Do you understand,  you filthy  cunthead vermin I need money?  Of course you bloody do and mock me, jeer at me. Or perhaps you pretend to care, whine and wring your hands.  Of course you could simply pay me.  In time, a couple of years after I’m dead.  But Master would be eversa angry with his slaves. What absolute vermin you are   OK, cunthead vermin, this is pretty much the end of the road, you have triumphed you dirty, dirty, dirty, corrupt squalid scum

Thus the ‘god’ of the multiverse has the mind of a fucking baboon, just like its fucking adepts.  What the fuck does humanity have to do to get off our backs, out of our lives nutter freaks who think the Book of Genesis is a vital contribution to human knowledge and everyone else should think that too and the bloody cunthead traitor  vermin of politicians who suck their cocks and demand we ‘respect’ dribbling mong freaks.

You have butchered me, deliberately, refused to fucking lift a finger, slobbered and drooled over the scum of the fucking earth, filth like you , dirty, dirty  sly lying vermin like you who love secrecy and lies and manipulating and crawling around in filthy and squalor jabbering mad shit to each other.  Makes the pathetic subhumans feel important and powerful, can’t have anything in the open can you , you dirty vermin, can’t have anything clean, rational, honest, you twisted sick filth, jabber, jabber, whine, whine, lie, lie, all you disgusting corrupt filthy creatures understand is lies and spreading lies and manipulating and destroying because it’s all dirty little bags of shit can do, destroy.   Don’t expect sick dirty cunts of doctors to care about crippling me when there are whining diseased bloody perverts to coo over, scum and filth to protect and uphold, dirty scum bags of disease and corruption, corrupt all the way, indecent, vile, horrific, anything diseased and foul and rotten like you, you’re all over it, can’t do enough for it, including murder.  My spinal fusion used a punchbag by jeering animals, bloody spectator sport, wasn’t it, Linch.  All go along with it without turning a fucking hair.

What’s your fucking problem, fucking problem with fact, you sick mad animals.  You just keep on with the same mad jabber don’t  you,  It is forbidden!   Being murdered by fucking nutters, creatures who belong in the Zoo.  That’s forbidden.
I did think someone outside UCH would support me, help me, but not.  Got it all fixed, haven’t you, vermin.

Obvious what was happening to my body but no dirty kinky pervert traitor monkey dreamt of interfering.  No  fucking kinky freak sicky who hates anything open and decent and rational, sicky kinky freaks who think everyone has some sicko nutter kinky boy set above them, sicko kinky boy who owns our lives, sicko kinkies who  bring their clubs down on us if we displease, dirty sicky kinky freaks who think everyone does and should live in fear of nutter kinkies, freakos, sickies, ravings of fucking sickies, look at the sicko freaks, indecent vile horrific kinky freaks, kinky freak monkeys who decide I don’t need the use of my body, don’t need to be able to walk, look at the freaks, the fucking psychiatric cases, kinky-boy  freak Goldstone, kinky-boy freak Linch, kinky-boy freak Blair, kinky pervert freaks.

So shoot the kinky-boy freak pervs in the spine.  How can they object.  They believe in arbitrary unaccountable criminal power, they believe power can do what it likes with other people. They believe people are subject, slaves, must expect a nutter freak psycho kinky-boy sicky taking exception to us, bringing its club down on us.  They think that’s normal.

Not of course for them. These kinky-boy pervert sickies into whose hands we have been delivered think they’re the slave-masters. 

Got a problem with sex, have you, you sick pervy kinky-boy fuck-ups, freaks, nutters who think they dictate the lives of other, hey kinky-boy, Goldstone, got a problem with women, kinky-boy freak, Daddy thank G-D for not making him a woman, hey kinky-boy freaks, upset you does it, women enjoying sex with men who don’t own them, upset you perv fuck-ups, kinky-boy Khwaja, kinky-boy Rismani, sex freak you does it, perv monkeys, butchers, murderers, can’t have women doing what we choose to do, not what dirty kinky-boy freak perv sickies tell us we may do. 

Tell you want have it read out in all the mosques and synagogues and churches and temples where the kinky pervs do gather, that any freak perv pscyho animal who dares to try to inflict his or her pervert filth on a woman who does not share his pervert freak filth creed will be immediately prosecuted.

Oh no, you have to respect other cultures.  You have to let them brutalize and murder women.

I mean, it’s their {{{RELIGION}}} and {{{RELIGION}}} is {{{SACRED}}}, {{{RELIGION}}} is not to be mocked.   

Or just hang the lot of them.  That of course is not decent, kind, rational or civilized.  What is supposed to happen when the law is on their side, the law is corrupted, the law serves traitors and perverts and psychopaths, when the whole of politics is corrupted by filth and sickness and evil.

