Not Being Funny But

Actually, my heart isn’t in being funny at all at the moment.

My brother-in-law (okay, now ex BIL) is recovering from a brain tumour, so I’m concerned for my family.

I’m also concerned at how disgustingly shameless the press weasels of the West are these days.

In the UK, anything approaching truth in the below-the-line comment at The Guardian gets immediately scrubbed and the commentator put on pre-moderation and then banned. I’d rather get my news from off-guardian.org these days- a dissident group set up by aggrieved ex-guardianistas (yes, I was one once) whose rational discourse was snuffed out when the CIA took full control of the paper.

The Independent,which is not ‘independent’ at all these days since it was bought up by a Russian oligarch (i.e. Rothschild agent) for £1, also has comments boxes. Bravely, they keep them on most articles but, cowardly custard, they censor them without even warning posters about ‘breaches of standards’ or whatever the fuck they’re using to justify this Alice-in-Wonderland world they’ve got going on.

The Independent’s response to Jeremy Corbyn being re-elected as leader in a contest he shouldn’t have had to even fight were it not for his Parliamentary Labour Party being stuffed full of Tory entryists and quisling qunts would make the Daily Mail blush.

September 22nd’s headline was a puff piece about how lovely Theresa May is plus about five anti-Corbyn articles stenographed by the dead hand of the deep state pushing a discredited and shameless hoodwink.

I had to comment:

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Today’s Dependent front page was no better but I decided to comment anyway.

I’ve gone from ‘awaiting moderation’ to oops an error has crashed our system.

Yeah. Right.

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In the absence of foul humour, I may just take the gloves off and be foul.

I have a pretty good readership now. Cheers.

 

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