Monthly Archives: January 2014

Hotbox Three. The Scotmid Connection

Friends and readers.

The ongoing misadventures of our new friends in the North the Hotbox Three have proved quite a hit with our wide and growing readership, and so we continue with their latest bumblings.

The unofficial leader of the group is hard to determine but since the Hotbox in theory belongs to Dopey, it’s therefore by default that he is the group leader and official spokesperson on the issues of the day. Deadloss and hopeless are permanent guests or is it pests and are skilled in the art of mooching, something that is a rite of passage for the Hotbox Three. So the put upon parent rarely gets a breath between meals and ass wiping before it starts all over again.

Dopey has a permanent memory block when it comes to cleaning up after him while the other two geniuses would live in shit up to their knees before they tidied up. But in their favour each has a skill that matches their ability. As we have said Dopey has a permanent memory block over anything resembling cleaning, while hopeless just has a glazed eye look which lets him off the hook when it comes to virtually,anything, then again his world is in the third dimension somewhere. Deadloss by comparison seems to drift in and out of mainstream thinking which is handy as he  can stop mid sentence and forget the last word he said, but then again you could say that about all three.

So our intrepid three whose pink elephant world is supplemented by the occasional intake of fresh air just to remind themselves whether it’s day or night, wouldn’t make much of a difference to them but it’s a talking point. Our friends are so slow on the uptake they must have been Scotmid trained, or certainly by the chap with marmalade on his chin and strange stains on his shirt. They would make excellent Scotmid employees, slow, thinking of other things and visible by their absence.

The put upon parent is philosophical about the shenanigans of the Hotbox three and dons the shield of invincibility with mask and gloves when cleaning up after them, something that the Hotbox three would just scream in horror if they had to as much as pick up a fag paper. Recently our free thinking three got themselves a carryout, now dear friends this is an achievement in itself as we have it on authority but as yet unconfirmed they actually paid for it themselves and even more astonishing they went for it themselves, it needed the three of them to decide who was going to carry what and how they should get to the carryout place, whether by bus, taxi or heavens forbid walk even though the place was only a few hundred yards away, decisions, decisions.

We are reliably informed by a source close to the three musketeers, surprise is anyone would want to get close to them but nevertheless that’s the case, that a foreign body was milling around in the lovely shiney container, enjoying what almost resembled a sauce, in fact we are informed that the foreign body had just completed it’s 15th length of the container doing the breaststroke. Our six legged friend provided no fear for our intrepid three who rather than use up energy more usefully employed, they decided after a lengthy pause for the single thought that they had to eat round the spider who by this time had grown an extra leg or two, something we think was due to the strange brew that resembled a sauce.

Our delicate palated three took no prisoners and got stuck in 8 legged growing spider and all. The one suspicion that aroused their normally dead from the neck up demeanor was, who ate the extra fried prawn ball. Nobody owned up, the put upon parent was nowhere to be seen so they could not be accused, there was no other hangers on around abusing the hospitality, so our Hotbox three were puzzled not for the first or last time in their lives. Dopey was first up with a gem of wisdom, ”some fucker nicked it on the way home” A silence and a murmur of don’t think so. Deadloss came up with his theory,  useless must have sold it on the way back. Again a silence fell over the now badly smelling Hotbox, but Dopey thought that this theory might have some merit, but quickly dismissed it as it required more thought so that ruled that theory out.

Useless by this time had sneakily polished off most of this delightful Chinese end of the night offerings, and was keenly eyeing up the spider who by now had miraculously grown yet another leg. Useless, plastic fork at the ready was poised over the now 9 legged spider ready to strike and polish off a nice somewhat dodgy carry out which he had because of his pleading of having forgotten his wallet got for bugger all. Both Deadloss and Dopey unaware of what useless was up to decided that one of them must have eaten it without knowing it, sounds plausible.

Useless struck but missed our now 10 legged friend going straight through the shiney container and into his leg, ouch, but Deadloss showed no mercy and told him that it served him right for eating the extra fried prawn ball without telling anyone, Dopey concurred or just nodded his head as the dispute was above his head. Strange thing though, as the evening drew to a close and the curtain came down on another nights mooching, Useless started to feel a little light headed, nothing you might think unusual in that, but both Dopey and Deadloss who it must be said were free of any Amsterdam tobacco noticed that Useless was climbing up the inside wall of the Hotbox with remarkable ease, and in fact was clinging to the roof of the Hotbox with gay abandon.