When a deranged fascist pervert they call the Pope has the ear of government and free people are destroyed, a bloody evil animal claiming people are evil for not believing that for which there is no shred of evidence. A mentally diseased chimp who claims people who believe that for which there is no shred of evidence are better than the rest of us.

Are we never to be ride of these evil animals who assume they own other people, assume they have the right to fuck over other people

It’s all too obvious.  If Sacranie and his animal mob were expressing their genuine and sincere beliefs, fine, they belong in fucking Broadmoor, the way any other hysteric psychotic murderous mob would.

Fill the fucking country with these obscene filthy psychotic animals who can’t keep their filthy infected claws out of other people then justify them, make excuses for them, coo over them, uphold them  disgusting mad freaks, human obscenity - and give them rights over us.

Respect them, you expect me to respect them, respect grossly sexually diseased psychopaths who neither speak nor reason, skulking cowards who crawl around behind closed doors, animals who belong in Broadmoor who have broken my body and engineered my destruction.  You expect me to respect sexually perverted monkeys. 

You really do, don’t you, Blair, because the fuck-faced animals wear black dresses and call their sickness and their evil the ‘Will of God’.  Constantly stroking filth and evil, telling them they’re important, telling them their intellectual and moral corruption doesn’t matter, telling rational people we have to respect drivel because a few fuckfaced animals squawk it’s God’s Holy Word.
Give obscene diseased twisted animals my body and my life, fall over yourself to please them, do anything for them.  Ape.  Animal.  Filth. 

22 years shitting on me, shitting on England, insolent vermin strutting around as though nothing was happing shitting on my country, shitting on me, pissing in my face.  I was doing this to tell you facts, vermin, how do you  fucking dare.
I don’t need to be able to walk, think you can fucking decide, you disgusting animals, think you can decide I don’t need to live.  Sick cunt animals who think they can decide what a woman is allowed to do and be, fucked-up freaks who  think they can break my body, destroy my life.

And we got away from them, we got to be the kind of human we choose to be, we got to be free, but Blair changed all that, as soon as the Pope’s slave-boy got into Downing Street sucking pervert cock a highly educated, highly intelligent literate, literary Englishwoman is treated like a disobedient slave-girl, beaten up and left for dead, thrown on the scrapheap.

That capering ape hurt my back and no-one gave a fuck or gives a fuck.  Ooh, ooh, a fucking sadist is going to sue me for objecting to being his fucking victim.
My body has been broken and it doesn’t matter to anybody.

Just stop being a silly little girly and keep my fucking marf shut and accept kinky-boy freaks, sickies, own my body and mind, accept my spinal fusion can be used as a punchbag by diseased monkeys, accept my country can be shat on, destroyed by fascism, corruption, bestiality, perversion, accept no-one will pay any attention to anything a woman says

Just be a good little girl and get on with my needlework and stop meddling in men’s business.  Fuck you, Linch, you evil smelly old ape, animal, broken my body, murdered me, you don’t give a fuck do you, you and your filthy tard mong spass bags of evil, your precious bloody nursies.  All you can cope with, cuntfaced venom, vicious whining mong animal-women.  What women are supposed to be.

Kinky-boy perv freak sickos who think my private life is anything to do with them, insolent diseased obscene monkeys who think they can dictate my sex life and whether I can go hiking, own my body and mind, I’m their fucking property, their fucking slave-girl to have my body broken and my life destroyed if they wish

It’s what they do, the kinky-boy pervs of religion, destroy women, especially intelligent rational educated women, it’s what the  filthy twisted ape-men have done for 3000 years. 

How can you draw the line when there is no line, anything goes, everything goes, a woman’s body, a woman’s life, medical ethics, everything is annulled by the ravings of religion.

I trust Prof Dawkins does not have the misfortune to develop a haematological cancer.  If he does, I do suggest he avoid UCH.

This land is mine.  The English aren’t supposed to do that are we, dare to lay claim to the island we have inhabited for millenia.  I mean that’s xenophobic, innit, racist, innit.  No, it’s not sick freaks.  Happy to share it with anyone in tune with its values.  You, kinky-boy pervs are not.

We’re supposed to say “Please sir, not wishing to be forward, sir, but do you think you might bear in mind we natives have our own customs, our own ways of doing things, if you please, sir, like people being free and that, and democracy.” While kink freaks kick us. 

There is a meme that England is nothing outside the colonial antics.  And what, we all arrived here in about 1700 in a spaceship, we were running around in skins until we got rich from empire and could afford clothes.   

