When Do We Get a Straight Pride Parade? And Give Us Back Our Rainbow! [a blog] #marriageequality #SCOTUS #pride

straight pride

Okay, enough is enough. The gays are literally taking over the world now. Everywhere you look on the internet, there’s rainbow pictures, and men kissing, and people putting up photos of two ducklings getting married while erroneously referring to them as ‘two chicks’. It’s sick, and it has to stop.

I’m all for live and let live. But I don’t need someone’s homosexuality shoved in my face all the time. I don’t need to know about what sick stuff they get up to in the bedroom, just because some liberal idiot has decided that we all need Human Rights. You don’t see me talking about being straight all the time, do you? No, my Facebook relationship status, profile picture of me and the wife, constant online check-ins when we’re anywhere together, tagging her in any status that’s even loosely related to us being a couple, and posting pics of her bump, the scan, and the eventual baby, along with six folders of our wedding – that’s enough. I’m not shoving it down anyone’s throat.

You can literally go to any big city in the civilised world now, and for a whole half a day of each year, risk running into a load of gays and lesbians and trangenders, and bisexuals and bi-curiouses, and people who AREN’T EVEN WEIRD OR ANYTHING, THEY’RE JUST GOING TO IT ANYWAY, and it can be quite a traumatic event, if you’re not prepared. I mean, obviously there’s fair warning (posters, internet ads, flyers, guys shouting about it with loadhailers), and it’s not not on for any more days a year than St Patrick’s Day, or Christmas, or any of those days where we get sad about people who died in the war; but still. It’s a bit too much, and I really resent going to it. But I have to, because someone has to keep an eye on them.

Gay sex is weird, and I don’t understand it. So it’s really out of line for gays to bring it up all the time. I mean, whenever I meet a straight couple, they don’t make me think about them in bed, sucking each other’s toilet parts, sticking stuff up each other. Straight people have a bit of decorum. But if you’re gonna introduce me to your ‘wife’ when you’re clearly a woman yourself, well now I’m going to have to spend ages picturing the two of you scissoring or sixty-nining, and sometimes it’s not even hot. A lot of the times, you don’t even look like the real lesbians, from porn.

I’ve met a lot of people’s grandparents, and I’ve never ever thought about them shagging each other. Thought hasn’t crossed my mind. They’re old people! They eat buns, and watch The Antiques Roadshow. They don’t bother with all that stuff any more. But, this week, I saw a thing about two 85 yr old men in Alabama who’ve been together for 50 years. And now I have to think about two old codgers lubing up and going hell’s bells until one of them (or both of them) shoots a hot, sticky load, and they collapse into each other’s liver-spotted, but still strong arms. And I don’t really have the imagination or the stomach for that.

Where is my Straight Pride parade? Can a person not be proud of being born the right way, or of not choosing to be gay? Surely it’s something we need to be congratulated on, not shamed for? Sure, the Pride movement isn’t really about floats or feather boas, or confusingly beautiful transsexuals in silver hotpants – it’s probably more about the happiness of the LBGTQ community that they live in a world where they can be themselves without fear of arrest, losing their jobs, etc – even though that struggle is continuing, and until gay people can walk hand in hand down a street in any town without funny looks, cat-calls, beatings, or worse – or kids can come out to their friends and parents without ever worrying they won’t be accepted as normal, there will never be true equality. Yeah, yeah, I know all that, sort of. What I’m trying to say is, I’m special too! Give me back my rainbow, you queers.


Which is Better? Kendall’s Ass or Her Mother’s Penis? [a blog] #CallMeCaitlyn #BreakingNews #Arsecocks


Bruce Jenner is no more. I’m not really sure what he was before, but the days of he are gone, long live Caitlyn; Vanity Fair cover star, reality show dynasty co-matriarch, and former Olympic Medalist (cos she had to give medal back, obviously. Someone else won it.)