No-one knows what actually happened except Dopey and Deadloss and both of these dandy’s would forget their names unless someone reminded them, but Useless was last seen flying between buildings as he looked for another place to doss, and the missing fried prawn ball was still nowhere to be seen.

A Union Of Conscientious Officialdom

Friends and readers.

Have you ever wondered why this City of ours has so many overpaid officials who wouldn’t if the truth be told survive in the real world and would certainly never be paid the unseemly amounts they do employed with the City. Many of our wide and growing readership will have heard the same tired old shit rolled out whenever the questions are asked, why on earth do we need these overpaid pen pushers and what exactly do they do apart from slow everything up?. We need to pay the best to get the best, so where did Edinburgh go wrong.

Starting at the appointment only door of Chief Executive Sue 3 jobs Bruce, down through the ranks of Director of this and that, then assistant Director  of this and that, then assistant to the assistant Director of this and that, you have to wade through that lot before you actually meet someone if you ever do that actually does something that improves the City or helps the needy, sick or disabled. The wage bill is astronomical and if a few cuts are needed here and there and judging by finance guru Alistair MaClean latest burblings then we could start with some of this dead wood.

But as you all know that won’t happen, it’s the front line employees who will get culled first, it always is regardless of what colour is in power. And on top of that easy route is the run down of services leaving our roads and pavements in a dreadful state, squeeze the school budgets but leave the officials in place collecting their fat salaries for ruling over a smaller public sector. Our old mate Prada Hinds who has presided over a billion pound disaster has an army of well paid officials helping her to make a horses ass out of this  Tram travesty. The official gravy train has not slowed down in fact quite the opposite as we the citizens witness the run down of a once great city.

We heard recently from Eric look at me Milligan about how the City was booming, yes it probably is from the sanctuary of the City Chambers balcony and for the well heeled, but for the rest of the punters forget it. Nothing has changed for the faceless overpaid so called senior people who inhabit Waverley Court. Their cushioned lifestyle has bypassed the financial crash as if it didn’t exist and for them it didn’t. Now we have a South African mob promising that the revived Carlton gate project will be the eighth wonder of the world, and of course no doubt a few senior penpushers will ride on the back of that.

Here in Sunny Forth we have our own little kingdom of well paid officials who do exactly what remains the question. Neighbourhood manager Pete[formerly the perm] Strong is on a nice little earner so doesn’t give a toss about what happens to the punters under his stewardship as he’s alright Jack. His sidekick Henry houdini 2 jobs Coyle the master of disaster is doing alright thank you very much but nobody knows exactly what it is he does as nobody can find him, and when they do he has the knack of being able to run faster than a Formula One racing car. Their ability to create a wall of other officials to protect their own positions is uncanny, each with their own title which has little or no relationship to the job they are actually supposed to be doing. They are Pete’s own version of a human shield designed to deflect any flak that might come our Pete’s way.

This template is of course replicated City wide so the average Joe never really gets anywhere, this of course applies to our noble elected leaders, many whom wouldn’t know a real job if it kicked them in the ass. This dear friends has left us with an endless list of tired worn out old excuses for why things can’t be done and more excuses about why there is no money to spend on this or that project. Nobody dare suggest we dispense with the services of say 50% of the senior rabble that costs us a fortune and reinvest in worthwhile ventures. If it were suggested and we at Pilton Sucks are suggesting exactly that then once again we would be bombarded with reasons and costs of such an idea and how impracticable it would be and how the City would grind to a standstill and we would all be swallowed up as these punters are the backbone of our City.

Well as long as these fat salaried, tidy pensions nonentities do as little as possible and in  one or two cases pick up another job or two while they are at it, isn’t that right Sue then we will go on hearing the same excuses, the same rubbish about how we need to pay the best to get the best. That  crap usually comes from workshy politicians who would fall fall on their faces if they didn’t’ get briefed on how to write their names.

