The Dunny Column

Dunny Column: Peace marches make me want to war someone, right in the face

27.03.07

Dunny Column: Peace marches make me want to war someone, right in the face

Hullo readers, me again, and since I got in moderate trouble for the last column, I thought I’d set the record crooked by saying, THE COLUMN IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE YOU LAUGH… bellends.

BEFORE YOU GO NUTS, THIS IS NOT US IN THE PICTURE, THEY ARE ZEALOT ARSEHOLES, probably.  Although, I'm not sure what these guys in the picture have got against cigarettes, I mean, they never hurt anyone....

A man of conscience and liberal upbringing as you can see from my past writings, an ambition of mine was always to be the best damned protester a peace march ever saw.  Which is why a few of my friends, including Rowlee, who’s a hit-man by trade, went on a peace march a couple of weeks back.

The objective was as simple as it was wonderfully complex. 

We were to:

A, Stop the war

B, Stop the slaughter of innocents (see objective A for more details)

C, Stop too much cash being spent on the replacement of Trident nuclear weapons

D, Encourage the trial of Tony Bush for war crimes

5, Stop the war again

All joking aside, I really believed in it and respect immensely the people who bust their arses to get things changed. 

I thought to myself: this will be morally uplifting, I can join millions if not tens of politically responsible people as we all push together to achieve a common goal of peace.  We could exchange ideas, cement our beliefs, encourage each other when times are harsh, and let each other know we are not alone in our struggle for what’s right. We can make a difference. We can make the world a better place with our revolutionary brothers and sisters.

Of course, that went out of the window quicker than that time Dom and Timmy were simultaneously sick out of each side of a cab, whilst in transit, forming sort of, go-sicker-stripes.  This is what actually happened:

We turned up to do ‘our bit’ perhaps with the wrong attitude, well perhaps, I had the wrong attitude.  Because you see, I don’t like being around fundamentalist loonopaths.

There was a bunch of people handing out leaflets highlighting the struggle in Kashmir, and how the conflict was ruining the region, whilst dropping crisp packets, burger boxes, empty cans etc. all over London, ruining THIS region and getting belligerent if people didn’t take a flier, which to be honest, a Barbary Ape could have designed and printed on used toilet paper, and it would have looked better.  One got pissed off with me because I wouldn’t take two of them! Eff off, and pick up your litter you filthy cads.

Then there was the man screaming: “Victory to the Iraqi resistance, death to the capitalist insurgents.” I thought, erm, nope, not with you on that one, do you mean death to OUR capitalist insurgents, OUR boys? What are you, American fighter planes? I’m not really for the death of anyone you fascist dickhead. Semolina for brains I tell yer.

Then there was the person selling ball-whistles and anti-war banners, air horns that type of thing, whilst shouting things like “Down with capitalism” he was trying desperately to sell us stuff.  Must have been a wind-up, surely anyone could see the contradiction.  Needless to say he didn’t get any of MY hard earned capitalist money. What a bounder!

Then there were the people shouting “war criminal” at the police, who for my money, whatever you think of the rozzers, they were there to protect us… from the nutters in our ranks. Also, not sure how many Iraqi men, women and children your average Met Police PC has murdered, or how many British soldiers they’ve killed by mistake. So erm, yous can shut your prayer-holes on that one as well.

More pro-testes.

Like what I did there.

And a woman, who stripped down to only her very revealing bra and knickers, ran up the Mall shouting “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. YOU ONLY HAVE ONE CHOICE…. ONE CHOICE…..ONE CHOICE..WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, and like some other people I know, didn’t finish her sentence…in the mental institution. 

So I had absolutely no clue what my one choice was.  I mean, PJ or Duncan? Bulldog clips or mountains? Light bulbs or churches? The sky or slide-rules? Dogs or jobs? Wood-chip or candy floss?  Jeans or gravy? Magna Carta or kiwi fruit?

What?

