Wednesday, 1 October 2014

A faux-Libertarian dilemma

Double standards are my raison d'être. On the one hand a self-proclaimed Libertarian - merely for reasons of self-promotion and painting an illusion - whilst on the other, I'm what could be described as a swivel-eyed Islamophobe with a penchant for white supremacy - especially of the Zionist variety.


Isn't it wonderful that so much of the world's finance, media and entertainment industry is run by Zionist Jews? Perhaps less so in the UK, but I'm working with my pals to help change that. Did you know, for instance, that the Jewish population of the UK is just 280,000 or 0.46%?


There are 650 seats in the House of Commons so, as a proportion, Jewish entitlement is only three seats. With 24 seats Jews are eight times over-represented. Which means, of course, that other groups must be under-represented, including Muslims. If Muslims, for instance, were over-represented to the same extent as the Jews (i.e. eight times) they'd have 200 seats. All hell would break loose.


Anyway, for the past few days, my eyes have been swivelling like they're mounted on a joystick - for two reasons. The first is news of government plans to restrict Internet access for conspiracy theory extremists and the second concerns a man who received an 18-week jail sentence for insulting two feminists.


Now, I've already spoken about conspiracy theorists and why it's important for my future to keep on deluding myself that these whackos should be locked up, but when it comes to the Peter Nunn case I find myself having to sit on the fence. Which, I can confirm, does nothing whatsoever to ease a chronic case of severe butthurt.


You see, normal operations would require my faux-Libertarian self to come out in staunch support of Nunn because if there's one group I particularly despise almost as much as Muslims - it's left-wing feminists. However, it turns out that my stalker, her poodle, lapdog, monkey and other hangers-on are true supporters of free speech and even pals with Nunn. Admitting to being in agreement with these sickos would be unimaginable, as I'm sure you'll understand from reading my drivel.


My only public comment on the case so far has been - horror of horrors - to back up Stella Creasy MP's comments about police not taking Internet stalkers seriously enough. I needed a whole day to recover from having had to agree with a Labour MP (agreeing with a Labour councillor isn't quite as harrowing) not to mention the shudder I felt posting a Guardian link. But at least it's preferable to having to agree with my stalker and her entourage. Perish the thought, I would need another lifetime to recover from that!


In the meantime, I'll keep on tweeting, sucking up to celebs and journos in the hope of a reply or a retweet. Somewhat lost for words, I'm now restricted to tweeting about the love life of my four-year old Tablet in the hope my stalker will pick up on it. That way, I can make a few more wild accusations and get down to some proper vindictive finger-pointing. Wish me luck!


Alejandra da Polyfila Toxçalves.











Monday, 29 September 2014

Little Tablet's nightmare



My little Tablet is my pride and joy. A trophy I take great pleasure in displaying to the world, come hell or high water. From my first scan to delivery, every moment of my Tablet's existence is recorded and shared even with total strangers.


Privacy laws no longer have any place in our society. In any case, we're all being constantly surveilled so why bother trying to conceal anything? It's not as if I have anything to hide, is it?


Nevertheless, this morning I awoke all hot, bothered and sweaty from the most terrible nightmare. Let me explain:


I'm sitting at my desk, trolling as usual but this is ten years into the future: the date on my screen is September 29, 2024. Tablet is playing video games and despite my initial sense of security, at the same time there's a distinct feeling of foreboding.


I decide to check up on my Tablet's online status. One by one, I open all the accounts I'd set up for my Tablet whilst he was still a toddler: Facebook, Twitter, Google+, AlphaNet, Ello, Storify... Yes, even MySpace!


But the accounts have all gone! Nothing! Nada! Fields of empty tabs showing only 404s... I open my email and find notifications, saying I've been reported for abuse - by my own little Tablet!


The scene shifts forward another ten years: it's 2034 and it's Tablet's wedding day. I feel sick to the stomach: my worst fears are realised. I'm standing outside the local Islamic centre, disguised with a wig and false moustache: I haven't been invited. The doors are flung open and out strolls Tablet, a Muslim convert, on his arms is his new wife, Myriam, one of his best friends from primary school...



After that nightmare, my only friends are a large glass of brandy and lithium...





Saturday, 27 September 2014

Alejandra Uber Butthurt and the injunction

I never though it would happen
I really want to slap 'em
the coppers and the judges
who aggravate my grudges
Oh why they don't just listen
into the wind they're pissin
It's really my assumption
I won't get my injunction


Butthurt is my middle name. AlejandraUberButthurt, yes that's me. Even though I've whined sans cesse down at my local station and even been to court, so far not one unhinged mentalist has been thrown in jail. Why not, I ask?


