The Happy Fun Time Prime Minister Super Hour.

Back again so soon? Unfortunately yes. Thanks to a change in the bullshit stream we are likely to be experiencing extended periods of hogwashery for some time now. So get out the mental sandbags and prepare to defend your mind from the flood waters of ignorance. Its this episode of The Aldershot Woes Again: The Happy Fun Time Prime Minister Super Hour. 

Yesterday in an entirely justified word rage against politics I quipped that the PMQs were as dull as a corduroy pencil case. And just to spite me and make look like an utter ball-bag the news are today reporting that the PMQs are out of control and too darn crazy. The pantomime theatrics are turning people off politics as apparently regular folk don't want to watch a bunch of posho, over privileged, half wits bellow insults at each other, like a remake of Gangs of New York cast entirely with ventriloquist dummies. 

It would be far to easy for people to use their democratic rights to flush these political turds out, instead it would be much more sensible to just change the format and wallpaper over the cracks. With this in mind i would like to put forward 5 ways to jazz up the PMQs. 

1. Prime Ministers Wipeout. 

David Cameron and Ian Milliband each get members of their respective parties to run an embarrassing assault course, in unflattering sports gear. The twelve fastest MPs are progressed to the next round where they must perform more embarrassing tasks whilst Richard Hamster from TV's Top Gear makes inane sarcastic remarks. The 3 MPs who embarrass themselves the most are invited to a final, more elaborate assault course where if they can beat DC's time they get to ask him a question via some vapid Irish eye candy. 

2. Never Mind the Prime Ministers Questions I Have for You this Week. 

Take the forever fresh panel show theme and apply it to PMQs. Each week team captains David Cameron and Nigel Milliband invite on two MP guests and they take it in turns to tee up policy punchlines and answer questions in amusing well rehearsed spontaneous ways. Each week a bad comedian or actor can be the guest Speaker. This idea never ever gets dated.  

3. The Q Factor

Thousands of MPs from across the UK audition to Emily Maitlis, Andrew Marr and the Simon Cowell for grown-ups Jeremy Paxman. The MP's with the most pathetic back stories are forced in to a live final where they are coached by David Cameron or Simon Milliband and have to perform tedious cover versions of old political questions you used to like. Once you have heard all the old questions performed you text vote for your fav MP and the one with the fewest votes is booted off and given an awkward hug by Dermot O'Leary. The last MP left standing is then allowed to ask their question for charity, then you never hear of them ever again. 

4. Politics Street

A fly on the wall look inside Westminster. Each week MPs are shadowed by a camera crew and recorded doing staged activities with actors. After each staged activity plays out with either hilarious or dramatic circumstances the MP then records a video diary question, reflecting on the days events. The videos are then shown to both David Cameron and Oliver Milliband whose reactions are staged and then filmed as if real. 

5. Wednesday Westminster Brunch

Each Wednesday David Cameron and Gorax the Milliband co-host a cooking show, where they exchange genuine bant, and interview an MP in am utterly shambolic and vacuous way. Then the MP is asked their political question "heaven or hell" and viewers are invited to text in and decide which question they get to ask. To end the show David and Gorax face off in a penalty comp and some middle of the road uninteresting music act warbles the shit out of your ears. Roll Credits. 

5 perfectly good ways to get people back involved in the political process. 

So that ends yet another Woe, but why on earth did i write this, and why did you just read it and was it about anything? I suppose if you boiled it down to the bones and drained off the spaz juices, it is a scathing attack on modern politics and how people aren't interested in the content of political rhetoric merely the image of politicians. How politicians are marketable commodities who would rather reach voters by appealing to their whims rather than their needs. And, that telly is pretty shit.  

Woe

Cleggism

Good time to you sir, please take a seat, have a brew and lower your IQ as we once more venture in to the muddy waters of dumb, known as The Aldershot Woes Again, episode now: Cleggism.

Politics have been around for as long as their has been people, and that is anywhere between 4 to 250 thousand years depending on which theory you subscribe to. They are the activities a group uses to conduct and oppress its people, and as such are really, really important. Like crisps politics come in many flavours, and also like crisps regardless of how many flavours they come in, only two or three are ever popular.

