Politicians, Preachers, Prophets, Protesters: Five jugs in 'Ideas Worth Fighting For,' 17th-23rd, October 2016, at the People's History Museum, Manchester.

The Ballad of Gorgeous George, (2015)

Meet my friend George Galloway, 
He worships Ayatollahs
He genuflects to Ba'athists
And he LOVEs the Hezbollollahs.
He entertains his Islamists in a purple leotard,
He's not much good at pussy
But he licks cream good and hard.
OH Galloway's coming to London,
He wants to be the mayor,
Anjem's lot'll love him up
But he doesn't stand a prayer.
When we've thrown him out London, 
He's off to Liverpool,
He's buggerd off from Bradford, 
No one wants him, bloody fool. 

How the Prophet was driven to drink (2015)

And it came to pass
In the land of the Assyrians and Babylonians
That a vile scourge of Ba'athists, Islamists and Barbarians
Did invade and ransack the ancient places.
Bloody was the conquest.
And though the fields were fed with the people's blood
Yet did they yield forth nothing
But more food for vultures.
And even the mighty seas were in tumult
Devouring small boats
Spewing forth corpses
Leaving terror in the hearts of those that reached land.
Verily the prophet did rage at the carnage
Crying out in despair:
"You bastards!" He thundered.
"Goddam! Don't you gettit, you arseholes?
It's fiction!
I lied about gays, about Jews, and addiction.
I don't care who you love, how you worship, or feast.
Eat and drink! Wine or cider! But for fuck's sake, live in peace!" 

Cider Party for the Corbynati, (2015) 

Jeremy Corbyn
Likes it cosy
His beard and bonnet
A little bit posy?
Perhaps his glasses are tinted rosy,
His politics are Crap.

He's a great admirer of Hamas
Khaled Meshal is his friend.
In bed with Hezbollah
Sir Hasan Nasrullah
Doth ram-rod his glistening rear end.

So watch it if you're arty
And offend the Shariati
Or blaspheme the Cornbynati
You'll feel the force of their knee-cap

And mind if Corbyn wins the day
If you're a Jew, or if you're gay
Because jihadis want their pay
And he's a squirming in their lap.

So soddit let's just have a party
Proper Bacchanaliati
Lest Cobyn's sychophantiati
Turn off our cider tap!

Stop The War, jug, (2015)

Stop the War!
Protest in a tweet,
Kiss Assad's arse,
Prostrate at Putin's feet.
Salute the Ayatollahs,
Appease the Caliphate,
It's Israel and America
We all love to hate. 

John McDonnell's Farm, jug, (2015)

John McDonell had a farm,
Eee Aye Eee Aye Oh.
And on the farm he planted cash,
but it wouldn't grow.
With a deficit here
And a printer there
And quantitive easing everywhere,
With normal times here
And special times there
Borrowing and spending and selling off shares,
With Osbornes here
And Camerons there,
And Tory porkers hogging the air,
With campaigns here
And protests there
and Corbyistas tearing their hair,
Poor Jonny 'Donnell's printer jammed.
His farm just had to go. 

Calipahte Seaside jug, (2015)

We are all
Stop-Start a War
HamaHezbolicious!
Come and join us at the seaside
In Islamocalificious!
We think you'll find the food out here 

is really quite delcious
The weather, beach and swimming, dear, 

is always beneficious.
Bit it's beheading infidels, my dear,
The rape, and crucificious,
That's what makes the Caliphate,
the Best Vacationicious. 

Danse Macabre or Postcard From The Caliphate, (2015-16)

Danse Macabre / Postcard From The Caliphate, (2015-16)

This pot is all but finished. It has yet to be professionally photographed, and still lacks the lustre firing that will deepen some of the reds and help to vary the local colour and colour saturation.