Pay As you Go As Long As You Don’t Forget

Friends and readers.

Just as you think the laughs are good and can’t get any better, up pops our very own dog fouling czar, the man who has made the squint tie a must have fashion accessory, long time chair, most say to long of the Forth Neighbourhood Partnership, City Safety Leader, that should make us all feel secure, apprentice to the sorceror herself Lesley Prada Hinds and a huge supporter of local democracy as long as it’s in his favour, yes dear friends it’s our mate and regular sucks reader Cammy squint tie day.

Well well well, it seems our mate and rabid sucks reader cuddly Cammy has been caught using his mobile phone while behind the wheel of a car, naughty boy Cammy. But it gets better dear friends, not only did Cammy fall foul of the law he forgot to pay the fine so up it went to the sheriff court. You just couldn’t make this up. As a matter of interest we are told by a source close to our new felon Cammy that he was reading Pilton Sucks at the time to find out what was going on in his ward.

Posing happily for the Evening News, Cammy said that he didn’t deny the charge, kind of difficult to deny it when he was banged to rights. Now we know our mate Cammy is a busy joe and he is caught up at the moment writing his runners up speech for the Edinburgh West Constituency, where he has been unlucky enough to be selected as the comrades candidate. We can’t hold it against him for reading Pilton Sucks he has to get his Community news from somewhere, but he should have had a hands free kit, which meant he could have done all sorts of things with his mobile phone, including tuning in to Pilton Sucks.

We understand that he spoke to his journey woman right away on getting busted but Prada Hinds ran for the hills, lucky it wasn’t on the Trams she wouldn’t have got very far. Once Prada realised that the nations favourite dog fouling czar was reading Pilton Sucks when caught inflategro dialecto the first question she asked him was did she get a mention. Our bestest mate and fanatical sucks reader Prada thought that the best way to handle it was to form a committee which she would chair and get yet another allowance of course, and have an inquiry into why Cammy should get busted when he was reading the nations favourite website which our friends the police also read, something we got straight from the horses mouth.

Cammy of course will have his street cred enlarged with the ned element but unfortunately they don’t vote probably because marking an x on a ballot paper is just a little much for their pea sized brains.  Better of kicking bins and bus shelters.  As a matter of record there has been a number of break ins recently including in Cammy’s neck of the woods Drylaw. What has our City safety leader have to say about that, better reading Pilton Sucks we will advise him.

So our mate who has set the fashion world on fire with his wide range of squint ties none of which are made by Prada, our mate Lesley has the franchise on that number, and has enraged the dog poo loving punters, has now another string to his bow or ringtone on his phone, an Elton John Song from the album Don’t shoot me I’m only the piano player. HAVE MERCY ON THE CRIMINAL

An Orchard in Provence

Friends and readers.

We would like to start this post with a little reminder to some of our leftie comrades who should be minded that when supping with the devil no spoon is long enough.

So it comes to pass that comrade Lamont, Scottish Labour’s leader was positively drooling over the Tory’s favourite rag the Daily Telegraph. In fact she drooled over this horrible rag at First Minister’s Question time. Not satisfied with that her front bench comrade Kezia Dugdale wrote a little something for the Daily Mail, another right wing rag that supported the Fascists back in the 30′s and has if you bother to read between the lines a sneaky fondness for UKIP.

This was the very same ass wipe that smeared her comrade Colleague Ed Milibands Father, nice one Kezia. Both these rags are edited in London with their English editions regularly carrying their poisonous shit attacking Scotland as a country full of scroungers. Nice one Kezia. Who elects these idiots and worse still who allows these idiots to open their mouths never mind write anything down.

Will our comrades never understand that these Tory rags which makes the NEN blog look interesting hate the very people Labour need to get elected. But of course Labour are now selecting a better class of candidate, none of these awful working types for our comrades. Comrade Lamont and her bunch of losers just don’t get it, in fact they have never had it. While they suck up to the middle classes who think that tax is something you put pictures up with, and should only be paid by these dreadful working types, their so called traditional support is being ignored except when they are needed to put leaflets through doors or support their chosen candidates, or stand in the pouring rain singing the red flag.

