If you’ve spent today with your head in a vomit-bucket, we boys think we probably know why. Did you by any chance wind up in that position after reading Pippa Middleton’s Telegraph column Sport & Social? Yes, I thought so. Says Pippa the Arse Pundit, “It’s bliss to be up early for a flower market”. Possibly so, but it isn’t half as bona a wheeze as getting a column in a ‘serious’ newspaper for having the Royal Wedding’s cutest butt. As we predicted some time ago, the Middleton family simply does not know how to behave. Standards at the Maily Telegraph are going to the dogs…as I rather suspect is the Windsor dynasty. But Andy is still such a dish.
In an unrelated development (in that it doesn’t involve anyone being arrested) it seems that the diplomatic career of Greece’s Evangelos Venezelos isn’t going too well. The Hellenic Republic is rapidly becoming a pariah, and as usual we are the first to get the heads-up on why. “Foreign Ministers are afraid of being consumed,” a senior Athens bureaucrat told us last night after a simply divine Lurex Party at the Hilton, “It appears that Evangelos sees his visitors more as hors d’oeuvres than envoys”.
This could cause serious problems for the already embattled Samaras Government. “Two Turkish diplomats have been missing for over a week now,” said our source, “and they were last seen going into a meeting with Van the Fatman. He was overheard to remark, ‘Do come in, you must be sau – tee’d after your long journey’. That nice Mr Erdogan is none too pleased, I can tell you dearie”.
Well I’ll be fisted by a Turkish jailer. One day, you never know.
Meanwhile, one of the great and good tells me her Turkish airlines flight two days ago was something of a butt-f**k too. When a Turkish pilot says “I will be beginning my descent into Istanbul Airport now” it means he’s about to bale out. Mind you, we do so adore a man in a uniform when he makes a descent, don’t you? We adore men in a cottage-stall, a lift, a taxi….in fact pretty much anywhere, but I think United Airlines takes the gong on passenger anxiety this week, chiefly because they had a dead pilot at the controls during the approach to Boise Airport, Idaho. Passengers told a Seattle TV station, “They kept themselves calm. They kept it professional. There was no panic on the plane.” Do you know, we’d bet our last bottom-dollar airline steward that they wouldn’t have been so positive had the bloody thing crashed.
I’m sure those who know us are fully aware of just what an incorrigible pair of Nazi faggots we really are. Listen, Ernst Röhm was my hero liebling: he had a scar to die for, and he died yelling “Heil Hitler!” at the very top of his yodel. But Sand and me do think the latest apologiae for bum education really is the very limit. It seems that if you have a bright child, the thing to do is to fight like the very devil to get the little rug-rat into the worst school available.
Felix Weinhardt and Richard Murphy from the Centre for Economic Performance (CEP) at the London School of Economics (we don’t have their number, sorry) analysed the administrative data of over 2.3 million English schoolchildren, and their conclusion was that ‘High achieving students are better off in the worse schools’. Which would be just dandy as a conclusion, were it not truly atrocious grammar: ‘worst’ I think is the descriptor for which they searched in vain.
The hackette writing up this lesbian Commie bitch stitch couldn’t help but conclude that “The study indicates boys gain four times more in later test scores from being top of the class, compared to girls.” Well of course they do you silly old fag-hag: I mean, boys have always been at the top of our class. But isn’t it so lame dearies that the old behaviourist fallacy is trotted out with all the chutzpah of a mincing rent-boy: “Boys and girls are brought up to socialise differently. Girls tend to be taught to behave, and they tend to be under stricter parental supervision. Therefore, they tend to do better in school. Boys, on the other hand, are brought up to be more competitive than girls.”
Ever hear of testosterone, sweetie? She’ll be telling us next that Sand and me were groomed to be gay. Well we weren’t, so there. We were born to it I tell you, born to it.