Tag Archives: politics

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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Pass the kittens

I want Donald Trump to be president. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

After a brief spell of impotent fury, I decided to laugh at Britain when it re-elected Cameron and his collection of wide-foreheaded aristocrats last year. You witless dunces decided you want more of all the shit you were moaning about for the preceding five years, because the alternative was a bloke who looked a bit weird. You brought it on yourselves, and the parlous state of the nation you’re left with electrifies the part of my brain that recognises that disabled people are the scourge of our times, and must be taxed until their breathing apparatus whistles like a kettle.

This is the area of my subconscious, entirely beyond my control, that wants the world to suffer. It has no tolerance or compassion for anyone or anything. It gets goosebumps at the thought of kittens in sacks near bodies of water. It revels in disharmony and laughs at misfortune, it’s horrible and hungry for misery, and by gum is the world giving it some tasty treats to snack on right now.

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Dear Dave

Dear Dave,

And all the other myopic bastards who’ve now successfully endangered my way of life a great deal more than ISIS ever posed: thanks for the prescient consideration of all the ramifications of lobbing more bombs. The juxtaposition of such an intention and its actual result would almost be funny, if the sounds of mirth weren’t to be drowned out with the sounds of bombs detonating in a far away land.

It would perhaps prompt a cheeky smirk of irony if you hadn’t just shot irony dead in the face by descending to the level of savagery that you seek to oppose. Unfortunately irony was just a collateral casualty in your decision making. Doubtless there will be many more to follow and unlike irony they won’t be abstract concepts but post-life humans of flesh, bone and dreams, reduced to mind-numbing statistics by the BBC.

Dave, I don’t know if anyone explained to you exactly why there are quite so many refugees – it was the bombs, Dave, it was the bombs. If you wanted to do something useful, you could’ve put the toy guns down, wiped your nose, climbed out of the sandpit for a moment and actually helped the people who you profess to want to help. Bombs rarely tend to help anyone; in fact they are actually strategically engineered to destroy things. They cost an awful lot to keep producing at the rate you intend to use them, which given the nature of Georgie-Porgie Osborne’s working-class holocaust seems a bit at odds with what we or anyone else in the world needs right now.

Given the knee-jerk nature of our current elected overlords, we just jumped up a few places on the hit list of ISIS targets. Notice how only countries currently hurling thousands of kilos of explosives are the ones being struck? Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll live long enough to see what further desecrations to our nation will be incurred in the name of national security and all the other bullshit double-speak that, whilst usually reserved for the infamously duplicitous language of HR teams, has now become the lingua franca of British politics. Tactically, practically and not least morally this decision makes less sense than Tony Blair’s role as a Middle East peace envoy or Noel Edmonds’ career in general.

Dave, your Dodgy Dossier moment is coming. For Blair it was those pesky WMDs that failed to materialise and for you it’ll be the elusive ground troops who you’re claiming will be able to mop up after the RAF goes on one their joyrides across the desert. The 70,000 FSA fighters you’re relying on are the same ones that you’ve been refusing to arm or support since this conflict blossomed into the global smear campaign against sentient life that it is today.

You really need to stop going along with what the cool kids are telling you; first the sloppy pig job, now this – where will it end Dave? Well, probably with that smug egg-shaped head of yours emitting a few apologetic noises into the camera from the safety of a lead-lined bunker somewhere in Kent. Unfortunately we won’t be around to hear those beautifully crafted words crawl out of your cunt mouth because we’ll either have had the sense to have abandoned the good ship Britain or have been incinerated in the inevitably escalating consequences of your ill thought-through decisions.

At this point, why not just paint a target on the face of every British citizen and have us all stand densely packed around Parliament until you’ve come out of the big boy’s bravery room and decided to apologise for being the petulant child with too many toys? It might give you an idea of what certain ISIS strongholds look like. I’m sure you’ve made use of the readily available material provided online by innumerate activists and correspondents in Raqqa and across Syria which highlights the use of civilians as human shields in strategic outposts. How, may I ask, will you verify this before you drop the bombs, Dave? You could send Boris Johnson and Noel Edmonds over there on a fact-finding mission where they knock on doors as a comedy odd-couple; fuck it, why not get hollow meat-puppets Ant and Dec to narrate the broadcast. It would still be a better effort than you’re making at present.

