Proof you really can't die of shame

11/23/2009 05:05:00 pm / The truth was spoken by Rich /

If anymore justification were needed for staying home on polling day when the next General Election is finally upon us, surely this nonsense provides it. David Cameron sneaking into the Fields of Remembrance at Westminster Abbey with his personal photographer before the Remembrance Day service just so he can be seen to be paying his respects and looking all stoic and reflective.

Gordon Brown upon hearing about being out photo-opped begins frantically texting his people back at Number 10 insisting that he be snapped after the service strolling through the grounds too with his wife, looking equally stoic - and failing incidentally as his countenance never changes, he probably wears the same expression on his face when his wife is licking his testicles.

How does one become so cynical and so ruthlessly underhand as to be able to use the deaths of approximately 10 million people in order to try and win a few points in the opinion polls? How long does it take from birth to liberate your conscience from the scruples and principles which tell you not to do things like this through feelings of overwhelming guilt and remorse.

If we really want to pay our respects to the fallen, to all those men who died to protect our way of life, then we can all just stay at home on polling day. They didn't fight for our right to vote, they fought for our right to choose. Not voting is as much a part of a true democracy as voting.

They fought so we didn't have to vote for people with a sateless lust for power - men who in those days had funny tashes and ostentatious uniforms, easy to spot they were...but these days they look just like us and are harder to identify - or at least they would be if they didn't insist having their fucking picture taken every five minutes.

Personally, I'd rather spend polling day eating my own ear wax and then vomiting it back up in half hour cycles until the polls close. I'd also like to lie David Cameron down in the street, have him bite down on the curb and stamp on the back his head until his head caves in like a boiled egg. I'd then like to hang Gordon Brown up by his neck from London Bridge with a length of his wife's knicker elastic and have Iraqi and Afghani orphans belt him with a stick as he boings up and down like some gruesome piƱata. We can't have everything in life of course, so I'll settle for a hung Parliament.

I've said me piece I'll bid you good day.



Post a Comment