Yes, on the day when that Kim Kardashian has-been woman and her pop star husband announced the imminent arrival of their next appallingly monikered offspring, precisely no one gave an actual fuck, because the big news was: some rich person looks pretty in a corset. I was there right at the start, as I happened to be over on VF.com entertainment scribe Joanna Robinson’s page, looking for some Game of Thrones opinions, and she was the first to let the mongoose out of the traps, to coin a phrase.

Very quickly, my internet was filled with exclusives from all the major news outlets, most of them completely struggling with the concept of ‘pronouns’, and some profound, thought-provoking comments on said articles, from the great unwashed. “Omg she looks amazing!” screamed people who, up until about four seconds before, had definitely been feminists. “Good for her, she’s the best!”, said overly-liberal types, who hadn’t given a fiddler’s fuck when Caitlyn was simply ‘that guy from that show on E! who was married to that fucking crazy woman.’

I like to think I’m as liberal as the next person, until I look around me and check out what the next person is up to. And that person is usually being a shitehawk. Being liberal, to me, is about live and let live. It’s about supporting people less fortunate, when they need your support. But that’s not how it works for some liberal people. For them, it’s more about ‘Look How Amazing a Person I Am! I Don’t Hate Anyone! Except Conservative People, Obviously’. There’s something a bit icky about that friend of yours who is constantly posting gushing tributes to anyone in the celeb sphere who happens to be brown. gay, transgender, a giraffe, etc. You can’t just pre-love everyone who is a minority or marginalised by society. That’s as fucking idiotic as the way some people on the Right pre-hate them. It’s still pre-judice, yanno?

And, if they’re not doing that, they’re posting their mock outrage at how CRAZY and STUPID the views of some nutcase on the opposite political side happen to be. “OMFG I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS FAT, RICH, REPUBLICAN SENATOR IS SO IGNORANT ABOUT HOW FOOD STAMPS WORK, YOU GUYS!!!!!”. Yeah, you can though. You definitely can. Shush.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ll always be Left Wing. Having grown up poor, I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter how rich I become, I can’t ever see myself suddenly developing a callous around my heart, and deluding myself that my success wasn’t half luck, and that I am not just a few bad decisions away from being that homeless guy I walk past on the street. But not all people with Right Wing views are evil or stupid. It’s just the ones you see making comments on the internet. Because, as the old saying goes, ‘Stupid Cunts Make the Most Noise’. And there are plenty of those on the far Left too. You just don’t like to admit it. For every twat who blames ‘Barry Hussein’ for the fact that he got mugged on the subway, there’s a jelly-spined bleeding heart who sticks his fingers in his ears every time someone brings up carpet bombing or Guantanamo.

But, back to Caitlyn. It’s great that she’s in such a position of privilege that her coming out (in the debutante sense, not the sexuality one, I have no idea whether she prefers snails or oysters) has had such a fanfare, a thorough Annie Liebowitzing, and a generous helping of Photoshop’s Gaussian Blur filter. Good for her! But I’m not buying all these people who never gave a fuck about her when she was a man, suddenly making her the poster child for diversity. She’s still part of the elite, let’s be fair. Whatever her struggle is now, or in future, she’ll be struggling while taking a car to Spago’s, and having a Mexican clean her toilet. The idea that trans kids around the world will suddenly have someone with whom to identify is stretching it a bit. I mean, stupid kids from poor families don’t look at George Bush and think ‘Never mind! I can still be president someday!!!’ That’s because, even though they’re stupid, they know they’re not going to Harvard or Yale on some C scores. The best they can hope for is a job scraping Caitlyn’s fragrant lady poos off the bowl.

But, Caitlyn’s grand entrance into the halls of polite society wasn’t the only thing trending over the past few days. No, in a story of equal weight and importance, young Kendall Jenner wore some shorts. They were really short shorts. You could see the beginnings of her buttocks in them. Like, a lot of the buttocks. What was she thinking? Luckily, she’s 19 now, which means it’s been a whole year and a bit since it was morally dubious for any newsgiver outside of the Daily Mail website to make suggestive comments about her pert derriere. Although the Daily Mail website is literally the only place on earth where anyone uses the phrase ‘pert derriere’. Anyway, Kendall’s tiny, white-girl child-arse was the talk of the web, relegating Kim and Kanye’s Konception to third place, which must have been devastating.They’re both used to being the most celebrated anus in town.

