Choose lies. Choose three jobs. Choose no career. Choose a divorce. Choose a really, really, really fucking big television, Choose auto-telling machines, coffee salons, artisan beers and self-service checkouts. Choose private healthcare, institutional cancer and dental veneers. Choose variable-rate private rentals. Choose a starter flat. Choose your competitors. Choose leisure wear made by children. Choose a corner suite on a payday loan in a range of fucking highly-flammable fabrics from non-EU countries. Choose PAYE and wondering where the fuck your Council tax went and all those fucking trees. Choose sitting on that Lay-Zee-Boy watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing talent shows, stuffing fucking calorie-counted, emulsified diet food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in an over-priced nursing home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up ministers you voted for to replace your lazy fucking conscience. Choose no future. Choose lies . . . And why would I not do a thing like that? I chose to choose lies: I chose nothing else. And the reason? There is no reason. Who needs reason when “brexit means brexit”?
As many of you know I am a bit of a social media addict and I would be ashamed to admit how many times a day I check my Facebook page, Twitter feed and blog stats, so I’m not going to come clean. Suffice to say I check-in pretty early in the day, and today I woke up to two very unpalatable posts.
TRIGGER WARNING: The following post contains strong language, middle-class socialist whingeing, and self-righteous indignation. For the sake of legibility I have not used the customary FULL CAPS to indicating shouting, but it should be read in a gradually increasing register in the style of one of those old men who rail at the world in your local library.
The first posts I saw were about the suicide of Robin Williams. I am not normally given to starfucking, nor any mawkish commemoration of dead celebrities, but despite his making many truly awful films, Robin Williams is a material loss to the world.
The next thing to greet me today was the face of Margaret Thatcher on the design of a new first class stamp.
Margaret Thatcher who gloried in the Falkands War.
Margaret Thatcher who accelerated the decline of British manufacturing industry and left two generations out of work.
Margaret Thatcher who helped to cover up illegal sexual activity within the echelons of government. (I would hate to stumble into any slander here, but keep an eye out for the comings and goings re Operation Yewtree and the Elm Guest House scandal.)
Margaret Thatcher who compared herself to the likes of Jesus Christ, the prophet Mohammed and The Buddha. No, really. Here is an actual quotation from a video interview [to follow].
Margaret Thatcher who was bezzy mates with General Pinochet, Robert Mugabe and Jimmy Savile.
Margaret Thatcher who left government to become a consultant for the tobacco giant Phillip Morris, when the whole rest of the world accepts the destructive poison that smoking is.
Margaret Thatcher who took pride in not being a consensus politician. Like Hitler. Like Stalin. Like Mao.
The very same Margaret Thatcher so beloved of that row of shit-stains currently defiling the government front bench.
The most prominent recent example of a truly consensus politician is Clement Attlee (fortunately also commemorated on a first class stamp). Remember him? The Prime Minister who oversaw (with others) the creation of National Insurance and the National Health Service. This is the health care programme tat is the envy of every other country in the world. This is the very same National Health Service that my parents have paid into their whole working lives and has just recently provided a new hip for my mother and restored the sight of my father, meaning that she does not have to spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair and he is not blind.
Margaret Thatcher, the champion of the individual over society. The same kind of cut-throat entrepreneurial spirit championed by that darling of the right, Alan Sugar. The very same who complimented one of his “Apprentices” on lying in order to get a sale. This is one of those “British Values” so beloved of David Cameron and Michael Gove, that go-get-em, buccaneering spirit that defines a political class that does not even have the insight to understand their own spin-doctor’s shtick. We have a word in the English language for material gain by deception.
Boris Johnson (I can barely type the name without spitting) has a well-documented history of deception, and it looks like he’s going to be PM one day. He will be in good company. His purposeful inaccuracies are widely-known and easily discovered. We also have a word in the English language for someone who says something they know to be untrue.
As far as Boris Johnson is concerned it’s not even an insult. It’s simply a statement of fact.
However, this really put the lid on it for me today. It seems the British government has redacted a report on fracking because they think that people are more concerned over their house prices than the potability of their drinking water. If you are concerned about fracking more because it will affect the re-sale of your three-bedroomed semi in Scunthorpe than the hydrocarbons in the atmosphere or the benzene in your drinking water then you really deserve whatever you get.
Hydraulic fracturing is criminally dangerous because no-one really knows what might be the unforeseen effects, right? Wrong. It doesn’t take a genius, nor a geologist, nor even a fracktologist to know that if you pump a load of carcinogenic shit into the environment in one place, then it’s going to come out somewhere sometime.
Ever had a water leak in your house? No amount of geologically active shale is gonna stop that shit in a million years. Anyone actively engaged in promoting fracking should be imprisoned. Every engineer, every seismologist, every accountant, every politician and let’s start with UK Prime Minister David Cameron.