If we didn’t know better we would think that Labour actually hate the poor and weak more than the Tories, only the Tories don’t try to hide it. Will the working class candidate please stand up, or on second thoughts don’t bother you might get expelled for not supporting the bused in no neckers who once met a worker and have been on medication ever since.

Go East Young Man

Friends and readers.

Our wide and growing readership woke up this morning to a somewhat pleasant morning, a little wet but not too cold. That’s the end of the forecast dear friends, but even better our friend and secret Sucks reader Former Lord Provost Eric The noise Milligan gave us his words of wisdom telling us all that Edinburgh was performing well due to the cultural scene, a bigger airport and the high achieving young people that are coming from far and wide to go to our University.

Far be it from us to contradict this stalwart of the constitution, but we remind our secret Sucks reader that Edinburgh is not just the City Center, and that this so called booming economy has for some reason by passed the punters in the housing schemes in this culturally diverse City. These very punters are the ones who have suffered the most and continue to do so. A bigger airport, an arts festival and a University or two that very few working class kids ever get the chance to go to is hardly a cause for celebration, although our former Provost and secret Sucks reader forgot to mention Edinburgh’s and Scotlands biggest travesty and a Labour disaster, the Billion pound Tram system.

We down here in sunny Forth can see for ourselves the result of Tory cuts, a lack of educational opportunities, job prospects abysmal, services being run down and a Neighbourhood partnership that has disappeared from view to all but the Labour lackies. A cultural scene which the tourists wouldn’t want to see and streets covered in dog shit[wheres Cammy when you need him] So our secret Sucks reader and self promotionist is out of touch having spent years avoiding a real job hiding in the City Chambers spouting his ill informed views.

On the other hand we are delighted that for the few the City is booming and we are over the moon that a billion pounds of taxpayers dosh has been wasted on ferrying a few package holiday makers from the airport to the booming City Center. But we can all sleep soundly in our beds if we are fortunate to have them knowing that our City fathers are promoting Edinburgh. We remind them that the majority of the residents don’t feel this boom, and don’t give a toss if the Airport has a few extra seats and the overpriced festival is exclusive to the culture Vultures, and a few privileged kids can spend their parents money on the booze and education that the working class kids can’t get near.

Who the fuck would vote Labour.

The Panther The Warlock And The Welsh Dresser

Friends and readers.

The Establishment and their pals in the media are wetting themselves over the potential return of the 50p tax rate. These greedy bastards are doing very nicely thank you very much, and are the same people crowing about the need to stop scrounging on the welfare state. While these real life spongers bemoan what is only a distant possibility, and knowing politicians liable to be altered before any election takes place, this nation is going back to the days of the poor house where we had to be thankful for any scraps we got from our betters.

It’s now being called anti business and the panic has already started. Labour need to go much further if we are to reverse the penal policies that have forced many into poverty and that’s the ones who work, those who have no income other than benefits are already knocking at the door of the poor house. So while our betters choke over their sugar free espressos at the thought of any of their wealth going towards helping others our nation is still very much on the rocks.

A return to a 50p tax band for high earners will raise just under 100 million pounds, not nearly enough to reverse the descent into poverty for many. So we need much more done and in some ways it’s understandable that an opposition would not want to reveal all their tax and spend proposals, given the latest knee jerk reaction to what after all is only a proposal at the moment.

The Tories will use every weapon in their large armory to twist any idea that might start to give people back a sense of hope in what is for many a hopeless situation. While they gloat about a suspicious growth rate and please their friends in the city, real unemployment is still obscenely high, job prospects for many Communities are nil and the forces of the state are poised to strike again at the living standards of families throughout the land.

This dear friends is the new world the Tories promised, more for the better off, no punishment of any kind for the criminals who caused the financial crash, no confiscation of the hidden dirty money in offshore accounts, and a ruthless attack on the weakest and most vulnerable in our society. They have delivered on all this and have promised to carry on much to the glee of those who fund them and pull the strings.

The blatant overt attack on all that we have fought for is merciless, and if they are not stopped will conceivable end with a nation so fractured and divided it will never be able to recover, and with it a modern day Dickensian vision becomes a distinct possibility. So the possible return of the 50p tax band for high earners pales into insignificance as our nation teeters on the brink of a black hole so large that no amount of money will fill it. And into that black hole will fall countless of our citizens, who for no other reason other than they were poor and the natural enemies of the Tories.

