MORE JARUZELSKI LETTERS
The editor has qualms concerning the publication of more letters by the ranting, homophobic, anti-semitic anti-Christian plumber poet Stefan Jaruzelski and wishes to state that none of those which appear below would be dignified by inclusion in the paper edition of the Penniless Press (circ approx 200). However due to an expressed interest by the less discerning internet community he is grudgingly prepared to allow their publication in the decent obscurity of the world wide web (circ approx 1000,000,000 in 2007)
20 December 2005
Esteemed professor Dent
Although old Pope was Polish Catholic and I too born good left-footer and go through all rigmarole in cathedral at Lodz as child etc I feel urge, after many readings of great poet John Milton, to become C of E.
Milton not only secretary of Foreign Tongues in Commonwealth govt under Cromwell but also plumber of some distinction known throughout Europe for his exquisite lead flashing and drainpipes. Strangely no mention of this in Oxford Edition of Complete Works. His pipework fell to almost French standards after he become blind but he could still wipe a mean joint between brass and lead piping with moleskin rag.
I write to Archbishop Canterbury for application form and receive enclosed which puzzles me. What is mobile phone? If phone on back of truck where do wires go? I pause in work on epic to understand this and send it to you via my daughter who goes back to London tomorrow.
My daughter also migrant worker like myself but I warn her not to be plumber even though she have PhD in small bore copper manifold construction from Warsaw Academy. Instead she become very fine hostess in Soho. She earn plenty money. Many distinguished persons of church and state come to her for lessons in French and Greek and to be whipped. She have card in many phone boxes. Soon we all move into large house in Lodz.
I therefore ask your help in joining C of E. Many idiomatic expressions in Dr Williams’ address which I don’t get. Lord Jagger would probably know but he no longer in Loire chateau. My daughter says she can pull a few strings to speed up my application – well I think she say strings. And if money is problem, as Dr Williams seems quite impoverished prelate, she says she can bung him plenty to get on fast track.
You no doubt Christian yourself so I look to you for guidance in how to become good sheep.
Your fellow poet and plumber
From The Archbishop
Dear Prospective Convert
It’s atheists I feel sorry for at this time of year. We Christians rejoice in the birthday of our Lord but those poor sad sods see only filth, degradation and greed. But it doesn’t have to be like that. You too can find redemption. Remember Pascal’s Wager – no, this wasn’t 100F on branleur anglais in the 3.30 at Longchamp. Pascal pointed out that even if the odds on there being a God, Heaven and Hell were millions to one against, the consequences of not making the bet were so drastic, ie eternal hell fire, you’d be mad not to have a punt. It’s hard to convey the concept of eternity to those without a theological training – but imagine sitting through the whole of Wagner’s Ring Cycle – and then double it – that’s what eternity’s like. So phone our help line and join the C of E today. We’re a bit pressed for staff at the moment and feel that outsourcing this operation to India would not be appropriate – they laugh at the idea of a God with only two arms and legs - so let me just run you through our computerised menu.
If you think you are God and that we should be worshiping you press 1. An acolyte will come round in a white van and take you to heaven where you belong.
If you are a Catholic but hate having to suck Father O’Flaherty’s lollipop every week press 2. Your detailed account will be sent by our operator directly to Pope “Eggs” Benedict XVI. There may be a delay since there is a huge backlog of such complaints.
If you are a Muslim terrorist strap on your belt bomb (£4.99 from Argos at Bradford), set the mobile phone detonator to 3, invite all your mates round for a Koran-in and couscous and press….3.
If you are a chocolate chimneysweep looking for rough trade we welcome you to our church but must insist you keep your todger in your pants during marriages and christenings. Should this prove too onerous press Ringback, set your phone to Vibrate and stick it up your arse.
If you are a woman you are an inferior species and won’t get a top job – or any job come to that above cleaning round the altar. Working a mobile is probably beyond you so we don’t recommend any key. Instead write to me and enclose your cheque. Also a photo of you naked will help our cassock department prepare for any future change of rules.
