Monthly Archives: January 2016

The Murmuration Of The Starlings

Friends and readers.

So our old pal and raconteur Andy pandy Burns also as it happens and unluckily for the punters of Edinburgh, the Council leader, suppose we should be thankful and relieved it’s not hopeless Hinds, has decided to try and cover up the huge bankrupt mess him and his cronies have got us into and have a throwing the dummy out of the pram exercise with Finance minister John laugh a minute Swinney. Edinburgh shity Council tops the league for being the most incompetent corrupt City in the Country and if the Scottish Government had any sense they would launch an investigation into the mismanagement of the City, but they won’t as it would drag in the SNP the other half of this useless administration. Tens of millions of pounds wasted and no one brought to account for it. Corrupt officials running amok and Councillors running about like headless chickens seemingly unable or unwilling to get a grip of the situation and boot these crooks out.

Burn’s and his cronies, have held a shotgun to the heads of every resident and visitor in Edinburgh. How much more money is he going to chuck away. This man along with his cronies should be thrown out of local government as being TOTALLY incompetent.
Even now with him bleating on about not getting enough money he is still wanting to spend millions on unwanted cycle ways, unwanted tram extensions, 20mph limits, giving away lucrative property at giveaway prices, allowing stupid building plans and the threat of Edinburgh losing it’s heritage status, golden handshakes for poor performances, the continuous over spend on brown envelopes, increase parking cost well over the inflation rates for many many years., etc, etc, ect….. The man should be locked away along with his cronies and the key thrown away.

It’s pitiful at best but there are no words to express the sheer stupidity and total incompetence of a bunch of party hacks only to willing to turn a blind eye to corrupt officials singing their own tune and wasting valuable scarce resources on pie in the sky projects, while chancers get away with daylight robbery. Sucks has in the past asked what Jim Rafferty and his pals at Capital City Partnership do for the City, nobody seems to know, but whatever it is it can’t be very much, so why are they still there?

Why has millions been spent on consultants or pals of pals when we have these grossly overpaid officials supposedly doing a job we are paying again for someone else to do? Why was former head honcho Sue three jobs Bruce allowed to get away with overtly corrupt behavior and then praised for creating a mirage so she could line her own pockets? Those who have any balls and that’s in serious doubt at Scottish Government level should demand to have a look at the City’s books and see for themselves how this bankrupt mess has been created. Better be quick or there might be another break in, similar to the one that saw many of the incriminating Tram debacle papers disappear.

Obnoxious Bureaucrats

Friends and readers.

We are surrounded and hemmed in by Bureaucracy. In the event of Armageddon the Bureaucrats would need to be saved to persecute any survivors. For those who have had the misfortune to have got involved with Edinburgh shity Council, they like many councils have an army of faceless over paid Bureaucrats, officials to give them their Sunday name, and these chancers like nothing more than to frustrate anything getting done that they don’t approve of or are getting a backhander for.

So we at Sucks thought that we would put together a short synopsis of our unfriendly and sometimes crooked Bureaucrat.

In any bureaucratic organization there will be two kinds of people: those who work to further the actual goals of the organization, and those who work for the organization itself… [I]n all cases, the second type of person will always gain control of the organization, and will always write the rules under which the organization functions.”

