Tuesday, 9 February 2016

Fighting Fair?

An interesting article by Anne Marie Waters in Breitbart a few days ago perfectly explains the perverse Newspeak of the forces of mother-state socialism and the lust for uniform mediocrity achieved through coercion and not by any natural human mechanism. In Germany of all places, where half the country was for so long a part of a ruthless communist dictatorship, they are busily rebuilding the wall, only this time they want to include all of Europe within its destructive embrace.

It only came down a quarter of a century ago. Are memories so short that European leaders are already prepared to rebuild a failed ideology and defend it by viciously attacking those who speak out? Once again we hear the trudge of metaphorical jackboots and formalised state terrorism marching back into the heart of Europe. This death wish for freedom, echoes the demands of islam and its ‘democracy go to hell’ clarion call. Never mind hell, what on earth is wrong with the citizens of the new Eurasia?

The deafening screech of the massed voices of eternal protest – the left, for whom it is as natural as breathing – overlay every area of life today and anybody who dare challenge their orthodoxy is shouted down. When they say ‘far right’ they mean you and I. It is ‘far right’ to oppose uncontrolled immigration. It is ‘far-right’ to defend the traditional family. And it is ‘far right’ to want to regain independence from the European Union, whose end game is a totalitarianism just as unyielding as the old USSR.

The dupes on the left are brought into line by swallowing wholesale the narrative that they will bring about a gentler, more caring world of inclusivity and equality if they only band together to threaten violence to those deemed ‘far-right’. Like good little Hitler Youth they believe right is on their side and while the rest of us want peaceful coexistence, the multicultural mantra demands special concessions from us towards people who have no intention of ever integrating. The only way to live with people who hate us is with as great a distance between them and us as is possible; that goes for the left as much as it does for islam. Europe belongs across the Channel.

David Cameron may believe he is cleverly exploiting our fears by pretending that invasion is imminent if we leave the EU. Having tried and failed to make the economic argument which few now believe and realising that the left-wing approach of insulting us all as ‘the far right’ was making little headway against the intelligent, he has gone full-1984 by stating an outright lie as truth. War is Peace; Freedom is Slavery; Ignorance is Strength. Taking back control of our borders, he says, is losing control of our borders and brooks no reason.

This referendum is Cameron's to lose but he is relying on fear to win the day. There are no hard facts in the EU debate; nobody knows what leaving will bring, but it is the only option which offers change and goodness knows we need a change. I’m going with the ‘far right’ option of free speech, free thought and freedom from foreign rule, otherwise what’s the point? But, just as Anne Marie Waters explained, I never expected a fair fight.

PS: The French have also called Cameron a liar.

Sunday, 7 February 2016

Leave to remain

The ‘Remain’ campaign does oft defame,
Those who do not think the same.
But deign to claim they chose their name,
So apathy would aid their aim,
And on your head will insults rain,
As specious claim and counter claim,
Combine to shame you into stay’n...

But perpetuating people’s pain,
To stay aboard the gravy train,
Whose first class carriage preordains,
That only politicians gain,
Is tantamount to plot profane,
To bring an end to Liz’s reign,
O’er people free to say their name.
A once-proud race now run insane.

So join with us and don't abstain,
Be free-born Brits, cast off your chain.
Our island should be our domain,
To do with as we deem germane.
Let British blood run red again,
And fear not those who try in vain,
To keep us bound, I should explain,
They may as well fuck off to Spain*.

(*It rhymes, okay?) 

Saturday, 6 February 2016

The Communists Next Door

Listening to Any Questions on Radio 4 on the drive home from work last night it was fascinating to hear the inner workings of an alien species. Broadcast from Glasgow, it didn’t take very long to realise that the Scots aren’t like the rest of us. Or if they are they may have succumbed to a wasting disease that we should all worry about. The SNP appear to be pink to the core, espousing many of the contradictions of communism itself; collective misery and hardship and wishing death on the hated Tories, while, simultaneously expressing a deep seated desire to save the world, when they can’t even save themselves.