If you are a Jew you probably won’t have a mobile, but try to borrow one from a gentile friend. Press 4 for a sub menu which will take your bank account details so that Archbishop Mabutu of Lagos can transfer £1000.000 of oil revenues into it. Your commission will be 99.9% of the cash. You may think this cut insufficient and can get to negotiate with the Archbishop in person after sending him the airfare (£1200). Please do not send a goat as the Archbishop’s palace is already knee deep in goatshit.
If you are an oik yob celebrating 24 hour drinking in some pub and feel the need for ecclesiastical membership coming over you instead of the usual urge for a curry – press 5. The phone will immediately play our chant: INGERLAND! INGERLAND! CHURCH OF INGERLAND!! Tell each of your companions that they’re your best mate, after Jesus, trash the place (it is after all a temple of sin) – beat up any Pakis, Micks, Ragheads or Kikes and then rush out into the street proclaiming your faith.
All new converts are entitled to take part in our quiz. The prize is a week in the holy land – five nights all-inclusive in the Gaza Strip Ritz hotel including a two thousand mile coachtrip to the holy city of Jerusalem (via Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Iraq due to roadworks on the A35 Gaza – Jerusalem route).
Answer the following question and then ring our quiz hotline number oh nine oh one ho ho ho oh ho ho ho ho. Calls will be charged at £58 a minute.
Was the founder of our religion who was born of the virgin Mary, crucified, died and buried but rose again on the third day:
Wishing you all a very merry Christmas
Yours in faith
Dr Rowan Williams
Esteemed Editor Dent
I am plonking now on fine Amstrad circa 1982 given to me by daughter who was asked to dispose if it by Soho client. This contained many pictures of client’s grandchildren eating large sausages. I wipe these off to make room for epic poem. I have email address here in Lodz but it contain many zs and ws and no English person can get it right. Also all email from Poland go through Moscow because wires attached to gas pipeline. So I email via friend Ken who keep me up with current literary scene.
He has transmitted short story by S. Kadison and we discuss many aspects under rubrics “multiple narrator viewpoints” and “thematic consistency”. This is high flown discourse which I struggle with in my adopted tongue. Ken suggests I first read Literary Theory by Terry Egghead. He will send more detailed critique in near future after further readings. However I must add, and am sure you will be encouraged to hear, that story give me horn. (This, I believe, is essential criterion of excellence according to Egghead). I dash out after reading it to buy Madame Jaruzelski red thong. In store I stretch out both arms and touch fingers of opposite hands to indicate size. Store estimate this as 72” (or size 28). No such thong available in Lodz but I think I can make one from roll of Densotape sold in Polski Plumbing Supplies.
I am greatly impressed to be in next PP with Red and White and look forward to appearing on one of your highbrow TV progs such as Love Island (many thongs) or Big Brother (we have this many years ago on Soviet TV). Wislawa insists on appearing too as esteemed annotator and is seeking thong for occasion.
Now that Maurice Gerodias is dead Ken suggests Kadison tale would make much money for Baboon and Mills – especially, I add, if bullet-headed handyman is plumber and is first seen by heroine bending over ground level drainhole in hipster jeans. He asks her to suck out blockage in congested spigot. I see many films in Vacqueras Pornoscope on this theme. We suggest final binding of masterwork allow text to be read holding book with one hand.
I hope this note reaches you and am much pleased at opening new channel (to quote my friend George Michael)
Stefan Jaruzelski (published Polish poet and plumber) (I transpose attributes to reflect new status)
Esteemed Editor Dent
I much moved by your plight with roof. In Lodz this easily fixed. My sister-in-law’s cousin Boguslaw Gomulka (yes, grandson of despot) is plenty fine roofer. He would bung mayor and police chief with many bottles of vodka and then borrow tiles and slates from local lunatic asylum or hospital. These are replaced by Kommunist Partie Polski with much work for tile and slate makers. Everyone happy (except perhaps lunatics and sick)
Boguslaw he run up and down ladder like monkey and could shave head if Madame Dent prefer (but head square not round – we think father perhaps in SS). Also he bring vodka for bevy not gnat’s piss Young Sheep like Haywood in Clooney story by S. Kadison. We note Bev still dressed after two bottles of Young Sheep but guarantee thong would be off with only one slug of vodka (Boguslaw make his own from turnips).
