Sunday, 27 December 2009
Nearly 1 of you voted in the Quail's 2009 List-tacular pre-New Year Winter solstice super Awards for the achievement of piffling dribble in the name of media & political commentary so without further ado, here are the results.
Best bloke who says things about topics he doesn't really understand but does so anyway despite looking quite silly because of fundamental mistakes in logic and/or research before getting roundly factchecked only to call them losers for bothering to factcheck and stop taking it all so seriously anyway I didn't say that it was just a quote from someone else:
1. Iain Dale.
2. Hitchens, P.
4. Nick Cohen.
Most eye-buggering use of video:
Stains, P & Tuberculosis Bear.
Worst front page in the history of everything:
Nastiest campaign motivated by a petty squabble on Twitter that made bloggers look like a witless rabble of snide misogynistic schoolboys (again):
#kerryout (courtesy Dale, Bear, Quiff)
Best viral marketing campaign:
Lifetime achievement award for disservices to journalism, tolerance and the human race:
* Update *
I missed out the most prestigious award. Cheesedick of the year 2009 is...............
That Hannan man.
Friday, 25 December 2009
And a big thanks to our nation's second most popular national newspaper for consistently bringing us sad tidings of discomfort and gloom in the weeks leading up to Winterval day:
And a miserable New Year!
Love from D. Quail.
Monday, 14 December 2009
The Jihadist faction - known as Hizbul Islam - also shot dead another man accused of murder.
Daily Mail readers reacted with fury at the barbaric executions and
Moron 'srb' from St. Leonards seemed to confuse Hizbul Islam with Al Qaeda, and Sharia law with insurgency, and saw the incident as supportive of Tony Blair's wars on terror:
scum. this is what we're fighting against in afghanistan and iraq. don't like the war, wait until there's a sharia court in basingstoke and see how you like that.
Steve Lee, an idiot from London, uncovered a previously unknown plot to provide members of Hizbul Islam with British passports:
Apparently if you give these kind of men British passports they instantly become civilized and law abiding and there no link whatsoever between immigration from barbaric, primitive societies and the explosion in violent crime in this country has seen over the last 40 years.Steve told the Quail: 'All the same, innit, these Sumatrians. I mean, obviously, I wouldn't mind seeing the poor fella who was stoned to death given refuge in our country, but you can't go letting these people in because they're all barbarians. What?'
Meanwhile, 'skint', a cretin from 'Broken Britain' worded this:
And all the while they keep flooding into Britain, as I type this, another family of Somalis is moving in down the road.A statement from 'skint's' spokesman said: 'Skint recognises the fallacy of condemning an entire country's population due to the actions of an extremist cell, and is aware of the hypocrisy of also condemning the rights of the victims of the aforementioned extremist cell to claim asylum in Britain lest they suffer the very same cruel and barbaric punishment that has so vexed Skint in the first place, but he simply doesn't give a shit.'
Thanks Gordon, brilliant job you`ve done.
John, an imbecile, used his powers of observation to profess thusly:
I notice the non-masked 'man' in the stoning photo seems to be smiling. And our British traditions are to be abandonded in favour of this? Do NOT vote for more of the LibLabCon treachery. We really have to take our country back.John's wife said yesterday: 'Oh no, he hasn't been commenting again has he? He get's like this after a couple of bottles of whiskey, says that Somalian insurgent lizard men are sitting in the House of Lords and starts shouting about "the great treachery" led by the Prince of Darkness. He's been banned from Wetherspoons for upsetting the alcoholics, now he just spends the day reading The Mail.'
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Of course, I wasn't really there on important business: I'm not a business lady! But it's nice to pretend sometimes. Anyway, there I was all dressed up in my important business lady Dior suit, hanging around the 43rd floor of the Bank of China as you do when you're an important woman in the world of business (and because someone told me it's where the lovely rich Chinese men go for a drink after work).
Do you know what the Bank of China building looks like? You probably don't because you're just a middle-aged housewife who reads the Daily Mail. Well, I'll tell you, it looks just fabulous. I'd know, I've been there, as I think I mentioned already. It's designed to look like steel bamboo, or something, and it's surrounded by other amazing temples to phallic capitalism - the unfinished but already gorgeous new Ritz-Carlton (name dropping hotels - ooh! I'm so post-arrogance!), the International Finance Centre, and some other ones probably.
