Majorityrights Central > Category: Humour

Devon, that English county of idyllic villages, haunting sea-cliffs and wild, empty moorland, might not seem at first to be a cauldron of white racism (is there any other kind?).  But that’s all wrong.  We racist whites simply lack the insightful wisdom and beautiful souls of those good men and women of the Rural Racism Project, south-west.

Soon after the publication of the Inquiry report into the death of Stephen Lawrence, the Monitoring Group began to receive an almost daily torrent of calls from black and ethnic minority people living in rural areas. The experience of the callers was similar. They had been subject to racist abuse on a daily basis, sometimes for many years, and despite reporting their suffering they had received no support from anyone. It was almost as if the needs of the BME population in these rural had been abandoned.

...  The Rural Racism Project, based in Plymouth, aims to pioneer a range of specialist services to meet the needs of those living in predominately rural areas who are distressed or are suffering because they have been victims of racial violence, abuse, or harassment within their local community. The project will be used to provide and deliver a unique, innovative and radical region-wide programme of ‘racist incident victim support services’ for individuals, families and isolated community groups situated within the geographical counties of Cornwall, Devon, Dorset and Somerset, including those districts administered by single unitary authorities.

The Project is based in Plymouth and covers the areas of Cornwall, Devon, Somerset and Dorset.

And this ... is what ... they do:-

‘Racism’ protests over the high street hanging black mannequins

A chain of fashion stores has been accused of racism over a window display of black mannequins hanging from the ceiling.  Branches of All Saints are featuring headless dummies, with chains attached to the neck, dangling with their feet a few inches off the floor.

Police arrived at one branch, in Exeter, to investigate claims that the display was offensive and the Rural Racism Project says it has been “inundated” with complaints calling for it to be removed.

Spokesman John McKenzie said: “These disturbing displays are reminiscent of the Ku Klux Klan and the lynching of black people in America.  The chains used to hang the mannequins also bring to mind slavery and some of the complainants have commented on this.  The overall effect is extremely ominous.

“It is unacceptable and we have received many calls from both black and white people who find it offensive.  But the retailer’s attitude has been that the stores are all making a profit, therefore it cannot be offending too many people.”

A spokesman for All Saints confirmed that the display was used at 28 of its 29 stores nationwide.

She added: “The models are not black – they are grey.

Well, quite.  Or as John Cleese once said, “This is an ex-parrot .”

Memo from the office of the Home Secretary,

To: Liam Byrne, Minister of State, Immigration

Date 7th March, 2007

My dear Liam,

Another bloody awful day, don’t you think?  As if I hadn’t had enough of them already!

Under the circumstances, then, I thought it best not to text you with this question: Which one of your brilliant minions dreamt up this garbage?  For God’s sake, Liam:-

Labour will get tough on illegal immigrants - by sending them text messages begging them to go home.

Under desperate plans to clear a backlog of 600,000 cases, their driving licences could also be cancelled.

This was just giving Davis an open goal - which, needless to say, he did not miss:-

Shadow Home Secretary David Davis said: “This is a serious admission of defeat. John Reid is effectively giving up on trying to deport the hundreds of thousands of illegal immigrants in this country, preferring instead to spam them with text messages.

“As for removing driving licences, does he really believe that a person who is prepared to live in a country illegally is that concerned about having the correct qualifications to drive in that country?

“Yet again we see another pathetic attempt to grab a headline rather than address a problem.

“Instead of spin and bluster from ministers, the public deserve effective action.”

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Condoms designed to meet international size specifications are too big for many Indian men as their penises fall short of what manufacturers had anticipated, an Indian study has found.

The Indian Council of Medical Research, a leading state-run center, said its initial findings from a two-year study showed 60 percent of men in the financial capital Mumbai had penises about 2.4 cm (one inch) shorter than those condoms catered for.

For a further 30 percent, the difference was at least 5 cm (two inches).

From Reuters.

So how does the James Bond of Bangladesh cut such a deadly swathe through blonde California?  Obviously not by stealing the delicious if brunette Lana Wood’s line from Diamonds Are Forever: “Hi, I’m Plenty ... Plenty O’Toole”.

But enough of that.  This is a serious blog.  So, erm ... would Phil Rushton agree that Nature’s dispensation of wedding tackle in downtown Mumbai runs counter to r-K?

Stories that begin with the words, “You couldn’t make this up,” abound, I know.  But this one has that extra something: swanism. 

It began when a gentleman whose home overlooked West Shore boating pool in the seaside town of Llandudno, North Wales looked out of his window and:-

saw Miah, a former restaurant owner who came to Britain from Bangladesh 40 years ago, rolling around on the grass with the swan’s wing on the ground next to him.