If for some absurdly arrogant reason you think you should be telling people what to do or are conceited enough to have an opinion on the lives of others, you might want to get in to politics. Luckily for you there are many different political ethos' at your disposal, so regardless of how twisted your deluded ideals are, chances are there will be a political party for you. And to save you researching each, I have outlined a few important ones for your consideration below... you're welcome.

Conservative: Enjoy kicking puppies, money fights, spitting at foreigners, laughing at poor people, making poor people, closing mines, stealing milk from children, selling guns to cunts or fellating washington? This is the party for you.

Labour: Do you have an ambition to put up a facade of concern for the proletariat in order to secure yourself a position of power, hiding behind a veneer of decency whilst abusing those whose who you had promised to help, for your own selfish gain. Like a rapist in a clown mask.Then this is your party.

UKIP: Enjoy burning books, persecuting brown people, shooting gypsies, the phrase "I'm not racist but...", one armed salutes, the Daily Mail, goose stepping or the books of Jesus H Christ. Your choice is made.

Green: Do you have an over blown sense of your own worth, whilst simultaneously despising your own species? Do you own a dream catcher, believe in ghosts, practice homeopathy, only buy organic food, have an irrational love of dolphins, ride a bike or love being a condescending bore-cock. Then strap up your sandals, this is you all over.

There are others as well but there not so important, let's be honest Green is a stretch. So it doesn't matter which way you think you're better than people, you will find a party that supports your warped view. But the political landscape is changing all the time and as in life, old practices die out and are replaced with new ones. The circle of shite. And in this great age of voter apathy, where unless you can text your vote in to Ant & Dec, voting is for squares, a new creature has reared it's head.

Let's be honest, politics is super boring. What a snooze, a bunch of ugly men arguing about taxes and Europe. So quite rightly more and more of us are disengaging with the political process in the hope that it will all just take care of it's self. We all know we can't make a difference and we don't want to and we don't care and isn't X-Factor on or the Cube, change the channel this is shit. I watched Prime Minister's Question's once and it din't even have a "double your money" round. We all know that we'd rather pickle our minds watching BBC1's shrine to the inane, The One Show, than have to put up with the smug simpering face of a politician. So with this epidemic of political lethargy engulfing the nation, who is looking after our disenfranchised concerns, ensuring that we continue to maintain a place in power, but ultimately making absolutely no difference what-so-ever? I'll tell you who, Nick fucking Clegg, that's who.

Nick Clegg outwardly appears to be the worst human being ever. He is a man who betrayed every ideal he has ever held in order to have an important sounding job. He is a political voyeur content to spectate whilst those he surely despised politically, bare-back a country he so badly wanted to run. He is stuck in a system with people he hates, forced to go along with ideas he despises, and through it all is expected to maintain an image of serenity, like he is actually happy in this world he loathes but is powerless to change. Nick Clegg is more like you than any other politician ever. And as such has fathered a new political notion, truly representative of the growing lethargic demographic: Cleggism.

With an election looming Nick Clegg has made his feelings known that he would be happy to enter another coalition government, but with Labour next time. This way he can brilliantly continue his career as a political journeyman, like some Westminster strain of the Ebola Virus sitting dormant in a greedy host. Nick Clegg will be able to make no changes and shoulder no responsibility whilst holding an important sounding job. And isn't that all we really want in this life.

Cleggism: to participate for the sake of it, to forego any principals for the illusion of control, to put your own well being above any moral standing, making the most of a shitty system.

Nick Clegg is more like you than any other politician ever.



And that wraps up this pointless waffle about politics, god it's like Mock the Week isn't it, but with some jokes? But what was i saying with this meandering shit stream, and why was i saying it? I guess my point is we should all be interested in politics, and even though it is a disgusting filthy beast, it will only get worse the less we participate in it, so go vote kids. Oh and also that life is futile and Nick Clegg is the symptom of a populous that is encouraged to not give a fuck and go along with what it truly hates. And as such Clegg is a symbol of hatred for all of the worlds wrongs.

Woe.