This person is the ultimate pencil pusher from a government agency or corporation, and he creates the red tape that normal citizens hate. He/she is an unlikeable Punch Clock Villain with a bad temper and a sizable streak of callousness. Works for any and all bureaucracies, including Department of Child Disservices, banks and possibly even your own afterlife. His/her job, storywise, is to get in the way of whatever the heroes need to do, sometimes because what the heroes are doing is against some form of regulations, but other times because the character is a Jerkass who just doesn’t like the heroes and is using “regulations” to make their lives difficult. In disaster movies and other works that lack a real villain, expect this person to be the work’s resident Hate Sink.
Sometimes he/she can be restored to humanity by uncovering the secret dream buried deep beneath his efficient exterior. Failing that, you may be able to use their respect for Exact Words against them.
On the other hand, sometimes he/she is obstructing a Matter of Life and Death. Threat of force, or actual force, may be needed to get by him/her. A common cause of Divided We Fall. Many a surreptitious entry into, or exit from, a location, or requisition of supplies, is needed because it would take too long to get by him/her. Almost all this form-filling out serves no useful purpose; for the hero to put in a list that will allow him access to a facility, for instance, is a very rare subversion.
Rarely, in a Matter of Life and Death, a benevolent Obstructive Bureaucrat will go and obstruct the villain. He/she may actively devise regulations to impede and hinder him/her, and then, with the same mindless fervor as any other bureaucrat, insist on there being followed to the letter.
The tropes: Beleaguered Bureaucrat, Department of Child Disservices, and Social Services Does Not Exist, overlap since they all involve the same problems. The employees are often overworked, underpaid, lack resources, and suffer the public’s wrath. They then turn into the Obstructive Bureaucrat and use Bothering by the Book to slow down the workload or get revenge on the people who make unreasonable demands.
This trope also has a darker version, where the character is still a government employee concerned with the bottom line, but what he does in daily work probably violates the Geneva Convention. He is likely to be a murderer and/or a torturer who defends himself by saying “I’m just doing my job”. In short, he is a Well-Intentioned Extremist whose overriding motivation is being Employee of the Month.
Note that this is not the same as the Knight Templar, another type of Well-Intentioned Extremist. The Knight Templar does horrible things for some greater good, whereas the Obstructive Bureaucrat has no concept of “greater good”, and cares only about following procedure, or rather believes that procedure is equivalent to the “greater good”. He’s not just prone to Just Following Orders: as long as the orders match the rules he thinks it’s his job to enforce and follow, Just Following Orders is what he is all about. In another sense, where the Knight Templar is the extreme leader, the Obstructive Bureaucrat is the extreme follower.
If he has no idea that the job he’s doing is evil, he may be a Clueless Deputy. This sort of Obstructive Bureaucrat can be drawn into a Heel-Face Turn or Freak Out more readily than one who does know and just feels it’s none of his business (a fella’s gotta eat)…

This extract was taken from the ERIC ADAIR AND PETER WATTON book of rules on how to fuck you over, enrich yourself and cost the taxpayers a fortune with of course no accountability and lining their own pockets.

It’s coming Like Death And Taxes

Friends and readers.

Very soon we will be bombarded with all the usual shit and promises as prospective MSP’s start their campaigns to get their nose in the Holyrood trough. Sucks will be with the campaigns all the way but particularly focusing on Edinburgh North and Leith where our mate Prada Hinds is trying to hold the seat for Labour and increase her salary at the same time. With a wafer thin majority early signs seem to indicate she will get her ass felt and be rejected by the voters, surely the voters cannot be that stupid and elect hopeless Hinds, but you never know and there is still a lot of campaigning to be done yet.

It would appear to be a two horse race at this early stage with SNP candidate Ben your honour McPherson looking to win the seat but his main problem is the ass holes he has running his campaign and if rumors are true Benny boy would need a search party to help him find out what is going on in the constituency, he’s lost but will have his trusty A to Z tucked away in his pocket to help him locate the the areas where he needs to drag the vote out if he is to have any chance of winning. And fictitious nonsense on Facebook won’t help his cause, at least the voters know hopeless Hinds is a prat, Benny boy still has some mileage yet to prove his prat status, but we are sure that with his woeful campaign team he will manage to convince the mug voter that he also has the qualifications to be a first rate prat.

So we at the Nations favorite blog site Pilton Sucks will kick things off with a short story that has a twist in the tale.
It’s a humorous tale if you like that sort of thing.

While walking down the street one day a “Member of Parliament” is tragically hit by a truck and dies.
His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
‘Welcome to heaven,’ says St. Peter. ‘Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we’re not sure what to do with you.’
‘No problem, just let me in,’ says the man.
‘Well, I’d like to, but I have orders from higher up. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity.’
‘Really, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in heaven,’ says the MP.
‘I’m sorry, but we have our rules.’

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.
They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.
Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly & nice guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that before he realizes it, it is time to go.
Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises….

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him.
‘Now it’s time to visit heaven.’
So, 24 hours pass with the MP joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.
‘Well, then, you’ve spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity.’
The MP reflects for a minute, then he answers: ‘Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell.’
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
Now the doors of the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage.
He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above.
The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulder.
‘I don’t understand,’ stammers the MP. ‘Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?’
The devil looks at him, smiles and says, “Yesterday, we were campaigning.. …
Today, you voted.”

