Swapshop

For many more years than most of you realise, our society has been changing. The Britain and the British portrayed in war-time films – the plucky underdog fighting for survival yet never resorting to foul play – is long gone. The jolly bonhomie when times were tough, now replaced by a truly repellent internecine social warfare, all the while applauded by the useful idiots of The Left as ‘progress’ or ‘equality’ or worst of all ‘diversity’. 

Bizarrely, under the class system Britain, with its home-grown, natural diversity, was a more cohesive whole than anything the socialist’s oppressive dream will ever realise. You object to wholesale importation of cheap foreign labour and they call you a racist. Declaim the generations blighted by welfare dependency and they call you a bigot. Fly the flag and they denounce you as a Little Englander. Oh yes, the ‘progressives’ have learned Dr Goebbels’ lesson well.

So well, in fact, that a young, ill-educated couple even appeared on television unabashed, to claim that making them work for a living would be unfair. With an alarming lack of awareness of the irony, Danny said, “We can't be scroungers because the Government wouldn't give us the money or pay towards our living expenses if we didn't need it.” And just over the temporal horizon is the spectre of untold thousands of Romanians and Bulgarians who will be given unfettered access to the same imagined limitless pot of money.

We only have the one cake; how thin can we slice it before absolutely nobody is satisfied with their share?

Thankfully, I have the answer and it is so simple I wonder that government wasn’t able to think it up themselves. The couple of scroungers obviously appeared on This Morning because they were unable to get tickets for Jeremy Kyle – being on the telly is, like, the dream, innit? The Bulgars and Roma are desperate to get into Britain. So why not make everybody happy? Everybody that matters, at any rate.

Our island is a sinking ship and to fit any more in the lifeboat we have to ditch the dead weight; one in, one out. I present to you my new gameshow, Noel’s Multicultural Swapshop. To earn a place on the show you either need to be outside the UK and have a job to come to or else be living here entirely on out-of-work benefits. In each round a potential migrant worker is pitted against a doley, drafted in by lottery, in tasks based on the old Japanese game show, Endurance. Typical rounds could be to see how much weight you can hang off your scrotum, naked in a deep-freeze. Or how far up your anus you can insert a ‘leggy’ carrot without crying.

If the doley wins, he gets to stay in Britain, come off benefits, take the job and lump it. If the potential immigrant wins he gets the job and the doley has to swap places with him; if you ain’t got a job, you may as well live on welfare in Romania. With a donkey. In a shed. It’s truly a win-win-win situation. Britain wins at every round, a job gets filled and trash gets converted or transported, no more council houses need to be built and the population doesn’t treble overnight. 

Please God... Anything but a job! 

Now I’ve solved that problem I’m thinking of tacking this here Islamist Sharia-zone vigilante business. If they don’t want white people to enter their self-declared mini Islamic states we should help them out. Build walls round their ghettoes. Really high, solid walls and lock them in until they shut the fuck up. (I nicked that idea off the most prominent European Socialist organisation of the last century.)

Do have a lovely day.