Curling One Out

Ah, i see you have 5 minutes to waste and a hunger for primary school level writing, well have i got a treat for you... It's episode this one of the very British blog The Aldershot Woes Again and the title of this hogwash is Curling One Out

If i know one thing about the United Kingdom, and i don't i know blimming loads, it's that we are the greatest country on planet Earth. That's right, sorry to break it to you Johnny Foreigner, but your piece of dirt is not as good as our piece of dirt. Now despite our pieces of dirt only being where they are due to 4.5 billion years of constantly changing terra firma. And us only being on our respective pieces of dirt due to 100,000 years of migration. And even though all 6.9 billion of us can trace our bloodlines back to as little as just 100 African nomads. Great bloody, stiff upper lip, cup of tea and cricket Britain is the fucking best, so put that in your foreign customs and do something strange with it. 

Good old Britain, it's brilliant isn't it, from quaint villages to modern metropolitan centers, it's a Utopian society of bliss, rainbows and smiles and everyone loves everyone and we're all as happy as we can possibly be. I mean why wouldn't we be here in God's garden. I have to literally pinch myself every 10 minutes to convince myself this is real and not just some glorious dream. It's all just so bloody amazing all the titting time, non-stop white knuckle fun, all the time time literally all the time, right now in Britain it is brilliant. Woooooo! 

It is so great here in Great Britain (big clue in the name) that understandably great waves of foreign people want to live here. People are so desperate to get their feet on the golden soils of this blessed land, that they will go to the most extreme methods to get here. Right now entire families of Swedes are securing themselves in flat-packed furniture boxes and attempting to smuggle themselves in to the UK via Ikea lorries. Continental Europe was so desperate to get in to this nation of glory that they dug a tunnel to Dover and ship foreigners here by the train load. And i am not mad at them at all, if I were forced to gaze upon this land of treasures, like a tramp drooling down the window of a restaurant, I too would want a slice of that sweet, sweet pie. 

Great Britain is so good that even though we have a broader history of global atrocities than any other nation in existence today, we can still be really proud about it. When a nation is as good as our's it doesn't matter how many massacres you've committed or how many cultural flames have been permanently extinguished under your boot of oppression. We are so good that we are quite comfortable teaching our children a filtered edit of history painting us as proud global innovators and bringers of freedom. And why shouldn't we be, we're the dog's dick and balls. Britain is so good that we can can have an institute as insulting and backwards as the monarchy and still act as if that's somehow a really good thing. And why shouldn't we, we are the penguins minge. 

I am sad to say though, that sometimes we forget how lucky we are, we've been spoiled. And like a petulant fat toddler throwing a wobbly in a cake shop, we have completely disregarded our fortune and have the audacity to complain. It makes me want to vomit out my liver in disgust, you feckless cunts.Luckily though, we are the Greats of Britain, and we have ways to remind ourselves of our fortune and reunite the nation in it's glory. You see, the inherent greatness of being British lies deep with each us, and it is simply a matter of awakening that sleeping beast to extract the mindless gibbering patriot pseudo-racist in all of us. And just like that we all be scrambling for Union Jacks and waving them frantically, completely content on our island of wonder, united under an irrational sense of national identity. The key to unlocking this tribalistic mental devolution is so simple that it can be routinely used to perpetuate this archaic ethos. It's Sport. And here's the really good part, it doesn't even have to be a good sport. 

Put two cripples in a cage full of stinging nettles and make them wrestle for a dock leaf, it's a social taboo... stick flags on them and we'd lap it up like thirsty dogs in a heat wave. Form a neo-Nazi terrorist cell and declare war on the coloureds, you're one of histories monsters... call yourself Team GB and your as popular as buns at a sausage festival. So ingrained is our patriotic nature that we'd happily watch paint dry, as long as there was a chance the British paint dried quicker and with less streaks than the South Korean paint. In fact, the more obscure a sport is, and the narrower our chances of success are, the more it stirs our inner Brit. The current Winter Olympics are a brilliant example of this, hundreds of sports that none of us play or have the remotest interest in and we're all waving flags around like we've got semaphore Tourettes. Some wintery bint slides down a hill on a plank, picks up bronze by default and everyone is sobbing like their dogs just been hit by a bus. And why shouldn't we, she was born on the same rock formation as us. 

