People in glass houses

Yesterday, with Mrs McNasty out at a dungeon warming I enjoyed a most peaceful evening at home in the McNasty flat, listening to Wagner. I countered the natural tendency of Herr Wagner's compositions to induce psychotic illness by flicking through the November edition of Hairpiece and Queens; which contained its customary article about my friend and client Sir Elton.

The TV was flickering in the background and you can imagine my appalled astonishment when I recognised out the of the corner of my eye that dreadful toady, backstabber, all round good egg and weirdo the MP Simon Simon on the TV news. Skilled and nifty use of the TV remote and careful aiming of my left boot at the on/off switch of the gramaphone meant that i was able to catch the tail end of the report, in which i learned that said Simon Simon had posted an apparently amusing and tasteless video clip of himself pretending to be the Lord Chief Biscuit of the conservative party Mr Deidre Cameroon.

This was available for viewing at the www.youtube.com web site, sadly it is no longer in the public domain as it seems that Mr Simon has removed the offending video clap due to a number of complaints; fortunately the BBC saw fit to broadcast most of the offensive material at least twice. The video clap featured Mr Simon Simon dressed in a baseball cap pretending to have what i believe is known as 'street cred' and 'rapping' as it is known in hep and happening musical circles.

I believe that Mr Simon Simon's objective was to bring a plague upon the house of Cameroon which, it has to be said, has been having too good a time of it lately what with the Prime Minister Mr Tory Bore's continuing rise in the unpopularity polls and Mr Straw's much publicised offensive in the interest of community unity and racial harmony.

The most offensive part of said sordid 8mm home cine offering was in my opinion where Simon invited interested parties to sleep with his wife!. Who in their right mind would want sloppy seconds from any female with such appalling taste as to marry this obnoxious pile of puss? Give me Mrs Cameroon any day of the week; you will struggle to find such a fine and fragrant piece of totty this side of Mrs Thatcher i can tell you!

It's a good job that the fop haired, stripe suited dollop of dung that is Simon Simon represents the parish of Erdington and not Walsall East for if he was my MP i would invite him to sleep with Mrs McNasty, which i am sure would render such complete psychological damage that Mr Simon might even see sense and drop his support for Mr Gridiron Brown in favour of a proper leadership candidate; someone as appealling and appalling as Harriet Hardman perhaps?

Anyway enough ramblings, i have to put the finishing touches to a new hairpiece; a McNasty Long, Foppish, Floppy and Greasy with option baseball cap fastenings which by sheer coincidence i have to deliver in Erdington tomorrow morning.

Veiled threats

I have been considering the recent controversy surrounding Mr Jack Straw the well known party game and current leader of the House of Commons here in the UK. Those of us who keep up to date with current domestic affairs were somewhat puzzled by le Straw's stated view that he felt 'uncomfortable' when talking to women who wear 'the veil' whilst visiting him at his constituency surgery in Blackburn, Lancashire.

The poor fellow, no doubt already worried at having to visit a northern town where there are ten thousand holes, does not enjoy having conversations with women who prefer to spend their day looking at the world from the rather austere ,abeit black, textile equivalent of a Royal Mail letterbox.

I can understand the poor chumps misgivings, it is most disconcerting having a conversation with a pair of eyes staring at you through a slit; as I can testify. My readers will no doubt be familiar with Mrs McNasty's prediliction for 'exotic' dress and will sympathise with the sheer terror that can ensue when confronted with the female form dressed completely in black with eyes glinting menacingly through the eyeholes of a rubber balaclava.

However on this occasion I find myself unexpectedly agreeing whole heartedly with that great espouser of common sense and considered argument Mr Mutley Prescott, and like him I must take issue with Mr Straw's comments. Surely if a person (or even a foreign visitor) in a free country wishes to dress in a particular manner then that is a matter for them. If they wish to wear jeans and no bulky jacket whatsoever whilst embarking upon a perfectly innocent journey upon the London Tube then they should be allowed to do so. If a person were summarily executed for exercising their legitimate personal freedom in this way then there would quite rightly be an outcry. Similarly this maxim should apply to women who wish to wear 'the veil'. It is important that every woman should be free to be subjugated by their religion, by their men folk or as in the case of Mrs McNasty by their own deeply disturbed and unusual sexual tastes.

When I last met Mr Straw I have to say that i felt vaguely uncomfortable at the way that his eyes, red veined and watery, bulged out of his bottle ends at me. If he had been wearing a veil I would only have had to avoid his gaze and wouldn't have been distracted by his halitosis; perhaps he ought to consider investing in a McNasty 'wild and beardy'. This ever popular temporary face fungus is fashioned from goat hair, which is particularly effective when wet as it's distinctive smell more than masks the effects of the numerous cups of tea drunk while conducting surgeries to help anonymous undercover extremist terrorists claim their rightful benefits.

