Parliamentary House of Comedy By Misti


Hardly a week goes by without an influx of crazy revelations from our government.  One could argue that they have a sense of humour; after all, once the initial shock has died down we find it is replaced by potent hysterical laughter.

Did we hear right?  Was he/she drunk? Or are they quite simply nuts?

I guess for the benefit of our educated time-serving politicians, the only believable and acceptable answer would be that they are desperately attempting to lift the British public out of their deep despair born of a nation in recession and depression and inject a unique yet side-splitting hysteria!

And boy did David Gauke (Treasury Minister) rise to the occasion with his recent outrageously wacky comments!!!

‘It is morally and legally wrong for householders to pay tradesmen in cash for a discount’ he rather pompously commented, whilst magically conjuring away his own rather grand indiscretions.  

*So I put it to our ConDem(ing) Government that the ‘said’ David Gauke face          immediate promotion to Entertainments Minister!*

Need you question why? Well the evidence, my Lord, or If I’m to stand politically corrected, Prime Minister, is cast before you with such an outpouring of intensely guffaw rendering comments that recent fabricated but rather honestly guessed at polls report Britain is well out of depression, with its people rolling around in the streets with tremulous laughter…

THE EVIDENCE (Responsive quotes taken from online newspapers)

So let me get this straight, an expenses-fiddling minister who claimed over ten thousand pounds in expenses back from tax-payers to avoid paying stamp-duty, tells us that avoiding tax is ‘morally repugnant’. I’m speechless.  Which of course this person was after they had finished laughing their socks off!

It is far too early in the morning to be laughing out this loud.  What if he is cleaning your moat?  Or installing your duck island?  This opinionated character was arrested and taken to the stocks for some good old-fashioned pelting with rotten food and mud!  Did I hear you say, you weren’t aware that this was going on in this day and age, well just goes to show you, the media presents a tight-lipped presence under the influence of our uncaring, unsharing government. (The description of stocks and pelting was merely for fictional purposes and to induce humour, much like that of our politicians outlandish statements.)

David Gauke’s wife is a tax avoidance accountant – helping the rich hide 21 trillion in tax havens.  These thieving bunch of fascists have no authority…  Oh dear, the laughter seems to have subsided before this statement was made!

Lets see now, A Treasury Minister telling US something is morally wrong…Hhmmm…I just do NOT know where to begin with this… Well once you have picked yourself up off the floor and finished laughing, you might just continue and tell us!

And here is one of my favourites, Lol!

Comment: ‘NO! It was people on benefits that caused the economic meltdown’.

Comeback: ‘Yes it was they didn’t spend enough or buy Olympic tickets!’ Hehehe…

Typical Tory ‘blame the victims’ diversionary tactic.  Oh yes, forget the 13 trillion being stashed away in tax havens by their greedy, repugnant billionaire mates, it is all the fault of the little man.  Poor Joe Bloggs around the corner who pays the plumber £40 in cash.  It is all his fault.  It is the little man who has caused the meltdown of capitalism not the 0.0001% of greedy, reckless, incompetent billionaires.  Unfortunately  0.0001% of the British public voicing their opinion lost their humour after the initial shock had abated.

And mustn’t forget the White Van man who is struggling to earn a living and whom oops, might be accepting cash in hand in return for a slight discount that will come out of his own pocket of course:  Is it not morally wrong to stash millions in hidden bank accounts abroad when poor people are struggling to fill their vans with diesel due to the cost of fuel.  Rip off bloody Britain!!!

Humour aside, they have valid points and I guess this sums it up…

So compared to the $32 trillion the government’s city friends are hoarding in offshore tax havens, the billions paid to G4S, Serco, the rail companies and others that avoid tax, the cost of paying by cash is nothing.  A pathetic attack on the poor again.  Cash is what you pay local and small tradesmen, the local businesses that spend money in the local economy.  And tax not paid is still money going to the local economy, not the tax dodgers worked by this lying sycophant of a politician and his cronies in the City.

You see ConDem’s the people speak with an honest and direct tongue, they don’t elude questions put to them and neither will they roll over and accept the degrading banter spoken by yourselves and aimed in their direction.