I mean, it's fine for me to troll, stalk, harvest tweets, blog, lie, smear, etc., but when others expose my my dirty doings it makes me want to sqweam and sqweam and burn the house down. I can hardly sit at my desk and troll, the butthurt is so painful.


Somebody help me pleeeeaaase!



Alejandra da Butthurt Polyfila Gonçalves





Friday, 26 September 2014

Special Needs and the Cult of Me



Do you believe in karma? I don't but I do find it strange that every time I try to dig in my claws into someone or have a go at scratching someone's eyes out (metaphorically speaking, bien sûr) I seem to break a nail? It's a damn nuisance having to catch a bus to get them repaired. You see, they're false. Like the rest of me, really. Well, not my boobs. But if I had the money I wouldn't hesitate. Double D will do nicely, thanks!


Speaking of Double D, have you been following the story about Rochdale Labour councillor and wife of Simon Danczuk MP, Karen Danczuk?



In fact, Karen is Danczuk's second wife. The first one, mother of their two children, filed for divorce after it turned out the dis-Honourable Member for Rochdale had fathered another couple of kids with Karen whilst still married - a fact he'd originally denied. He and Karen first met when he was parliamentary candidate for the 2010 General Election - or in Simon's case 'General Erection' *snork* ... I ask you, how could any typically red-blooded, middle-aged male resist a woman 20 years his junior with such charms?



No surprise then that the couple became targets of their own party's loony wing. A holiday argument? What was all that about then? Was Karen trying to blackmail him? I mean, wasn't she already partly responsible for destroying someone's marriage as well as seemingly forgetting to use contraception - not once but twice? Putting rumour aside, it has to be said that I admire Karen because she reminds me so much of my own aspirations: a gold digger who's unafraid of using every trick in the book to wheedle her way to power. And every one of those pics gets my vote. Sigh, if only she were UKIP...



Normally, I would hate Labour as much as I hate feminists and Muslims, but Karen is a star: a proper candidate for Page 3. If I had tits like hers they would be out in permanence. As it is, every time I take a selfie I'm obliged to wear shades to hide the bags under my eyes as well as use both hands to pull back my collection of chins. Generally, I use my webcam and then take a screenshot. If you've seen my chins you'll understand why: hand-held devices only work from above - as both Karen and I fully understand. We have so much in common!



Anyway, I'm going to ignore the fact that Simon Danczuk is chairman of Labour Friends of Palestine. As a general rule, I'd immediately label anyone with links to a pro-Palestinian movement as an antisemite, but in this case, discarding such petty details helps me to feel less confused.



I think I already mentioned that whereas I'm not actually Jewish myself, I am a staunch supporter of the democratic state of Israel where everyone shares equal rights but hey - only if you happen to be a white Jew with European origins. Fair enough, in my view. Blinkered? How so? Aren't Bibi and the Knesset wonderful examples of openness and fair play when it comes to protecting the rights of all citizens, irrespective of gender, ethnicity, religion or sexuality? It goes without saying that Jews are well within their rights to claim other people's land as their own. Who would want to live next to a ghetto of terrorists, I ask?




Anyway, it's time to compile yet another Storify just to remind certain people of how special they are to me, even though I try to kid myself I'm doing it for legal reasons (more on that in another blog) so, for now, I'll love you and leave you.



Adios!



Alejandra da Polyfila Toxçalves

Wednesday, 24 September 2014

Reasons why my social commentary is biased and selective



"Let me tell you, I can't stand conspiracy theories. I know the world is corrupt but please, spare me the details."


Speaking for myself, I am, however, hugely concerned about corruption within certain ethnic groups. One group in particular. Why, you may ask, do I choose to ignore corruption within Judeo-Christian socio-economic groups whilst concentrating on the atrocities carried out by Islamists in the name of their prophet?


Isn't it obvious? If I started tweeting about satanic paedophile rings and other wacky-yet-proven events such as the 9/11 dancing Israelis, then my chances of becoming merely a z-list celeb would be even less than they are today. No, at my age I must stick to toeing the line if I'm to claim my rightful 15 minutes of fame. Andy promised, and I believe him.


What's more, tweeting and commenting on factual information backed up by witness statements and judicial verdicts can be a very dangerous game. Revealing the truth can lead to job loss, public humiliation, criminal conviction or worse...


In any case, believing in conspiracy theories is a kind of drug addiction and you can trust me when I say I know all about that. Took me years to get clean - a bit like Russell Brand. But the big difference between me and Brand is that he's a celeb and I'm not. He can bluster on about the banksters and Wall Street without fear of losing his spot in the limelight.