Finally, I’m not sure what level of education you were treated with back in the halcyon days of porking pigs, but there’s a really good subject that you could benefit from giving even the most cursory of glances over. Yes, Dave, I’m talking about history. Thirteen years on and Iraq and Afghanistan are still a mess, and we used a lot of bombs and bullets over there. More than a decade later and we still don’t have anything resembling a political solution. It doesn’t take someone with as privileged an upbringing as you to figure out that the success of this war will depend on whether you continue to deafen everyone with an arsenal of explosives or decide to actually invest in the mechanics of government that you purportedly desire to uphold.

So far you’ve got the incoherent volatility of a Manchester bar brawl standing in for an exit strategy. Since the vote you seem to have realised that this campaign of yours will actually take a really long time, like years – I mean shit, Dave, George might have your job by then, or is that your plan anyway? To squat in someone else’s lap and leave this big steaming turd of a military venture to soak through their trousers before wiping your arse on their tie, because if so Blair already pulled that one and he’s still being arrested by waiters and hailed as a war criminal, as a heads up.

Take care Dave, and try to avoid the cameras – your face has got that old pork-chop-left-in-a-puddle look about it. But it’s probably just due to the amorality of your own wretched ambition trumping the reality of national security and the general sanctity of life that you just threw up all over. I wouldn’t worry about it. You know Murdoch after all – loyal as a dog!

All the best,

Gerry Flynn

P.S: Stop making life look like the later series of 24 – it was too ridiculous then and it still bloody well is now.

I heart ISIS

So it’s war. From the moment a TV camera picked up the glint in Chuka Umunna’s eye, a little spittle in the corner of his mouth, it was plain which way the vote was going to go. Britain is now engaged in air strikes in Syria, and I do mean now given the frantic scrabble to hurl rockets at brown people miles away began mere minutes after our elected representatives completed what they doubtless believe is their crucial role in ending the world.

Of course, if it’s war today it was war yesterday. Britain has been dropping bombs on Iraq for months, and now they’re doing the same in Syria, on the other side of a border that is singularly meaningless from 30,000 feet. At any rate, the people being targeted don’t recognise the border on land let alone above their heads. It makes you wonder what everyone’s banging on about.

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The last Granny Smith

Thrilled. That’s the word she used. I’m not a fan of workplace violence but if we in this building were trusted to open the windows she’d currently be worrying the front wheels of a number 17 to Cannon Street.

The woman who sits next to me in my mercifully temporary ‘job’ wastes most of the breaths she has left on words and phrases such as ‘personas’ and ‘overarching user needs’. It’s some kind of research the government allows her to do in preparation for online projects which can not and will not be influenced in any way by that research, due to civil servants whose lives depend on sticking fast to impenetrable policy guidelines. Anyway, the government is all about job creation as they’ve been saying for months, and she has one. And she’s thrilled about it.

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Vote UKIP

There’s an election on. The procession of dickheads we usually see on the news grimly telling us the country’s only hope is to lube up and take it are instead grinning and making promises akin to the young girlfriend assuring her man she’ll wait for him as he’s dragged off to the trenches, while eyeing up the bank clerk with flat feet. Policies that will never happen are being ‘red lined’ and ‘set in stone’ in a bid to make us all turn up to put a little pencil mark on a piece of paper some time on a Thursday. Life is absurd.

An election forces politicians out from behind their Civil Service forcefield and into our faces. This is when we get to find out if the latest batch should be applauded or ignored. In almost every case, the 2015 election has shown us that all they’re interested in is telling us as little detail as possible about what they truly believe, while spreading fear of the other lot. Every Party Political Broadcast involves multiple mentions of how if you vote for anyone but ‘us’ you will be directly responsible for the maiming and murder of countless citizens by a coalition of cunts. It has been by far the most obfuscated and negative campaign of my adult life and if I could vote for Guy Fawkes I would.

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