Just when I thought you couldn’t possibly be any dumber, you go and do something like this… and totally redeem yourself! ( An extract from the Dumb and Dumber Movie, but so appropriate to the characters running Britain right now.)  For as much as their hideous exploits are ousted by the nation, they continue to believe they have redeemed such decisions with their outcome!  The whole G4S debacle has ridiculed us in the eyes of the World with its astounding £284 million pound deal to provide security, which they have monstrously failed to achieve.  Yet surely our Condem government should take a portion of the blame, after all the success of hosting the Olympics in Great Britain surely falls on their shoulders?  No worries, their lowly tactics know no limits with them exploiting the very forces they are set to sack!  Our Armed Forces fresh from battle, find themselves balancing their exhausted bodies on chairs in a desperate need for sleep, with little more than a canopy for coverage.  These great men are sleeping rough, along with many other security guards and employees of G4S, and without adequate facilities.  Yes Prime Minister this is where things truly become morally repugnant!


Dumber, oops, I mean Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg gave his own little pep talk to Team GB.

Well Cleggy, I am about to use your own words against you in a pep talk that any sane decent human being would heed!

‘You can expect the support of the whole country as you battle to achieve Gold’ Wise words, but what about the armed forces/coastguards/police force/NHS/disabled workers etc who go out of their way, many of them risking lives and going above and beyond for their nation, and every single one of them achieving gold medal status in their duties that you are now disposing of under your cutbacks!  Where is your support for them Mr Clegg?

He goes on to preach: You don’t support in normal way, something deeper happens.  Our experiences are all tied together and when all is said and done, those experiences will make up a history we all share.  The team extends to include even those people out there.  There is strength in numbers, something every team player knows.  In your most challenging moments. draw strength from the people out there.  You embody a nation’s hopes; you have captured its imagination; and the people of Britain will be there by your side, supporting you, every step of the way.’

Hear, Hear, Cleggy!  Only my interest is not with the Olympic games but with the true gold medalist’s – our armed forces/coastguards/police force/NHS and the disabled workers you have either disposed of or will dispose of in the weeks following the Olympics.  Those proud people who have served you and who have turned the other cheek to what is set to befall them in order to guard the Olympics whilst being treated deploringly.  I challenge you Clegg to stand before these very people and direct your words to them, remember and I quote you; “there is strength in numbers, they are the nation’s history and we support them!”

Yes Prime Minister

Cameron: Have you enforced mass redundancies on the nation Clegg, it’s vital we claw back money now for foreign investment?

Clegg: Yes Prime Minister.  May I ask, Sir, what are your long-term plans?

Cameron: I’ve had my finger on the button performing eliminations, some say it’s a dirty job but its been quite enjoyable playing God with people’s lives.  Thought I might follow in the footsteps of that media mogul, you know the one who’s charmingly arrogant and lets nothing stand in his way…  (Cameron lifts his chins, striking a side-on pose in his hand-held mirror)

Clegg: Cowell Sir, Simon Cowell.

Cameron: What will you do Cleggy and why are you wearing that maid’s uniform?

Clegg:  I wouldn’t mind sticking around with you Sir, media moguls have a thing for trickster lap-dogs don’t they? (Clegg looks imploringly at the Prime Minister.) Oh and this thing, Sir? (Clegg brushes his hands against his pinafore.) You did say to eliminate public sector workers, armed forces, coastguards, NHS, police force, disabled and the servants, Sir, they are all gone.

Cameron: What all of them?  Never mind at least it will recoup finances and if we need them back it will be job creation, just a little juggling of figures and it’ll be fine.  No-one will be the wiser.  I’m off on my hols now Clegg, my yacht is overflowing with champers and investment types.

Clegg waves his partner off…

The following morning, Clegg is roused from sleep by the PM’s emergency hotline..

Clegg: Yes Sir Prime Minister?

Cameron: Cleggy, you’d better get your wellingtons  on old chap, blasted yacht is sinking fast and we’ve gone and sacked Her Magesties coastguards…

the end….


