The Queen marches on Parliament

‘Off with their fucking heads’

Liz woke at 5 in the morning to the sound of Phil and the corgis snoring.

“Fuck one rigid, ” she thought. “There must be more to life than this. Sodding state receptions, unveiling plaques for things I don’t give a toss about, sorting out the messes my bloody family’s gotten themselves into, Harry’s tittish behaviour…”

She tossed and turned but it was no good, she was wide awake now and another boring day beckoned.

Later, after her customary breakfast of All Bran followed by eggy soldiers, she sat reading the morning papers.

There was column after column of reports of MP expenses fiddling and calls for an early General Election but then something she’d never seen before, and never imagined, not even in her wildest dreams…

‘Why doesn’t the Queen do something?’ screamed the headline in the Daily Blart.

Liz was stunned.

“Bleedin’ Norah,” she thought. “A chance for one to do something useful for a change!”

Calling for her wardrobemaid who assisted her into her crown, jodphurs, thigh length riding boots (with spurs) and the flak jacket with ‘Koo’ embriodered on the back that Andrew had left at the Palace after the Falklands, she immediately phoned round, and 20 minutes later a small but perfectly formed convoy of tanks, armoured troop carriers and any of Britain’s finest who weren’t engaged in shooting goats in Afghanistan was assembled in the Mall.

She climbed onto the leading Chieftain tank and addressed her troops.

“Right, you men. We need to sort out those cunts in Westminster. We want no-one escaping. Round them all up and teapot them (she thought that was the right term) in Parliament Square. We mean to kick bottom and chew fruit pastilles, and we’re fresh out of pastilles!”

So saying, she hit the top of the tank with her riding crop and the convoy moved off.

“One wonders if one can get away with breaking a cap in a few bums, just as a warning?” she mused, toying with Daddy’s old revolver, freshly cleaned and fully loaded with hollow-point bullets.

This would be even more fun than wringing a grouse’s neck.

It was going to a good day after all…

Vote for Leila Deen!

OK…here’s a thought…

Leila Deen has very kindly on all our behalves declared that democracy does not work.

It’s official – the career activist has said so.

Thank God that ‘plucky young girl’ has ridden to our rescue!

Whatever would we all have done without her custard throwing skills?

Now, unfortunately we can’t remove all the MPs and replace them with green activists such as Ms Deen, as much as that prospect appeals (the custard fights at PM question time would be a real highlight of the new green parliament along with the pillow fights during all night sittings and bitch slappings in the lobbies) but we could have a Plane Stupid MP.

Presumably, Heathrow is not some political Bermuda Triangle so it must lie within the boundary of some parliamentary constituency.

Why doesn’t Plane Stupid field a candidate there in the next General Election?

After all, if someone can stand for the Monster Raving Loony Party why not a Plane Stupid candidate?

It seems like a no-contest to me.

They’re right and everyone else is wrong so they must win the seat, surely?

If Ms Deen is so confident of her cause, why doesn’t she stand?

Well, there’s an easy answer to that…

Because she’d fucking lose.

That’s why she doesn’t think democracy works, because she wouldn’t stand a chance operating democratically in one.

Plane Stupid?

No.

Just Plane Useless.

Remembering Eddie Hazel

Some people never get the recognition they deserve, and when they die before their time in reduced circumstances then it’s doubly sad.

The late Eddie Hazel was one such individual.

Guitarist for Funkadelic, Parliament and innumerable George Clinton-inspired side projects, Eddie truly was Jimi Hendrix’s heir.

No-one’s come close since Jimi went to whatever freaked-out dimension he ended up in.

Forget people like Ernie Isley, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Robin Trower – who are all fine players – Eddie had a signature sound with wah cocked open onto the sweet spot and distortion pedal on the ‘melt your muthafuckin’ face off’ setting. Not only that, he had a freewheeling style on the uptempo funk stuff and a searing intensity on his more introspective pieces like the sublime ‘Maggot Brain’, which anyone with the slightest interest in the guitar, good music and/or true soul must hear.

Perhaps apocryphally, Clinton told Hazel during the recording session to “play like your momma just died”.

Here’s a YouTube video of him playing the piece with some great guitar work from fellow player Michael Hampton:

In the end, Eddie died of pneumonia after a long battle with booze and drugs – his capacity for all sorts of bad medicine was legendarily high – and left us mourning another good one gone.