Laugh in your obscene horrific foul animal faces.  Better than sobbing my guts out.  Why should I take any of you seriously, regard any of you as sentient life?  You have no ethics, you have no intellect, you reject all fact, reason, morality out of hand, you are impervious to fact and reason, unreachable by love or mind.  Clearly you are not anything with which it is possible to communicate by humans means.  You regard me as a punchbag, a pawn on your chessboard, something in the way of which you have a perfect right to dispose.

And best of all you think I’m surplus to requirements in my own country.  Do you think I don’t understand you all want me dead. 

Yeah, yeah, I’ve abused some bloody garbage dribbled by a headcase who claims it’s  the Word of God, for which he has no evidence whatever, which is just a cover-up for his sickness and madness, and all fact, reason and morality has to be trumped by the dribbling of a mad monkey, abloody psycho freak who belongs in a fucking cage in the Zoo, and every sick freak pervert traitor is adamant that the only thing of significance is some fucked-up baboon jabbering he’s got a fucking book and that book is Troof.

See how I die, freak sickie, yeah, just fucking watch me die, dirt scum pervert traitor vermin, sick diseased fucks.  Scum filth vermin.

OK, cunthead scum filth ape vermin, filthy, filthy, filthy, squalid, sly, cowardly, twisted, pervert freak vermin, sick cunt ape traitor vermin, my life is going to end miserably.  I’ve got nothing to look forward to except misery and suffering, I have no future, so you’re happy now, cuntfaced vermin, you’ve taken over England with your foul filthy monkey-shit, your twisted obscene corrupt pervert freak psychosis, your dirty, dirty dirty animal world of masters and slaves where it’s ridiculous to think power is accountable, ridiculous to think dirty pervert psychos like you may be challenged, questioned, told to explain their conduct, inconceivable the sick jabber of freaks be conducted in the open where everyone can hear it and anyone can challenge it, where the slaves are all subject to arbitrary unaccountable criminal power, a woman’s body is property and a woman’s mind is a joke, liars are never told to say it all in the open or save their foetid breath.  

You are so pathetically obvious, all of you.  The only people who matter, who are to be looked after, are the psychopathic, sexually perverted and murderous adherent of death-cults of obedience, whose lust for blood and suffering must be sated, hysterics, the certifiable, divorced from all reason and all reality.  Society is to revolve around their ravings; anyone unwise enough to confront with with fact, reason, morality, reality is to be destroyed.  Intelligent, rational, civilized, educated people have every man’s hand against us, regarded as fair game to be hunted to extinction.  We must all accord with the deranged jabber of baboons who belong in Broadmoor, respect it, revere it.   An educated woman is to be dismissed as a joke, treated as a slave-girl, beaten, maimed, crippled, her body broken and if she does not crawl she is to be destroyed.  It’s what you all want, Yong, D’Sa, Kyriakou, Rismani, Popat, Rabin, all of you mad vermin crawling to other mad vermin.  I do not kneel, vermin, scum, groveler pervert offal, diseased, twisted monkey , obscene corrupt repulsive stomach-churning traitor vermin, the scum of the bloody earth, groveller, sly dirty cockroach cowards who crawl around in filthy and squalor, coat yourselves in corruption and lies and irrationality, dirty little traitor monkeys who betray everything and grovel, and crawl and suck Master’s cock and beg to please, filthy, filthy, filthy vermin with sick animal brains that take seriously the ravings of other sick animals 

This is my country and you have raped it.  Raped its laws, raped its standards, any standards, medical ethics, academic standards, the norms of a free, democratic and rational society. There are be no standards getting in the way of mad filthy animals.  Human life is cheap.  Nothing is to be permitted to perturb mad filthy animals.  No standard may be invoked that cages and contains them, least of all of course the standards of democracy crafted over the centuries precisely to cage and contain the psychopath, to ensure the mad monkey keeps its infected claws out of others and all enjoy the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

You are apes.  You are vermin.  Eventually you will be shot like the rabid dogs you are, completely unfit for the company of normal human beings.   Cowards, degenerates, perverts, all these things, rotten, rotten, rotten little animals, rotten at the core, sordid contemptible monkeys who grovel to power and violence, to whom all that signifies is the ape who howls loudest and has the biggest club, dirty contemptible criminals who care about nothing but themselves, feathering their own nests, social advancement, making money, and the bloody dirty corrupt death cults of obedience that so carefully brought them to be  psychotic monkeys. 