Free View

Friends and readers.

As our wide and growing readership are aware, Pilton Sucks is self financing and gets no funding or hand outs from anyone. So therefore it follows that we can say and hold any view we want, and we will.

So we were surprised to see that a publicly funded information sheet was  playing politics with taxpayers dosh. Our friends over at the Labour supporting NEN had a pro independence poster on their site albeit for only 4 hours then it was pulled. Now we at Pilton Sucks are all for freedom of speech even though some freedom loving individuals have tried to have Sucks shut down. Seems it didn’t work.

Now let’s play a little politics without taxpayers dosh to back us up. Labour have only a 400 majority for the Holyrood seat in Edinburgh North and Leith. So with this constituency looking like it might vote yes in the referendum and the potential candidate having put both her feet in it by waving the Unionist flag the comrades have a problem. So what better than jump on the yes bus and then claim the credit when the constituency votes yes.

Simple isn’t it. Currently in the doldrums past Labourites are coming out of the woodwork to jump on the bandwagon. The yes campaign we are sure welcomes everybody and rightly so, but we warn against it being used for a tired old party and it’s hacks to try and make some sort of comeback. In the meantime Edinburgh City Council should look very carefully at what they are funding, and make sure that those that use public funds for political motives are pegged back and at the very least warned that funding will be removed should it be used for political play acting.

Change And Remain The Same

Friends and readers

Labour have promised, yes we know that’s a novelty, to return the 50p tax rate to those earning over 150,000 pounds a year. Big deal, might raise enough to get a couple of McDonalds top of the range Burgers and a couple of sugar free coffee’s, but as for helping with the banker’s made deficit it’s a non starter. Ed balls thinks this is the Socialist heaven which will rush them back into office.

Let us help our Ed a tad. Forget 150,000 lets go a little further and bring it down to 100,000, still leaves enough for a Greggs Steak Bake. Let’s go even further, let’s have a tax rate of 90p in the pound for all bonuses over 10,000 and 50p under 10,000. Now you can have a greasy Steak Bake and a sticky bun as well.

No mention in Ed’s speech of a reversal of the criminal attacks on the poor. No mention in Ed’s speech of the removal of the hated spare room tax, of course not can’t give the minions anything they might want more, perish the thought. Labour  are all but finished, grasping at straws ignoring the need for a complete root and branch overhaul and reform of a system that is corrupt and bankrupt and supported by his gaffer the other Ed. The labour luvies will be waving their copies of the Guardian in the air more in the relief that their lifestyle won’t be disrupted, as the Tory press and media will guarantee that Labour won’t win the next election, needn’t have bothered they had no chance anyway.

So our luvies can continue with their book learned Socialism confident that their real pals whose lifestyle they really hanker after might be within their grasp if Vatman and Dobbin win again, they have promised they will subsidise any increase in the cost of the Guardian, that should sign and seal it. There will be no dramatic much needed social and economic reform so desperately needed. There will be no salvation package for the most needy in our society, and certainly come the next election there will be very few Labour candidates that have ever had a real job, or even met a worker other when they have to press the flesh when cadging for votes, then they love the poor, that’s until they are elected then it’s highdays and holidays as it’s business as usual and bowing to the establishment privately promising that they won’t be harmed or touched by these nasty little workshy scroungers who will be put in their place by whatever Government get’s in.

Right lads we’re in so it’s the Queen first need to polish the shoes and straighten the tie, then it’s a few patronising words for the masses then it’s into Number 10 and find out what the Guardian wants us to do, and then we can start to make sure nothing changes and our pals in the city make as much as they can and bugger the rest. Keep the Royal Family in comfort and splendour and tell the mugs the usual crap that they bring millions in tourism into the country, course they do, and at the same time make sure that public spending is slashed to allow our betters to thrive we need these people to make the country work, course we do how stupid we have been to think otherwise.

