Crazy Joe's News-Rant - Am I Right Wing or Left Wing? Part 2 By King Rat

Given the choice between orally pleasing a great white shark and being the Falluja Avon lady, I guess some man-eating fish is in for it. As captain America's hillbilly conscripts tear at the bit to open up another operation of blood fest on those happy zealots; the Iranians, an event only slightly less amusing than the Texas pig-fondling championships. I sit in the relative safety of planet columnist. "What the gibblets is going on out there" I hear you shamble, suffice to say since the last turning of the globe, shit does indeed continue to happen.

Cough, cough, no more, it seems the end is nigh for smoking of leisure in the local hostelry. Fair enough, some people are opposed to dying a horrible death via lung cancer, throat cancer and cancer cancer. But if heaven bids folk to stop lighting up there's a bigger list of pet hates in pubs that I'd like government to tackle with priority. The universal ban of pissed up Scottish cunts laying on why their wives left them because they were pissed up Scottish cunts for starters, add in there the removal of wannabe pool hustlers and baguette menus and you've got a deal.

So with 3 months absence we find the only Tory MP with popularity on par and exceeding Heinrich Himmler, Pol Pot and the Astro monster is seriously missed, Boris Johnson we never knew ye, or we knew ye more than a blithering Eton twat. How Vlad the Impalers' elitist has-beens will gain re-employment next election is beyond me, never again will they be given the chance to kick socialism in the hob nobs.

Besides Tony's stolen the hob-nail boots, formerly Maggie's "Miner-beaters".

That reminds me of a long lost policy of Arthur Scarface, the four day bloody weekend! And all say all of us, if man was meant to work 70% in a small office cubicle he would have been born without the will to live instead of accumulating it in his twenties. How time flies, one minute ya following that quiet girl from college to her bus stop, the next ya following her daughter. I do sometimes find it hard (once on Sundays wink wink etc etc) to know which stage of my existence I should be at. With no hope of any purpose I enlisted in the voluntary rangers in the north York moors, one of two hundred who give up their time to safeguard our magnificent countryside.

Do you know the government spend in total 13pence per person on the national parks per annum (that's fancy talk for year), they probably spend more on the Ginger haired disabled lesbians liberation picnic at Hyde park (August 13th, 9 till 4, be there or be condemned as the homophobic male oppressor what you is).

Though you've got to give it to those minorities, they really know how to be different. I mean I've tried it, operations, turbans, disco-dancing but in the end I'm just not hated enough. I'm a white heterosexual male between the ages of 18 and 55 of no religious domination, if only I wasn't such a filthy porn-baron. A time to die, a time to live, a time to tell Christian fundamentalists to eat the rotting shit of pregnant wildebeests, altogether now a time to live in perfect peace in rural Devon. Nooooooooooooooooooooo, comic relief, you filthy bastards, give me a sack of rice and I'll hand deliver the fucker for free.

I'll dig latrines; I'll wash old men's cocks, just head off 2007's session of Lenny Henry removing his tongue from his own arse.

Talkin' of crap telly is anyone dieing a death to see the next Doctor who, "and here is the next incarnation of the time lord, wearing Burtons summer range of leather jacket and middle aged man black jeans, see the simple sleek lines and dark colours give the effect that this is no longer the mind-boggling ground-breaking sci-fi it once was." Tom Baker twill be turning in his padded room once occupied by Kate's Bush. La booshka, la booshka yi yi! Crazy Joe, Hull - 76miles south south east of Morton on Swale

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