Well, there you go. I said it, didn’t I. England is full of cretins, easier to herd than a flock of sheep. Cluck at them for a couple of weeks about how oven-ready they are, how lovely it’ll feel to be hung, stuffed with nuts and baked on a medium heat for five years, their carcass finally dumped on the lawn for the starlings to peck at, and the English turkeys will gobble up all their tasty sound-bites and pop themselves in the microwave.
Farmer Johnson’s timing was perfect. Gobbling around in their dismal sheds, tripping over bodies on trolleys, or occasionally going out to gobble in a storm, when told repeatedly over the tannoy in an encouraging voice, “Let’s get Christmas done!” the fat stupid birds were distracted by the festive tinsel and fairy-lights, and went willingly into the little wooden booth to peck like Skinner’s pigeons at their conditioned stimulus.
We knew you could lead them around in a bus with money written on the side, driving blind and running over homeless people on the pavement. The English will cheer the comedy vehicle*, unable to distinguish this from the circus coming to town, or a Morris dance, or a drunken hen do. It’s all the fucking same.
I insulted Britons last time, the whole of the UK, but yesterday’s general election hammered home that it’s really just the English who are feather-brained.
Hooray
they’re thinking today, as they’re reminded of what they’ve all achieved,
very soon Christmas will be over and the whole farm will come together again towards our common goal. We’ll fix the broken high-street hoppers that only dispense burgers and chicken nuggets fed on rainforest; there’ll be high-speed trains to everywhere; four more runways at Heathrow; affordable housing to fly over or train past at high speed; there’ll be 50,000 more nurses so our feet will be mended where they rotted from standing in our own shit for nine years; gobble, gobble, gobble! Hooray! Look at us, all empowered! Saint Boris has saved us from the Remoaner Quislings, which we didn’t know was a word!
Even the morons who “quivered over the ballot paper” still put a cross next to the last known sketch of a tree.
What’s most depressing is that it’s the same fucking monstrous farm – the Conservative Party, in case you missed the nuances of the metaphor – that’s been ruining their lives for so long they’ve forgotten what civilization looks like. There was some twonk just being interviewed this morning, who switched from Labour to Tory this time, some middle-aged, worn-down, working-class geezer in a fucking hi-viz jacket, actually explaining that he did it because the country is in such a state. His glazed-over expression only became more glazed over when the interviewer reminded him that, on the grounds of wanting change, he voted for the same. I mean, sometimes you just want to smash the telly and stand on top of a pole in the street and scream at people.
I was trying to think what it’s like. For some reason, The Boy Who Cried Wolf came to mind, but it’s not like that. Or is it? Have people been warning us? Did they say so many times in the olden days that lying psychopaths will try to steal everything from us that, when lying psychopaths steal everything from us for a decade, we don’t believe in lying psychopaths? Even when those lying psychopaths demonstrably lie about not being a racist and a homophobe, demonstrably lie to the Queen, don’t know how many children they have, and prorogue Parliament in case it votes against them? When, on TV, they’re asked about trust in politicians these days and the audience can’t stop laughing? They still fucking vote for the git?
Then I remembered that favourite childhood game where you grasp your friend’s forearm and repeatedly smack him in the face with his own hand, asking, “What are you doing? Why are you hitting yourself?” This is England. Again. The biggest Tory majority since Thatcher. At least Thatcher gave us the chance to buy shares as she sold the first third of the country. The second third’s gone with New Labour and then more Tories.
The last third, we probably won’t even have money anymore. In the Mad Max-style post-Brexit wasteland*, there’ll just be things like Facebook Licks, tradeable for Re-Twats, Instagrabs and Linked-Ups at Amazon-fixed market prices. You’ll probably be able to trade a million Licks or a hundred Twats for ten minutes connection to the National Grid through your smart meter, if you can send in the relevant paperwork to prove you were born south of Doncaster.
I’m seriously thinking of moving to Scotland. Nicola Sturgeon has just reiterated her welcome to immigrants, and there’s no wall along the border, yet. I hear there are already queues on the A1 northbound, as the sane minority of the English try to flee.
