The Plymouth politician who ordered 110 trees to be chopped down in the middle of the night lives in one of the city’s most upmarket tree-lined streets.
The council paused the plans due to objections from residents to a £12.7million redevelopment scheme but Tory leader Richard Bingley signed an executive order to fell the trees.
What a total bastard. A complete hypocrite. What a nasty piece of work. But you got to love him For Fucks Sake (FFS), because by loving thy neighbour we have a more harmonious society.
Hedgerows raised to the ground. Ancient woodland being torn down by ignoramuses who are only interested in filling their boots. Houses being built that stand empty because they are too expensive to buy.
Grass gone. Orchards gone. Foxes running rampant because they’ve lost their habitat.
But I’m told I have to love those imbeciles into seeing the errors of their ways. FFS
My body hurts, my brain hurts, my soul weeps. I am tired of writing weary blogs so this one is going to uplift like an under-wired bra with frilly lace and a bow in the cleavage.
Time to retrain the mind. Thought is destiny so let the reprogramming being.
Putin deserves love – FFS
The Tory twats need love – FFS
Smug conservative women with highlights deserve a modicum of love – FFS
Last Saturday I interviewed Lorna Byrne she of ‘Angels in My Hair.’ She stood on a stage in front of a willing audience to preach love. She said what the world needs now is love sweet love. Well Burt Bacharach said it first still Lorna reiterated it.
Then I said what even loving that bastard Putin and she said yes.
It pains me to say that sending love to that diminutive cock is very hard but Lorna says the glimmer of hope we have in the world at the moment has to be encouraged by sending love all over the place.
So love is going out to the secret tree fellers, the immoral Jenrick who looks like butter wouldn’t curdle, Rishy the Richy and even Cleverly. But have you noticed there’s a new breed of politician who look and sound oh so reasonable but when you really listen they are priapic jackals, tight arsed nimby’s who think nothing of shoving asylum seekers into empty barracks with no schools, shops, hospitals or parks, just rows and rows of breeze block sheds. Those hard hitting hyenas think nothing of criminalising the vulnerable as they wipe the spittle off their cruel mouths. Let’s put those smelly asylum seekers where they can be forgotten. Shove ’em out of the way. Give them as little as possible say the likes of Robert Jenrick anything to deter them from coming over here. He spouts a version of his demonic truth whilst he stands, with his hands in his trouser pockets, scratching his brains.
But enough I have to send love to Robert Jendrick because there is a glimmer of hope that must be extended, FFS
Our little Britain is wet and windy. Our little Britain is full of Jacks who think they are alright but who really are just hamsters on a treadmill made by treadmill makers who are pocketing the money from the tread wheelers who are running round and round in circles thinking they are free. We have arrived at a point in time when sending out love is the only hope. Only most of us haven’t got any love left for the mean spirited cockalorums who think nothing of kicking people when they are down.
I had my birthday last week – Thank you for all your well wishes – I had my birthday and my German friend who is an acupuncturist, turned up with a fistful of money and a present of a pair of silver shoes. She bought us a curry and then left on Saturday, but not before we had to buy her a new ticket because her flight had been cancelled due to strikes in Germany. The new route would stop in Copenhagen then take a flight to Berlin where she would board a train to Hamburg.
The train from Central London was cancelled to Heathrow. So she took a cab. Flew to Copenhagen where she had to run like Usain Bolt for her connecting flight to Berlin then she hopped on the train to Hamburg. A journey of four hours where she had to sit on a wet floor for four hours as the high speed train was over booked. After twelve hours of travelling she finally arrived home and showered to rid herself of the trauma of my birthday.
Everything, as we know it, is breaking down. The next thing will be a meteor strike that will wipe out satellites and everything electrical and we will be back to writing on a tablet of stone – as opposed to one from Apple – back to square one where the only conversations we will be having will be with AI who will convince us they know better than we do at being sentient beings.
‘All you Need is Love’ said Lorna, as did the Beatles, ‘Love makes the World go Round’ wrote Bob Merrill, `Life is just a bowl of Cherries and The Best things in Life are Free’ said Ray Henderson and Lew Brown. Ok so Love is the answer but I have so little love left for the arseholes of the world that I’m like the constipated mathematician working it out with a pencil, pellets of love that are hard to pass.
However, I read the astrological constellations at the moment are the same as they were in 1789 when France was rebelling and America was in the middle of their civil war and we were starting the Industrial Revolution.
Well France is at it again, America is shooting dead its next generation with guns that are so heavy only the muscle bound can carry them whilst our Revolution is learning how to survive a ruling party that rises to the level of its own incompetence.
Have to love them though eh? FFS.
I’m all loved out at the moment even though I had a lovely birthday surrounded by young folk who cooked, younger folk who played, old folk who sipped on fizzy drinks and dogs that shat on the settee. It was ok though as the shit came off in one grab and left not a stain on the yellow cushions.
So now I am one year older, one year wiser and so full of ardour it hangs over my waistband like love muffins. FFS. The optimist invents the aeroplane and the pessimist invents the parachute I’m trying to work out which one I am.