So Ed and his mate the other Ed can push the socialist boat out, well untie the rope anyway and just let the boat drift until it hits the rocks of elite island where the tax free fat cats relax from the stress of dodging their taxes and worrying about the cost of having to hire their own private jet to fuck off to another tax free paradise where they can enjoy the fruits of others labours. It’s a hard life but Ed and his mate the other Ed can ease the stress of the tax dodging, thieves and robbers who with Government patronage continue to thrive, and then, join the workshy scrounging politicians in condemning these awful poor people who have caused all this misery in the first place.

Ah yes Comrades you can just hear the victory song now as Ed enters Downing Street, the one with the funny hairstyle. The working class can kiss my ass i’ve got the gaffers job at last. well for a wee while anyway.

Salvation’s Army Or The Put Upon Parent

Friends and readers.

While our bestest mate, regular sucks reader, pretty much chair of everything, inspired Tram champion, catwalk queen, flag waving Unionist, and dedicated follower of fashion, Lesley Prada Hinds plots her way to join the other gravy train comrades of the Holyrood set, the Hotbox three our other friends in the North have no such lofty ambitions. Not for them the smug fuckers meeting at Davos in Switzerland, in fact it’s a certainty they wouldn’t have a scoobie were it was, nor do they care, as this all seeing and all knowing threesome and cronies have got it all sorted.

Not needing any kind of constructive advice, why would they, as the put upon parents do everything for them believing it’s their divine right to do just as they please, not knowing that every time they take a step into the real world, or for them sniff the air outside the Hotbox dangers lurk everywhere. Dangers such as alarm clocks and gainful employment, dig money, and the worst danger of them all the very thought brings on suicidal tendencies, having to clean up behind them. Dopey thought that any mess cleaned itself up, Deadloss thought that the whole world or anything outside the Hotbox was always messy, and Hopeless just gave up as the thought of thinking was too dreadful to contemplate.

While the wisdom of the Oracle bypasses our friends, the put upon parents strive to advise their little darlings just what is going on outside in the big bad world today. No the streets are not paved with plants that can be harvested and smoked, nor does the Guardian wrapped fish suppers come free of charge. Our Hotbox friends have an airhead view of society where everything is handed to them and why wouldn’t it be. The very thought of having to take or even listen to advice is tantamount to an interview with the Spanish Inquisition.

Not for them an in depth conversation on structural tax reform, or the current price of gold, fracking, Dopey thought that was a new swear word, or any other of these unimportant meaningless issues, especially when there is partying to be done. Oh the age of innocence passes ever so quickly, and reality bites and when it does it’s usually on the bum, and then comes the shout that every put upon parent knows is coming it’s just a matter of time. MUUUUUUUUUM

Who Dun It

Friends and readers

Our new friends in the North The Hotbox Three and cronies have come together to try and figure out who it was and which one of them picked up some rubbish that they dropped at their feet. Such was the shock of one of the Hotbox three or cronies that someone would dare tidy up behind them each in turn could barely utter a coherent word, nothing new there then.

An internal investigation took place with the promise of harsh penalties should the culprit be discovered. At this point the put upon parent was nowhere to be seen having made a getaway to the sanctuary of the workplace. Someone was going to be excommunicated and forced to wear a sign round their neck as the one who dared tidy up. Fury surrounded the closeted world of the Hotbox three and for the guilty one there would be no hiding place.

The put upon parent had no idea of the earthquake like rumblings that were taking place as they enjoyed the peace and quiet of somewhere less like a war zone. A chance was being taken as should the put upon parent stay away too long then there could be mayhem as the Hotbox three continued with their witch hunt. The internal investigation continued at pace with the evidence of other cronies being used to trap the culprit who dared pick up something he threw at his ass.

The code of honour that forbids a Hotbox member or cronie tidying behind them had been broken and this had the horrific possibility of a precedent being set. The internal investigation gathered pace and after a grilling by the founder members the culprit was discovered, and begging for mercy he realised that he had fallen on his own sword and vowed to do penance as he was the one who had broken the code of honour. Satisfied at their code returning to normal and business as usual the Hotbox three and cronies relaxed in the serene knowledge that tidying up behind them was just a momentary loss of sanity they all relaxed surrounded by the crap they dropped at their feet. The kitchen prisoner would be back at some time and would be mandated to tidy up.