Work! Consume! Die!

by Frankie Boyle

  Carla’s husband, French president Nicolas Sarkozy, requested shorter security guards. That’ll be a tough request to fulfil – for much of the year most potential candidates will be appearing in panto. Why doesn’t he just stick with his normal security guards? Those guys are prepared to take a bullet in the knee for him. Sarkozy’s rival, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the ex-MD of the International Monetary Fund, was arrested in the States and charged with attempted rape. I say, let’s not rush to judge. I mean, why should we think that being a banker might make him more inclined to behave in an unethical way outside the decent values of society?

  Strauss-Kahn has denied any wrong-doing. The US has taken the line that he is innocent until proven French. The maid picked him out at an identity parade. ‘Identity parade’ always sounds like so much fun, like Mardi Gras or Gay Pride. You imagine she was forced to identify him despite the fact that he was dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow and hanging from the makeshift rigging on lorry driving past at 5 mph.

  He was charged with an illegal sex act. That’s impressive. In the midst of a serious sexual assault, imagine going off road and inventing sex acts that haven’t even been put on the statute books. During a clumsy, frenzied sexual attack the last thing you want to be doing is dealing with the straps on harnesses, unruly livestock and uncooperative midgets. Some people say you should never joke about rape, that it can never be a subject for humour. I ask those people to picture this: Piers Morgan being raped by Bungle from Rainbow.

  Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi is alleged to have slept with a 17-year-old prostitute. Prosecutors in Italy say that in exchange for sex, Berlusconi gave her cash and jewellery. He also gave her nightmares and a lifelong phobia of sun-dried sausage. He’s denied the allegations – surely it’s just a question of matching the teeth marks on the hooker’s bum with his dentures? He’s old enough to be her granddad! I worry that if he did pay for sex, he sellotaped the money inside a birthday card. In Silvio’s defence, when you’re 74 you don’t want to be having sex with someone your own age – all those wrinkles rubbing together, it’d be like jogging in corduroy. When he cums it must be like having a handful of sand thrown in your eyes.

  If Berlusconi did give a teenage prostitute £7,000 to just sit on her bed and talk about politics then he’s a bigger pervert than I thought. It’s also alleged that Berlusconi had sex with a weather girl while a handful of people watched. Could have been the one off Daybreak, then.

  It’s been claimed that Arnold Schwarzenegger has three secret love children. This was inevitable. How on earth can a sex-mad Austrian possibly keep all his love children secret? Oh, wait a minute … The photos don’t show much of a resemblance. Then again, Arnie doesn’t look much like Danny DeVito either, and they’re twins.

  The allegations came out after Arnold Schwarzenegger stood down as Governor of California in a ceremony that saw him lowered into a vat of molten steel before being cut into pieces by a giant metal press.

  Robert Mugabe was re-elected as the Zanu-PF party leader in Zimbabwe. He won by a landslide when the opposition to his leadership was mysteriously killed by a landslide.

  There is something odd about our ranking of life according to nationality. How we’re supposed to really care when a bomb goes off in America, kind of care when it’s Palestine and not even look up from the Xbox when it’s all kicked off in the Ivory Coast, the last African country still named after the Dulux Mellow Moods range.

  David Cameron’s pledged £800 million for vaccinating Third World children. I must say I tire of these constant pleas for assistance from the Third World. Especially after we’ve already put in so much effort tidying away all their messy rubber, gold, oil and diamonds for them. There are some saddening statistics – apparently in Congo two in five children don’t survive long enough to be conscripted as child soldiers. Or the tragedy of Zimbabwe, where many young people are now too ill to survive torture.

  In North Korea, leader Kim Jong-il showed off his successor – son Kim Jong-un – at a military parade. Kim Jong-il is called ‘Dear Leader’ – that’s makes it very tricky to write him a letter, isn’t it? It’s quite an achievement getting a double chin in a country where Sunday lunch consists of four grains of rice and a sausage made from toe-nail clippings. A brutal dictator, but a better dad than me. A whole country! I just palmed my boy off with a DVD of Finding Nemo I found stuck on the front of the Daily Express.