But in England things not so simple. Last time I visit I watch Den of Dragons on TV. Wislawa and I much excited by large pile of zloties on table – enough to buy windscreen wipers for Trabant. We both agree capitalism very fine system. So I suggest following business plan to help you fix roof.
Your asset is Penniless Press but this is boring and many subscribers fall asleep before end. We perk up mag with more stories like Is That You Mr Clooney? and Biggles Pulls It Off. Boguslaw much impressed with Clooney story and say it give him horn too. He says you can use his name if modesty prevents S.Kadison publishing under own name.
We rename mag The Beef Bugle with continental edition Le Branleur. I write new stuff – perhaps prequel starring Bev’s grandmother. It is 1942. She is gorgeous hornbag of 17 and gets job as air hostess in Lancaster bomber flown by Biggles. All crew are chocolate chimneysweeps but Bev takes them one by one into bomb bay where she bang like shithouse door in gale. Whole crew renounce turd burgling and after bombing Berlin they carry on and land in Warsaw and set up hurhaus in ghetto. Issue price is increased to £100 so if all subscribers buy you will have cost of roof almost immediately. Mag is distributed with free DVD of Jordan on a trampoline.
No dragon could fail to see potential. I hope, incidentally, you not too puzzled by colonial expressions in this note. I pick up new words from Australian tourists I take round Auschwitz. They much impressed. Pronounce place “bonza camp” and better than depot in Sydney where they arrived as ten pound poms.
Ken is sending extensive critique of Clooney in post since this very big with many tweaks. I read it but see dead hand of Terry Egghead in every line. I fall asleep and dream of Bev.
With sincere salutations
PS Thanks for
welding institute information. I much above such menial occupations now but I
pass this on to my second cousin Milosz Gierek (nephew of former tyrant).
Esteemed Editor Dent
I graduate to top job in grapepicking after unblocking shithouse of main Vosne vigneron Madame Bize-Leroy. She multi-millionaire selling Vosne Romanee-Conti at prices only my daughter Wislawa could afford after busy week in Greek street flat. When conducted to failing appliance I am shown hole in floor. Lord Mick was right about French. I poke blockage with stick and job done. Madame much pleased and give me job in fields so I be handy if hole block again.
Grapes are treated like holy grail and no stalks or leaves must be attached. Also gang boss Heinrich Boorman insist no pissing or shitting allowed near vines. He say top critics will detect notes of Polish plumber turd in final bouquet. I much frightened by this man who I think I see before in Warsaw ghetto. He patrols ranks with cow prod and gives shock to anyone who misses grape. Sometimes I shit my pants to protect holy soil. Fellow pickers remark “vous avez l’arome d’un vrai francais Stefan”
Ken turns up on wine trip. We meet in Beaune. He suggests we speak French and he tells me has just had long, disgusting session with Pommard vigneron Anne-Francoise Gros. I say I am very happy he tucked it away in furry hoop and ask if she bang like shithouse door in gale. Ken look puzzled. Then I tell him that Herr Boorman has called me “grand onanophile”. Ken say this is gros mot and should be perhaps “oenophile”. Then he look at me and say, after long pause “non, onanophile c’est plus exacte”
I am shown stories of S. Kadison which remind me of schooldays in Lodz. One day we have talk by Leszek Kolakowski on Stalin’s Short Course of the History of the All-Russian Communist Party (Bolshevik). Leszek say his left bollock know more about Marxism than Stalin who was idiot. He describe faults in national creed as analysed in his forthcoming book Główne nurty marksizmu (Main Currents of Marxism). Later during Sunday dinner of mole pie and chips I explain these deficiencies to my uncle Wojciech. He go pale, lock doors, take phone off hook, turn up gramophone (Brezhnev’s Speeches Vol 28) run bathtap and flush toilet. He explain that Stalin’s left bollock know more about Marxism than Marx, Engels and Lenin put together and that Leszek Kolakowski know less about Marxism than left bollock of dead badger. I point out that these are dogmatic assertions rather than reasoned arguments whereupon uncle Wojciech wires my ears up to mains and gives me “corrective ECT”. I soon agree that Kolakowski is running dog revisionist whose brains were in left bollock which has been cut off at birth. Later we learn that Leszek leaves Poland and becomes fellow of Arseholes college Oxford. These are dangers of teaching I tell Ken. S. Kadison has message for world of school. Polish education now moves, after joining EU, from benighted wrangles over dialectical materialism to more Christian cruxes of shagging and embezzling. This is progress surely.
