Tag Archives: politics

From Westminster to Wetherspoons

All week out here in Hanoi there’s been a storm brewing. God himself tore the sky asunder, bringing his omniscient cock down to bear on the Vietnamese capital and opening up a stream of holy piss the likes of which haven’t been seen since the time of Noah. Turns out the vicar’s daughter hadn’t been prudent enough to heed the warnings of senior Tory party reptiles and there will be no ark for her when the floodwaters start rising.

And rise they shall. We’re a little more than a week on from the election, and for all the tooth and nail gibbering that took place during that sordid chunk of history, there emerged no victor.

My predictions failed me. The Liberal Democrats were hung by the gonads from meat-hooks while students hurled rotten fruit and used tampons. That detestable invertebrate Nick Clegg lost Sheffield Hallam to Labour for the first time in over 100 years, slinking off with big watery puppy eyes. Dark times indeed for the centre-ground of politics, but the failure of the Glib Dems is no doubt indicative of the times we live in; madness begets madness and Tim Farron’s mild-mannered attempt to offer sanity was drowned out in the calamity and cacophony of a battleground for which he was not properly equipped. Farron too, lacked the guts to fight a campaign and now he goes snivelling back to lobbying on behalf of the Church, leaving the Liberal Democrats as impotent as eunuchs until Vince Cable steps up his game.

The list of casualties goes on, with the next head to be mounted on the mantelpiece of No. 10 belonging to former UKIP leader Paul Nuttall. Spare a thought for Paul. A truly reckless excuse for a politician, his failed abortion of a political career has tunnelled back into the dirt. From Westminster to Wetherspoons. There will be few tears shed for Paul’s demise and nor should there be. The town drunkard was a fraudulent charlatan, a snake-oil salesman and a blithering moron of such epic proportions, it’s some sort of anti-miracle that he survived this long.

But the press remain hungry for meat and only a prime cut will do. Theresa May was savaged by even the Murdoch owned papers, who turned on her like a leper in paradise. The Sun and Daily Mail ran a better campaign against Corbyn than May could have ever mustered herself, but in the end this vitriol did not translate into votes. Her career is as dead as her eyes, yet she limps on, dripping blood, forked tongue hissing violently at anyone she passes.

From day one she’d had all the support possible: the papers, the polls and even the public, but post-election that hereditary smugness transmogrified her face into a haunted lump of waxen dried fruit. But her talons are dug deep into the democratic hog and she has no plans to relinquish her death-grip, even enlisting the Neolithic troglodytes of the DUP – summoning them via time machine into the foul year 2017 to ensure the survival of her reign.

It will not be enough. A fire in a tower block is all it took to expose the hastily erected façade. Soon May will go quietly into that good night of politics the same way that Cameron did and while Dave has switched smoothly back into the meanest yuppie ever to roam the earth, Old Tessa will be lucky to run a village fete when they chase her out of town. All that remains to be seen is whether she runs weeping back to the wheat fields or if the reptilian Tory party will slide its barbed cock so far into her softer regions that she chokes to death on her own minced offal.

Somehow, Labour succeeded in pulling off some maniacal supernatural experiment where the embalmed remains of Jeremy Corbyn were reanimated and sent forth into battle like a withered Furby hooked up to the mains. Coming across as more human than a startled banshee caught in the headlights of youth in revolt probably wasn’t that hard and I suspect Corbyn was living off a diet of Viagra and espressos throughout the campaign, but it was still a better comeback than Jesus given the polls two months ago.

I expected Corbyn to be taken out back and shot. May was going to beat him like a drum and skull-fuck the Labour party into a shallow, unmarked grave. The whole left-wing was to be tied to a rocket by the genitals and fired off into a black hole, never to be spoken of again. For Labour, it’s difficult to see this as the defeat that it was. Yes, objectively speaking they lost, but they have shown there’s a real appetite for Tory scalps these days. Tom Watson has taken to wearing a necklace of ears and even Diane Abbot has one of Paul Dacre’s testicles for an egg-cup.

The good ship Blighty has sailed deep into uncharted territory and if our sinking prison isle is to survive, we need a better captain. With some new fresh hell rising out of the depths every day now, it is unclear exactly how the gaping chasm of a wound on our nation can be healed back to unity.

I suspect history will treat this current crop of Tories like the vultures they are – even the Nazis thought they had God on their side. I have never been one for hope, but it remains possible that the Time of the Bastards is coming to an end and some new hideous mutant hellspawn will be unleashed upon a screaming British public, but perhaps not. Big time politics is a strange game with few rules and only the most debauched and cannibalistic survive.

Before the typhoon strikes

Quietly churning away like my stomach at the sight of Amber Rudd tongue-punching Theresa May’s fartbox live on TV, the wheels of democracy have lurched us to the barren cliff edge of election day.

Diane Abbott has jumped off the cliff ahead of Labour Party schedule and is now wallowing in the strange purgatorial realm of ‘illness’ – one that reeks of a sick note from your mum that gets you out of being rugby tackled by the head boy in PE. Only the head boy is now a semi-sentient, permanently concussed farmhand and yet he retains a better grasp on politics than Abbott, which is almost a shame.