  The previous favourite candidate was elder son Kim Jong-nam – he fell out of favour for forging a passport to go to Tokyo Disneyland. Kim Jong-il despises Disneyland, with all its ‘You must be this tall to go on this ride’ signs.

  North Korea is incredibly secretive – apparently it was they who taught the Chinese how to whisper. That’s what I heard anyway. Of course, in our own way, we’re every bit as secretive. I’m not sure exactly what WikiLeaks is, but it seems to be the political version of Popbitch. They came under a huge cyber attack. That’s what you get if you publish ridiculous claims that governments are involved in cyber attacks. WikiLeaks couldn’t have uncovered more embarrassing material if they’d received hacked messages from Jason Manford’s Bebo account. Hillary Clinton ordered diplomats to collect phone numbers, email addresses and even DNA from UN diplomats. Well, just dress like a hooker and I promise within an hour you’ll have all three. Of course, diplomats are two-faced. That’s what diplomacy is. We all do it. ‘Your baby looks lovely,’ ‘I loved your novel,’ ‘Yes, darling, I agree – she did look too thin.’

  According to WikiLeaks, Prince Andrew is said to have insulted both the French and the Americans – a shocking breach of protocol for the royal family, as both nations are predominantly white. And I am stunned by the Saudi bribery allegations. To think the sale of electric batons, thumbscrews and explosives should in some way be tainted by financial impropriety.

  The late Pope John Paul II was beatified. It’s claimed he cured a woman of Parkinson’s disease. She said it was such an amazing feeling that she’s not been able to stop shaking ever since. If they’re looking for a second miracle, I’d suggest keeping a lid on decades of kiddy fiddling would be in with a shout. When JP II becomes a saint it means people can pray to him directly for help and advice, such as, ‘I’ve got a dead kid bleeding from the arse in my vestry. Who should I call?’ Coincidentally, the Vatican is updating its policy regarding sexual abuse. It’s finally made it into the top 100 commandments.

  80,000 people went to see his successor, Pope Benedict XVI, in Hyde Park. I bet he hasn’t seen a crowd as big as that since Nuremberg. There was the assassination attempt that wasn’t. They were bin men. Even if they had tried to do him in they’d have turned up on the wrong day. I confess I had a religious experience while he was here. I looked down at my tea and I swear I could see Jesus’ face in it. Granted, I had to move the mash about a bit, and use peas for eyes and a sausage for a mouth.

  Why are we making such a fuss of this man? If the Archbishop of Canterbury went to Rome they wouldn’t even bother to defrost a tiramisu. Of course, Catholics derive enormous comfort from meeting the Pope. The McCanns say they found great relief from their audience with him. I suppose when your child’s missing, contacting the head of a global paedophile ring is very useful.

  David Cameron said he very much enjoyed meeting the world’s favourite bead-jiggler. Apparently, he was desperate for tips on how to make people take shit in the hear-and-now in exchange for hazy promises about things being better in the distant future. The Pope’s open-air mass was held in Glasgow and had a massive attendance – word got round that a guy was handing out free wine. He was only in Glasgow between 4 and 8 pm. Smart move. As the kids had only just got out of school no one would have been drinking, for more than about an hour.

  The Sun likened the Pope’s tour to that of a pop star – though they didn’t specify whether it was Gary Glitter or Jonathan King. In papal doctrine, a pope cannot be wrong about faith or morals, but he can be wrong about other issues. What other issues are th
ere? Ah, yes, science. My first reaction to the visit was that I don’t want to listen to the mumblings of an old man – and then I realised his war stories are probably quite interesting.

  Barack Obama also toured Britain and Ireland recently. When in Ireland he went to meet his eighth cousin. To give you an idea of how far removed that is, my seventh cousin is Jackie Chan. Michelle drank Guinness and did a good job of blending in with the Irish women – mainly by marrying an incredibly charming man who’s actually killed quite a number of innocent people. Obama was in Ireland to see how his ancestors lived. So they slapped him in manacles, stuffed in him in a tiny cellar and sold him to the highest bidder.