So, how should you have reacted to the pictures of The Artist Formerly Known as Bruce? Up to you, really. Just know that if you’re my friend, and you’re waxing cuntical about how much you’ve ‘always admired her spirit’, I’m going to vet your Facebook timeline quicker than I checked your Spotify history that time you pretended you knew any B.B. King songs that didn’t have Bono in them.

It’s Not Dave Cameron Dismantling Your NHS, It’s Brown People With AIDS [a blog] #tories #immigration #nhs #ukip


Let’s get one thing straight, Lefties. David Cameron loves the National Health Service. That time when his dead son was alive, boy did those nice NHS doctors and nurses give him the best of care. The best! I mean, he’s dead now, and Dave doesn’t really like to bring him up to make political points, but the fact remains. He went to a hospital some times, and the service he received was nothing short of exemplary. I mean yeah, his father was a multi-millionaire of aristocratic stock, and didn’t really need to clog up the free facilities meant for the rest of us, but; somewhere in the back of his sad, fatherly mind, Dave probably thought ‘This will come in handy for a speech someday’. And it’s not like his poor, Down’s Syndrome child was going to receive preferential treatment just because of his father’s connections. To nurses and doctors in British hospitals, all parents look the same. Well, the white ones do, anyway. That’s just science.

Whenever a Tory talks about the National Health Service, it’s usually praising it, and at the same time implying that it ‘needs fixing’. And the right-wing newspapers do love a story about how someone died on a trolley after an 18 hour wait in the corridor of A&E, don’t they? If not that, it’ll be one about how some apparent slapper is getting massive new tits on the taxpayer’s tab, probably because she’s got bi-polar, from not having massive tits. On a particularly good news day, you might even get one about some deluded chap who’s getting his cock lopped off, free gratis, and making everyone at the school where he teaches call him ‘Susan’. It’s plitcal crectnuss gawn mad!

But, of course, without any need for statistics to back it up, we all know that the biggest scourge on the NHS is from terrifying foreigners from impoverished countries, who despite being too poor to eat or have a roof, manage to fly over here, get themselves a house, and pop straight down the local GP for some AIDS Tablets. Probably leaving HIV in every puddle they splash through on the walk down. I’m joking, obviously. They usually get a taxi, which they pay for with government taxi vouchers, handed to them when they get off the plane. It’s definitely these disease-ridden wogs who are causing the long queues and busy phone lines at your local GP’s office. It’s not a bunch of English people looking for a sickie note cos they were out on the Stella all weekend. Or 43 different new mums who think that their baby is the centre of the fucking universe, and don’t understand how Calpol works.

So, despite anything you’ve actually experienced personally, or all the great stories you might have of wonderful care, free treatment, friendly, amazing staff; the NHS is fucked. Cos the Tories and The Sun told you it is. And the only thing that can fix it, are Healthcare Reforms. Which sound good, really. If healthcare is banjaxed, we should definitely reform it. Too long, we’ve had the deplorable leftist view that we should look after society’s most vulnerable, and that it’s collateral damage if a tiny percentage of folk game the system for their own selfish advantage. That simply won’t do. That was how Labour used to run social welfare and the Tax Credits system, and look what happened there: A bunch of working parents able to put their children in day care while they earned an honest crust. The destitute and disabled having roofs over their heads and food in their bellies. And a really tiny percentage of ABSOLUTE PISS TAKING FUCKERS claiming money without any intention of actually seeking work. That’s why the Tories had to come in and put a stop to all that nonsense, natch.

The way to reform healthcare in the UK is simple, really. No, the Conservative Party will not privatise it. No, they will not make cuts. Unless they have to, obviously, but that’ll only be because they’re not privatising it. Which they’re not. No, the way to fix the NHS is to realise that it’s not a charity, or a food bank for medicines. It’s a business, and obviously it’s a really poorly run business, thanks to the vile, charitable, bleeding heart legacy left by the Labour Party. So, the best way to make a business like the NHS work, is to bring in successful business people, with proven track records. Obviously they’re not going to be people with a background in healthcare, but that’s fine. They don’t really need one. Richard Branson doesn’t even know his own WiFi password. He doesn’t need to, he’s the boss.

