Moody’s! Moody’s! Who the fuck are Moody’s?

Poor old George Osborne. As well as being a TTT (total tory tosser), now he’s lost the UK’s AAA credit rating. (Oh, and by the way BBC, it is the UK’s credit rating, not just Britain’s! I know you’d prefer us to sit on our fleg and fuck off, but…)

Anyhow, it would seem that some bunch of unelected, unaccountable so-called ‘analysts’ have decided that we don’t match up to their stringent and unbiassed economic criteria to be considered as AAA-worthy. So, to misquote ‘Living without Alice’, who the fuck are these folk?

Moody’s are a US company whose striking performances include failing to anticipate the US housing market collapse. They are also funded by Wall Street firms and, hey, guess what, along with those other bastions of fiscal rectitude Standard and Poors and Fitch Ratings, they admitted to a US Senate hearing on Aptil 24th, 2010 that they had  ‘…suppressed internal concerns about the securities they rated due to pressure from the banks that paid their fees.’ ( A report from Duke University, Keenan Institute for Ethics, states that ‘With the advent of the subprime mortgage crisis, it became apparent that CRAs [Credit Ratings Agencies], particularly Moody’s, had inflated the credit worthiness of some of the riskier assets they rated.’ (, p. 7)

I know I rant on about the evils of international capital, but here’s a bunch of mercenaries whose only allegiance is to making money, talking down the economy of a country. So if the Bank of England decides to hike interest rates to appease these wankers, it’s your mortgage going up, your bank changes soaring – not theirs. And, hey, if certain stocks and futures appreciate and they make money on the back of it, are they going to feel guilty?

This is the problem with international capitalism. It ensures that the billions who live on the planet are irrelevant. The ones who matter are perhaps no more than a few thousand of the sort of people who would drive down house prices and lower the tone of the neighbourhood if they moved into your district. (Happily, they won’t, because they don’t associate with impecunious scum like you and me!).

So the shysters, spivs and crooks – sorry, market traders and analysts – who ensure that you pay top dollar for every and any commodity you can name, and all of those you can’t, get mink in their Maseratis, while you and I can only dream of having a full tank in the Mini. That’s the free market for you. These wankers decide where the exchange rate goes – and right now the pound in your pocket is going downhill against the dollar and the Euro. Is the pound’s worth of gold in the Bank of England (the few kilos that Gordon Brown didn’t flog off at the bottom of the market) any smaller than it was last week? Does it cost any more to get a barrel of oil out of the ground? Er… no! In short, if things were let to progress without the intervention of these parasites, the 99% would be far better off. But then that would make the 1% very unhappy, and the likes of wee George  can’t have that, can he?

Us lot are never going to be free of the malign influence of the Moody’s of the world until we decide to take back the world and tell these irrelevant money-grubbers to go suck a diseased donkey’s dick – and die! But that presupposes that folk are going to vote out all of those Torys and Tory lookalikes (Noo Labour, US Republicans and Democrats etc., Liberal somethingorothers) and vote in politicians who are interested in  the welfare of their fellow citizens and not in lining their own pockets and egos and those of their friends in the rest of the 1%. Where do we find such selfless folk? And even if we could, are we likely to vote them in? In the UK less than 50% vote…Apathy rul..ah, who gives a fuck.

Oh well! Come the revolution and the next load of fat cats take over…


Just another shitty day in cloud-cuckoo land

   Do you ever wake up in the morning and wonder if it’s just you or has the world gone totally insane – or, rather, more totally insane than ever? I do.

   So, when I saw that the head of RBS is to get a bonus of nearly £800K, I was rather wondering what it was for.  Then I discovered that he’s going to be getting it for his work in 2010. And that’s when the feeling of alternate reality kicked in. In 2010, the bank of which he was in charge had folk diddling with the LIBOR to boost income. As a result, RBS has been just been fined shedloads of money. Now, if Mr. Hester knew what was going on, he should be having his collar well and truly felt.  But it seems clear that he didn’t. In this case, why is he still in post, let alone being showered with shekels? Either he’s a thief who should be inside, or he’s incompetent and should be sacked.  Or am I, once again, showing my total lack of understanding of how capitalism and banking work?