Well, that was the blog for today, and what was I saying with this particular word vomit I just spewed in your face? I don't fucking know. I guess somewhere between the over use of simile and the post-thatcher national shame I was getting at the notion of patriotism and how as a modern world we have really evolved beyond it. Pitting my identity as a free thinking individual liberated from outdated conformities and national identity against the tribal caveman part of me that wants a country i think is pretty shit do well at sports... even the curling. 

Woe.    

 

LeBellend

Here we are again, more puerile gibberish crammed together in poorly constructed sentences with a level of grammatical prowess akin to a 15 year old girls text message - totes. Its one more episode of The Aldershot Woes Again - and this ones called LeBellend

Like most people the early parts of my life were taken up by childhood, an enjoyable time spent free of concern and burden. The important formative years of innocence, before the bleak futility of life crushed your spirit and the abject random chaos of existence made you scared of literally everything. As I wasn't a paranoid wreck in my early years, spending every moment contemplating my own mortality building up irrational rage against literally everything, I was able to enjoy life at face value. Now if I watch a movie or sport or anything really the adult, smug, cynical prick me ruins it by over analysis snide criticism. This means two things.

1. I will never enjoy anything new with same enthusiasm the younger me would have.This is deeply depressing.

and

2. The things that I did enthusiastically enjoy as a youth hold an incredibly special place in my heart - and as such are not to be fucked with.

However it would sadly appear that one man has made it his life's work to systematically destroy everything I loved from my kidulthood. The person I talk of is smug movie wood simulator and pub brawler Shia LeBeouf. The absolute shit.  

Now just to make you aware that usually I attempt to write ironic blogs about one thing, but which really have some sort of political or moral duality. This is just a selfish, unabridged and immature attack on a Hollywood actor I have never met and know little about.

Shia LeBeouf, has the eye's of a cat fiddler and all the humanity of a backstreet abortionist. He has an uncanny ability as an actor to have absolutely no dramatic presence yet at the same time, fill every scene he is in with a wave of horseshit so thick you could fertalise a field the size of Kent. His smug, irksome, acting style could make a corpse wince. I can only imagine it is because Hollywood has such genuine contempt for movie goers they employ LeBeouf as the go-to whenever they need an accessible every-man.

I know what you're thinking "yeah LeBeouf is a conceited prickjob, but so what, he's been a minge for years It's  bit weird you're writing this now and not years ago when he ruined Transformers and shat all over Indian Jones?" Well allow me to explain...

Transformers and Indiana Jones are monumental parts of my childhood, they are the essence of that innocent appreciation I know i will never have again. And as such, not with, are they to be fucked. To see LeBeouf stain these masterpieces with his dreadful acting and face, is an infringement of my human rights. Both movies were doomed to be awful from the off, but the reckless use of LeBeouf is salt in the wound. It is safe to say that with these movies alone, LeBeouf has fucked with more childhoods, than all the Catholic Priests and Radio One diskjockeys put together.

But despite the smarmy look of a man whose just discovered how to turn gravel into blowjobs, Shia LeBeouf isn't happy having just destroyed the movie moments of my youth. He now wants to steal the sporting moments and deliver them in his awkward charmless way, forever contaminating them with his decaying stench.

In 1995 Eric Cantona delivered an epithet of such brilliance it is still remembered as a highlight in the career of one of the greatest men to ever put foot to ball. After an incredible kung-fu kick, which if were to happen now I would condemn as a needless sense of violence, Cantona held a press conference and famously explained his actions "When the seagulls follow the trawler, it's because they think sardines will be thrown in to the sea". Many in the media wrote this off as either pretentious bullshit or regular bullshit. But to the young me I understood what he was saying, that he was going to be himself and if others found what he left behind of interest that was not his concern or purpose. It was profound and added a layer to Cantona rare in sportsman and impacted on my young conscious. Eric Cantona: Footballer, Artist, Writer, Poet, Philosopher and Lager Salesman... a ridiculous, yet formative character, what a fucking guy.

Well, in the promotion of whatever guttershite LeBeouf has just filmed, probably a remake of Dangermouse or a Thundercats snuff movie, rather than answering questions Shia merely rolled out the "trawler" line and fucked off...  Who the hell does that simpering bag of dicks think he is?

