Tag Archives: 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.

Continue reading Vote UKIP

An aching legion of pine box evaders

Logan’s Run, now there’s a movie.

Based on the life expectancy figures that edge ever upwards year after year, most people eventually get old. Some don’t; there will always be a child exploding in an electricity substation after reaching for his battered red Frisbee while the girl who made him go in there shouts “Jimmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”, and we call that ‘Darwinism’.

If you don’t know what that refers to, that means two things: one, you should probably put ‘public information substation danger’ into Youtube and watch how the government used to routinely shit us up over our fish fingers; and two, you’re probably not old enough to need to care about getting old any time soon.

Good for you, because that might also mean you won’t have to turn into a complete arsehole any time soon. Old people, almost universally, are scum, potentially deserving of the millions of volts poor Jimmy received, though in most old people that would probably have the same effect as Berocca does on the rest of us.

I have two examples from today alone. Firstly, obviously, an aching legion of pine box evaders in Clacton-on-Sea have voted in their greying thousands for UKIP to win their first MP. For weeks they have been on TV news moaning about anyone they’ve not known for decades as regular patrons of the local butcher. Foreigners eat dog and that’s reason enough alone to vote UKIP, to protect JM Morley & Sons and ensure I get my pound of liver every fortnight without having to visit a supermarket filled with brown people. Old people eat liver by the way, another black mark.

The other example comes from Estonia where, in a rare good news story in the time of Ebola, ISIS and, well, UKIP, MPs have narrowly voted in favour of legalising gay marriage. The vote was 40 to 38 in favour and the massed ranks of decrepit Estonians were predictably furious at the result, having corralled their motorized pavement-clearing death machines into Talinn’s main square to protest against this affront to decency. Honestly, my dear old ageing army of Estonia, I’d say you’re overestimating your personal appeal if you think that law will affect you in any way.

Why do old people have to be so scared and angry about things the rest of see as basic human decency and equality? There’s a natural tendency for old age to bring on a creeping move to the right wing of politics but, though it’s generally accepted as fact, does anyone know why? They’re getting nearer the grave, many of them believe in some form of afterlife, so should their last act on Earth really be to act the total fucking bastard to minorities and anyone they’ve not known all their lives?

I know an old guy in my neighbourhood; I once helped him out with a website of his and now I’m stuck with him. He’s in his 70s and has loads of extraordinary stories about his countless jobs and japes, and though half of them are no doubt balderdash he’s still quite entertaining. He also thinks HIV/AIDS is a disease the ‘organism’ that is the Earth created to wipe out homosexuality. He fully believes in the death penalty as a way to reduce the prison population. He’s also a UKIP activist though I’m sure that’s a coincidence.

My grandfather, who I love dearly, has professed clearly racist views in the past and I do everything I can to ensure the conversation goes nowhere near any vaguely related subject. My 72-year-old stepfather is worse. I have a mate who absolutely idolises his ageing father and who I heard use the words ‘fucking poofs’ the other day, fully imitating his wonderful old man, completely without sarcasm.

There is the odd ray of light. I read about an old gent at Labour’s recent party conference who made an impassioned speech in favour of workers’ and human rights. My chest swelled with pride, and by all accounts he brought the auditorium close to tears. My pride and their tears were a direct result of the astonished delight that we’d found an old man who wasn’t a bigot railing against any form of change and the way ‘naive’ people below the age of 70 are ruining things for everyone.

The obvious assumption is that old people look back on their lives, realise they’ve wasted a huge majority of their time in jobs that amounted to bugger all, and set about raging at the injustice of it all. But why exactly they home in on ‘progress’ as the cause of their unspeakable futility is anyone’s guess. Can they honestly believe that the world would be a better place if they’d been allowed to live like the peasants in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, eventually to be carried away on a cart of corpses while pleading “I feel happy! I feel happy!”?

That’s where we’d be without progress – the past. In almost every single example anyone could ever provide, the past wasn’t a better place. Progress is good. Death is inevitable so, please, take my advice: when you feel the first stirrings of old age tugging at your mind with the words “But why does everything always have to change?”, accept that your time is up.

You’re no longer relevant to public life in any way, but that’s fine, because we’ll look after you. We’ll reform health and social care so you’re cared for properly and with dignity. You can laugh out your final years with your friends and family, protected from frightening current events. And the rest of humanity can get on with the business of tolerance and fairness without you beating us about the brains with your bitterness.