Part of the problem with pretending that you are so nice, while spitting hatred at those who pay for you to maintain your delusion, is that sooner or later you have to come face to face with reality. The reality that not everybody is equal, or that some people are not worth saving. That those you despise genuinely don’t care what you think of them. And that lofty ambitions of egalitarianism will remain unreachable without the enlistment of capitalism’s ability to do the things that communism can only dream of. And why get so agitated and angry when you find that not everybody shares your impossible quest?

And then you come up against people like me. I don’t care. I really don’t. I don’t care about refugees, asylum seekers, sick children, the unemployed, minority rights... In short, I don’t care about you and your bizarre obsession with taking and living the hypocritical oath. Oh, all this weird shit interests me, but in a fascinated ‘Ripley’s Believe it or Not’ way. It interests me that you can be all for equal treatment for all but also want to kill Tories. It interests me that you will believe without question and without proof a narrative that says the Westminster Government has a deliberate policy of exterminating the disabled and unemployed, yet refuse to condemn a murderous ideology which actually tortures and kills people live on screen.

Not caring doesn’t make me a typical Tory because there isn’t a Tory in the land who would espouse the complete disdain and disregard I hold for the human species and all its self-inflicted suffering. For instance, I don’t believe in every woman’s right to procreate; some people should never be allowed to replicate. I broadly support preventative abortion and if necessary post-natal culling. Up to 40 years post-natal ideally. You may call me a monster but you should be aware that I genuinely do not care what you think of me. If you are the kind of person who is offended by strangers not agreeing with you then why are you even still reading this?

Manufactured rage, dog-whistle reaction to barely grasped events, the confusion about which murderous bunch of foreigners you are supposed to support today, your fanatical devotion to the NHS even as it eats through money that might better get your children properly educated to not rely on others for their health and well-being... and maintaining the constant state of readiness to react angrily to every story of cleverer people passing on their advantage to their children must take its toll. I expect the cognitive dissonance roars like tinnitus and disturbs your very balance.

No? Me neither... Jockanese translator required

But, you see, the world needs people like me. It needs people like me to go out to work and pay my taxes and do my level best not to spend those taxes ten-fold. It needs people like me to hold up as hate figures, even though we do nothing to make the plight of your oh-so-many special cases any worse. And it needs people like me to be good little Aunt Sallies for you to rail against and wave your feeble little fists at. But at least I recognise that nobody cares what I think and nobody is going to spend any wasted time trying to rearrange the world to suit me... which is almost the exact opposite of the whining entitlement monkeys of socialism.

Friday, 5 February 2016

Red Alert

It’s been a hell of a week. Lord Lucan resurrected, David Cameron buried, Donald Trump purportedly nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. But when all’s said and done the world keeps on turning, we’re still in the EU and one day follows the next like a scabby stray dog shuffling behind you begging for scraps. But don’t worry about any of that, you’ve just got to get out there and grab the opportunities where they fall. Take heart from Geoff, a friend of mine to whom life offers up the most surprising experiences which he accepts as karma, just for being an eternal optimist.

Between girlfriends Geoff had taken to scouting the local hostelries and restaurants in search of whatever fortune may throw his way. And he’d had his fair share of luck with the single ladies, if truth be told. But last weekend is one he will remember for a long time. Finding himself in a mighty posh eatery, he was already seated and had ordered the soup du jour and a bottle of wine before he noticed the menu had no prices. We all know what it means if you have to ask the price. Hungry, but uncomfortable in his seat he eyed up the bread rolls and wondered if he could just pocket one and slink away.