Also honey, if you got it flaunt it, if you don’t, don’t run up the Mall half-naked screaming “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” I was nearly sick on to the guy next to me’s ban the bomb sign. She was nee oil paintin… unless that oil paintin was of a sea monster.

Oooo, I bet a crazy girl now wants to hurt me, because that would make such a difference in my life, that’s NEVER happened before! Bring it on Banshee Bird.

There were people dressed in orange overalls with bags on their heads to highlight the mistreatment of the Guantanamo kidnapped, I mean terrorist prisoners, but mysteriously they could all see where they were going, bag over your head MY ARSE, there must have been a hole in it. Cheaters.

I sarcastically suggested how good it would be if by the end of our march, Sky News reported: 

In yet another spectacular U-Turn, Tony Blair today announced he was dead wrong on all of it and that a 100,000  crazy fuck-balls, not counting Dunny off Sevenball and his friends, had changed his mind, deciding finally that he is a war criminal after all. Mister Blair commented: “So awfully sorry guys, y’know, one can see now that God wasn’t guiding me, it was a chimp in a big white house, I shall resign forthwith and start my penance.” 

In response, Mr. Bush said: “OO-OO-AA-AA-OO-OO-AA-AA” and licked at his own stream of piss.

If only it were true, I mean, if only the announcement was made and it was true, I’m pretty certain Bush does make noises like that and lick at his own stream of piss.

Oslo, after all these years of political protest, can we write and then sing something other than “What do we want?” [pause for response]….”When do we want it?” [pause for completive response, which is ususally “NOW!”]…and begin again?

We got so annoyed and felt so duped by the scenario that the hit-man and I were singing songs about Leeds, and how dirty they are.  One copper joined in and smiled.

Well-in that man.

We also sang slogans aimed at Steve McLaren (Luke, that’s the England football manager):

“1, 2, 3, 4, England needs a flat-back four. “

And “Ste Mac listen to me. We don’t want no 3-4-3.”

“What do we want? Sean Wright-Phillips! Where do we want him? Terrorising people down the wings when Lennon is injured but not until he gets more first-team football with Chelsea, but you can’t argue that he has electric pace and a decent touch but his final ball and overall reading of the game needs work, his commitment and passion have never been in question.”

Then I probably went too far, yelling:

“Grant Mitchell – Te-ror-rist, Mariah Carey – Ter-or-rist”.

“War – Huh – Good God y’all - what is it good for? Kicking people’s heads in! Say it again y’all”.

By the end of it I was so embarrassed to be on the same Planet (debatable) never mind road as some of these numpties that my face was as red as my feet after walking all bloody day.

I felt like going up to one of the groups of nutters and saying something along the lines of:

“What are you talking about? This is FOR the war, right? I mean we support the war? Don’t we want to stay till we beat our hi-score?”

Stopped myself doing it, but it was going to be that or “Support Gay Marriage! I thought this was a pride march.”

Never again I tells ya.

Sorry.

No really I’m sorry. I don’t mean to belittle genuine attempts to make democracy work, it’s just that, well, can’t we text vote next time? Rather than hanging-out with the mentally inept.

Are you fooligans now getting the picture that this is meant to be incendiary?

You’re meant to laugh, or at least be mildly distracted.

Am I going to get in more trouble at the next show, like I did last time?

Woman comes up to me and, in relation to the ‘When travelling in France’ column I wrote says, “I read your column Dunny, very funny at times, but my Mum’s French.” 

I said, “Oh, I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry for what you said about the French? You should be, young man”

“No, I’d do that again, I mean, I’m sorry your Mum’s French.”

JOKING before you come and find me again, or your countrymen surround my house with lorries burning cow carcasses.  Let’s get in boats and I’ll fight you then. 

Doing it again, sorry.

I made a further boo-boo the other day.