The stupid morons don’t even realise this is the actual end of the United Kingdom. Just like they didn’t expect a hard border between Northern Ireland and the Irish Republic, and still imagine we can avoid it through licensing of magic unicorns with special panniers, they’re only just waking up to the near-certain Scexit, where the canny Scots exit from the Union in order to Scenter the EU. Boris will start talks soon about the terms of another Independence Referendum, probably including a requirement for the Scots to pay for the rebuilding of Hadrian’s Wall. His tracheal implant, the American-built AutoVomit Repetizer™, will be reprogrammed, deleting “Oven-ready!” and “Get Brexit done!” adding instead, “Build the wall!” and “The Scotch will pay!”
Next, he’ll get on with the important legislative business of outlawing watermelon smiles, picaninnies and tank-topped bum-boys, and finally allowing women to look like letterboxes if they so wish, which is what he wanted all along, in context. Also, of course, he’ll be working on the main project, how to spin the next enormous syphoning of public money into private hands so it looks like he’s giving everyone in the country a mansion with staff and a massage with happy ending.
Or, perhaps Dominic Cummings will announce his inauguration as Divine Emperor of Wessex, with all the trimmings, to record crowds of adoring, succulent roast foul. You can’t predict these interesting times.
Happy Gobbling.
* Stewart Lee’s really let himself go.
lettersquash | John Freestone 
Bloody hilarious John but I would have been equally despairing of ending up in the Gulag had tje nihilist Corbyn and his gang got in. All politicians seem to be an unenlightened bunch of selfish twats out for nobody’s good other than their own.
No one has any new ideas. No signs of a better or fairer world anytime soon.
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Which is why I have become ever more taoist. Fuck the lot of em. Human society will never change. GMO ~ Get Me Out
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“Fuck the lot of em.” – is that the Tao tho? 😉
I’m very unsure about Labour, although I did decide to put a cross in that box in the end rather than spoil my ballot. Corbyn has let us all down badly – Lefties like me, that is – by being far too wishy-washy once he became leader, but I think he was in a very difficult position. Before that, he could speak his mind, but as leader he’d be reined in all the time. I was frustrated he didn’t spell out what all the Left knows, how the country’s been manipulated, austerity was to pay off the bankers, Brexit a Tory cluster-fuck to try and defuse Farage, but I think his advisors would be telling him only the headline of anything he said would be reported and would damage the party. MPs in the party are saying all that in Parliament, but it’s not endlessly twisted and plastered everywhere. Also, of course, there’s the problem that he’s always been a Euro-sceptic, elected to head a party whose natural position was Remain, too late monopolised by the Lib Dems, although if Labour had said that early on it might have been bad for them too.
I think, in short, I’m saying I’m not sure there’s really much to the idea of Corbyn’s Labour Party being some mental Stalinist mega-state version of socialism – that too is more lies put about by the press. As he said today, all of Labour’s manifesto policies were highly supported by the Nation according to polls, but they didn’t get the message across in a way that could be heard – probably because they failed to find a simple sound-bite or get in front of every camera repeating it endlessly, grinning. The scope for a Leftist message is enormous, and will have its day – hopefully, not too long from now – since the country, like the world, is in the grip of oligarchs. The longer they fail to invest in public services (14 years by the time this shit show is over) the more extreme the Left has to be to redress the balance. Labour’s public spending plans were quite normal for most of the civilzed world. The Tories have re-written history and the present, like in 1984, now re-branding themselves as “One Nation Conservatives” – having booted out anyone actually moderately concerned about plebs from the party. They’ve achieved the impossible, like Trump did, persuading the poor that they are the party that cares about them and will put everything right (and those working-class people have already forgotten it’s the Tories who made everything wrong just earlier today). Oh, look, the Nasty Party is now One Nation Conservatives. That beats “for the many, not the few”. Mine’s a pint. Who won the footy? Morons.
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