And yes, some money may change hands. And yeah, some NHS Trusts may essentially become Limited Companies with bonuses and whatnot. And okay, the NHS will eventually be streamlined to the point where the bottom line profit is more important than little yellow-faced Johnny getting a new liver. But it won’t be privitisation. And, even if it is, it’s not David Cameron’s fault. He loves the NHS. They were really good to his dead handicapped son. Of course, they couldn’t save him. Which is probably why they have to pay now. And, eventually, why you’ll have to pay too.

Thanks, Kwame!

Benefits Cheat Dies Having Shameful Druggie Fun on My Tax Money [a blog] @rustyrockets #whatiwrite #ecstasy #mdma #drugs #tabloids

fat kid

Once again another life has been tragically cut short by unspecified medical complications, linked by expert tabloid newspaper physicians, to a new strain of the sort of cheap, adulterated rave tablets which are mostly consumed by the children of people on unemployment assistance. Unlike the sophisticated, pure, uncut Colombian powders favoured by politicians, hedge fund managers, and newspaper editors, these pills are poorly regulated, easy to acquire, and completely unsafe. Of the millions consumed in nightclubs across the land every weekend, at least one pill might cause the tragic death of a photogenic teenager; as long as it’s a slow week for news, there are no World Cup matches on, and Michael Barrymore hasn’t drowned another gay. Those are not odds we are prepared to gamble our children’s lives on.

Everyone remembers the scourge of rave tablets in the 1990s, of course. Tragic Leah Betts, whose photograph was reprinted a million times, dug its way into the worried consciousness of every parent in the land, and fueled completely unnecessary and damaging paranoia in a million tentative teenagers, about to experience their first rush of shameful Poor People Disco Pill euphoria. One photo, repeated ad infinitum, forever. Of course, this couldn’t happen today. Now, there is Facebook and Instagram, so we are spoiled for choice when it comes to printing pictures of dead teenagers. Some of them are even nice enough to wear low-cut tops, and do that ‘duckface’ thing. Makes for good copy, especially if you’re the Daily Mail website.

The repercussions and fallout from that 1990s war on Dancing Chemicals were vast, and still affect us today. Helpful scare stories about ‘dehydration’ and ‘losing all the salt in your body from sweating’ caused many deaths all by themselves, with misled children consuming litre after litre of Evian, unaware that the anti-diuretic nature of the  product would mean they weren’t able to urinate for several hours, and dying from organ failure caused by water toxification. New Labour stepped in and appointed a series of Drug Czars, one of whom was a very clever man, Professor David Nutt, so that there would be some light shed on the confusing subject of this mood enhancing Serotonin Sherbet. The Professor came back and said that taking these pills, even on a regular basis, was ‘less dangerous than riding a horse’. Tony Blair decided there and then that we didn’t really need a Drug Czar. And that the ‘horse’ David was talking about was probably heroin or something. Being a man who knows how telling untruths can lead to the deaths of millions, Mr Blair quietly sacked the Nutt E Professor, and distracted the nation by doing a funny sketch on the Catherine Tate show.

Today, just like other stuff from the 90s, demonising the children of the poor and working classes for their intoxicated life choices has come right back into fashion. Along with it, Reefer Madness-style trends of printing articles ‘warning’ of new SUPER STRONG strains, ‘bad batches’, or pills which have been ‘laced with rat poison’. Anything to keep the mindless fear levels up, natch. And usually tapped into the laptop by an investigative reporter puffing on a crafty legal cigarette, which contains over 4,000 chemicals, definitely including arsenic (rat poison, to you and me). Papers conduct Vox pops with unnamed clubland sources, leading to statements like ‘You just don’t know what you’re getting with these pills; there could be cocaine, speed, heroin even, in them!”, completely failing to point out how much of a bargain that is, relatively.

