Charles Kennedy

I haven't felt that good since Archie Gemmill scored against Holland in 1978

I have no strong opinions either way on Mr Charles Kennedy but I saw him on some late night panel show the other evening and felt compelled by his handsome jowlitude to get my crayons out.

Charlie always seemed a perfectly amenable chap who, when leader of the Liberal Democrats, espoused perfectly amenable and refreshingly non-partisan policies. Having said that, it seems to me that (prior to the incumbency of the presiding coalition, of course) Lib Dem leaders have had free rein to saddle up the high horses of public opinion whenever they pleased, safe in the knowledge that they’ll never be forced by the trifling inconvenience of actually running the country, to dismount these lofty steeds. The exception, of course, has come within our lifetimes (though, thankfully, beyond Charlie’s (in any meaningful political sense at any rate (do to many parentheses spoil the sentential broth? (probably)))) and we’re witnessing the result: humble pie over tuition fees, a feebly contested referendum on parliamentary reform and popularity ratings lower than a dead donkey’s balls.

Aaaanyway, back to chucky-boy. Shock of orange hair perched astride a pink, fleshy marshmallow of a face featuring sympathetic, pouched eyes and a mean, thin-lipped mouth. Back in the days when he was toeing the party line and sporting the party ties, his hair clashed like a crazy ginger mofo and made him look like a walking, talking IRN BRU campaign. Though of course, Mr Kennedy’s predilections are for a slightly stronger tipple; which is to say that he is (or was) a fucking piss-head. And who says this blog isn’t thoroughly researched?

Kennedy’s rampant booze-lust brought his political career to a premature conclusion and probably contributed to his jowly plumage. One would never describe Kennedy’s jowls as ruddy or sun-burnished. They are pallid jowls. Wan even. Hardy highland jowls that put one in mind of a plate of uncooked pork sausages. Dig in.


2 thoughts on “Charles Kennedy

  1. ‎”Pallid… wan even”. Excellently put – many’s a time watching, well, Question Time, I’ve wondered quite what those Caledonian jowels would feel like to touch. I always rather fancied they’d have the texture of stewed chicory wrapped in day old tripe, but always recoiled from pondering further…

  2. This blog should hang its head in shame. Charlie Kennedy is a dear friend of mine. He has, by unfortunate happenstance, come across your cruel barbs and has been locked sobbing and moaning in the pub toilet ever since. For the record, Charles says he is not a pished (I think he means pisshead).


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