The haunted stuffed owl that currently shuffles through No. 10 like a somnambulist, waking in terror at every question fired off by a reporter, somehow still lives, although not in the traditional human sense. Whatever voodoo keeps May alive clearly didn’t work for Abbott. At least she went with a whimper rather than a bang; people are on edge this week and sudden movements make everyone queasy. Continue reading Before the typhoon strikes

The shifty librarian

I’ve actually quite enjoyed this election campaign.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not lost my fucking mind. I haven’t been glued to leaders’ debates and party election broadcasts, desperate for a fix of election smack to see me through to the next Andrew Neil interview. I’ve quite enjoyed this one because it’s the first time in my adult life I’ve treated it with the same level of interest and respect owed to a hair-pulling girl fight at a Bolton comprehensive.

Continue reading The shifty librarian

Strength and stability

This month sees the seven-year anniversary of the Tories’ ascension to Downing Street.

Seven is considered to be a magic number by many. Seven days of the week, seven colours in the rainbow, seven continents and seven seas on this great green-and-blue Earth. Seven Samurai, seven books in the Harry Potter series and seven fucking psychopaths.

Seven might be a magical number to some, but it certainly hasn’t proved magical for the majority of Britons over the last seven years, and it’s apparently not quite magical enough for Theresa May, who has decided to reach for five more years in the Prime Ministerial hot seat.

Continue reading Strength and stability

Platforming

We all know online petitions are an utter waste of time, but I signed it. Of course I signed it.

I mean, one of the most hideous humans among us has somehow fluked himself into the highest office in western democracy, and he gets offered a state visit to the UK? To glad-hand one of history’s most famous state leaders, one of the most noteworthy women the planet has known, the world’s favourite grandmother?

I’m astounded it’s even a point of debate. Of course he should be given a state visit.

Continue reading Platforming

Trumpspotting

Blame life. Blame racism. Blame misogyny. Blame the Director of the FBI. Blame sex, lies and videotapes. Blame social media. Blame the great unwashed. Blame not only their hygiene but their appalling lack of education. Blame the 54% of white women who voted for a guy that jokes about dating his daughter and brags about casually groping complete strangers. Blame nationalism. Blame media bias. Blame the tilt of the world’s axis. Blame the callous, cunting disaster that 2016 has shown itself to be. Blame life. Just don’t blame Hillary Clinton…

…but why the fuck shouldn’t we blame Hillary?

Continue reading Trumpspotting

The mushy minds of the little people

What do heavy metal, Rambo knives, the Evil Dead and violent computer games all have in common?

Anyone old enough to hold an opinion worth hearing might recall that they’ve all been focal points for entirely synthetic moral panics, gleefully whipped up by a bloated corporate media always keen to curry political favour and further the next virtue-signalling social agenda. In hindsight, just a little objective research or critical thinking would’ve debunked all of those patently absurd and retarded ideas before they ever gained a foothold in the public discourse – assuming anyone involved ever gave a tinker’s cuss about public discourse in the first place.

Continue reading The mushy minds of the little people

Mooing in defiance

Trump got elected. It’s not hugely surprising. Poor people responded to their unhappy situation by voting in a man who plans to cut taxes for the rich. Uneducated people voted for a guy who will make it far, far harder for the average child to get decent schooling without parents who rob banks. It turns out people are stupid. Shocker.

A couple of years ago I probably would have been spitting feathers about it all. But there’s no rage for politics left in me. All that’s left now is to laugh.

This truly is the crowning glory of human achievement – the setting up of a system so confusing to the layman that they willingly truss their own hooves and leap onto the cart to the abattoir, mooing in defiance at the man with the bolt gun. If you can’t laugh at that you must be a Mrs Brown’s Boys fan.

Continue reading Mooing in defiance

Momentum

You know what’s wrong with politics? You are. You, with your opinions and your Twitter and your Facebook groups. Your £3 political party non-memberships. Your hashtag games.

You are, I am, we is. All split off into our little tribes, haven’t we, especially since Brexit. One side lined up against the other. Swearing and name-calling, spitting at the ‘other’ in the street, throwing molotov cocktails through the windows of halal butchers. (This last may be more one side in particular.)

And look at the political left. I mean, look at the bloody state of it. It’s less than a month since a Labour MP got shot in the street by a man who later declared “death to traitors” and you’ve got people on Twitter saying the “only good Blairite is a dead one”; phoning up an MP’s constituency offices and threatening to kick the shit out of staff; throwing bricks through windows; hand delivering death threats to a PR agency; Paul Mason referencing traitors in context of a no-confidence vote.

Continue reading Momentum

The coffin of politics

I never thought this would happen. When it came down to it, I was convinced that the UK is a small ‘c’ conservative country and would vote to preserve the status quo. We’d vote to Remain, Nigel Farage would continue to bleat on about rigged votes and everything would carry on as normal.

But, oh, for fuck’s sake. It depresses me so much that a horrible, divisive campaign – so much like the one London comprehensively sent packing with the mayoral election – won over nearly 17.5m people. A campaign filled with outright lies, padded out with straight-up racism. A campaign that saw a woman get killed (a woman Farage seemed to forget about in his victory speech, saying his little independence movement succeeded without a single shot being fired. Oh, apart from those ones in Birstall, but never mind).

This wasn’t about Europe. This was about giving a bloody nose to them government poshos who never listen. There are Leave voters on the BBC today saying they didn’t mean it, they didn’t think Leave would win. On Facebook, there’s someone I used to hang out with – and no longer do because of bellendry like this – saying ‘oh crap, it was only a protest vote’. Yeah, well your little protest just wiped £1.5 trillion off the value of the world’s economy.

Project Fear my arse.

Continue reading The coffin of politics