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Thunderbird puppet Alistair Darling on the Politics Show this morning. I turned it off just in time to save my blood from getting angried up. I'm already facing a day of blood angrying as my car is in an appalling state and I'm no where near psychologically prepared for a Pigeon's debacle later this evening. Added to which, my punt on the Oscars has now turned into a proper bet and I shall be disappointed nay, pissed, if it doesn't win despite being such a long shot.

So anyways, back to Alistair. Never trust a man with black eye brows and silver hair. This is the first thing they teach you at International Rescue. If I hear him promise to halve the deficit within four years one more time, I swear I will almost certainly shit myself.

It's a con that is. A sham. A Scam. A pile of economic horse hockey. By the Treasury's own figures, half of the current deficit was caused by the recent recession, so simply coming out of the recession will halve the deficit all by itself. So Darling's grandiose promise here is that Britain will emerge from this recession within four years. Well whoopie shit.

If we're still in recession in four years we'll be eating each other. He says this of course, because he hopes people will confuse deficit with debt. That £780billion monkey hanging off the nations back - £32,000 for every house hold. Which will double after the election. That's the damned thing that needs halving, it's that figure that will cripple us and have us all not getting angry anymore about having poo on our cars. We'll be lucky to own cars. F.A.B indeed - fucked and busto.


Also his NHS promises mean absolutely zero. A real terms increase in the budget means effectively that he could offer up 1p more - a real terms increase - but it would mean less money per patient simply because the population grows every year and more people need to use the freakin' NHS.

I think we should be given license to punch a politicians face in every time they use the phrase "Real Terms ----------." It just basically means technically more, but in reality less.

What I want to hear from him is that we're fucked. The truth. We're absolutely truly royally fucked. If we were playing Monopoloy we'd own three properties; Old Kent Road, Euston Road and Liverpool Street Station - we'd have sold all our Utilities to the French and everything else to the Germans, all our three properities would have been mortgaged four times, we have no money and we've just landed on Chance and been told to advance to Mayfair which has a hotel on it.

For some reason neither nor Osbourne are keen to take this line. I can't imagine why not.

Labels: Bastards, Politics