  I feel that as somebody who is 100 per cent genetically Irish I can say this. I fucking hate Ireland. The cunts never stop talking, and they bullshit. Do you know why? Because they ran out of true stuff ages ago. I can’t imagine what the talks with the IMF were like.

  ‘Ach sure, the economy will be all roight. We have a giant – do you want to make the giant angry? I know Derek and he’s going to be fecking ragin! Think of the fucking songs we’re going to get out of this! Mary, sing that one about how your grandfather ate himself!’

  Shut up, you Irish cunt. Stop fucking talking. As Scottish people know, there is a time and a place for sharing your feelings, when one of you is drunk and the other is dying.

  In Glasgow I formed a deep and abiding loathing of St Patrick’s Day – loads of people out and about with ridiculous-looking Irish headgear. Or, as they call it, ‘ginger hair’. According to legend, St Patrick chased all the snakes out of Ireland – well, we’ve all done some pretty crazy stuff when we’re pissed. St Patrick’s Day is a great chance for Irish people to be proud of their country and throw off all the misguided stereotypes by getting pissed and avoiding work.

  After his trip to Ireland, Obama was then welcomed to Britain with a 41-gun salute – to display all the soldiers we have left. The president was intensely briefed on the flight over, with aides holding up pictures of the PM while he said, ‘Cannington? No? Cameron … OK … Clegg? That’s the same guy, ain’t it? Tell you what, I’ll just alternate between “Champ” and “Big Fella”.’

  Obama would have visited sooner but it’s taken that long to train up a Prince Philip lookalike. The Obamas stayed with the Queen, as she’s used to commoners now. Cameron still tends to get an asthma attack. It’s interesting to note that the last such high-profile donning of a glove to shake a black man’s hand was at the 1936 Berlin Olympics … and as Hitler only put a glove on just to shake Jesse Owens’s hand, and the Queen puts one on to shake everyone’s, we can only conclude that the Queen is worse than Hitler. Obama told them he’s black and Irish. Prince Philip said it’s why the double-barrelled shotgun was invented.

  Over at Downing Street, Obama and Cameron had a barbecue and played ping-pong – which to me seems a little insensitive, considering we’re fighting several wars. Do you think if bin Laden had met Gaddafi, the first thing they would have done is crack open the Pringles and have a swingball tournament? Ken Clarke appeared to doze off during the president’s speech. Although knowing him, he’ll probably claim he was date raped.

  During his visit to the UK, Obama rode ‘The Beast’. Something Prince Philip hasn’t done for almost 60 years. After three days of British weather, its food, moaning population and intolerable traffic jams, I’m surprised Obama didn’t order the Navy SEALs to fly into London and shoot him in the face. Did you see him being interviewed by Andrew Marr? Marr was as excited as if he’d been told the pretty new researcher likes doing it with her eyes closed. Cameron and Obama were trying to work out how to leave Afghanistan. The UK’s in a difficult position, calling for a more ordered exit; as for the US, anything better than dangling from a chopper that’s plucked you from the embassy roof is considered a bonus.

  Cameron and Obama agreed that the Taliban must either surrender their arms and introduce a parliamentary democracy … or, at very least, change their name so when they take charge again it’s not quite so embarrassing.

  After the earthquake and tsunami, the Japanese were told to ‘head for the hills’ – isn’t that where the volcanoes are? Of the 450 missing Brits, about 50 were language teachers. The other 400 were TV crews making documentaries about how quirky the Japanese are. Hopefully, they will soon be found, keeping warm by giggling over a vibrator they found in a vending machine by the gutted wreckage of a primary school. Tragically, until then, we will have to survive on archive footage of Graham Norton and Jonathan Ross.