Knackered In Boswall

Friends and readers.

We have on our TV for those of a certain disposition Inspector Morse. Yes this is a Sucks alterantive by way of a short story

Morose sat in his home drinking whisky and listening to Verdi’s ‘Tutti Frutti Butti Call’ opera, wondering why someone had come up with a good idea for a parody of his police career but had then ruined it by filling it up with adolescent drivel.
‘Probably an adolescent’, he deduced, and raised his glass to the portrait of Sherlock Holmes that had been hanged on his wall in 1887 for stealing a thruppeny bit from Marks & Reinventors. ‘Si si si, rime rime rime rime, pais pais pais pais pais’ came from the opera’s chorus, and briefly stopping the opera to send the cast and orchestra out into the driving snow outside the detective picked up the notes he had been reading.
‘Anthony Blair, MP. Lawyer, married with 18 children, converted to Roman Catholicism because ‘any crime I do can be forgiven instantly by a priest, such as carpet-bombing Iraqi cities and mass-murdering thousands of men, women and children for oil to please my American employers’. Interests: Being uninteresting. Language: Saying ‘Um’ and ‘Er’ a lot. Previous crimes: Doing an illegal property deal with an Australian fraudster, destroying the Labour Party along with Neil Kinnochio.’
‘Blair is due to appear before the courts in London accused of mass murder’, and this was why Inspector Morose had been given this case by his superior, Chief Inspector Clueless, and he was just looking into the air in a ham-actory sort of way when his doorbell rang.
‘Hello’, he said into the phone, ‘will you please stop phoning me up, if I wanted doorbells ringing me up and not taxing my braincells I’d buy a Davina McColl ‘Small Brain’ bell. Now bugger off, I have a case to work on!’
After hours of sitting looking moody and listening to operas and generally being a boring depressive git, Morose fell asleep like many widowed men in his chair and was only awoken the next day by the merry cheeping of a Geordie sidekick at his window. ‘Ah, Lewis’, Morose muttered morbidly, ‘I suppose you’d better come in, you Geordie token working class idiot’, and soon Sergeant Lewis had managed to pick Morose’s lock in his front door and was sitting in his living room.
‘Look, sir’, Lewis said, ‘ah know it’s noon of mah business, like, but -’ ‘Oh, shut up!’, Morose barked at him like a particularly miserable dog with a bad case of manic depression, ‘we must go to a pub, that will help.’ ‘Sir?’ ‘Come on, you proletarian moron, The Suicide Arms has the best best beer in Edinburgh’, and soon the pair were travelling towards that hostelry on Morose’s dark red 1970s skateboard at 15 miles per hour. At the pub Lewis bought eighteen pints of Old Scarecrow Barrett’s Best Bitter, and soon the two were playing the pub’s trivia machine.
‘No, no, no, no, Lewis! It was Alan Devonshire who was the only English cap to never have played for a football team until he became an adult professional player! Now go and get another 18 pints of Barrett’s!’, and after 36 pints of that ale that smelt slightly of a fishmonger that had had a rather interesting time with Kylie Minogue,
Morose announced: ‘I have solved the mystery of the liar from Edinbury. It’sh – it wash eashy, Lewish.’ ‘Really, sir?’ Yesh. Tony Bliar – hah! – ish a war criminal and a mash, a mashed potato.’ ‘OK’. ‘Do Geordiesh really shpeak like that, or ish it all put on, Lew Lewish?’
‘Why aye, sir, ah divn’t kna if it’s ull a total fake or not.’ ‘Well, never mind that, I feel like a US President right now.’ ‘You mean like a child that is permanently drunk and grins a lot like – well, like a child, sir?’ ‘No, I mean I feel that my job is a complete washte of time. What do American Preshidentshes actually do, Louie?’
‘Ah have no idea, sir, but shouldn’t we -’ ‘Yes, Lewis, we should now go to Edinburgh to confront the war crime hisself, Senor Antonio Bleary memory! Let’s go!’, and Lewis paid the bill with his children’s pocket money then followed Inspector Morose out into the pub’s skateboard park.
‘On second thoughts, Lewis’, Morose said to him, ‘even if we arrest Blair and bring him to court for war crimes he’ll just get a slap on the wrist from his Freemason pals at the bench and will carry on earning millions in America saying ‘Um’ and acting and talking like a 10-year old child.’
‘Americans admire such people, as they’re so much more intelligent than Americans are and can speak English correctly. Unlike you, Lewis, ha ha ha ha.’ ‘Well, sir, ah don’t think that’s called for, ye kna.’
‘Lewis, you’re an imbecile, a moron, a clown, a simpering yes-man with no brains or toughness and with less knowledge of the outside world than a seagull. You’d make a great US President!’, and the two skated away into the distance as the credits rolled, and that taking-itself-too-seriously music played.