This land is mine, by virtue of my parents and their parents and their parents before back to Nathaniel Howard b. 1753, the earliest traceable ancestor and back into the mists of time before that.  One of the oldest names in England, you will fucking recall

The Internet Surname Database, to which I am sure I did not  contribute, has this to say 
When the final definitive history of famous English surnames is written, the surname of Howard will surely be near the head of the list. It appears  no less than seventy-five times in the British National Biography,  whilst thirty-seven coats  of arms have been granted to the name holders. The highest heraldic rank in  
England is that of Earl Marshall,  responsible for all events in which the  monarch takes a ceremonial role. This title is held by the Duke of Norfolk,  whose family descend from  Sir William Howard who died in 1308. Lord Howard of Effingham was the  victor over the Spanish Armada in 1588, not Sir Francis Drake as is  popularly recorded. There are two possible originations for the surname. It may derive from the Norman-French personal names Huard and Heward,  introduced into England after the Conquest of 1066. These were  originally adapted forms of the pre 7th century Germanic personal name  "Hughard", composed  of the elements "hug", meaning heart or spirit, and  "hard", hardy and brave.  Alternatively it may derive from the Anglo-Scandinavian personal name "Haward",  composed of the elements  "ha", meaning high and "varthr", a guardian. The names  Huardus, Huart  and Houardus, all appear as land owners in the famous Domesday  Book of  1086, which predated most surnames by at least two hundred years. In  the modern idiom the surname has several spellings including Howard,  Howerd, Heward and Huard. The first recorded spelling of the family name is probably  that of Robert Howarde. This was dated 1221, in the rolls  of Ely Abbey,  
Cambridgeshire, during the reign of King Henry 111rd, 1216 - 1272. Throughout  the centuries, surnames in every country have  continued to "develop," often  
leading to astonishing variants of the  original spelling.  
 
My lot have traced ourselves back to  one Nathaniel Howard, born in 1758. No idea what he did or who he was.  Not  impossibly popped out from under a blanket. 
 
Philip Howard (Times writer, not Earl  of Arundel or Saint), good and deserving and also mocking clansman, says somewhere  the name comes from Hog-Ward, the guy who guards the pigs. I  don't have a problem with that.  
http://www.dillsplace.com/our-grandfather-who-art-in-heaven-though-i-doubt-it-howard-be-thy-name.html 
 
This is my patch, bubba and you do not impose your filth on England, how many foul obscene dirt monkeys fall over themselves begging to suck your cock. 
 
BTW happy to share the name, so long as those who take it don’t soil it.  Anthony Howard Goldstone of course soils it. 
 
As indeed happy to share the country with those who do not soil it.  The descendants of Jews who pitched up here as refugees, what shall we say, somewhere between 1930 and 1946 and now busy themselves sucking Nazi cock, destroying democracy, and installing fascism – I’m sure the IDF, Mossad and Shin Bet can see the point.  I expect the British Army can too.   Whatever his ancestry, one fat evil little Jew has destroyed an Englishwoman in his eagerness to destroy the free world.  That is not how they think in Tel Aviv.  I really think Tel Aviv should deal with the filthy little cunt to avoid any nasty nonsense about anti-semitism. 
 
Before even the ancient Briton came to Rye or out to Severn strode, 'twas Puck he made the rolling English road. Pook's Hill, Puck's Hill, on such did we tread before we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head. There is a wound, a breach deeper than Party divides. There had been no such breach since Crown confronted Commonwealth. Hoity-toity, divine appointee! Poor Charles. They had come, the men in black, and built their shrines on the hill-tops, but Rome fell early. Now Canterbury too had fallen and in her place was the little red god.  
              Indeed there are now two nations. No-one went about proclaiming we detest democracy, we loathe individual liberty, meritocracy is disgusting; people just ran on other rules. It was a bit scary. It had irritated Dez, of course, being frightened. After a while she decided fear was a luxury, a self-indulgence granted those not in the firing-line, who could witter, bad business! what a shame! 
              The word was small and fat and bespectacled, an anorak, a geek. The word was an ageing hippy. The word was a stout, balding middle-aged doctor. The word was a housewife in Luton. The word was liberal and it lay spattered in the middle of a traffic accident, blood running from its eyes, its nose, bruised, broken, while the Leftist consensus crowed and cackled, took its clothes, kicked it in the stomach, but it summoned the last vestiges of its strength and said you do not give a fuck about the rights and freedoms of others. In America it was dead and they danced on its grave.
 
