Disillusioned

The idea that Stanislav, a young Polish plumber, anarchist-in-chief, leader of the blogosphere resistance movement, predator upon the pompous and presumptuous, denouncer of the despicable, Poet Laureate to the angry and outraged, sceptic and iconoclast extraordinaire of the scumbag politician, should be revealed first of all as a possessor of JARDINIERES, for God's sake, but then, even worse, horror of horrors, dear Buster is shown to be not the whippet/rottweiler cross, or the like, that we all naturally associated with Mr S, but one of those rat-on-a-lead miniature fucking monstrosities most usually encountered on the Champs-de-Elysee on a Sunday afternoon shitting all over the fucking place. Wearing a woollie. In pink! Brighton here we come!

Next you'll be telling us you're not even fucking Polish. Or a Plumber! As if I wasn't already sufficiently disillusioned.

Aforementioned rat-on-a-lead picture HERE. I think he's sweet, even if he is a fashion victim.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, we come to the weekly coconut. I give you Mr ex-Apprentice, a Right-thinking citizen of this parish who commented as above at the blogosphere's equivalent of Plumb Center (sick) otherwise known as Stanislav's place.