   More unreality when hearing of the last words of a Holocaust survivor who died in Stafford hospital – ‘I had friends in Auschwitz. Here I have none.’. What in the name of a good and merciful God has happened there? And isn’t it fascinating that not one single member of staff at any level has been charged with some offence, any offence? It just seems that there is far more fuss over the fact that you can put £5 each way on your Findus Lasagne than over such a grotesque betrayal of the vulnerable and sick.

   When Thatcher started to dismantle the NHS, it was evident that the profit culture was going to trump patient care. And if you ever wanted one simple reason why privatisation of the NHS is not only wrong, but truly wicked, Stafford is it.  But again, so long as the fat cats can cream off  large salaries and companies can make their profits, who really gives a shit about one old lady?

   As someone who has eaten horse – with a fine pepper sauce – and enjoyed it, I’m slightly bemused by the angst. Of course it’s sad that the faller in the 2.30 at Lingfield has ended up as a burger. Yes, you should know precisely what’s in what you’re eating. A given. And yes, it’s highly likely that crooks are making money out of the whole fraud. But isn’t it interesting that at least a proportion of our food is so processed and generally fucked about with that people can’t tell the difference between horsemeat and beef?

   And then there’s the ‘fleg’ protest. I regularly pass the Alliance Party office on the Upper N’Ards road, and see five or six fleggistas under the beady eyes of five or six peelers (with associated landrovers). So to ensure the maintenance of a non-existant British way of life we have to take peelers off the job of dealing with criminals, policing traffic, helping little old ladies across the road and whatever Archbishop Baggott allows them to do.  And do these same fleggistas realise that if Norn Iron were to float off into the Atlantic and sink, the noise of the cheers of the ‘real’ British would burst God’s eardrums? Reality has yet to dawn!

 Yus! Reality can really be a two-edged wotdyamacallit or something.

The world is a slightly safer place…

Dear Mr and Mrs America. You nearly blew it, but enough of you voted sensibly to ensure that the crazies and teabaggers don’t have direct access to the nuclear trigger.  For that we thank you! It was worth staying up to the wee smalls to see the Fox Propaganda channel drones strangling themselves with indignation as the results came in.  I don’t care what anyone says, schadenfreude is a dish best enjoyed with friends and copious amounts of good food and wine!

   So now dear Mr Pres., would you ever cut the rhetoric and put on your shit-kickers and get stomping. The first target has got to be that bunch of pathetic pussies in the party that supposedly supports you – the Dems. Keep kicking until the party starts to get enough hormone in its bloodstream so that it stands up to the yoyos across the aisle. You need to get them to reach across the aise and, at the start, grasp their opponents warmly by the throat. Hand-shaking can come later.

   And, Sir, you need to get the extra heavy-duty steel toe-caps on to deal with the Republicans.  Start with yer man Boehner. Tell him that before you take him seriously, he needs to man up and pronounce his name properly! It’s pronounced Boner. Live with it. Ask him if he’s ever stubbed his tay? Would he remove weeds with a hay? And as for that braindead wanker McConnell, tell him he failed. Live with it.

   You’ve now got no need to worry about elections. You’re the man. So deal with the Bush tax cuts. Make millionaires and billionaires pay their fair share. Stop mollycoddling the oil industry and the military industrial complex. Treat your returning veterans properly. Tell the teabaggers that Obamacare is here to stay. And regulate the banks!! In other words, give the US that change that you promised in 2008.

   And the rest of the world will thank you, not only for rescuing us from a teaparty-sponsored presidency, but for demonstrating that America actually can be run along sensible lines. You never know, if you can pull this off in the next four years, some of us at least might start to regard the idea of American claims to leadership on the world stage with a lessened degree of cynicism and distaste.

They haven’t gone away, you know…

Dear cuddly old Gerry Adams told us a while ago that the IRA (Provisional, not to be confused with the Official or Continuity or Real or…) hadn’t gone away. Now there’s Gerry ensconced in Dáil Éireann (Parliament of the Republic of Ireland, for all you foreigners), while Marty McGuinness as our beloved Deputy First Minister  is sitting not so far away from me, up the hill at Stormont (Northern Ireland Assembly, for ditto), and both of them are convinced that violence for political ends is a ‘bad thing’! They really are heavy into it! And, of course, they are right!