This is still Puck’s Hill, Pook’s Hill, and you do not rape it,
 
Sea-farers found this tropical paradise, though the history-books will tell you that men (women and men) migrated across the land-bridge. Did I say they were human? Sprites and spirits too may be affected by Wanderlust, even dryads. There came the Celts and the Celts did what they do best, which is produce poets. Any poet worth his or her bardic crown lives in two worlds, the Irish fili, the Welsh derwydd, seers, priests and judges, thinking to have invented the goddess and keeping faith with her though somewhat off the edge, with the disconcerting habits of speaking in tongues and constructing Tree-Alphabets. Then came the military man, the Roman, the practical man, the Saxon not yet Anglo, the Norman not yet English and with them their gods but though there was physical conquest there was intellectual defeat for the poets took these strange languages and made them their own and Reason paired off with the goddess. The power of poetry grew and the heart of England remained on the wild side, which in modern parlance means free because no-one who has a stunted, rigid, rat-like little brain stuffed with dogma and regulations ever got near to writing a poem (this peculiar cultural synthesis is why the King James Version of the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer are among many other things pure poetry) and the stunted, rigid and rat-like had to put up with it and coped as best they could by dismissing poetry as nothing to do with anything that matters. The goddess became a democrat. Her statue is in New York Harbour. Cultural syntheses indeed are strange things, nothing less resembling the goddess than the squat and warty figure of Cromwell who said the king-god had to go, and you will not be the first to note that the nation's successes and excesses were magnified under its queens, with the exception of course of poor Queen Anne, who as we know is dead. The Christians naturally put their own cover on the allegory of the grail, as the goddess had before them, the Great Womb and all that. The grail is filled with blood signifiying life. While the grail is unrecognized, the land remains a wasteland and the Fisher King unhealed. I could think of a number of candidates for the Fisher King.
 
All too clearly you do and I shall be long dead before anyone cuts your filthy throats or merely hangs you.  Happy now, Yong, D’Sa, Kyriakou, Rismani, Popat, Rabin,  a successful outcome, clever cunts aren’t you, sick cunts.  Insolent sick cunts, this is my country and you shit on it, shit on me, shit on civilization and impose your filth, your dirt, your corruption, shit on all decency, shit on reason, shit on the University, shit on the law, shit on morality, shit on fact.
 
Murderers.  Nothing stopped you upholding democracy.  Nothing stopped  you howling in outrage at the assault on my spinal fusion and what was happening to my body.  Every minute of every hour of every day every single bloody one of them had a choice.  Unswervingly, unyielding, adamant, they all chose evil, corruption, lies, fascism, treason, bestiality. Just bloody filth, all of them, rotten flesh.
 
But now they’re all happy, they lied and manipulated and whined and jabbered and babbled behind closed doors like the cockroach filth they are, hating light, air, clean, open, decent, to achieve my destruction and now the filth have achieved it.  All you ever wanted isn’t it, the bloody cunt to shut the fuck up about democracy, freedom, reason, intellect, fact, history, ethics, accountability, transparency, reality, sanity.  Knock the stupid cunt around until I lean to keep my fucking marf shut, learn who’s my fucking master here.  Didn’t work, did it, monkeys.
 
I am free, animals.  I don’t have a master.  I don’t have some dirty sick animal who thinks he’s set above me to dictate my being, demand I be a subhuman of his will and choosing, conduct neurosurgery for which he is assuredly not qualified, digging into my mind, excising the bits he doesn’t like, ordering me to forget my own thoughts and ideas, forget everything I have ever read and learned contrary to his ravings, distressing to his perverted twisted animal brain, an ape who think he has the right to lay his filthy paws on me, mutilate and injure me, a sick monkey who is not satisfied with having crippled me, but insists I be destroyed.  My body is not fucking his to break, to use as his punchbag.   How many times have you been told?  You are in England. We have maximum security institutions for the criminally insane, the psychopathic.  The English do not have fuck-ups set above us dribbling monkey-puke to which we are expected to defer, fuck-ups sat their immutable, sick monkeys who think themselves our superiors set above us for our own good, who know best, who are not to be challenged, freaks, sickies, nutters.
 
Fuck the lot of you.
 
There really isn’t space on the gravestone to add courtesy of Linch, Goldstone, Porter, Nathwani, Khwaja, Yong, Mackinnon, Peggs, all of whom masquerade as professors in the University of London.
 
I shall of course continue diligent effort to dig myself out of that grave you have so lovingly and diligently and carefully prepared for me by your absolute insolent evil.  Come on, fuck-ups, what's your fucking problem?  Babble, babble, jabber, jabber, whine, whine.  What do you think your ape-dribble about an evil old animal you call the Holy Farter matters to me? You, Whelan, the theatrical yawner, the ape pervert who found my objecting to having been crippled and insisting I live in a democracy such a bore?  What is your fucking problem, you dirty animal?  Is oo another lickle sadist?  Get off on it, do you, perv, get off on power to injure a woman?  Or are you just IRA?