Two Cows And The Political Systems

Friends and readers.

We live in a Democratic society so we are told, so we the punters have a right, to do what? get lied to, get cheated, get conned, or in general just get shit on usually from a very high hight. Here at Sucks we have summed up what we think by using the two cow theory. Yes friends one theory you may not have heard of but could find faintly realistic and amusing.

Socialist

You have two cows.
The government takes one and gives it to your neighbour.
You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his cow.

Communist

You have two cows.
The government seizes both and provides you with milk.
You wait in line for hours to get it.
It is expensive and sour.

Capitalism, British style

You have two cows.
You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.

Democracy, British style

You have two cows.
The government taxes you to the point you have to sell both to support a man in a foreign country who has only one cow, which was a gift from your’
government.

Bureaucracy, British style

You have two cows.
The government takes them both, shoots one, milks the other, pays you for the milk, and then pours the milk down the drain.

Democracy, British style

The government promises to give you two cows if you vote for it.
After the election, the Prime Minister is thrown out for speculating in cow futures.
The press dubs the affair “Cowgate”

Feudalism

You have two cows.
Your lord takes some of the milk.

Pure socialism

You have two cows.
The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else’s cows.
You have to take care of all the cows.
The government gives you as much milk as you need

Bureaucratic socialism

You have two cows.
The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else’s cows.
They are cared for by ex-chicken farmers.
You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers.
The government gives you as much milk and as many eggs as the regulations say you should need.

Fascism

You have two cows.
The government takes both, hires you to take care of them, and sells you the milk.

Pure communism

You have two cows.
Your neighbours help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.

Russian communism

You have two cows.
You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk.

Dictatorship

You have two cows.
The government takes both and shoots you.

Militarianism

You have two cows.
The government takes both and drafts you

Pure democracy

You have two cows.
Your neighbours decide who gets the milk.

Representative democracy

You have two cows.
Your neighbours pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.

British democracy

You have two cows.
You feed them sheeps’ brains and they go mad.
The government doesn’t do anything.

Bureaucracy

You have two cows.
At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them.
Then it pays you not to milk them.
After that it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain.
Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows

Anarchy

You have two cows.
Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbours try to kill you and take the cows

Capitalism

You have two cows.
You sell one and buy a bull

International capitalism

You have two cows.
You sell three of them to your publicly – listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother – in – law at the bank, then execute a debt / equity swap with associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax deduction for keeping five cows.

The milk rights of six cows are transferred via a Panamanian intermediary to a Cayman Islands company secretly owned by the majority shareholder, who sells the rights to all seven cows’ milk back to the listed company.
The annual report says that the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more. Meanwhile, you kill the two cows because the fung shui is bad.

Environmentalism

You have two cows.
The government bans you from milking or killing them.

Totalitarianism

You have two cows.
The government takes them and denies they ever existed.
Milk is banned.

There you are dear friends the Two Cow theory, think it will catch on?

Some Kind Of Politics

Friends and readers.

Listening to politicians spouting out the same old shit can make you turn off and watch something exciting instead like Songs Of Praise. So Sucks will give you a view of politics from a slightly different angle.

A little boy goes to his dad and asks, “What is politics?”

Dad says, “Well son, let me try to explain it this way: I’m the
breadwinner of the family, so let’s call me Capitalism. Your Mom,
she’s the administrator of the money, so we’ll call her the
Government. We’re here to take care of your needs, so we’ll call you
the People. The nanny, we’ll consider her the Working Class. And your
baby brother, we’ll call him the Future. Now, think about that and
see if that makes sense.”

