pot and kettle come to mind?

RELATED POSTS:
Blair’s Journey

First Night In Number 10

Dave and Sam turn their backs on the cameras and head for the door.

“Good luck!” calls a voice from the crowd.

They get to the door, but the flunky seems to be having trouble opening it. Others rush to help, whilst Dave and Sam giggle nervously.

Eventually with the help of the bodyguards, police and a couple of burly papparazzi, the door is slowly forced open.
Stacked behind it, impeding its progress, reams and reams of paper. Dave picks one up. ‘Budget Speech 1999’
he reads.
Sam does the same, ‘Treasury Report 2001’ she notes.
The others start to dig in.
‘PMQs April 2008’
‘Fiscal Policy 1997 – 2002’
‘The Importance of Being Prudence -First Draft.
A Play in Three Acts by Gordon Brown’

“Hey look at this, there’s a bottle down here and it’s leaking… ooohh it smells a bit like petrol. Oh and there’s something like a bit of string coming out of the end of it. Gosh it’s very long, look it disappears under that rug and then goes in behind that door…
Oh what’s that clicking noise, like somebody clicking a lighter…Hey, what the..”
The bodyguards urgently usher everyone away whilst the police charge the door.
With a huge roar the lighter is hurled into the entrance hall, the police hold back as a terrible apparition appears in the doorway, wild haired, wild eyed, foaming at the mouth and tearing at its clothes.

“It’s O.K. its only Mr. Brown.
I’ll get Sarah and the straitjacket…” an aide calls from inside the room.

“Best if you chaps keep a low profile for now, you don’t want to antagonise him anymore, really! He’ll be alright when Sarah gets here. Don’t worry, I’ll get him upstairs.”

The Camerons stare at each other in complete amazement.
“Gosh, looks like he’s taking it pretty bad.” says Dave.

“Oh no, this is quite normal, really. Don’t worry, we’re used to it, we can handle it” replies the aide before wandering off in the same direction as the former PM gently singing Rock a bye baby.

“Oh well at least we can explore downstairs,” says Sam, starng lovingly up into Dave’s eyes.

“Yes let’s start in the drawing room, the one with the Adams fireplace they always position heads of state in front of.”

“Oh yes, lets. It always looks so super.”

The flunky guides them to the drawing room and opens the door. Dave and Sam step through as the flunky stands aside. The breath catches in Sam’s throat. Dave stops still in his tracks.
“Good grief, what happened here?”
The flunky peers around the door at the scene of devastation within the room.
“Oh dear!” All three walk into the room, touching the splintered fragments of wood that had once been funiture.
Wires hang from the ceiling and walls where light fittings have been ripped out. A million shards of fragmented mirror crunch under their feet.
Telephones spew their innards outwards from their mangled casings.
And against the far wall the magnificent Adams firplace has been wrested from its fixings and smashed with the huge sledgehammer now resting in the forlorn remnants of the grate.

“Oh my giddy aunt,” says Sam, covering her mouth with her hand.

Dave wraps a protective arm across her shoulder and takes her elbow as he guides her from the chaos of the wrecked room.

“Perhaps we’ll have a look at the kitchen, instead,” he suggests.

The flunky hurriedly closes the door and begins to lead Dave and Sam along the corridor towards the back of the house, but as they pass the stair well a childs soft toy is thrown down. Sam stoops to pick it up, but Dave, glancing up, steps forward to push her out of the way of the computer monitor which is rapidly following it.
Half stumbling, half running, they continue down the corridor dodging the hail of falling missiles.

A voice from upstairs soothes,

“Come on now Mr. Brown. It’s not your fault. The people really respect you. Just put on your special jacket and then we can go and see them. It’s not very nice throwing things at Mr. and Mrs Cameron, now, is it? Come on now, Sarah will be here soon and we want to be spic and span for Sarah, don’t we?
Sarah’s not going to be very happy if she finds you all in a mess and throwing things at the visitors now is she?
Come on Mr. Brown…”

Sounds of struggling float down from the landing closely folowed by what sounds like nails being dragged across the plaster.

Dave and Sam both shiver.

Ahead of them the flunky has reached the slightly ajar door to the kitchen.
Grabbing hold of the doorknob he turns brightly to announce “The kitchen” as he pushes on the door and is immediately felled by the large cast iron roasting pan that has been propped atop the door and its frame.