-Love Provocateur – Part Two By Misti


Love Provocateur is the United Kingdom’s most Secret Agent, unknown by all others and master of her art.  Our nation will remain one step ahead of all larger and seemingly more powerful ones and dare you need to ask yourself why…

She is what every man craves but few will ever experience.  Those who do will forever lose their souls, those who don’t will live haunted by the hope.  With eyes that penetrate deep inside your mind, bewitching, captivating and leaving behind a wretched torment that will disturb your every dream with a fuel that ignites your body’s passion forevermore


A slither of black chiffon drifted from her shoulders, revealing a toned and lightly tanned body. The ultimate in French allure graced her form, uplifting black lace bra, pleated tulle panties and suspender belt allowing the merest glimpse of female thighs before reaching sheer silk stockings.  The transparency of the lingerie and aptly positioned Swarovski crystal jewels a cruel temptation yet one that needed to remain to be admired.  His forceful presence remained behind her edging her on, instigating her knowingly erotic act.  Silently he stood, breath permeating between open lips, watching; somewhere in the depths of her mind she recalled that he was her target…

“She must die”, The words echoed in his mind, yet still he moved forward feeling her warmth against him.  His hand brushed through the halo of golden hair then slowly stroked her throat finally resting between her breasts.  The softness of her skin and the curve of her back tantalised him as she arched, placing her head against his shoulder in true seductive form.  Bewitchingly she dispersed his focus, almost innocently teasing his maleness into a throbbing arousal that the capture of her breath acknowledged, his form straining against her pert bottom…

Merging with her role, Missy enjoyed the heady exhilaration, the power she held over MI6′s best, Jackson Gellar.  Taking the lead she turned wide blue eyes to him imploring him to love her, to give himself up to her.  Deftly unfastening his trousers, her heartbeat intensified as she moved with an urgency to explore. Silken fingers teased, whilst her eyes never for a moment left his face. Wittingly she ran her tongue along her top lip.

A pent-up groan of ecstasy reverberated from him.  Hungrily he swept her up in his arms, electrified further as her legs latched about him.  Her mouth closed upon his.  She grasped his hair, aflame with desire.  Her tongue lashed at his, teasing, enticing then weakening his stance.  Regaining control he dropped her onto the bed, her body laying splendid before him, wanton eyes beseeching him.  He gripped her thighs drawing her bottom towards the side edge of the bed, his thumb forced her mouth open.  Missy’s gaze intensified.  Consistently he dipped to plant soft butterfly kisses upon her bare midriff, his grin jubilant at her sharp intake of breath…

Sanity deserted them, swept away as they were in a tidal wave of hot-blooded lust.  Again he swept her up in his arms, this time laying her head upon the pillow.  Mesmorised in one another, he proudly undressed revealing his sinewy torso then lowered himself upon her.  A flurry of emotions flashed in her eyes and one so alien weighed heavily deep inside.  Steady fingers reached beneath the pillow.  Withdrawing her hand she struck the barrel of her gun into his chest

He didn’t register shock and neither did she upon feeling the cold metal of his weapon against her temple.  It was the nature of the game.  One they both knew they had to play out.  She had been sent to take out a target and so it seemed had he…

Her eyes strained to watch his finger drawing back the trigger whilst her own did the same.  The game was up…



Close your eyes

Think thoughts of me

I’ll touch your face

I’ll caress your heart.

I’ll lay thee down beside you

Draining the warmth of your skin

My fingers so gently touch you

Your body’s aura has been stung,

Moving as one with me

Possession has begun.

I’ll ask you for nothing

And leave nothing in return

Just a moment of pure passion

Inscribed eternally inside your mind.

Love Provocateur you requested

And I’ve struck my skilful strike

My body moves above you

And delivers loves bite…

And when Love speaks, the voices of all the gods make heaven drowsy with its harmony.        (William Shakespeare)


My Haunted Mind By Misti

When Parallel Worlds Don’t Unite

The sun creeps away shadowed by imposing clouds, an almost grey subterfuge takes its place.  Yet the Sunday afternoon strollers barely notice, immersed as they are in their lazy day activities.  A woman in a pink vest glances at her watch, time an unnecessary dictator that we choose to live our lives by.  A family; mum with her Gucci bag bearing designer pooch balancing from her shoulder.  Her petulant child walks beside her, hardly gaining a glance from a mother preferring to live her life in stark similarity to footballers wives.  Wheelchairs housing the disabled, do we notice, dare we care?  A picture postcard of a memory that will surely become lost in time…