The alarmed gentleman called the police who duly arrived to find 52-year-old Shamshu Miah with blood on his clothes and feathers in his beard.

They confronted Bangladeshi-born Miah, who told the police: “I am a Muslim, I am fasting, I had to eat.

“I was hungry, I had to eat the swan. I killed it, I stabbed it.

“I did nothing wrong, it was just a bird, I needed to eat.”

It is forbidden for Muslims to eat during daylight hours over the Islamic month of Ramadan.

One of the officers told Miah it was illegal to kill a swan because it was the property of the Queen, to which Miah replied: “I hate the Queen, I hate this country.”

Psychiatric reports indicated Miah was not mentally ill at the time of the attack.  But we must be, to abide with Miah for 40 years.

Thanks to Michael R for this link.  The Dutch government has decided to screen a film to all new Moslem wannabee citizens.  It challenges their Middle Eastern sensibilities with two homosexuals kissing in a park and a topless woman emerging from the sea and walking onto a crowded beach.  Those who can’t adjust don’t make the cut.

This is a big improvement on the old open door policy.  However, I can exclusively reveal that the authorities have also been trialling the earliest and most stringent possible examination of Muslim flexibility on arrival at main international airports, and here is a leaked transcript of the proceedings.  With apologies to the good people of Holland.

OK guys, my name’s Piet and I am your Tolerance Counsellor for today.  During the next couple of hours I’m going to talk to you about what it means to live here in Holland.

First, for my own safety can I ask you all to place your ceremonial daggers in the bin provided by the door?  Thank you very much.

What was that you said, sir?  Yes sure, body harnesses go in the bin, too.

And your goat, please.

OK, welcome to Amsterdam Schiphol.  I hope you had a nice flight and it wasn’t too cold for those of you who travelled in the baggage compartment.  And to the others, what can I say?  Six and a half hours is a long time to hold your breath.  So, a big well done to everybody who stowed in a wheel housing.

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A fine example of wysteria-hysteria from the Guardian’s

social engineering

education correspondent Matthew Taylor appears on-line today.  See if you can beat my count of the wall-climbers’ inflations, distortions and outright untruths this flapdoodle peddles.

The rules are simple even for average folks of 100 IQ.  A palpable but minor inflation of the facts scores an inferior one point; an old-fashioned, uncomplicated distortion scores a downlow two; but a rip-roaring, black-hearted lie gets the full, Billy Bragg house.  Clue: there is more than one of the latter.

I scored a niggardly eighteen points.

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You know how it is.  A wet Monday morning in unlovely and unloved Croydon.  You are behind your window as usual, gazing down the usual room-full of staring, blank-faced applicants.  They are bored.  You are bored.  As usual.

Seated opposite you is the usual unstarved central African female and small, unstarved child.  Male.  Twenty billion spermatazoa.  Just what this country needs.

She is, as usual, very deferential and so soft-voiced you can hardly make out her replies to your questions.  Deference isn’t to be scoffed at in your line of work.  It has its uses.  But not this time.  Unthinkable.  No way.

You check the date of birth in her passport.  You check that she knows what she has supposedly written on her application.  You check she knows her tragically deceased husband’s name.  You check she is still staying in her council hostel.  You stamp her application documents in three places, retaining the bottom copy to which you attach her spare passport photograph.  You hand the other copies to her with that massive disinterest only a deeply bored Immigration and Nationality Directorate officer of several years experience can properly communicate.  You duly send her on her way to Floor 2 - from whence, Kafka-style, she will be sent ever onward by other equally bored, equally indifferent Immigration and Nationality Directorate officers.

You file your record of her, return slowly to your seat and, resigned to yet another repeat performance, press your floor-button.  The next lucky candidate with the same deferential manner and the same depressingly cock-and-bull story shuffles over.  Not a woman, not even an ugly one this time.  Your boredom sinks to a new level, a chronic one only just above Utter Desolation.

Then young Birch, who sits next to you, leans over and whispers very soto voce but with that familiar enthusiasm of his, “Other end of the room”.

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When I saw a reviewer say: “What follows is a kind of modern Depression comedy - a bit like /Sullivan’s Travels/, set in Silicon Valley. Dick eventually sinks to day labour with Mexican illegals. Jane becomes a guinea pig for dangerous pharmaceutical testing.” I honestly thought Jim Carrey might be going for the jugular with Fun with Dick and Jane.  Its good—maybe “great” by Hollywood standards for political satire—but no jugulars were opened.  A clue:  Ralph Nader made a cameo appearance as himself.  But they missed so much potential fun…

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