So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what Dad has said.
Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to
check on him. He finds that the baby has severely soiled his nappy.
So the little boy goes to his parents’ room and finds his mother sound
asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny’s room.
Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in
bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed.

The next morning, the little boy says to his father, “Dad, I think I
understand the concept of politics now.”

The father says, “Good, son, tell me in your own words what you
think politics is all about”.

The little boy replies, “Well, while Capitalism is screwing the
Working Class, the Government is sound asleep, the People are
being ignored and the Future is in Deep Shit.”

A Version Of Something Or Other

Friends and readers

Every so often as you know Sucks likes to bring you something a little different and possibly even a little amusing. So we thought a Sucks version of the classic tale of Little Red Riding Hood might go down well. And before you ask the answer is no Prada Hinds is not our Red Riding Hood.

There once was a young person named Little Red Riding Hood who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered fauna and rare plants that would probably provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them.

Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture giver whom she sometimes referred to as “mother”, (although she didn’t mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist).

Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of non-traditional households, although she was sorry if this was the impression conveyed.

One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organically grown fruit and mineral water to her grandmother’s house.

“But mother, won’t this be stealing work from the people who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various people in the woods?”

Red Riding Hood’s mother assured her that she had called the union secretary and had been given a special compassionate mission exemption form.

“But mother, aren’t you oppressing me by ordering me to do this?”

Red Riding Hood’s mother pointed out that it was impossible for women to oppress each other, since all women were equally oppressed until all women were free.

“But mother, then shouldn’t you have my brother carry the basket, since he’s an oppressor, and should learn what it’s like to be oppressed?”

And Red Riding Hood’s mother explained that her brother was attending a special rally for animal rights, and besides, this wasn’t stereotypical women’s work, but an empowering deed that would help engender a feeling of community.

“But won’t I be oppressing Grandma, by implying that she’s sick and hence unable to independently further her own selfhood?”

But Red Riding Hood’s mother explained that her grandmother wasn’t actually sick or incapacitated or mentally disabled in any way, although that was not to imply that any of these conditions were inferior to what some people called “health”.

Thus Red Riding Hood felt that she could undertake the idea of delivering the basket to her grandmother, and so she set off.

Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place, but Red Riding Hood knew that this was an irrational fear based on cultural paradigms instilled by a patriarchal society that regarded the natural world as an exploitable resource, and hence believed that natural predators were in fact intolerable competitors.

Other people avoided the woods for fear of thieves and deviants, but Red Riding Hood felt that in a truly classless society all marginalized peoples would be able to “come out” of the woods and be accepted as valid lifestyle role models.

On her way to Grandma’s house, Red Riding Hood passed a woodchopper, and wandered off the path, in order to examine some flowers. Little Red Riding Hood

She was startled to find herself standing before a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket.

Red Riding Hood’s teacher had warned her never to talk to strangers, but she was confident in taking control of her own budding womanhood, and chose to dialogue with the Wolf.

She replied, “I am taking my Grandmother some healthy snacks in a gesture of solidarity.”

The Wolf said, “You know, my dear, it isn’t safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone.”

Red Riding Hood said, “I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop an alternative and yet entirely valid worldview. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would prefer to be on my way.” Little Red Riding Hood

Red Riding Hood returned to the main path, and proceeded towards her Grandmother’s house.

But because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma’s house.

He burst into the house and ate Grandma, a course of action affirmative of his nature as a predator.

Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist gender role notions, he put on Grandma’s nightclothes, crawled under the bedclothes, and awaited developments.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said,

“Grandma, I have brought you some cruelty free snacks to salute you in your role of wise and nurturing matriarch.”

The Wolf said softly “Come closer, child, so that I might see you.”

Red Riding Hood said, “Goodness! Grandma, what big eyes you have!”

“You forget that I am optically challenged.”

“And Grandma, what an enormous, what a fine nose you have.”

“Naturally, I could have had it surgically augmented to help my acting career, but I didn’t give in to such societal pressures, my child.”

“And Grandma, what very big, sharp teeth you have!”

The Wolf could not take any more of these specist slurs, and, in a reaction appropriate for his accustomed milieu, he leaped out of bed, grabbed Little Red Riding Hood, and opened his jaws so wide that she could see her poor Grandmother cowering in his belly.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Red Riding Hood bravely shouted. “You must request my permission before proceeding to a new level of intimacy!”