That’s when he noticed the woman at the table opposite. She was astonishingly beautiful, with deep red hair and a full, pouting smile; he couldn’t help but stare. Her fringe hung down low over one eye and felt the urge to go over and pull it back so that he could gaze at her exquisite jawline, her ‘cheekbones like geometry’ and the flawless cream-white skin on her slender neck. She suddenly flipped back her head and with an expression of alarm in her eyes, entered a sneezing fit so powerful it felt like time had almost stopped. Her flame hair flew back as her head jerked forward and then Geoff saw something arcing through the air towards him.

He watched in slow motion as the object began to descend and then, as time speeded up again, he reached out and caught the projectile just before it splash-landed in his expensive soup. It was a glass eye. He looked up at the redhead who was holding a hand up to what he knew must be her empty socket and froze. She calmly walked over to him, plucked they eye from his palm and disappeared to the ladies’ room. In a few minutes she was back, elegant and beautiful and poised, as if nothing had happened. She thanked Geoff and took a seat at his table.

He couldn’t believe his luck as the night wore on and they chatted animatedly until the restaurant wanted to close. She insisted on paying the bill and invited him back for a nightcap. Soon they were in bed and coupling with an energy Geoff had long thought consigned to the past and in the morning she made him breakfast, staring dreamily at him as he ate his eggs and effortlessly maintaining the chat. Geoff was in heaven.

They showered together and made love again and as he was dressing he realised this had been the best night of his life. He couldn't believe his luck and a little doubt crept into his thoughts. “You, my dear” he said “are the perfect woman.” She smiled and purred a little as Geoff continued. “I hardly dare ask you this, but tell me, are you this nice to every bloke you meet?” She laughed like a tinkling brook, took his hand, winked and said “No, you just happened to catch my eye.”

Thursday, 4 February 2016

Lucky Dave?

Some people have put forward the theory that Cameron is really a new Churchill in disguise, treating with his enemies in public but, back in Blighty, secretly plotting their overthrow. He is playing a long game, they say, seeing what meagre scraps from the table will eventually be offered, only to overturn that table and - in a flourish worthy of Tyrone Power himself - whip out his rapier and carve Z-for-Zorro across the invasion map of Europe. I don’t buy it; it’s not happening. Cameron is as committed a Europhile as the cowardly Boris Johnson, trying to look undecided but already signed up to the United Kingdom Clearance Sale. Everything must go: sovereignty, currency, law and order, identity, tradition and when they get round to it, history itself.

When future generations read about how the European Union held fast against the Romans, Napoleon, the invader Nelson, Hitler and Stalin, united under the glorious star-spangled dishcloth, what was once the United Kingdom will be consigned to a footnote in history. Those great EU cultural heroes will be celebrated with many bread and circus days named for them: Shakespeare, Mao, mohammed (of course), Charlemagne, De Gaulle, Obama, and – naturally - Zorro himself. A mask may be worn on his day as it must on V-Day; the mask of Occupy who liberated Europe from the oppressions of free speech advocates and restored the power of the banks. This history is already being written in the minds of your infants. (If you want hard proof, I just miss-typed ‘Brthsi’ and the spellcheck didn’t even offer the name of our realm as an option! Even Microsoft is on board!)

We are not going to see any more ‘concessions’. What we haven’t even already got is a poor request for the other countries to assist in keeping the truth from the British public as the straps are buckled tighter still. Even the supposed alternative strategy of ‘Flexcit’[sic] is just a disguise for a mechanism by which our uncomfortable stay can be prolonged, possibly indefinitely. I reckon I have, at best, twenty years to go and I genuinely don’t expect to see any meaningful change in that time. So, David Cameron, you can go and fuck yourself unless you are prepared to rise to your office. I expect to be kept waiting.

Lucky Dave - whereabouts unknown

In other news, Lord Lucan is alive and well and living in England. Despite the reclamation of the title I believe the only Lucan anybody will remember is the one in that photo. Many since have copied his modus operandi, at least the one they believe, and vanished into obscurity. There will be no need for David Cameron to ‘take a walk in the woods’; when his time comes to leave the stage he could just do a Lucan... the only difference being that nobody will ever remember him.