The strange tabloid dichotomy of warning of the ills of unregulated, adulterated product on the street, while at the same time screaming for legislation to make them even more illegal, isn’t a new one. And their psychology is as subtle as ever. Their working class readerships need to be consoled, berated, and divided against each other (to keep them weak, and distracted from the opulence of the ruling classes). So, when a pretty teenager from a council estate dies in way loosely related to a tiny tablet (and not at all related to the 16 Bacardi Breezers she washed it down with), the headlines are all about ‘Tragic Waste’, with the story inside telling of a ‘good girl, with her whole life ahead of her’. To make sure these scumbags know their place, whenever one of their celebrity gods is ‘caught’ dabbling in drugs, the headlines are about their ‘Shame’ and ‘Regret’. Unless they die, of course. Then it’s back to being a ‘Tragic Loss’. Even if they were on heroin while supposed to be looking after a toddler. You can only have shame while you’re still alive. That’s science.

Of course, there’s no divide and rule without a healthy rivalry, fueled by ignorance and misinformation, so the newspapers have done a sterling job in portraying everyone who uses street opiates as doing so by their own choice, for selfish fun, and supporting their habit by stealing your actual car stereo. As long as there is the spectre of the Junkie waiting around every corner, the normal, hard-working cannabis user in the street can be happy that any drug-related shame story isn’t actually aimed at him. Just like the way the story of Baby P made awful, child-slapping parents up and down the land think ‘Well I’m not as bad as his mum and dad, the scum!!!!’, the existence of the mythical happy-go-lucky heroin fiend consoles them about the moral in-severity of their own narcotic pursuits. Us, and Them, as the famous drugged up losers Pink Floyd once put it.

Amy Winehouse, the poster child for how much fun recreational Smack use can be, was often pictured falling out of swanky Heroin Bars at 3am, laughing at the rest of us who have to get up in the morning and go work down Tesco. Until she died, obviously. That was a Tragic Loss. Russell Brand wrote a beautiful and touching piece in the Guardian about her death (and life), but we didn’t read it, cos he’s a junkie scumbag hypocrite who forced us all into voting for the Tories, and now lives in an fancy London apartment that he paid for himself by working, blatantly refusing to donate all his wages to people on the internet who don’t like him.

Every Time Someone Votes Yes, God Kills A Foetus [a blog] #yesequality #equality2015 #referendumireland


Let’s get one thing straight, Ireland is in trouble. If the liberal, gay-loving, secret homosexual agenda-having, biased Irish media have their way, our glorious Catholic nation will go to the polls on Friday and commit an act so knavish and sinful, we will be cast into the fires of Hell, with no hope of redemption, even in the Final Days of His Coming.

Because of their crazy, fact-based arguments, and dedication to the ridiculous assumption that gays deserve so-called ‘human rights’, the filthy leftist Protestants are on the brink of changing how the rest of the world sees us, forever. Ireland has always been a place of conservative values, and stubborn adherence – not the The Bible, which we all know is open to all sorts of interpretation – but to Catholic Dogma, which is written by Man, not by God. And that’s better, because God was a Jew. Look it up if you don’t believe me.

Bit by bit, the pinkos have taken away our sovereignty over the years, and with it, our reputation as the most pious and devout nation on Earth. At this point, we’re probably behind a bunch of African countries, and places like the Philippines. Which, although understandable considering how brown people are much stupider, and easier to trick with magic poems and the threat of eternal damnation, is still pretty terrible. We used to be up there with the Italians and the Poles. Now we’re almost on a par with the Godless British, who don’t even like the Pope, and only go to church twice a year, plus the odd wedding.

It’s been a long and destructive process, started when we joined the European Common Market in the 1970s. Once we opened our doors to the continent, our days were numbered. The magnificent Papal paradise created by DeValera and his chums back in the day, with its lack of English newspapers, Rowntree’s Fruit Pastilles, or dissident liberal opposition, was now at the mercy of the French, and probably the blacks. Of course, back then, people still went to mass, and understood that the word from the pulpit was final, even if it was a lot of hypocritical shite, spoken by a man who had consummated his marriage to Jesus via the anus of a 12 year old boy.

