The Whitehouse

The media press bandwaggon is like a donkey pulling a sled sometimes (esp at Christmas) and I am of the opinion, which is mine and © ME, 2007 - that they sometimes need to be disciplined and held by their reigns. So the delectable Amy Whitehouse occasionally runs through town in her hightie. Who hasn't run accros the centre of London wearing only their nightdress, fleeing from a pack of (publicity crazed) photographers after a good fun and enjoyable night out? Who hasn't been knocking on men's doors in the early hours, begging to be let in?

It happens to me most weeks. Just like to Amy. We're so alike. We love truth and emotion, being unafraid to live according to our dreams, to live like true artists, real creative types. We're both deeply spiritual people, listening to that holy voice within. I go to church, she goes to the Priory. I look into her eyes and sense a kindred spirit. a shared soul.

The media jackals are just desperatly trying to show that London has a star, an artist, but they fall flat on their faces and embarrass themselves by trying to provoke a genuine artist into rising to their bait.

The same thing happened to me when the vicious stalker vendetta mob started an unprecedented press and media campaign against me.

Like Amy, I struck an unposed natural stance and appearance like the Maradonna of Baby Jesus and asked for His divine protection. it was unforced and beautiful.

Fandabiedozy.

Look. At. Her.

We have soul. We are sole. Recently we ran through the streets singing new inventive and innocent songs to inspire children.

"Captain Snort is a soldier man,
Scarlet and gold a soldier man.
He'll work a boy as hard as he can,
To turn him into a soldier man.
Captain Snort is a soldier man,
Who lives in Pippin Fort"

Meanwhile in Snaresbrook, they are dribbling (down the front of their shirts) and Nanny is going to wipe it away. They think nobody is watching but my lawyers are hiding in the rafters and making notes on all they see. Soon they'll be going into the bathroom (with uncle) if they try to make me sit on the naughty step again. I have heard about their secretive and furtive womblings.

My research shows me that Amy gets a lot of her (inner) strength from her mother, the corageous Mary Whitehouse, who saved the nation from pornography and is responsible for the high level of devout Christian belief. I'll going to ask the Pope to fast-track her to sainthood. He usually asks my opinion anyway.

It's also no surprise to see that Mary Whitehouse is also a blogger. It is these people, who use blogging to spread truth beauty and (gentle) research that make the blog world so valuable. It's such a waste that some people only blog about me me me me me all the time.

How tiresome. How bothersome.

But there are people who dislike truth (and brackets) and seek to censor and prohibit blogging and bloggers and blogs. Yes, all three, can you imagine the sheer size of the vindictiveness engine in their hearts! It must be the size of a cloud.

Or a cow.

But not a small cow. They're usually called calfs. Some cows are not small, really. They're just far away. Bigger cows are often simply 'nearer'. This is one of my research findings © ME 2007.

Anyone who tries to suppress blogs is a sinner and not a winner in my book. They are always in the secret pay of MI6, I've always found, or felt or imagined it in my head like a tumour.

I am not narrow-minded or old-fashioned. But I am square, and proud of it, if that means having a sense of values. I never had any hang-ups about sex. As for being sexually repressed, nothing could be further from the truth. There are more hang-ups now than ever there were when I was growing up. Sir Iain Banks is the man I hold most responsible for the state of our country today. For 11 years hardly a week went by without a sniping reference to me. And he gave access to anyone who was prepared to say anything morally subversive.

The hour is coming when those who spread false testimony against me will be judged. A flaming fire have we got ready for those who treat the coming of the Hour as a lie. And when they shall be flung into a narrow space bound together. My lawyers will give them the glad tidings of grievous woe! Then will we proceed to the works which they have wrought, and make them as scattered dust.