Well, that's that then... nothing deep, nothing meaningful, just the rambling mind fart of man annoyed at an actor for acting like a bellbag... well to keep it topical - this rain, when its going end, LeBeouf's a cocking toolshed.


Woe

Gaylympics

Greetings weary traveler as once more I welcome you to seek shelter from the tiresome truths and logic of the real world and to take rest, here in my den of ignorance and bullshit. It's episode 6 or 7 or maybe 8, i'm not really counting, of the Aldershot Woes Again.... Gaylympics. 

The world of sport is growing all the time. Sport started when god made man around 4500 years ago, rival cavemen would use loincloths for goalposts and kick a dinosaur egg around. And where man has not evolved sport certainly has and new sports are created all the time. Some sports are really popular the world over like football or boxing. Other sports like rugby or cricket have been left in the bloody boot-print of the British Empire and as such have international acclaim. Then there are sports only really played in one big nation where the nation is so big that they think that they can throw in a Canadian team and call it a World Series. 

Other sports however are not so popular. Some sports are only played and admired by social outcasts and deviants. Some sports go against god's will and thus incur the wrath the savior and his dad and his ghost. Yes, i am sorry to say that going against the sweaty, barely clothed, heavy breathing, full-on contact, deep impact, grunting and writhing world of man on man, manly , macho heterosexual sporting ethos, some gays like sport. 

And to make it worse, they have taken all of the gayest sports and put them together in a decadent icecapade in liberal girly Russia, and called it the Winter Olympics. 

Like most people who aren't a Duke or the 14th Viscount of Cockinfannington most of the sports in the winter Olympics are new and confusing. They're different and stir up feelings that make you excited but guilty. And therefore are wrong and against the word of the bible. 

Now i'm as open minded as the next UKIP voter and it certainly isn't for me to judge people, that's god job. But the fragrant homosexuality of some of these games is beyond the pale. When I sit down with a cup of Tetley's best of both tea and a Tesco branded value digestive biscuit to watch Grandstand, i do not expect to be forced to contemplate the Freudian imagery of 4 strapping Swedes in Lycra jumpsuits, climb on top of each other and force themselves down a tight pipe in a phallic vessel. I don't want that rammed down my throat.   

At the heart of this affront to the Holy scriptures is the host nation Russia and i think they must be held accountable for there actions. There was once a time when Russian men were the epitome of heterosexuality and proud patriots like Ivan Drago or Zangief from Street Fighter, flew the flag of narrow minded right wing dick in minge hetero-ness. But unfortunately the hot-wash break up of the Soviet Union has faded the proud reds to a girly pink. If liberal mincer Vladimir Putin spent more time directing the morality of his nation and less time bare-backing a horse or shooting his load with young soldiers, we wouldn't be in this mess.

Every four years what is easily the gayest sporting event in the world, including the International Bumming Championships, passes with me not even noticing. It was on the fringe and not reported on by main stream media, and though it was still an abomination, it was at least a quiet one. But Russia kicking the 2014 games off with this whole gay theme has drilled it up the backhole of the public consciousness. And as a result of this, abetted by the liberal media, we have had to endure months of well reasoned arguments for acceptance. The homophobic community has been lambasted and portrayed as retarded hate filled morons who hold unreasonable and illogical viewpoints. In a completely one-sided argument people with irrational hatred for difference have been painted as either small minded morons who form their opinions on 2000 year old books or self hating masochists battling their own latent homosexuality. 

As a small minded bigot I really must say that Russia have done a fine job of highlighting the fact that hating someone based on their sexual orientation makes about as much sense as the Winter Olympics. And for introducing difference, tolerance and the principal of judgment on character over difference to hundreds of young minds before they can be molded by outdated stereotypes, I shall never forgive thee, Mother Russia. 

Putin, i hope you are ready for the fiery judgment that awaits you, you dirty gay lover, you bastion of acceptance, you dictator of dick-taker, you may have done more for international gay rights than anyone. 

So, that was that... just to clarify, i'm actually not a small minded bigot, what i'm saying is, through the vehicle of irony, that Russia's barbaric laws around homosexuality are horrific but have unwittingly acted as a conduit for acceptance... and that the Winter Olympics are really, really, really gay.  

Woe.