Reality but is this real or just a dream?  A dream belonging to a nightmare existence where pretence and reality coagulate to carry you forward, ignorant of your will…

I close my eyes and I’m back there, gunfire penetrates my eardrums,a persistent attack from AK-47 assault rifles.  Fear seems to drift with the breeze.  I lay down suppressive fire, my courage endorsed from the gimpy(General Purpose Machine Gun) that sits before me.  A smile lightly dusts the edges of my mouth, as I envisage my weapon as a big friend that one hides behind when in trouble.  Too quickly that humour is obliterated, gone forever.   Briefly I hear the whoosh of a deathly RPG.  Its explosion rocks the ground, shattering buildings  and sending shards of body parts flying through the atmosphere, some staining my face.  A ringing invades my brain, an intolerable noise that is suddenly ceaseless and a pain comes with it, yet I am barely able to register that as terror grips me and I wonder if those body parts are mine…

Fear rages through my mind, my hearts beat is so loud that I wonder if these are my final ones.  I want to touch my hands to my stomach, my legs, my face, to satisfy that I am still whole.  I want to scream so that I know I’m still alive but I cannot.  Frozen in fear and selfish with thought that is only just drifting from myself to consider my comrades.  Then another pain invades me, suddenly drenched in realism that if it isn’t my body that has exploded into tiny blood and flesh atoms, then it is that of a friend that I have shared my happy memories and worst fears with.  Who has borne such torturous encounters with me that we have become linked by common bond, that our loved ones at home will never understand.  A friend whom I have sat in silence with awash with nightmares of what we have seen and done, and then with a false humour we have arisen, smiles on our faces, laughter ringing out, yet hearts still bleeding to fight another day…

A child’s laughter, the roar of a motorbike and a distant siren all serve to bring me back to the here and now.  Too late, a lone tear slides down my face as my pain continues to torture me.  Strangers glance in my direction, me the odd woman, frozen in remembrance with tell-tale signs of emotion prevalent.

Burning frustrations make me want to launch at them.  Puncturing their perfect existence with a reality vaccine that will allow them to enter our world, where our lives are risked to ensure their continued safety.  To allow them their pretentious days with fake tans and sculptured lifestyles.  For a brief moment in time I want them to feel the trauma of watching your best friends body become obliterated in mere seconds, yet repetitively haunt for the rest of your life…

Hells Bells! The Angels hit Cardiff by Misti

Hells Angels or Heaven Sent

The City of Cardiff was plagued by a rogue bunch of bikers recently.  The infamous ‘Hells Angels’ roared through the streets terrorising locals and attacking surrounding businesses!  Stop, rewind…actually the truth is that these bikers rumbled into the capital intent on meeting up with club members from all over the globe during a weekend bash.  Amusingly, the police force wasted no time or resources in travelling around and warning shop-holders of the apparent threat to their businesses.   Such was the extent of the warning that many paid out to enhance security measures at a time when every penny counts.

So come on pray tell what is that really about? It’s a known fact that the standard of security at these bashes would give MI5 a run for its money.  Oh and they are invited too, so long as they do their darndest to blend in.  To be sure you can guarantee that there will be no leaks or mistakes along the way.  Dare you be foolish enough to step out of line during these rallies and it wouldn’t be the police force you would worry about.  So quite simply there is no trouble.  And another little titbit of shock information…  These hard-faced bandits are actually policemen, judges, NHS workers and voluntary blood runners who give up their time to ferry blood and organs from one hospital to another.  The bonding connection with the Angels is their passion for their motorcycle and the open road.  It is the one organisation where you are not judged on looks, wealth or standing but are welcomed into a fold that is more like a family.  It’s a sad reflection on us that our ex-servicemen find themselves shunned by society due to the after-effects of war, yet as part of the Hells Angels they once again find themselves in a brotherhood and with a purpose.  Did I also mention that one of the Hells Angels biggest crusades is fund-raising for charities such as children’s hospitals, etc

.Anyway, the police force were not to be blamed for their actions they simply got their orders from above and carried out their job dutifully.  Strange though, we are living in an era where pizza will arrive at your door faster than the police, and you rarely see a copper when you need one but hey presto, when the government wants to make a stance they are out in force.  This might actually have been a wise tactic when dealing with ‘travellers’ who arrive without warning, cost ridiculous amounts of money in legal wrangles and when they do leave feeling rather bitter at their treatment, their parting gift is a trail of debris so great that the budget is sunk completely!

