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Well, the Orange Order and other assorted baboons will no doubt be congratulating themselves at their demo in George Square going off so peacefully. It probably won’t occur to them that it was only peaceful because there wasn’t a gang of fuckwits attacking them. Oops, sorry, they’re complaining that they’re under attack from Call It Out. So, all these self-proclaimed hard men are terrified of a few folk, mostly women, standing outside a chapel, holding a banner? No wonder they all hide whenever a war is declared. Mind you, the OO’s Grand Bastard seems to believe it’s all a big, SNP conspiracy. They’re all fucking mental. Thank Christ their team won on Saturday or they’d have run rampage through Glasgow.

The Grand Bastard arrives in George Square.

The Grand Bastard also moans about it being a “sad day for democracy” and makes a fantastic claim on behalf of the Orange Order.

“For over 200 years, Orange Lodges in Scotland have existed in many parts of Scotland, standing up for the rights of the working classes.”

Is he fucking joking? Orangemen all over the UK, throughout the 19th Century, opposed every extension of the franchise. So much for ‘standing up for the rights of the working classes’! Essentially, they were nothing more than stormtroopers for the Tories. Some things never change, eh? And the least said about their involvement in Trades Unions the better. All they cared about was the right kind of working-class people. And it wasn’t just Catholics they kept out of their unions; unskilled workers were persona non grata as well.

The Church of Scotland, meanwhile, has given the lie to the whole idea of Protestants being discriminated against. Not that such a statement will affect any of the fat, bald-headed morons dragging their knuckles down to George Square; I doubt any of them have seen the inside of a church since they were baptised. Mind you, that’s giving them the benefit of the doubt. The truth is that most of them are nothing but poor, benighted heathens. They don’t even know why they hate Catholics or Irish people.

The CofS statement also gives the lie to the shite published by John Niven in the Record (where else?). He goes on about the ‘divide’ between Catholics and Protestants, being totally disingenuous about the fact that the real divide is between The Peeppul and everybody else. Niven says he left all that kind of stuff back in the 70s. That’s a strange one. Normal folk left it back in the 17th Century!

Not content with just the one Nuremberg rally, later in the day it was time for another Armed Forces Day at Ibrox. It seems to have been a low-key event this year, with nobody abseiling down from the roof and no big guns going off. The fact that the armed forces turn up to cheer on this bunch of bigots every year says a lot about them. Of course, there was the usual collection, which, my sources tell me, reached the grand total of 23/4½d. And no, that’s not a mistake; the stingy cunts all put old pennies in the collection tins. Apparently, it’s still the same money.

Espresso Martini injured his hamstring and had to go off before half-time. Unfortunately, Gerrard can’t find anyone to blame for this; Espresso Martini wasn’t picked for the England squad, and isn’t likely to be either. The SFA, on the other hand, always have to include Neo-Gers players in their squads, otherwise they’ll be accused of being Raynjurz-hating, Fenian bastards. That’s how Ryan Jack found his way into the squad; it certainly wasn’t on merit. He’s got an injury as well, which Gerrard blames on the primitive training methods employed by Steve Clarke. He made Jack go on a run; the dirty, evil bastard!

It’s pretty obvious that Jack must have had at least a twinge before being sent off to join the Scotland squad, otherwise a mere run wouldn’t have fucked him up so much. Changed days at Ibrox, then. Time was when a player would be kept out of the Scotland squad, brandishing a doctor’s note saying how close to death he was. Three days later, he’d manfully climb from his death bed to turn out for Rangers. Nowadays, the new club seems happy enough to send players that are already injured to the Scotland squad. It’s probably just so they can blame Scotland for the injury, instead of admitting that Gerrard and Sperm Heid haven’t got a fucking clue what they’re doing.

“There, there, son! Did the bad man make you run and hurt your leg?”

Everybody’s favourite soup-taker, Nacho Novo, is on a quest to find the numbskull that wrote something about Fernando Ricksen on Twitter. Not that he’s overly concerned about his ‘friend’, as he makes plain.

“I hope the media put this comment in the papers because when a comment was said to Scott Brown about his sister it was front page news so I hope Celtic do the same with that wee b****** and ban him for life.

We don’t want any favours from anybody but we just want justice.”

That’s the whole point of his tirade; the filthy, little cunt just wants ‘parity’. You’ll notice that he says absolutely nothing to condemn what was said to Scott Brown. It’s another, desperate attempt at ‘whatabootery’ and, the Daily Record, being what it is, is happy to give him a platform.

Yes, the comment about Ricksen should be condemned, but we’re talking about Twitter here. Unfortunately, like all social media, it’s full of anonymous, wee shites spouting bile without fear of retribution. There have been plenty of vile comments about Ricksen on Twitter, as there have been about Scott Brown and Jay Beattie, among others. The difference is that, notably, Celtic supporters are quick to condemn the comments about Ricksen, while The Peeppul are equally as quick to blame the comments about Brown and Wee Jay on trouble-making Taigs. Now, who’s to say that the latest comment about Ricksen wasn’t made by some trouble-making Hun?