  It was just devastating. British rescue dogs were brought in to help. Not sure how much use they were – Japanese disaster victims don’t tend to smell of beer and chip fat. It just shows how fragile we humans are … especially the ones who live in earthquake zones next to nuclear-power plants. The power-plant manager tried to reassure people that levels of radiation weren’t dangerous, with the words ‘Hulk mad! Hulk smash!’ 50 Cent (one half of 80s pop duo Dollar) and various comedians got in trouble for making fun of the events on Twitter. It’s almost as if getting all your news in 140 characters from bored TV presenters, Justin Bieber fans and your stalkers doesn’t manage to convey the full tragedy of a country being destroyed. Of course, it’s not the first time 50’s let us down. After the release of his debut album, Get Rich or Die Tryin’, he got rich.

  Radiation from Japan was detected in Glasgow. I was worried at first, but thankfully my newborn Siamese triplets are fine and their laser vision is unimpaired. Hopefully, it won’t create any superheroes, as the city already has enough people fighting each other in their pants. Glasgow has nothing to worry about – it takes many months to die from radiation poisoning, and there are very few Glaswegians with that length of life expectancy. What’s the worst that could happen if the radiation levels rose in Scotland? ‘Mr McCreedy, it’s bad news, I’m afraid. You’re lung cancer has cancer.’

  I read that the new Japanese prime minister’s wife is apparently proving to be quite eccentric. She claims to have been abducted by aliens and taken to the planet Venus. Still, our prime minister’s wife finds David Cameron sexually attractive. Who’s the freak? The Japanese prime minister’s wife came out with a lovely phrase on TV, when she told viewers that every morning she ‘eats the sun’. Much as her grandparents once did at Hiroshima.

  Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao was in the UK for trade talks with the PM. A 35-strong delegation came over for the tour. That’s the trouble with Chinese – you always get too much. The Chinese premier is looking to improve British rail networks – that’s good thinking. Even the Romans didn’t get the transport sorted out before they invaded. He’s keen on improving the rail link between London and Birmingham. Or, as he calls them, the Inspection Centre and MegaPrison Compound One.

  Mr Wen was accompanied by colleagues from the more liberal side of the Communist Party, and was seen laughing and joking with the minister of human rights and free speech, the hooded and inscrutable Doctor Pandemonium. Cameron said it was important only to raise human rights abuses at the right moment – when the translator had gone off on a fag break. I feel for Dave. It can’t be easy to lecture China about human rights abuses when you’re hoping they’ll order a load more of our electric batons and nut clamps.

  Apparently, child labour is now so rampant in the People’s Republic that even Premier Wen is actually a 9-year-old boy standing on another boy’s shoulders. Which would explain why, at the state dinner, he wouldn’t take his coat off and seemed to be spooning every other mouthful into his belly button. Of course, the UK already plays a huge part in Chinese manufacturing, supplying an essential part of the millions of mobile phones they produce. The consumer.

  I’ve never been surprised by low voter turnouts. In fact, I’m surprised anybody ever votes at all. Politicians seem so alien to us, their insincerity taken as a given, behaving inhumanely while they pretend to be human in some symbolic way. If, instead of a nation, we were 500 people living as a tribe, or a bunch of survivors in a life
boat, would anyone elect Miliband or Cameron as leader, with their choppy hand gestures, lack of conviction and bizarrely automated range of emotions? In a normal social gathering, most of our leaders would seem to suffer from a hysterical personality disorder.

  That video of Ed Miliband repeating the same thing four times is final proof that cameras do steal your soul – you can pinpoint the exact moment his conscience chokes on its last breath and dies. The only opposition we have to our bleak government is a man who would recite ‘Jabberwocky’ while wearing a mask of Nutella if his handlers told him it was the best response to the social-care issue.

  Of course, if someone normal and sympathetic stood for office the white heat of the military entertainment complex would be brought to bear. Dave or Pam or whoever would be flattened within moments of announcing their candidacy by a giant tumour the size of a car falling out of the sky like a meteorite. On a brighter note, not having much political agency means less responsibility, too. All this pish from politicians about our deficit and how we’ll have to work till 70 to pay it off. No, cunts, it’s your deficit; we could all fuck off to Spain en masse with our sense of humour and our work ethic and watch you fuckers, who are the least among us, briefly campaign for the votes of Britain’s animals before succumbing to thirst and dysentery.