As blood pours from the stricken flunky’s head Dave turns to Sam.
“I think perhaps, my dear, we ought to return home and let the police or the SAS or bomb disposal or somebody do a bit of a sweep of the place first, don’t you?”

“Absolutely darling. Topping idea.” she concurs, gazing dreamily into his eyes.

They begin to retrace their steps through the house.

Another roar emerges from the upstairs.

“Ha, got you this time. Someone give me a hand. Pull those straps tight.

O.K.

Good.
O.K.

Good. Good. Great.

Right downstairs with him, but mind his legs, he has a kick like a donkey.

Police marksman standing by with the tranquiliser gun?
Good.

Good.”

Labour and the Private School Povs?

So Gordon Brown’s stage managers wheel out these three tearful povs, a girl and her Dear Old Mum and Grandma. Mum and Gran talk of how they have to work two million hours a week for fourpence an hour as cleaners in a government office and still can’t make ends meet. They cannot afford a laptop for the girl to do her homework on.

One week, they tell us, they had to eat lentils all week so they could buy the girl’s school uniform. Wow, they are that poor yet they can still afford to send the kid to private school (vouchers fo uniform costs are available to parents of state school pupils – unless Labour have abolished them while in power).

Are there no depths to which lying hypocritical Labour politicians will not stoop in trying to hold on to power?

The Politics Of Fear And Panic

Defending Keynes

As opinion polls continue to be all over the place in their efforts to predict who will win the election we find politicians in the Labour, Consrrvative and Liberal Democrat increasingly resorting to fear and panic in their effort to win votes.

Boggart Blog was the first popular news site to draw you attention to the way the governments use fear and panic to divert people’ attention from what is really going on. We reported on fear and panic being spread by governments about alien clouds of mass destruction ,
beards of terror,
Biblical Plagues,
Swine Flu,

Bat Fever,
Soup
, Chavs and Volcanic Dust, indeed we have been at the forefront of the fight againt fear and panic.

In this election campaing it is Labour who are relying most on fear and panic. “Don’t vote Conservative ecause they will sell the NHS to Carphone Warehouse” Gordon Brown warns. “Don’t vote Lib Dem,” he says, “because they will gang up with the Tories and they’ll send posh people to your house to patronise you and if you complain they will send a man with a ginger beard to beat you round the head with a dwarf conifer.”

Don’t vote Labour because society is broken and they broke it, they will take away all your toys and civil liberties and implant computer chips in your brain so you can be controlled from an underground bunker near Droitwich, and don’t vote Lib Dem because they’re wusses and want PR and can’t be in my gang,” says David Cameron.

Don’t vote for either of them because they will spend all your money on guided missiles and firework displays and bailouts for bankers and have none left for public services,” say Nick Clegg and Vince Cable.

All any of them are really saying is “be more afraid of the others than you are of us.”

Meanwhile, the financial crisis causing the Eurozone to implode is nothing new, it is just the same crisis as the G20 leaders put a sticking plaster over last year. Now it has festered and we see it is not a little zit that can be cured by a dab of antseptic, it is an effing big tumour of toxic debt and is about to consume us all.

It’s too late for fear and panic. Just vote for the candidate who will defend your right to think for yourself.

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Paranoid
The Politics Of Fear
Daily Stirrer Archive, March 2010
Paddington Terror Suspect
Death Of The Eurozone

Who Will Get The Droid Vote

Catching up on the final party leaders’ election debate because we were overwhemed yesterday with the response to our free “How To Be A Bigot” DIY guide. (OK I was at the garden centre getting stuff to repair the disaster of our garden after that effing winter)

So what did we make of the wannabe Prime Ministers in the final of Britain’s Got Talent(less twats)

How many of you for example thought the Conservatives David Cameron looked like Data from Star Trek, The Next Generation. And the similarities did not stop at looks … if you know what I mean.

Meanwhile the usually humourless Gordon Brown cracked the best joke of the campaign so far when he said, totally deadpan, “I am the only one who can keep the economy on track. Labour governments just don’t understand economics do they?

Liberal Democrat contender Nick Clegg’s rather lacklustre performance caused some raised eyebrows. Had he been paid to take a dive or, like British tennis players at Wimbledon was he weighed down by the burden of expectation?

Or was it poerhaps that Vince Cable had finally explained to him how fucked the economy really is?

More humour every day from Boggart Blog

MORE ON THE ELECTION AT:
Little Nicky Machiavelli
Election 2010 round up