No one likes Islamic State, or ISIL or The Caliphate, or whichever name we use. Lampooning IS is, well, therapy perhaps but it makes no difference. It works as satire but as serious social or political critique, attacking IS is hardly subversive by anyone's standards, unless, of course, the viewer just happens to be a supporter. The critique in this pot is aimed at what is currently referred to as the 'regressive Left.' It may also be called, the 'hard Left,' 'the pseudo Left,' 'the Apologist Left,' or just 'Nothing Left.' Again, call it what you will, it amounts to the same thing: that part of the British political Left which is apologist in its attitude and response to Islamism, which routinely appeases dictators and fascist or fascistic leaders, as long as they threaten America and/or Israel. In short, it is the Left-overs that have thrown their lot in the far Right.

The targets then are 'Stop the War,' (see the Stop the War jugs in this post,) George Galloway, Anjem Choudary, Julian Assange, Asim Qureshi and Moazzem Beg (CAGE), Yvonne Ridley,  and assorted fawning, selfie-taking, followers, who dance around the base of pot, genuflecting and group-hugging their idols, (thank you, Nicholas Poussin and the Golden Calf.)

The appeased leaders are: Vladmimir Putin, Bashar Al Assad, Sayeed Ali Khamenei, Kings Abdullah and Salman, (House of Saud),  Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Hasan Nasrullah, (Hezbollah), Khaled Meshal (Hamas), Abu Bakr Al Baghdadi, and assorted jihadis including Mohammad Emwazi. They all ride the Islamist Roundabout in one direction or another. The Islamist flag is depicted in butt-plugs - my thanks to the clever, imaginative soul who made the original for the 2015 London Gay Pride. I also salute Mark Gertler's magnificent Merry-Go-Round in this pot.

How The Prophet Was Driven To DRink

I'm publishing this on the evening of the 6th January, 2016, in honour of Charlie Hebdo and all the seventeen people killed by Islamist jihadists on 7th January, 2015. I made this jug depicting a furious prophet Mohammed, in 2015, for a thousand reasons. At least one was solidarity - solidarity with Charlie Hebdo, with satirists, blasphemers, and with Jews. Killed that day in the name of the prophet were: five cartoonists, a body guard, a policeman, a policewoman, a maintenance worker, two columnists, a copy editor, a travel writer, and four people shopping while being Jews.

Below is the full text on the jug, as I wrote it, in English.
Below that is the translation in French, by my good friend, Roger Surridge, who has lived in Paris for longer than I care to remember. It looks good to me, I hope it does to you too.

How The Prophet Was Driven To Drink

And it came to pass
In the land of the Assyrians and Babylonians
That a vile scourge of Ba'athists, Islamists and Barbarians
Did invade and ransack the ancient places.

Bloody was the conquest.
And though the fields were fed with the people's blood
Yet did they yield forth nothing
But more food for vultures.

And even the mighty seas were in tumult
Devouring small boats
Spewing forth corpses
Leaving terror in the hearts of those that reached land.

Verily the prophet did rage at the carnage
Crying out in despair:
"You bastards!" He thundered.
"Goddam! Don't you gettit, you arseholes?
It's fiction!
I lied about gays, about Jews, and addiction.
I don't care who you love, how you worship, or feast.
Eat and drink! Wine or cider!
But for fuck's sake, live in peace!"

And here is Roger's translation:

Et il arriva Dans le pays des Assyriens et les Babyloniens
Ce fléau vile des Ba'athistes, des Islamistes et les Barbares
Envahit et pilla les lieux anciens.

Sanglante était la conquête.
Et bien que les champs aient été nourris avec le sang du peuple 
Pourtant, ont-ils rien produit de suite
Sauf encore de nourriture pour les vautours.

Et même les mers puissantes étaient en tumulte
Dévorant les petits bateaux
Vomissant les cadavres
Laissant la terreur dans les cœurs de ceux qui ont atteint la terre.

En vérité, le prophète éprouve de la rage face au carnage
Pleure de désespoir :
“Salauds !” tonna-t-il.
“Nom de dieu ! Vous ne comprenez rien, connards ?
C’est de la fiction !
Je rigolais sur les gays, les juifs, les toxicomanes.
Je m’en fous de qui vous aimez, de comment vous idolâtrez ou fêtez.
Mangez, buvez ! Vin, cidre !
Mais, putain, vivez en paix !