I ask Ken if esteemed editor Dent in town. He say esteemed editor too busy with roof, gas fire and magazine to indulge in fripperies like trip to Burgundy. He tell me of forthcoming website which will make PP famous throughout world. He suggest I give him photo since contributors will be famous too. I give him photo but Ken say “Stefan, this isn’t you this is George Clooney”. I say yes but photo of George will bring in plenty hot-arse groupies who I will meet in darkened Beaune bistrot. When I ask him for photo of S. Kadison he shows me pic of Jordan – then we have laugh.
Yrs in poetry and truth
Esteemed Editor Dent
I find old French mags in my travels from Vosne to London where I pass Xmas with daughter in Greek Street establishment. Business is picking up for her with many new clients making journey from Ipswich. I prepare a random collection of medical wisdom from that earlier era – the great age of Front Populaire. Perhaps Leon Blum had nose fixed with apparatus described and read poetry with loupe binoculiare. I must say snail’s blood up back passage sound better than twelve months’ injections. Joe Orton would concur I think. And if I grow tits like advert claim I could get job with Wislawa.
However I write principally to say that Ken very hurt by your aristocratic disdain of manual labour. He report that you execrate his struggles with toilet roll holder and say you’d rather wipe arse on cat than stoop to such activities. Ken’s useful treatise on rawlplug insertion and tile drilling was not given usual respect and was not considered for automatic future inclusion in Penniless Press as is normal the case with his most trivial effusions.
I agree entirely with Ken’s position and should point out that the essence of oikitude resides in the daily struggle with the practico-inert (to relapse momentarily into Sartrean jargon). This view comes from the great G.W.F Hegel – specifically his Phenomenology of Mind. You will find in this seminal work an account of the Master/Slave relationship (p228-240 in the James Baillie translation Allen & Unwin 1966). Hegel describes the master’s descent into useless luxury and the empowerment of his servant who creates a more vital and progressive persona through his struggles with everyday reality. A condition, I venture to posit, much like that of you vis a vis Madame Dent. While you ponce about teaching an arcane tongue to bored students Madame is shopping and cleaning and ironing. One day you will awake to find yourself entirely superseded.
Uncle Woyciek had similarly jaundiced view of this philosophical position but was happy to allow, even encourage publishing of complete works of Hegel since no-one could read more than two pages before falling comatose into armchair. Comatose oiks more desirable than stroppy buggers joining Solidarity. My own tutor, the noble Lezek Kolakowski, gave fascinating talks on this great sage and for a few days I thought I understood the Absolute. When Lezek defected to Arseholes College Oxford however I realise I didn’t.
Fact remains that working class sensibility will remain opaque to anyone not so engaged with practico-inert. Yes you are in unfortunate position having petit-bourgeois occupation – a situation not much ameliorated by such tosspot distractions as editing Penniless Press. I therefore propose you install the gas fire which is still in box in parlour. I will send instructions if required and of course Ken is on hand for further support. Get fire out of box and connect up to gas pipe. What could be simpler? No need for bureaucratic nonsense of Dachshund registration (silly name!). Just do it. Whole house will be warm for Christmas. And if there is massive CO leak you need not fear prosecution since whole family, you, Madame Dent and daughter will perish simultaneously.
In this event Wislawa and I will carry on editing Penniless Press and will bring a little more working class rigour to the selection of contents. I am sure I will be supported by such adamantine radicals as John Lucas and Andy Croft. Also, if such a change of direction should occur I have been promised secretarial assistance from a Ms Sonia Treadgold of Manchester (another reader whole deplores your present misguided course). Ken will be retained but severely controlled as website technician. There will be no more libellous fantasies about national treasures such as Ben Britten and Morgan Forster. Instead I propose long analytical papers on Heideggerian Existentialism (perhaps by Paul Vinit) and shorter, but pithy accounts of pipe bending and soldering from Ken (from each according to his abilities – to quote Marx).
My own epic (since you ask) is coming on well. I believe Granta are interested.