In 1990, the scourge of condoms came to our land, which resulted in the spread of sexually transmitted diseases and teenage pregnancies. Sure enough, in 1993, the Condom Lobby Groups managed to pressure the government into legalising same-sex sex, or gayness. Cause and effect in action. Obviously, with all this free-flowing sodomy in the country, the institution of marriage was destroyed, and in 1995 we were plunged into the horror of an Ireland where someone in an unhappy marriage would be allowed to legally dissolve it, without even a letter from Pope John Paul.

Of course, after that, there was no other way to go than ‘down’. Just as the Berlin Wall had fallen a few years previously, so fell the values of the Irish people. Almost overnight, we removed the Death Penalty for people who went over to England to have an abortion. It wasn’t all bad, though. The act of killing a baby was and is still a crime within our borders. Even in cases of rape, child molestation, the baby being already dead, and the mother being Indian. We’re sticklers, if nothing else.

So now we come to Friday, and the stark reality that our nation could wake up the next day in a world where it’s fine for two hairy looking men to be each other’s wives in the eyes of Jesus. For two shifty looking birds in dungarees to make their own child without even using a sperm. For children to be born lesbian at birth, the the police be powerless to stop them. There are many solid arguments on the ‘No’ side; but, unsurprisingly, the baby-killing, drug-loving liberal media has made it its business to carefully dissect all of them in a public forum, by demanding deeply unfair things like ‘proof’, ‘sources’, or ‘pointing out in the Constitution where it actually says that’. Remember this, the next time the Leftist Velvet Mafia arrive at your door, asking you to pay for your RTE Licence. Because that’s where your money is going.

It’s not enough that I implore you to sit at home on Friday and say several Solemn Novenas. It’s not good enough for you to stand outside the polling stations with large banners showing pictures of Goatse, with the words THIS IS WHAT GAY MARRIAGE REALLY LOOKS LIKE. I need you to do me a bigger favour. I need you to vote No, like I will be. Sure, they referendum is probably going to pass 7:1 in favour of the sodomites. But we still have a battle to fight. For every extra percentage point that we can add to the No side, it will show our world peers (especially those in America, Britain, and the Brown Lands) that there is still a part of Ireland that’s resistant to change. Still glorious green hills and maidens dancing at the crossroads who don’t believe in so-called ‘equality’ for people who are different from us. And who still value the rights of the child about all adult pursuits like buggery, and whatever it is the women gays get up to.

Vote ‘No’ on May 22nd, for DeValera, for the Magdelene Laundries, and for the 800 septic tank babies, who are in Heaven, looking down, willing us to stop gays taking away their freedom.

What the Hell Happens Now? [a blog] #Election2015 #SNP #Labour #Conservatives

Conflict of interest, you say? How dare you!
Conflict of interest, you say? How dare you!

Well now, that was shit. As the dust settles on the United Kingdom this morning, there’s only one thing for certain. Rupert Murdoch is still Prime Minister. Thanks to some Sun-led ‘tactical voting’, the Scottish people handed the Conservatives the election, by blasting their way to fifty-six seats in a parliament they don’t even want to be in. All with a magnificent 5% of the national vote. And their reward? Fifty-six seats on the Opposition side, where they’ll be glared at by what’s left of the Labour party, for another five years. Good work all round, Porridge Fellas!

By contrast, the the Independence Party of the UK (IPUK) tallied an impressive 12.5% of the spoils, giving them a grand total of one seat. That’s democracy in action right there, guys. Long may it continue (for them, anyway). Yes, the five million or so votes that Farage’s lot and the Greens got, countrywide, resulted in them getting a seat each, which seems completely fair to someone like me, who grew up in a country with Proportional Representation, which is based on the crazy idea that people should be governed by the candidates they actually want. But, even then, not everyone is ruled by who they want. That’s fine though, because I come from Ireland, and no one can tell any of the parties apart there. Fianna Sinn Fine, or something or other. ‘I’m voting for those guys!’.

