Lord Mayor of London, Bonkers Boris Nonsense, last night rescued a woman from being attacked by an armed group of drunken yobettes, chasing them down the road on his bicycle while shouting “Effin’ Oiks – I’ll have yer all horse-whipped and thrown into the Tower fer this!”
Ms. Fellattia van der Gamm, a 94-years-old Dutch tourist, was walking along Dick Turpin Street in Scumborough Hamlets on Monday evening when she was surrounded and jostled by the boozy girls, one of whom was armed with two sticks of rhubarb fastened together in a martial arts style ‘nunchakas’ fashion.
Ms. van der Gamm, a retired Utrecht lap dancer, was walking back to her bed and breakfast accommodation when she was approached by the rowdy group of hoodie-wearing yobettes – all swigging on bottles of high octane Meths Breezer.
She told a reporter from the Scumbags Gazette “I vos finding my way back to der shithole of a B and B place wiv mine hand-held GPS machine so didn’t notice der nasty drunken sluts until dey pushed me against der car and started groping me and going through mine pockets.”
“So I scream out loud – in English – and dis nice man wiv a windblown thatch of blonde hair just like der messy bouffant style of der sexy Serbian war criminal Radovan Karadzic that now is on trial in the Hague – he is riding his bike past den he stopped and chased der girls down der street, calling dem “Oiks”. “He really vos my knight on a shining bicycle. But now I ask you something – what is ‘Oiks’?”
Mayor Nonsense returned a few minutes later pushing his bike and carrying the confiscated sticks of rhubarb over his shoulder then took Ms. van der Gamm by the arm and asked in his best gentlemanly manner “Fancy coming back to my place for a spot of rhubarb crumble and custard, darling?”
One informative aside – Bonkers Boris, a once-time member of the Oxford University Bullingdon Club – a student dining society renown for its raucous feasts, head-banging piss-ups and wholesale homosexual dogging sessions –
gained celebrity fame for his gourmet preparations of stewed rhubarb and custard while attending the university.
It is rumoured in Oxford Uni lore that fellow students and their epicurean guests, once having sampled the gastronomical delights of Boris’s cordon bleu dessert concoction, were known to have fretted away and actually died from withdrawal symptoms when they were unable to secure a source as wholesome as the original.
* For readers unaccustomed to upper class English slang, ‘Oiks’ is a ‘nice’ and ‘politically correct’ Balliol College, Oxford term for ‘cunts.’
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/8340865.stm
Boris? – Chivalry – or his sense of it. A true Oxford blue our Boris Nonsense. As the lady said – “My knight on a shining bicycle.”
As to sexual favours, Boris is more than up to servicing of a gang of inebriated yobettes – Vi-Shagra not required.
I have doubts about his motives: altruism? nobility? chivalry?
I think your old mate Boris did what he did expecting sexual favors in return…
Hmmm, I doubt my old mate Boris would be up to biking to Iraq.
However, you can give him a call and ask: mayor@london.co.uk
Now if only there were more gentlemen like Bonker Boris who existed in Iraq and the Middle East region right now:
“Nobody knows exactly how many Iraqi women and children have been sold into sexual slavery since the fall of Saddam Hussein’s regime in 2003. There is no official number because of the shadowy nature of the business. Baghdad-based activists like Hinda and others estimate it to be in the tens of thousands. Still, it remains a hidden crime, one that the 2008 U.S. State Department’s Trafficking in Persons report says the Iraqi government is not combating. Baghdad, the report says, “offers no protection services to victims of trafficking, reported no efforts to prevent trafficking in persons and does not acknowledge trafficking to be a problem in the country.”
While sexual violence has accompanied warfare for millenniums and insecurity always provides opportunities for criminal elements to profit, what is happening in Iraq today reveals how far a once progressive country (relative to its neighbors) has regressed on the issue of women’s rights and how ferociously the seams of a traditional Arab society that values female virginity have been ripped apart. Baghdad’s Minister of Women’s Affairs, Nawal al-Samarraie, resigned last month in protest of the lack of resources provided to her by the government. “The ministry is just an empty post,” she told TIME. “Why do I come to the office every day if I don’t have any resources?” Yet even al-Samarraie doesn’t think sex-trafficking is an issue. “It’s limited,” she said, adding that she believed the girls involved choose to engage in prostitution.
That’s a view that infuriates activists like Yanar Mohammed, who heads the Organization of Women’s Freedom in Iraq. “Let me take her to the nightclubs of Damascus and show her [trafficked] women by the thousands,” she says. To date, the government has not prosecuted any traffickers. And for the past year it has prevented groups like Mohammed’s from visiting women’s prisons, where they have previously identified victims, many of whom are jailed for acts committed as a result of being trafficked, such as prostitution or possessing forged documents.
That’s where Mohammed’s group first saw Atoor several years ago, at the Khadimiya Women’s Prison in northern Baghdad. Now 18, Atoor married her 19-year-old sweetheart, a policeman called Bilal, when she was 15. Three months later he was dead, killed during one of the many bloody episodes in Iraq’s brutal war. After the obligatory four-month mourning period dictated by Islamic Shari’a law, Atoor’s mother and two brothers made it clear that they intended to sell her to a brothel close to their home in western Baghdad, just as they had sold her older twin sisters. Frightened, she told a friend in the police force to raid her home and the nearby brothel. His unit did, and Atoor spent the next two years in prison. She was not charged with anything, but that’s how long it took for her to come before a judge and be released. “I wanted to go to prison — I didn’t want to be sold,” she says. “I didn’t think it would happen to me. My mother used to spoil me. Yes, she sold my sisters, but she regretted that. I thought that she loved me.”
Hinda the activist-investigator also knows what it’s like to be betrayed by family and considered human merchandise. Raped at 16, she was disowned by her family and left homeless. In many parts of the Arab world, the stigma of compromised chastity, even if it was stolen, is such that victims are at best outcasts and at worst killed for “dishonoring” their family or community. Desperate and destitute, Hinda turned to prostitution.”