The Wolf was so startled by this statement that he loosened his grasp on her.

At the same time, the woodchopper burst into the cottage, brandishing an axe.
“Hands off!” cried the woodchopper.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” cried Little Red Riding Hood. “If I let you help me now, I would be expressing a lack of confidence in my own abilities, which would lead to poor self esteem and lower achievement scores on university entrance exams.”

“Last chance, girlie! Get your hands off that endangered species! This is a police raid!” screamed the woodchopper, and when Little Red Riding Hood nonetheless made a sudden motion, he sliced off her head.

“Thank goodness you got here in time,” said the Wolf. “The brat and her grandmother lured me in here. I thought I was a goner.”

“No, I think I’m the real victim, here,” said the woodchopper. “I’ve been dealing with my anger ever since I saw her picking those protected flowers earlier. And now I’m going to have such a trauma. Do you have any Paracetamol?”

“Sure,” said the Wolf.

“Thanks.”

“I feel your pain,” said the Wolf, and he patted the woodchopper on his firm, well padded back, gave a little belch, and said “Do you have any Rennies?”

Another Fine Mess

Friends and readers.

An audit report recently said that the problem within the council is the many layers of management. It recommended removing the many unneeded layers of middle management. So far this has not happened and only front line staff are going. The useless middle managers have been scrambling to keep their jobs by targeting the real workers. Nothing will change within the council until an independent agency comes in to rid the council of all the corrupt middle and senior managers who think they are untouchable.

the lunatics truly are running the asylum and they have absolutely no shame about it. They are so out of touch with reality and public feeling it is unbelievable.

£85 million pounds of cuts were announced the day after announcing plans to spend £9 million on an unneeded and unwanted cycle way.

We really do despair At the way the city has been ruined by utter clowns such as Hinds, Burns, Rankin, former corrupt Chief Executive Sue three jobs Bruce and now Andrew Kerr. He has shown himself to be as spineless as the rest of them since he took over, not once have we seen anything where he has put his foot down and overruled any of the ridiculous ideas that waste millions.

Corruption amongst officials is no longer a secret, and Sucks has led the way in exposing those who have wasted millions of pounds through corrupt practices while hiding behind the rule book. This Council wasted over a Billion pounds and counting on a Tram System which runs daily to the airport empty and will never make any money despite the lies that have been told.

Care for the elderly which we will all be one day if we live long enough is in crisis with people dying while waiting on help from a Council to busy concerning itself with vanity projects and petty party politics. The very idea that this lot should be allowed to raise the Council tax is an appalling one, imagine if you will Andy Pandy Burns and the incompetent and completely useless Lesley Prada Hinds and that bunch getting it’s hands on even more taxpayers money. All the worse given the silence from the SNP and the ramblings of the Finance Chair Alistair what day is it Rankin.

Advice from officials is tainted as we proved in the North side of the City regarding the debacle over the former Royston School site where corrupt officials hid a fully funded project and lied to Councillors about it’s merits and convinced Frank fingers Ross the chair of Economic development to sideline a project that would have given the Council several millions of pounds, instead of which they chose to borrow for a project that is on target to be over time and budget, built in the wrong place rendering the rest of the site unsaleable.

And that dear friends is down to corruption by officials and incompetence by elected members who have little or no idea how to deal with these crooks. We now understand that these fully funded and costed plans will be made public naming the corrupt officials involved in making sure that they got their way.

This Council has become bankrupt of both money and morals with Councillors only concerned about their own allowances or in Hinds case career progression, while corrupt officials like ADAIR AND WATTON are allowed run wild and feather their own nests. Yes WARD is gone as is BRUCE lining their pockets on the way out, leaving the sinking ship and taking the life boats with them.

No-body from any of the party’s has had the courage or conviction to come forward and tell the people they are responsible in the main for this City being in the mess it is, as elderly people die waiting on assistance while money is wasted on ridicules and useless schemes.

But all is not doom and gloom dear friends, oh no not at all. There is still money for loss making festivals which makes money for the few such as Pete Irvine and his cronies, and as one or two Councillors have repeatedly said ” One in Five of the jobs in the City are Festival based.

SHAME ON YOU.

Benny And The Jets

Friends and readers.