In the Sunday Mail, Sheyi Ojo is making an arse of himself again. He’s going on about some kind of ‘telepathy’ between him and Espresso Martini and hopes they’re going to be as effective as they were at Liverpool. Given that neither of them have actually featured in the Liverpool team, that wee prediction doesn’t bode well for Neo-Gers. He’s also claiming that he was playing with an injury against Celtic. He’s obviously been spending too much time around Steven Gerrard the way he’s looking for excuses. His best one, though, is when he says that Neo-Gers had played too many games before facing Celtic. For fuck’s sake, son, it’s only September, not the middle of May!

“Listen, pal, when you’re a martyr to your back, like me, you get tired easy. And I’m used to guddling about in the EFL and the Reims ‘B’ team, not facing teams like Celtic. And did I mention that I was playing with an injury? It won’t be like that next time. We’re still the best team in Scotland…drone…drone…blah…blah…”

When I read some of the shite that’s going on in schools, I’m glad to be well out of it. ‘Identity’ seems to be the buzz word at the moment. Schools in England and Wales have been told that they have to accommodate children’s ‘gender identity’ and let them use the communal changing rooms of whichever gender they claim to be. I’ve no doubt that this will soon be happening in Scotland’s schools as well; if it’s not already happening. I don’t think I’d be too happy about letting some boy share a changing room with the girls just because he says he’s female. It’s a piece of fucking nonsense.

You get dirty, wee bastards, who are only in P5, that expose themselves to girls. (Trust me, it happens.) Such a pervert-in-training can say he’s a girl and then have a laugh with his like-minded mates about flashing his knob in the girls’ changing room. And that’s just in primary school; secondary would present even more problems. As usual, nobody asks the girls what they think about it.

I read some feminist on Twitter, who says that this business of being allowed to identify as female (and, let’s face it, it seems to be mostly males that are involved) is yet another example of how women’s opinions are pretty much ignored in a male-dominated society. I find myself in complete agreement with this. If they want to go ahead with this shite, the least they can do is ask girls how they feel about it. If they’re not happy, then Mr. Junior Trans can fuck off!

As if that weren’t bad enough, some stupid woman has been moaning because  her son was called Harry 2 at school. Apparently, this is erasing his ‘identity’. Christ Almighty! Is there no end to the things that folk find to complain about? God help her if her boy was at one of those old-fashioned, fee-paying schools, where boys from the same family are called Jones Major, Jones Minor and Jones Minimus. (I don’t know what happens if there are more than three.) God help her too if her boy had been in one of my classes, where I used first name and the surname’s initial if there were two or more with the same name; for example, I had a Kirsty T and a Kirsty W. I even shortened some names, like when I called Melissa ‘Mel’. Her surname began with ‘C’, so, obviously I used that as well. Those poor children and their identities!

Usually, I taught children that were old enough to write their own names on their jotters. I had no rules about this, except, of course, when there was more than one Ryan and the like. They could write their full names if they wanted, but most were happy just to use an initial for their surname. Nobody complained about their ‘identities’ being erased. There was one incident, though, that nobody could have foreseen. John, who was in one of my classes in Glasgow, always wrote his name as John R (name changed to protect the innocent!). I thought nothing of it until a psychologist came to see him. Practically the whole school heard the uproar in the medical room, including John throwing a chair through the window. The psychologist asked him to write his name, which he did by writing John R. The psychologist insisted he write his full name, which sparked the violent outburst. It turned out that he couldn’t spell his surname! Strangely, John never seemed to have any bother with his identity.

We had the grandchildren overnight on Saturday, which is the first time we’ve had them both at the same time. Never again! They’re at that age where they easily get on each other’s nerves and we had to constantly break up fights. Then there were the tantrums, which never seem to happen when there’s only one staying with us. And the bursting into inconsolable tears for no apparent reason; that never happens either when one of them is on their own. Thank Christ we only had the one child; I’d have gone mental otherwise. Well, even more mental than I am now!

With Daniel in the house, we had to watch Little Baby Bum on Netflix; he demands it every time. If I have to hear about those wheels on that fucking bus going round and round once more… There’s a character in it, a bloke with a grey beard (you can see him below), who appears again and again and again. He drives the bus that has the wheels that go round and fucking round, he’s Old MacDonald, he’s the farmer that had a dog and Bingo was it’s name-o, the Grand Old Duke of York, the doctor to Miss Polly’s Dolly, a trumpeter in one band and a banjo player in another. And those aren’t the only things he does. The cunt’s got more jobs than that Miss Rabbit in Peppa Pig!

The single greatest cause of unemployment in LBB-land.

“Awright, troops? It wiz good tae weer ma poppy tap tae the game yistirday fur Armed Forces Day. It makes ye feel dead proud tae hink thit Raynjurz is the only team in the UK thit hiz aw they sodjers ‘n ‘at intae thur stadium. An’ fur aw they fuckers thit doubt The Peeppul’s commitment tae wur armed forces durin’ the war, jist remember thit they widnae’ve been able tae fight ower in Europe ‘n ‘at if we hidnae built ships fur thum tae fuckin’ go ower oan!”

If you’d care to read some books that show no discernible literary ability, you can find details here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Pat-Anderson/e/B075GL84WM/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1

Billy’s magnum opus is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B07HGVKC7X

Remember, if you’re skint for any reason, just drop me an e-mail at andrsptr@outlook.com and I’ll send you Kindle copies of any of my books for free.
I don’t need any big explanations or justifications – just ask!

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