Clacton or Clyde

It’s too late to cancel the Scottish independence vote now, we’ll have to let that go ahead. There’s a bi-election on the way as well but I’m not currently focused on whether some skinny Tory tit can beat off a man named Roger in some coastal town filled with people gasping for one last view of the sea before they heave their final decrepit breath.

But people probably think they’re going to get a vote in a general election in whatever’s left of the UK in May next year. Well, people are wrong, because I’ve just cancelled it.

I’m afraid it’s time the people of this country accepted that a healthy majority, in terms of numbers if not health, do not understand how elections work and therefore shouldn’t have the right to elect anything more than the next chairman of John Lewis. And because I despise the upper classes of this country just as much as the imbeciles who vote for whoever Murdoch likes this month, I’m banning the whole process, and declaring myself in charge at the head of a very angry dictatorship.

Scotland are currently trying to work out whether to fuck off by themselves, and whether they should or shouldn’t is not for me to say, though obviously they shouldn’t. Yet kilted prat after kilted prat has been on my TV in the last couple of weeks saying something like this: “They say we won’t be allowed to keep the pound and our economy will go to shit, but to be honest I think they’re just scaremongering, so I’m voting ‘yes’.”

A naked (impressively chested) young lady covered in blood runs shrieking from a cabin in a forest. There’s a reasonable chance that there’s a madman with an axe in there chopping up her boyfriend, but to be honest I think she’s just scaremongering so I think I’ll pop my head round the door anyway.

As patiently as I can manage: just because they’re saying things to frighten you, it doesn’t mean you’re not all going to be left bankrupt within a week, tearing each other’s hair out for food and fucking the neighbour’s guinea pig because ‘a need ma hole’ before you die screaming. Right now in Aberdeen there are people saying ‘we want to rule ourselves we don’t want more Tory governments we want democracy wah wah wah’ ohhhh Christ, fucking get it through your heads that one day, believe it or not, David Cameron will get old and die and not be Prime Minister any more so using him and his evil chums as a reason to vote for independence is like stockpiling sun loungers and burning all your coats in June.

Meanwhile, in a seaside town in Essex or Kent or Suffolk or wherever the fuck they’re all almost dead and therefore love Nigel Farage, there’s a bi-election, and a hag was asked by a reporter if she’d vote UKIP. Oh yes, she said. She was then asked if she’d vote UKIP in the next general election. Oh I don’t know about that, she said.

My darling, you simply do not understand how these things work, and oh I’m sorry that bell means it’s your turn for the crematorium. She brilliantly underlined the mistake most people make in elections: they think their vote is crucial.

It’s painful to have to say this to you, but your one single vote makes fuck all difference to anything. Yes, it’s important to cast it, to have a say, but it’s one vote. One out of many thousands does not a crucial vote make. So might you not just as well vote for who you actually want to be the winner?

Perhaps, just perhaps, you should vote for who you think best represents your views. If everyone did that then, yes, this fucking place might end up with Nick Griffin as Prime Minister but if that’s what it takes to break this lunatic idea that we can only vote for a couple of parties because we assume that’s what everyone else will do, so fucking be it. When will you people fucking realise that they all start on zero?

In 1997, my first general election, I voted for the Tories. The logic behind that was it seemed clear that Labour were going to win by a huge margin, and that didn’t seem healthy for politics (I wanted Labour to win, just not control the world forever more), so I voted for some blue dickhead in a pathetic attempt to balance it up a bit. I’ve hated that logic ever since.

In every election since, I’ve voted for the candidate closest to my own views, regardless of party. In the 2008 mayoral election I voted for an independent candidate named Lindsey German and subsequently got blamed, personally, by a mate in the pub for allowing the idiot Johnson to win because I’d not voted for Ken Livingstone.

No-one thinks any more, nobody weighs up pros and cons – they just expel sound at each other. If Scotland go independent, if a town of old people vote UKIP, it’s fine so long as they’ve thought it through rather than react insanely against other people, or base their vote on what other people might do, or what people they don’t like have said. Sometimes, a big red button with ‘Do Not Press’ on it is a detonator.

It’s your vote, use it to vote for who you want to win, not for who you think can win, because at the start of a vote everyone can win, and your one single vote does not decide a goddamn thing.

But you won’t listen, I know that – so that’s it, no more elections. It’s vote for me by sending me a postal order or don’t vote for anyone from now on. Be it Clacton or Clyde the people of this country are too stupid to be trusted with a vote on anything so I hereby proclaim I am the ruler of you all like you one day knew I would and secretly wanted all along.