Since the advent of the Internet and alternative media, all the world's big secrets are out: the Rothschilds own everyone and everything. Nevertheless, compliant media churns out reports of false flag events nearly every week, seeking to mute the population by way of intimidation. Politicians are cajoled into compromising situations by the CIA and MI5 in order to compile big fat files used to ward off dissent, protecting western corporatocracy's military-industrial interests.


And as for Princess Diana being supposedly murdered by her own family as she was about to start campaigning in Gaza? Don't make me laugh! She was neither murdered nor about to go to Gaza: even though the verdict was unlawful killing, for sure there's a damn good reason why Keith Allen's film was removed from YouTube. How the feck that crock of horseshit got to be screened at Cannes is beyond me.


Honestly, is it my concern if orphaned, unwanted children are stolen then humiliated, raped, tortured and killed in satanic rituals? In any case, does anyone actually believe these fairy stories? This doesn't actually happen, does it? As for those poor girls in Rotherham, their abusers need to be castrated and locked away for life. Me, I know all about being groomed but as my groomers were of European origin à la Jimmy Savile rather than Asian, it's not the same thing. At all.


Finally, what is the point of campaigning in the name of truth when a) nothing will change and when b) my sad life would be even sadder as I would be ostracised by those who wield power? I might not be Russell Brand but at least I know on which side my bread is buttered.


Thus far I've yet to be discovered but when it does eventually happen - and it will - watch out world! In the meantime, I try my best to ingratiate myself with assorted meeja darlings who share my partisan view of life. In fact, I'll suck up to any fool who's willing to listen and whilst I'm waiting for my day of glory to arrive, I'll just keep on being my usual vile self on Twitter and hitting 'Report for spam'.


Byeee!


Alejandra da Polyfila Toxçalves
















My teens were when it all started going downhill



First off, thanks to everyone who's been avidly reading this blog over the past couple of days. I simply cannot believe the number of hits these pages are getting, lol, maybe I should add a 'Your ad here' widget? Course, as an unfettered attention-seeker, my ego is satisfyingly flattered and I'm feeling truly blessed. And 'blessed' is the appropriate word in my case as you'll find out reading this blog...


As a teen I was the archetypal wild child with legs up to my neck and just the right amount of cheekiness and bravura to make sure I never went unnoticed. Like the time my father sent me to Europe for a three-week summer course at a Swiss finishing school to learn French. Well, that was my father's intention. My hopes were firmly pinned on the prospect of finding a suitably endowed - in both the bedroom and chez UBS - future husband to sink my claws into.


The school was perched on a mountain side and turned out to be exceedingly dull, not to mention the plethora of fellow students coming from the Middle East of all places. I wasn't expecting that at all. But, ne'er one to let a bad situation grind me down, I set out to excel and enrolled as the only advanced skier for a planned day trip to a nearby glacier where winter sports take place all year round.


Admittedly I did feel a bit nervous. Some of the girl were themselves Swiss and had been skiing since they could walk. For reasons I couldn't fathom, they'd enrolled in the intermediate section and were split into two groups to be accompanied by the school director and - much to my dismay - a fabulously hot ski teacher named Pierre-André.


Imagine my disappointment when my private tutor for the day turned out to be the school director's father, a man approaching 70. I mean, I'd always loved older men and had willingly let myself be groomed from the tender age of 14, but now I was 17 - who were they trying to kid? Grandfather Streuli was as far removed from my fantasy of Alpine raunchiness as was that of my own skiing prowess.


You see, when I enrolled, I failed to specify that I was only an advanced skier when it came to water. Snow turned out to be quite a different matter. Mr Streuli - speaking all the time in French which was très annoying - led me to the edge of a massive mogul field , tipped himself over the brink, expecting me to follow - which I did...


The fact that the only damage was to my ego was something of a relief to the school director as well as an outright miracle (blessed, you see). But the humiliation which I suffered as a result of my own stupidity I shall never forget. Mr Streuli - presumably cursing, although I had no idea what he was in fact saying - hurried me into the cable car. Once back up top, he ordered me to remove my skis and then marched off to the bar to buy himself a stiff eau-de-vie.


Gradually, the other girls appeared, shiny-faced with eyes sparkling. As news of my monumental idiocy spread, their discreet sniggers and sidewards glances made me cringe. Bitches! I had to do something to regain my status of most popular and most exotic summer school student. That's when I came up with the idea of nicking ashtrays which I would then give to my family back in Brazil as souvenirs. "Here! It's a special ashtray which I brought back for you from 3,000m and near death."