So, yes, there I was in the Bank of China, wearing my suit, Dior it was, hoping to catch the eye of some dashing young banking Chinaman, when I had what you might call an 'epiphany' - a bit like what Buddha had. Over there they have Buddha like how we have Jesus, only he's a jolly chap with funny eyes. No beard. I think he's the son of their dragon god. I thought to myself, a bit like that Buddha or the other one, Gandhi, I thought: 'Goodness me, you can't make fun of women, queers, cripples, nonces or gingers anymore, but bankers are still fair game! How awful!', I thought, just like Gandhi might. And yet, all these lovely huge buildings were made by the bankers. Without them, there wouldn't be any great big skyscrapers, just boring old fields and trees and rivers and things. I've been to Kyoto as well on another important trip, and it was rubbish there. That's what happens without banks - you end up with a load of streams and rocks.
I don't think this has occurred to anybody apart from yet. That's why I'm a columnist, because of my new and amazing thoughts. So, as I was wandering around the Bank of China thinking how unfair and mean the whole business is, it struck me. 'I know!' thought I, 'I'll only go and do some bloody journalism to show everyone how perfectly horrid they're being to the bankers!' Why did I need to tell you all of this instead of just writing my article about how bankers are treated? Well, it doesn't matter, and anybody who says that including several paragraphs about your holiday to Hong Kong which adds nothing to the point is just being silly.
To find out if my brilliant theory that bankers are nice people was true, I spoke to the vice-president of a big, exciting multi-national investment bank. 'Vice president' is such a fun job title! I'd like to be a vice-president one day. Anyway, I asked him: 'are bankers nice and are people just being horible to you?'
He said that I was right and that's exactly what's going on. Ha, I knew it! He said he works lots of hours (sounds frightful! glad I work from home, apart from when I'm on important trips of course, but that's not really work, it's more pretend), and doesn't get paid that much, and that really he has to make a lot of sacrifices a bit like nurses and soldiers and that without the bankers we'd all be screwed.
I was amazed. 'Yeah', I said as he told me all about his job and things. I asked if he would like to go the bar to unwind but he said he had to get back to the kids, even though earlier he'd told me he didn't have children. I suppose the stress of being a banker makes you forgetful sometimes.
I spoke to some other bankers too, and they all agreed that Mr Brown and Mr Darling's tax thing for bonuses is just a gimmick and really we'd all be better of without it. It made me angry when I thought about the silly Marxists running around taking the money from the bankers, because they all work so hard. I think it's all just a gimmick, this tax stuff, to make it look like the bankers are baddies and not the real villains - homeless people.
Phew! Journalistism is exhausting. I must have spoken to nearly four different people and written a lot of things about it all. Economics makes me dizzy, so I went back to bed for a while, and then I went to a spa which was really nice, and then I got on the plane to go home again. I'm home now. The weather's quite dull here, but I suppose you already knew that because you were here all along instead of being in Hong Kong like me.
Ok, I'm going now! Byebye.
Liz Jones is paid actual money to write words for one of Britain's biggest national newspapers.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Special Noo Yawk Timeses dispatch by Left OutsideWe know that there are roughly 8,000 French people in our country. Their ways are odd but we tolerate them. We are a tolerant people, even to towards those rude, petulant and ungrateful cheese eating surrender monkeys.
Although there can of course be no problem acknowledging the right of the French to practice their own lifestyle in private, I think we would all agree that the growing “Frenchification” of our society is worrying.
This Frenchification does not manifest itself in anything as petty as food, language or history. No, but it is visible clearly everywhere as a threat to our way of life. I am of course talking about the inability of the French to queue.
We’ve have all been to the local Asda Wal-Mart to buy some West Country Butter Croissants or Yorkshire Dales Brioche when we are rudely ambushed by a Frenchman.
In fact, those of you who have been to France will know that they do not allow you to queue there, you are expected to huddle and push, like some sort of Frenchman. If they will not us allow to queue in France then we will force them to queue here.
Therefore I am asking for the signature of 100,000 bloggers to help spark a referendum that will send a message against this demographic time bomb. We must force the French to queue, or they will force us not too.
You can stand there and take no action but by 2030 it is possible that no one will queue at all. Don’t let Gordon Brown steal the gift of queueing from your children.
We do not wish to impose on the French residents in this country, they are welcome to practice their Frenchness here at will. But this is our country and we will not stand – in an orderly line – for this!
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Do you ever find there just aren't enough hours in the day to judge, condemn, snipe and sneer at all the women you see in the papers and on TV? We do, so without further ado, let's get misogynistic! As an added bonus, please enjoy Olivia Newton-John's seminal 1981 classic 'Let's Get Physical' while you peruse the hot lady action.
First up, here's a nubile young thing - not too fat, not too thin - in her pants. Look at those curves: nice! After you've wiped yourself off, shake your head as you slag off her tattoos. I wouldn't let my daughter defile her own body like that - would you? Tell yourself that by criticising her tats you haven't really just been staring at a mostly naked 22 year old for no good reason.
Just how does Cheryl get her hair looking so good? What's her secret? You'll never guess...
Hair products! What a fake. And did you know she's Northern? Yes, it's a shame.