If you live in the England and didn’t fancy another half decade of austerity, cuts, food banks, and evil, there wasn’t really much more you could have done. The Scots fucked you, and even then, that wasn’t really their fault. You didn’t give them their own country last September, so they paid you back by giving you David Cameron. And Boris Johnson. Oh yeah, BoJo snuck back into the Commons last night, despite clearly already being the Mayor of London. He didn’t even stand in his home seat of Henley. He didn’t have to. That man could win an election in Jerusalem, while dressed as Heinrich Himmler. And, with Dave hinting that he doesn’t want three terms, it’s obvious that his old Eton chum and cousin Boris is being groomed to take the reins, and maybe sooner than you think. It’s clear that British people will vote Tory now, even if it’s against their own interests, so you can’t blame the Conservatives for thinking they can pass that muttering toilet brush off as the next Churchill.

Who is going to make up the flesh and bones of the next government? It’s not really clear to me, as First Past the Post seems really simple until you get a Hung Parliament, then it sort of seems to turn into a real system, with coalitions and whatnot. None of that matters, anyway. The Tories are in, and it doesn’t matter who joins them, they are just going to end up being the little arsehole kid that hangs around with the school bully. They can talk shit at you, but they’ll have no actual power, and you’ll get them later, when the bully has gone home for his tea. Maybe they’ll be at Youth Club. They won’t be so smart then, without their minder. You can get a few friends with you, maybe, as back up. Corner them behind the chip shop. ‘Not so fucking tough now, are you, eh?’ you’ll cry. Before beating their skull in with a claw hammer. I think this metaphor might have got away from me.

Who would get in bed with the Tories though? The SNP might have been the ones who handed Cameron the election, but they don’t really get on. David Cameron doesn’t seem the type to respect a woman leader. His favourite politician was Maggie Thatcher, after all. IPUK haven’t got anything to bargain with, neither do the Greens. The Unionists from Northern Ireland are the only ones whose capacity for pure evil matches that of the Tories, so it might be them, although there’s all different kinds of them (UUP, DUP, KKK), and I’m not sure if they get on with each other. I just know they all have moustaches. In the end, it’ll make no difference. The Lib Dems (remember them?) didn’t get anything they wanted, and now they have even less. Clegg’s lot lost an avalanche of seats, as did Labour, and the worst thing is, the Conservatives did nothing to deserve their gains.

I say nothing, but if you look beneath the surface, and ask around, you’ll find that the Tories spent millions in calculated, targeted campaigns up and down the country – canvassing, leafleting, cold calling – in a bid to discredit the Lib Dem and Labour candidates in key constituencies. It was full on Kristallnacht stuff, and it happened without being reported in the Con-friendly print media. Couple that with the Murdoch-engineered SNP landslide, and what occurred was practically a coup d’etat, except no one was overthrown, just the incumbents returned. The newspapers this morning will be full of a smiling Nicola Sturgeon, who it’s perfectly right to praise for her efforts, but when it comes down to it, nothing has changed at all in the majority of the UK, save for the fact that the Tory grip is now even tighter. Labour will take decades to regain trust up in Battered Heroin Land, and until they do, you’d better get used to the idea of a dystopian Orwellian future, or pack your bags and move north.

Still though, at least when Boris is Prime Minister, it’ll be a right old laugh and a giggle. Unless you’re poor, or something. But that won’t be an issue. Ten more years of Tory rule and there won’t be any more poor people in the UK. Unless you count the ones in the concentration camps, obviously.

If You Want a Terrorist for a Neighbour, Vote Lib Dem or Labour [a blog] #ElectionDay #VotingMatters #UKIP


… or the Greens, or UKIP, or the Tories, or SNP, Plaid Cymru, DUP, Sinn Féinn, or any of the rest of them. It’s really not going to make a difference. A terrorist generally chooses his house like the rest of us do. Price, nice area, good schools, big park to walk the dogs in. You can’t influence terrorists with your vote today. They’re really single minded chaps and chapesses.