Business in the McNasty Wig and Hosiery Emporium has not been too brisk just lately, I am thinking that I might apply for a post as 'An Enraged Spokesman for the Muslim Community' as there appear to be plenty of opportunities and employment in this field at the present time.

May the 4th be with you

A beautiful sunny day here at McNasty Towers, i intend to sip cold beer under the shade of the blossoming lilac trees while leafing through my latest copy of 'Hairlo' magazine. I note that it contains an intriguing article entitled 'Toupe or not toupe - an investigation into the latest hair weave technology'. I fully anticipate this to be the usual rubbish touted by the rip off merchants in the hair weave industry. Of course as a purveyor of quality rugs to the gentry, celebs and politicos of our great land i am not an unbiased observer. But surely anyone with any sense has realised by now that this so called latest technology is nothing more than a scam designed to prey on the vanity of those too insecure to accept that their bodies and associated accoutrements are wearing out, and heading downhill to the crematorium or boot hill faster than the legs that can no longer carry them. Just ask the fine tunesmith, party giver and tantrum thrower Mr Elton Bog who was once famously 'treated' at one of these exclusive establishments; when he emerged his poor bonce looked as if it had been dealt with by a potato peeler and his eagerly anticipated new barnett was as sparse as the hairs on the scrotum of a Xoloitzcuintli (http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/xoloitzcuintle.htm). I told him later at his coming out party that his money would have been better spent if he had invested in a "McNasty middle aged special"; a new model toupe that i had quite recently patented and which to this day is popular with politicians and men of the cloth. Not only does it have that permanent unwashed, unkempt, slightly dull and lifeless appearance, but by dint of the ingeneous incorporation of a mini shredder it is able to dispense noticable quantities of dandruff directly onto the shoulders of both the wearer and innocent bystanders. It is cheap to run, requiring only one A4 sheet of scrap paper per day, and the wearer could certainly never be accused of being mutton dressed as lamb.

But enough of this, I'm off to my hammock before Mrs McNasty arrives home and begins nagging me to begin decorating the dungeon again.

The Gravy Train is leaking

I have spent an enjoyable bank holiday weekend, resting, pottering about the McNasty flat and being thankful that Mrs McNasty is away for a BDSM masterclass weekend in Somerset. However I have been troubled for most of the weekend as i puzzled over the state of our current government here in the UK.

Somewhere i have seen this before....

First there is Tony's sidekick the buffoon 'Mutley' Prescott, who has been caught with his pants down. This is quite a surprise to me as i believe that he is a keen advocate of the McNasty Undergarment Support System (MUSS); an ingenious design making the most of velcro and non-allergenic surgical tape. I'm not shocked that he is "a randy old sod" to quote his recent conquest Ms Tracey Sidebotham, and i am not shocked at his conduct with such attractive young(ish) totty. What shocks me is the fact that such a fragrant young lady should be even vaguely attracted to such an overweight opinionated oaf. There is no accounting for taste, perhaps Tracey enjoys being back scuttled by a tub of lard posing as a statesman but i have a sneaking suspicion that she simply sampled and enjoyed the exotic delights of the 'McNasty Merchant Seaman's Union Gimlet' which i supplied many years ago via mail order. I suspect that the upgraded 'McNasty Jaguar vibrating pubic wig' also maintained her interest. (In honour of the fat twat and his propensity for using 'two jags' unkind folk have been referring to him as 'two shags' but i suspect that he doesn't have a garage big enough to accomodate the actual number)

Next we have Mrs Patricia Hewitt, upsetting the nurses by claiming that the NHS has had it's best year yet; i suppose that if you measure success in terms of numbers of jobs lost, or amount of money spent (wasted) then she is probably right. Personnally i am fed up of hearing the sanctimonious drivel that emanates from within this apparently hollow human being. I am beginning to wonder whether she is in fact a cyborg, wired up to a control centre at number 10 and programmed to gush pro-Tony propaganda and spout meaningless statistics in a patronising tone (sic) when under pressure.

Finally we have Mr Charles Clarke, (who i presume must be a long term user of "McNasty's prosthetic ears", probably supplied through a third party reseller). Here is a man who claims that he is the right bloke to sort out the mess that exists as a result of his department releasing convicted foreign criminals into the community rather than deporting them. He is of course the right man for the job because he doesn't want to give up his hefty ministerial salary, his car, and the lifestyle to which he has become acustomed. To be fair to him, he inherited his department and its myriad problems from a prime exponent of the art of looking after number one (one D Blunkett esq), however, there is something dodgy about a bloke who is informed of such a major issue and promptly does nothing about it until he realises that the news has been leaked.