The Hells Angels have a zero tolerance attitude to trouble at their events which I do believe puts them above our government when dealing with riots or activist gangs etc, of which incidentally there is no prior warning to businesses or local people. Listen up government, you don’t need to worry about the Hells Angels they do your job for you!  They cost us nothing in security measures as they provide their own, perhaps a leaf should have been taken out of their book instead of sitting back to watch London burn last August.  Whats more instead of merely watching the demise of our children’s hospitals etc, they actually go out there and raise the funds that will purchase the vital equipment that allows these children to live…

I’m afraid the days of the Hells Angels roaring into town and tearing the place apart are well gone, if indeed they ever existed at all.  There may have been a few rotten apples but they will have been dealt with in-house.  But on that note, perhaps the government should have warned joe public whenever a banking convention came to town, after all they are the real criminals, placating us with their educated and trustworthy auras, whilst in truth they have brought about the very demise of Britain and what happens about these criminals?  Ha!  This is the best bit, they get to pat themselves on the back and reward themselves with a bonus to gallantly endorse their luxury holiday fund.  Whilst the families losing their homes because of these morally defunct self-interested con-men, find themselves increasing the population of innocent people living on the streets.  Feel guilty bankers or government?  Of course not, it will give you something to laugh about whilst spending even more of the nations resources on outrageous banquets, transport and luxury accommodation that is so obviously  necessary when one attends a business conference…

Back to our bikers…  Yes, they are rather an imposing bunch, with their leathers, back patches, shiny heads and facial hair.  Having met with them personally on a few occasions I can tell you your breath chokes in your throat and you suddenly slip into  perfectly behaved mode.  Believe me even my renowned Misti mischief is held in check!  Their faces rarely show emotion but you can be sure they are taking everything in.  As for stepping out of line, you simply don’t!

We are living in an age where our elderly are abused, robbed and beaten by mere teenagers, when muslim activist groups spit at our soldiers, burn our poppies and stamp on our flag without repercussion, when bankers openly steal from us catapulting our  country into financial ruin and even our politicians will stoop to any lengths criminal or otherwise to get their means to an end be it in the name of our once great country or simply to line their own pockets without reprisal, but the one thing that you can be sure of is that when the Hells Angels roar into town the government will act promptly; time being of the essence and dipping into the ever dwindling Police Budget they will instigate a costly yet unnecessary warning system!

*Beware people, the Hells Angels are back in town, they will be holding a weekend bash far away from neighbours so as not to cause any upset, will cause no trouble, will tidy up after themselves and leave as though they were never there at all, oh and in doing so will raise funds for charities that exist because our government is starving our nation of funds…*

So come on pray tell, what was it really about?  Well it appears to be yet another smokescreen to make the government look like the good guys.  Seen to be worrying about joe public whilst indulging rather inconspicuously in what they are truly good at, raping our nation of its wealth, structure and pride!

Gran by Misti

I stumbled upon this poem written many years ago and bringing back such sweet memories.  Written for the person who made my childhood so special, encouraging fun-filled days spent getting up to all kinds of mischief and with my favourite cousin, whom I so admired!!!

Early morning cuckoo’s call

Arouses her from sleep

The chill of the morn crawls through old bones

As across the landing she’ll creep.

Aged fingers set to work

Laying the joy of her day

A fire to thaw the cold of one’s home

And to boil a pot of tea when she may.

Through muddy fields she trudges

Searching endlessly for a solitaire hen

She should have worked on yesterday

And fixed that wretched pen.

At last, tired but happy she rests

Grandchildren sat at her feet

Trying to grab Grandma’s attention

Whilst their faces turn rosy from the fire’s heat.

Days of yesterday, Gran

I sit and remember, just like you…

Days of warmth and childish delight

That this modern world could never get right.