You can make a difference by voting though, in most cases. Granted, if you live in a safe seat. like Romford (Coservative), Greenwich (Labour) City of London (International Jewish Banking Conspiracy), your vote is pointless; but if you’re lucky enough to live somewhere with a marginal seat, heads may roll. Real change might happen! Vive la reveluciatzione!

Well, not really. Unless you manage to get the Greens or UKIP in, the only real change that’ll happen on a local level is that you’ll have a different Bacon-Faced Public Schoolboy doing mostly the same stuff as the last guy, and blaming him or her for all the shit they’ve inherited. If you do manage to get a Green in, your life will immediately become filled with compulsory bicycles, sentient wheelie bins, and a tax on chewing gum. Get the UKIP in, and all the local cheap chicken restaurants will close, you’ll have to go to Christian mass five times a day, and your wife won’t be allowed to wear clothes anymore. Don’t blame me, you should have read those leaflets, idiot.

That’s not to say you shouldn’t vote. 16 million of us didn’t vote last time, apparently. I’m never sure if that includes babies and stuff, but in fairness, babies should totally be allowed to vote. They’d make choices as sensible as the rest of us. Maybe, instead of polling stations, we should all get a delivery of Farley’s Rusks, in the respective party colours, feed them to our nippers, and see what colour their poo comes out. That’s pretty much how we got the last coalition in the UK, anyway. And it’s been the way they’ve elected the Knesset for decades now, and that’s why everyone who has ever governed Israel has been a shit. No matter what colour they are.

What will change tomorrow, if we all go out and put our arbitrary tick or X in an arbitrary box or circle, in the the contented delusion of having a choice or a say in how the banks run our country? Probably not much. You’re only going to have one of two Prime Ministers, this isn’t the fucking Hunger Games. So, it’s a man who looks like fortnight-old margarine with eyes, or a man who looks like some wind-up joke-shop teeth that have fallen in a bowl of paté. Blue or Red, Stick or Twist, Same or cha- okay, Same or Similar. And maybe they’ll have to cosy up to someone in order to make up the numbers. Maybe Farage will get his day in the sun. That seems like a worst case scenario, but I’d actually enjoy watching it happen. Probably because I don’t live in Britain now.

Watching UKIP get into actual real government will be a bit like when you have a house party and someone gives a baby some MDMA. That baby shouldn’t have MDMA, and yeah, it’ll be funny at first, watching someone with the brain power of a 1987 Casio Calculator Watch suddenly having the means to do things they never imagined. But, after the laughs have died down, and the Best of the Prodigy CD is over, someone is going to have to get that baby some fucking chewing gum, a two litre of Evian, a massage, and probably an ambulance. That’s a metaphor, btw. And if you don’t understand what a metaphor is, you’re probably already voting UKIP today.

A look at the last five years will tell you immediately how much difference the junior party in a coalition with the Tories can make. Fuck all, basically. Because the Lib Dems are just Tories who pretend to be nice. They love the drug users and the gays, but only the ones who aren’t poor. Poor people can still go fuck themselves. If you’re a heroin addicted rent boy who can’t get his own place, and has to live on the spikes outside Tesco Express, Nicholas Cleggworth is not answering your phone calls, trust me.

The Tories hate the poor and the vulnerable even more. I know Dave Cameron rolled up his sleeves yesterday and talked to a bunch of people in tracksuits about how important a strong economy is, but that’s just because he thinks they are fucking idiots who believe that a strong economy is achieved in any other way than bleeding the poorest people dry, and turning their dead into Soylent Greggs. Of course, for the lower classes, the main reason to vote Tory has always been that they hate the blacks and the gays and the Muslims and anyone else who is a bit different from you or me. But that’s always been a smokescreen. If Dave and his lot were allowed to do a quick genocide on any particular social group in the UK, nine times out of ten they’d pick the very hoody-sporting, Brighthouse-frequenting, Lambert & Butler-chuffing white underclass that are abandoning them in droves for the lure of Nice Guy Nigel – a man who looks like he might be a laugh to have a pint with. While kicking a black in the face.

Anyway,  whoever you vote for today, guys; remember that baby. Not the one who shits out Israeli Politicians, the other one.