Of course Prince Tony, backs them all completely and will hear nothing of resignations, probably because he does not know the meaning of the word, even though i am sure that Gridiron Brown next door has tried to explain it to him a thousand times plus 50% income tax.

During the reign of the last Conservative government it became obvious that they would have to go, too many ministers making too many gaffs while lapping at the greasy brown sauce. It seems to me that the gravy train for this current lot of self serving, pompous, self righteous, preaching, "we know what's best for you", hypocrites is about to come off the rails.

When this happens I. Dougal Pontias McNasty, wigmaker, prosthetics expert, etc, etc, will celebrate by designing a new underarm hair fastening device for the German market.

The Apprentice

After a hard day at the emporium where i supervised my assistant Josiah Quint as he fashioned a new truss out of a discarded Watney's Party Seven tin, a bicycle pedal and a hair net, i retired to the flat above the shop intent on rest and relaxation with a good bottle of single malt and some raspberry jam. No sooner had i settled in front of the TV to watch Colin and Justin in their eagerly anticipated masterclass "Two jessies go househunting in a Range Rover" than the telephone rang and i was reminded by my new friend the recorded voice on the BT alarm call service that i was due at the Nag's Nostril for a bit of a social and a meeting with my old mate Sir Alan Sacharine (or Aspartame if you prefer). He has been pestering me for the last eight weeks for advice regarding his new money making vehicle "The Apprentice", a highly popular televisual treat that is currently being broadcast by the BBC.

In this program twelve victims have been chosen to compete for a job paying £100,000 per year. As I explained to his royal sweetness in the bar early on in the series, i wouldn't work for him if he paid ten times that amount. "I know you too well old thing; you'd spend all your time breathing down my neck and checking up on me. You're a control freak and no matter how you try to dress yourself up you're still a market trader and proud of it! And you won't want anyone shouting the odds on your stall except your goodself." Of course he takes it in good part, as he and i have been good friends since the time that i helped him out of a tight spot by fashioning a particularly outstanding facial toupe just in time for his investiture at the palace; he'd managed to get his own face fur singed in a particularly dodgy deal with a bloke called Drake (or was it Raleigh?), something to do with Spanish Armadillo smuggling. Anyway the McNasty "Brash yet humble" design perfectly complemented his ready wit and repartee. Her Majesty was most impressed with my latest innovation; the tone control, which allows the wearer to choose the appropriate smattering of grey simply by adjusting a wheel built into the cufflinks of the wearer. Sir Sacharine was able to demonstrate various settings ranging from, "cute and amiable", through "impish yet masterful" to "worn out and vindictive".

I told him that if anyone should get the old heave ho from his televised barrow boy training school this week, it had to be the boy Sayeed; "You can't have two Alan Sacharines working together", I said. "But i like the guy", came the reply. "Exactly!", I countered.

Fur ever friends

I could not help noticing that my old friend and his charming new wife were on the TV last night complaining about the fur trade again. The "McItsokyoucangetoffyourknees" are a dedicated pair of do gooders that never cease to amaze with their constant campaigning on matters that those of us who have a mortgage to pay either couldn't give a stuff about or are too busy keeping the wolves from the door to get involved.

I must say, that I, like so many of my friends from the Dog and Ferret, am horrified at the prospect of soft furry animals being used as adornment for the so called bodies of half-starved bony apologies for women that pass themselves off as stylish and sell the rights to their continuous weddings and hard luck stories to "Ok" and "Hello" magazines.

Having conducted a straw poll at the bar yesterday evening I can report that most of us would prefer to see a few buxom well fed wenches, such as Marylyn Monroe or Mrs Thatcher wearing a smile and very little else than a walking skeleton wrapped in leopard skin pouting moodily as she glides down a catwalk contemplating her next mug of cocoa. (Which i believe is their recreational drug of choice.)

So I'm right behind Sir Macca and his bird, good luck to them, they have my support, which is ironic when you consider that I am currently renovating one of his! Of course though he may deny it I can exclusively reveal that he has been a client ever since the late sixties when I had to knock up that ridiculous bushy beard for the "Let it Be" album. Since then we have enjoyed a very close hate, hate relationship as I have helped him through the ups and downs of his career. From the highs of "Ebony and Ivory" to the crazed depravity of "The Frog Chorus", McNasty has been somewhere providing soothing balm, hair nets and surgical support stockings for McCarthy. In fact in the word of one of the songs that i gave to him before he became famous it seems like only "yesterday", (although it was probably never), that he came personally to the emporium for a fresh supply of the almost orange dye that I normally use on my 'not quite ginger but so obvious it's dyed' range. He's also got me working on a custom truss for his upcoming 'Zimmers over America' tour....It's such a shame though that he spoiled his good name with those communist witch hunts all those years ago.....