Monthly Archives: August 2015

I Met My Baby in the GDR

I met my baby in the GDR
She had a hammer and a sickle and a red guitar.
She played Actually Existing Rock ‘n’ Roll,
That sweet little comrade stole my soul.
She taught me Marx and the twelve-bar blues,
And how Lenin was a riff that the class could use.
She was the cutest little tankie that I ever did see
Got me dreamin’ ‘bout shooting the bourgeoisie.
She had a brother in the Stasi; that cat was cold,
Aint no one knew him ever grew old.
He told my baby we gotta go our separate ways,
But then the wall came down and he cried for days.
Now here we all are in the capitalist West,
All very democratic but we don’t feel blessed.
Yeah, now we’re free to have no job,
And free to run from the right-wing mob.
It wasn’t ever heaven; I’d never go that far,
But it wasn’t all bad in the GDR.


Michael Robson, Illegal Immigrants and National Stupid Fuckwit Day


So I woke up this morning and the first thing I saw online was this… which reads:

The Government must act now and stop any form of benefit to all illegal immigrants, there should be no free benefit to those whom illegally enter the UK.

Segregation and deportation for all the illegal immigrants and a life time ban to anyone entering the United Kingdom illegally.

Sign this petition

6,906 signatures


At 10,000 signatures… At 10,000 signatures, government will respond to this petition At 100,000 signatures… At 100,000 signatures, this petition will be considered for debate in Parliament

Share this petition

  • Created byMichael robson
  • Deadline5 February 2016All petitions run for 6 months”

Presumably today is National Stupid Fuckwit Day but no one bothered to tell me. Still, late to the party I may be, but I’m determined to get into the spirit of things. I doubt I’ll match the petition’s creator, one Michael Robson, for sheer brain-freezing idiocy but it’s the taking part that counts so here’s some more stupid fuckwittery below.

“Good morning, I’ve come to see about getting some money?”

“You wish to make a claim, sir?”

“Indeed I do.”

“OK, let’s take some details… your name?”

“Abuwezali Uhmannajabolowski”

“Er… can you spell that, please, sir? OK… got it… date of birth?”



“Don’t have one, currently”

“Oh, I see. Are you homeless?”


“I see. Last address then, please?”

“It was a cardboard box and a sheet of corrugated tin in downtown Tripoli, Libya”

“Oh… er…what’s your national insurance number?”

“I haven’t got one”

“Any other ID? Driving license, passport, say?”

“Nope, my trafficker took all my ID off me”

“Eh? How long have you been in the UK?”

“Oh, about two weeks?”

“What the fuck? Sorry, I mean… cough… er…how did you enter the UK?”

“Back of a lorry from Calais”

“So you’re an illegal immigrant?”

“I guess I am, yeah”

“Not a legal immigrant?”

“I suppose not?”

“Not a refugee?”

“Well, yeah, I am, obviously, but…”

“But not officially?”

“Well that’s why I’m here; to make it official”

“So you don’t have an application for asylum currently pending?”

“Not yet, no. That’s why I’m here, see? To sort that out”

“So, technically, as of right now, you’re an illegal immigrant?”

“Oh, right! I see. Yes, I suppose I am, then”

“Well, why didn’t you say so, sir? No need for me to inform the Borders Agency, no need to bother with all that police and Home Office nonsense, don’t worry about deportation; here’s a suitcase with ten grand in it, to get you started, like”

“Oh nice one, cheers!

“Don’t mention it and if you can pop back in tomorrow I’ll have the keys to a gorgeous well-appointed five-bedroom council house, beautifully situated in the heart of Mayfair. As you’ll find out, sir, for us Brits it’s all about location, location, location!”

“Ha ha ha, that’s great, thanks!”

“Don’t mention it, sir. Oh, by the way, do you have any dependents?”

“No I’m afraid not. They’re all dead”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that”

“Yeah, the kids drowned in the Med and the missus got run over by a lorry in the channel Tunnel”

“Downer, that”


“Well, here’s the thing; let’s get you some forms filled in where you can claim for them anyway”

“Er, is that legal?”

“Ha ha ha! Don’t be daft! None of this is legal in any way but this is soft touch Britain and I’m terrified of being called a racist so this is how we roll, yo?”