However, I was once again found out by the school director's wife after I robbed a fellow student of the most wonderful leather flying jacket which I'd stuffed in my suitcase along with the ashtrays. Fortunately, as my father had paid lots of money for the trip the school directors didn't grass me up and I was able to go back to my hazy teen days of beach BBQs, water skiing in the bay and older (but not by 50 years - yuk!) men fighting over my gorgeousness.


Jeesh, it's so hard being me sometimes... ;-)


Alejandra da Polyfila Toxçalves

Tuesday, 23 September 2014

How I was groomed into becoming a Twitter troll



When I wake up in the morning the first thing I do is switch on my iPad and open Twitter. I check my notifications and mentions then do what I like to call a 'zapping'. Zapping consists of reading the timelines of those dimwits I so detest. You know, the ones who disagree with me.



I can't express enough joy when one of these Islamonazis gets suspended, but I have to be careful or I might get suspended, too. But me, I'm sly.., like a fox.. Presently, I just sent out a tweet boasting about how many new followers I've gained with links to my blog and Storify page. What a hoot - that woman I mentioned yesterday who I got suspended from Twitter - well, I also managed to close down her Storify page and her TwitPic page, too. Lying to support gets you everywhere :-)



What a relief that was. Her TwitPics showed me up to be the vicious, malicious liar I am.. But Storify support is a bit dim because they suspended her login yet all her stories are still online. I really hope she doesn't transfer them to a blog or else my reputation will suffer even more damage than it already has.



On the street below my little flat which smells of fritters and custard creams, delivery vans rumble by. No chance of a lie in and especially not with little Tablet around. Usually, I can't wait for the school run so Tablet is out the way and I can get back to doing what I love the most - trolling on Twitter.



I've trolled the best of them; pop stars, media commentators, every hashtag going. It's what I do: find a hashtag (#Rotherham has been a recent fave of mine), spew out my usual racist drivel then get all upset and play victim when someone challenges me. This involves me blocking the idiots, tweeting out a link to their bollocks so my followers (mostly fake) are informed and of course reporting them as spammers to Twitter.



Who the feck do they think they are? Don't they know that having an opinion is only an option when their opinion coincidences with mine? My role as a Zionist sayanim agent is to make sure their free speech is removed as seamlessly as possible. Nasty antisemites!



Yes indeed, after yesterday's suspension Twitter is mine, mine, ALL MINE! All you unhinged mentalists should be banned. Oh yes, in my time I've been a member of pretty much every racist organisation going, but it's the EDL which stole my heart. Sadly, Twitter has changed and it's no longer possible to run a host of troll accounts, set up specifically with the intention of harassing liberal lefties and such; chasing them off Twitter so that it's only voices like mine which get heard.



When I was younger, I used to get insanely jealous if another woman so much as glanced at my husband - and I had several of those. When it comes to marriage - like politics - I really don't have much idea what I'm talking about.



I consider myself in some way to be the personified reflection of the state of Israel which I love so much despite not being Jewish myself. In the same way the IDF blasts the fuck out of Gaza and then - with support of mainstream media - blames the terrorists, I bombard Twitter with abuse reports full of lies about my victims; then when my victims retaliate they're the ones who get blamed i.e. suspended! It's a wonderful feeling to have such power - all down to my sly, foxy nature and the hours I spend updating my tickets.



I'll admit to anything online. Only a couple of months ago when the Rotherham sex abuse scandal broke, I candidly argued that, as a teen, I'd enjoyed having sex with much older men because it made me feel special and wanted. The fact that I was myself groomed into having under age sex is no comparison to what happened in Rotherham. My wonderful groomers weren't Asian. Voilà la difference.



I also like to update the world with news of young Tablet whose privacy rights I really don't give a shit about. Videos of school prize day, trips to the Tower, even the very moment when the sprog slipped from my loins - all has been shared for posterity with the aim of making sure my offspring's online presence is shared with all and sundry. You see, I had the feeling I was being ignored - something I really can't stand! Therefore, I set up Google+ and Facebook accounts in Tablet's name, giving me another vehicle to put out my fabulously ungrammatical, dull blog posts about people I hate. Such a cutie, sharing and liking my posts like that! I love Tablet. But not as much as I love myself - that would be going too far, lol !



Anyway, that's enough for today, I really must check my Twitter and do another round of zapping to see who's been talking about me and what they've said. Please do leave a comment if you have any remarks or questions. I'd only be too delighted to respond in my inimitable style full of panache and wit.



Alejandra da Polyfila Toxçalves.