I was going through the turny style gatey bits on the Tube, in a queue of people waiting to filter though, when I noticed two Underground workers were stood by the gate I would pass through, watching a large gentleman, directly in front of me, struggling to get through the gates before they closed. 

One Underground guy was saying to the other one: “Watch, watch, watch… ..wait for it….. watch………..BOOM! Ha ha ha!“ as the gates abruptly shut on the poor traveller, who didn’t get their immense frame with all its baggage, and also luggage through the relatively small aperture in time.

As I was directly behind, the mischievous pair saw me, I saw them, and smiling I exclaimed unintentionally loudly “GOT HIM! Ha ha!”.

Just then,  the woman who had just been trapped by the gates, turned round and screamed “I’m not a HIM!”.

I nearly shat myself, and so did the two miscreants of the Underground. But they were laughing, pulling faces at me as if to say “Oh, you’ve done it now…”. I wasn’t laughing because I feared for my next breath. 

I didn’t mean to offend him, sorry HER! I hate offending people, as you people know very well, particularly someone that big, (S)he would make mincemeat out of me.

Ooops.

Well what was I going to say?

If it looks like a bloke, walks like a bloke, smells like a bloke, it’s probably a duck.

Was my thinking.

Now that’s definitely earned me a time-share place on Satan’s right hand side in Hell.

Jesus, if you are listening, I mean if you’re real, and heeding my pathetic word, please forgive me.  I never meant to offend or hurt anyone. Honest Guv, swear to your Dad.

Anyways, news.

Jim still hasn’t written his blog studio log thing log – tut tut James, we’ve been busy as well. 

We got Jonny Turbo back, for a little while.

Martin still wears scarves in-doors. 

Luke’s hair gets bigger. 

My tollerance to alcohol goes up whilst my tollerance for people goes down.

There’s been games played, Rugger and Footy, that kind of thing, some  people got excited, probably in Wales or somewhere.

Erm, I watched Jaws and Die Hard with William the other day, that was immensely enjoyable.

We got new material on the go.

I’m going in the studio with Bex Colwell and Daisy to do some work with them, also meant to be doing some stuff with the amazing Jessica Grace as well, when I have more than two ticks to rub together, not easy. 

I don’t even have time to rub myself together at the moment.  But then, I’m not 14 anymore, I don’t MAKE time for that, plus it makes you go blind apparently. 

No offense to anyone who is 14 right now, it’s totally natural, it doesn’t make you go blind, and I believe you when you say you are just combing your hair in there. Hey, by the way, have you seen that mail-order catalogue, the one with those swimsuits in, it was here a moment ago? Kevin? You in there? What’s that noise? Sounds like you’re trying to whisk an egg in there.

Er, some Kids news:

More kids have been shot by other kids in my town.

Won’t see that on fucking Newsround.

Uhm, what else?

Nope that’s it.

SO, WOW.

There you go.  Your little brains are filled up again with ranty rubbish from the only man what can.

I’ll be scheming on another one very soon.

Shows to come late April / early May.

Yous can get hold of the album on our websites, and also Amazon.

You can email me, skywrite or use ESP, buying me a drink will make my day, teach me how to make it, and I’ll be drunk forever.  Or something like what Oxfam says about fishes.

Only rock can save us now.

Hope to see you all soon.

Bye now.

Dunnoir

THE DUNNY COLUMN IS NOT WRITTEN BY ANYONE EXCEPT DUNNY’S LEFT FOOT.  THOSE WHO TAKE OFFENCE SHOULD PHONE IN TO RICHARD AND JUDY AND TRY AND WIN SOME MONEY.

SEVENBALL DOESN’T JUST BLEACH YOUR EXISTING LIMESCALE, IT REMOVES IT COMPLETELY BY TACKLING THE PROBLEM MICROSCOPICALLY WITH OXY-ACTION, LEAVING A SMOOTH, SURGICALLY CLEAN SHINE.  NOT TO BE TAKEN ORALLY.

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