   So when a bunch of so-called dissident republicans blow away a prison officer, they must be condemned immediately as vile violaters of our sacred peace process. Outraged, grim-faced, our Gerry and Marty – supported by the serried ranks of (now mainstream) outraged and grim-faced Republicanism  – get the outraged heads on.  And don’t forget wee Pete Robinson,  the Dear Leader, outraged and grim-faced First Minister of Northern Ireland. He’s been out there, laying it on the line. He and Marty and the rest won’t be deterred from making Ulster/The Six Counties/Northern Ireland/Failed Entity etc. a place free from people who believe that violence is the way to resolve our island differences. How dare these folk think otherwise?

   Here’s the problem! Starting wayyyyyyy back in 1970, there was a different tune in the air –  ‘We shall overcome (them – insert the side you wanted to overcome)’ sung to the accompaniment of massed Armalites and AK-47s. Marty commanding the IRA in Derry, Gerry having absolutely nothing to do with the IRA in Belfast – he never was in the IRA, honest like, he was just like er… And wee Peter and Papa Doc running round the hills of County Antrim waving firearm certificates and wearing red berets and reminding us all how the UVF in 1912 saved us from…

   You see, they all seemed to be saying that since they didn’t agree with the status quo, they had the right to change it. And since the self-appointed freedom fighters who agreed with their rantings felt unconstrained in deciding which laws didn’t apply to them (like the ones against killing people),  they felt that they could justify any means to their ends. Like planting car bombs in crowded shopping streets. Like walking into a bar full of football supporters and spraying them with 7.62mm rounds. Using techniques of persuasion that even Tony Soprano would flinch from. The message to people on the island of Ireland was ‘We must have a United Ireland/Assured British Future. We’re on your side, defending you from them, so do as we say, not as we do. And, if we really want your opinion, we’ll give it to you.’

   Forty odd years on, a new generation is at it. They don’t see why they should be bound by the same laws as the rest of us. A screw is a symbol of Brit repression. Kill him. Discourage the others. A peeler is part of the Brit war machine. Kill him, stop catholics joining PSNI. Unarmed Brits collecting pizza? Symbols of 800 years of English oppression. Cap ’em!  Let’s bomb and bullet our way to a joyful United Ireland where all of the stains of Brit rule have been flushed down the gutters in blood! Oh and don’t forget the folk on the other side. There’s some of them who want to bomb and bullet our way to an assured Brit future, with all stains of republican terror flushed er… sounds familiar, don’t it?

  So how on earth are we still here in 2012? Surely we were supposed to be at peace once and for all, once all of our gallant politicos had inserted their snouts in the trough, and wedged their feet firmly under the table that groans under the weight of allowable expenses, free trips abroad…?

   Like the Meerkat says, ‘Simples! Tsk’. The new generation has learned from the old.

   So Marty and Gerry and Peter, before you start slabbering on about how these villains won’t derail the plans you set in motion – just remember. You taught them all they know about hating, and just like you boys – they are quick learners!! They are the inheritors of  those twisted ideas for which so much blood and suffering was spread around for 35 long, long years.   

   Haven’t we had enough?? Sensible folk think that we have.

    But it’s like our Gerry said! They haven’t gone away, you know! It’s just the faces have changed.


PS Oh and Gerry has been sounding off about the Scottish devolution debate. He feels that we up here should be engaged in a similar soul-searching.  Except does anyone up here want an independent Ulster? I think he means that we should be discussing Irish unity, in which case, Scottish devolution seems a wee touch er… irrelevant.

   Personally, I don’t give a toss whether NI is governed from Belfast or London or Dublin or Disneyland. So, the day that our Gerry explains how a totally fucked-up Irish Republic economy ruined by incompetent gombeen men can
(a) absorb another 1.5 million odd folk, half of whom will be really pissed off and bolshie,
(b) pay for all of the services and standards that the wicked Brits underpin,
(c) persuade said wicked Brits to pay for said services until the Irish economy recovers on the Ides of Never, and
(d) provide cast iron guarantees that the day after reunification won’t see the start of yet another Irish civil war,
I’ll vote for Dublin.

   Until then, I like my pension just at the level it is!!