If Lesley Prada Hinds was not such a complete numpty and Labour didn’t have such a complete lack of anyone with any ability, and were not such a burnt out bunch of jobless hacks then they just might have had a chance of winning the Edinburgh North and Leith constituency, as main challenger SNP candidate Ben your honour MacPherson is not what you might call knowledgeable or even remotely interested in the Constituency’s problems or requirements, in fact much the same as Prada Hinds, only minor difference being Benny boy’s party is riding high in the polls for the time being that is.

How does Sucks reach such a conclusion. Well there is not one shadow of a doubt that Prada Hinds is totally useless and cocks up everything she touches, a complete walking disaster, which is it seems suitable qualities to be a candidate for the comrades.

Benny boy on the other hand has hit the ground, and stayed there, alienating we hear a number of good people particularly within the Forth Ward Branch which is now more poisonous than a glass of cyanide. Information has reached the ever alert ears of Pilton Sucks that Benny Boys campaign Team which in the main consists of Iain smarmy Black and Jason Tosser McGlip are a right couple of sweethearts who cannot help but alienate people.

Black is just little more than a loudmouth who along with playground bully McGlip have slowly but surely managed to sicken people and far from the branch meetings being well attended with everybody who wishes to contribute doing so as the party would have us believe, the meetings are poorly attended and it’s very clear from the information Sucks has received that’s it’s these two clowns and a couple of their camp followers who have spoilt it for everybody else, what was that about one bad apple.

Smarmy and tosser should have been kicked out of the party some time ago as we have received information that several complaints were made in writing to the SNP’s head office outlining their destructive behaviour, but no action was taken and this is Benny Boys main stays of his campaign team, if Labour were remotely credible which they are most certainly not and Prada Hinds was not their candidate then they might have had a fighting chance. But what have we the mug punters of Edinburgh North and Leith got, very simply, an insular SNP candidate who will rely on opinion polls to get elected then disappear to the trough of Holyrood with a sigh of relief. Then we have Prada Hinds, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, only saving grace is she looks a beaten candidate already as she scrambles around for the scrapes from the SNP table.

But when she looses and she will lose, then we will still have to suffer her costly blunders in local Government, unless her comrades at the Chambers lock the doors and close the curtains when she goes off officially to contest the seat, and then erect a NO ONE AT HOME sign on the entrance door of the City Chambers, put the lights off and kid on there is no one there, hoping she goes away and bothers someone else.

Ruby Rats No-One From No-Where

Friends and readers.

Our very own Ruby Rats the politician who always cocks it up and where nothing is safe in her hands will be raiding her Donald Trump ceramic piggy bank as the Holyrood elections edge closer. Ruby fancies her chances at improving her salary and conditions while dreaming of swimming in the trough of the Scottish Parliament.

Ruby has to raise cash through one dodge or another so she can get her message out to the mug punter voter. Having a disastrous record to date will be no barrier to Ms.Rats as she truly believes she is wonderful regardless of the constant mess she makes of things, with everything she touches or gets involved in going belly up. The proliteriate who have to suffer her costly blunders scratch their heads in bewilderment as to how she gets away with it, but Ruby has a neck made of brass and is fully focused on improving her bank balance at the voters expense.

The Constituency of Tittle North and Bumkin where Ruby will try and con the voters into voting for her have not escaped the dreaded specter of the Rats touch, having suffered when she managed to oversee the digging up of the roads on more than one occasion for no apparent reason or benefit, just another Ruby fuck up to add to her long list of fuck ups. But being a prize ass hole is no disbarment for standing for public office as Ruby as proved time after time, and this time is no different.

But Ruby has a back up plan should the put upon voters of Tittle North and Bumkin reject her at the ballot box. Yes Our Ruby is trying to get onto the list which means dear friends that should she get her ass felt in the first pass the post race then she could sneak in the back door through the list candidates route. Yes friends a horrible thought and one to give you nightmares or make you reach for the Valium bottle.
Ruby being a chancer of some repute will not have put all her eggs in one basket, and should she manage to con her way to election then she would represent nobody.

What a result., wouldn’t represent a constituency but still bags the cash with no accountability, and she could and would stick two fingers up to the voters who rejected her. Reminds you of someone else, just can’t think who for the moment.

Sleep well dear friends as Ruby certainly will.