Lady GaGa fell over on stage. HAHAHAHAHAHA! She fell. Over. On stage! Women are so clumsy! Oh, and by the way here she is with a man's elbow touching her crotch. Mmmm, isn't it?
Eurgh, look at this foul thing smoking a cigarette. So unattractive. And look, she's a bit wrinkly too, probably the fags. It's not the same as pipes for us boys, the ladies love that musky aroma. No, let's be clear: women smoking is just plain offputting. Who is Hannah Waterman anyway? Ah, who cares.
Oh, Leona. You showed such promise. Great voice, nice hair, an acceptable body weight. We felt bad when that chap punched you, but now you've gone and worn a bloody see-through black top that shows your white bra when our photographer's megawatt flash goes off in your face, we see our sorrow was misplaced. You're breaking our fashion rules, hussy.
Who's next? Woohoo, it's Britney!
So obviously Britney was attractive when she was young, then she went fat and bonkers, and now she's doing her best to look nice again. Here she is in some skimpy clothes. There isn't really a story here, but it is a rather wonderful opportunity to laugh at how rubbish she is, while looking at her breasts:
'the singer was heavily criticised by fans and local media after she apparently lip-synched her way through the concerts.' Teehee!
'Tickets for her show were put on eBay with starting prices as low as 55p, with top-price tickets valued at £90 going for as little as £14.' Chuckle! Failure.
'Melbourne's Herald Sun newspaper said that performances there saw fans walk out early in disgust at a lacklustre performance' Guffaw! Still, nice tits you washed-up nutcase.
Right, one more.
This supermodel died after having plastic surgery on her 'buttocks'. She's dead, but that won't stop us printing a shot of her in the shortest dress we could find. Anyway, let's leave it to the commenters to sum up this tragic death:
'Well, she certainly won't be the envy of everyone now and I truly hope these pathetic people will stop playing with nature. This is all for the sake of vanity and we all know what we see isn't the 'real' person anyway' Quite. Not so vain now, is she? Ha.
'Silly woman! any operation carries a risk however small....how do you tell her children mummy died because she wanted a firmer behind? What price vanity eh?' What price vanity, indeed, Eddy from Oldham. Good question.
Well, death, it seems. Says so in the article.
'stupid silly girl. now her darling twins are motherless...'
For heavens sake, why didn't she think of that BEFORE SHE DIED?!
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
"Thank heavens my sick mum wasn't at the mercy of the NHS", writes the Daily Mail commentator from his Florida mansion.
"In Britain" - Littlejohn (expat) says- "[i]f you are unfortunate enough to get admitted to hospital, there's a good chance of contracting a fatal disease once you're in there, as a result of the criminally negligent standards of hygiene".
Ask your mates, family, colleagues. If you haven't heard off them in a while, it's because they were admitted to hospital where they soon caught an NHS-generated 'fatal disease' and died.
Why else do you think ZaNu Labour keep ushering in tens of millions of immigrants (which you can't say the Daily Mail didn't warn you about)? It's to cover up the mass deaths on the NHS.
Medical treatment is undoubtedly expensive in the U.S., but the majority of people are happy with what their money buys. Look at me on 800K a year. Surely it's what most people earn, (unless they're the kind who happily scrounge the high sums as offered by our ZaNu Labour government), but I've got the insurance, and I'm happy with it, so what's the bleedin problem?
Like, mum's medical bills this time are being picked up by her car insurance policy, which covers up to $1 million in hospital expenses, as you do. We all have to pay motor insurance, so why not insure our health, too? They're clearly the same thing. Like, clearly. Car insurance is not there to cover my ass in case I cripple some pedestrian loser who may get runover while I ride around my 4x4. No. It's there to protect meeeeeee. So it should be the same with health.
Surely from all that money you get from ZaNu Labour you can find a penny or two for medical insurance, just like all Americans do without any problem.
What you're on about millions get rejected on a technicality when they're diagnosed with cancer? I don't know anyone who got that? Do you?
What? Losing their insurance when they lose their job? It never happened to meeeeee, so surely you're just making it up because you're yet another loony lefty.
And it's not as if the NHS is 'free' anyway. You couldn't make it up, but it costs billions, which is a disgrace when there are only 60 million people to look after. I mean, how expensive can the NHS be really? Do away with waste and unnecessary expenditure, sack the bureaucrats (especially those who've got a 20-stone lover) and, pronto, it'll cost a fraction of that.
I am not seeking to denigrate the British doctors and nurses, but I am haunted by the thought of what might have happened to my 81-year-mum if she had still been living in Essex, at the mercy of the NHS, and not in America.
Because, in Britain, 81-year-old mums never, ever, EVER, get treated on the NHS. Unheard of.