All things bright and beautiful, la di da, the rich man in his castle, the poor man in his field, all is as it should be, la di da .........
Have I finally flipped? who knows, but a short read of the pure ignorance that prevailed on the old YGL, caused one of those squiggly things in the frontal lobe of my brain to short circuit, and to cut a long story short, several fecks and a couple of see you next tuesdays spewed forth from my known potty mouth.
Where do I begin? Well for a start I will climb up onto a soapbox and wave my arms around like Hitler, I am that angry. The inhumane attitude of the far right chills me to the bone. It is almost as if the cold presence of Adolph himself has entered the room. It reminds me of a story my young son told me about a classroom party when he was in the juniors. They had all brought in food contributions. At the start of the party the teacher spoke: 'anyone not willing to share can go down and see the headmistress'. At that point a fat kid, and renowned bully, gathered his stache together and headed off towards the door. You just know that fat kid is going to grow up to be a tory. Its in his destiny, his mummy probably read him stories that ended with 'its mine, all mine, I tell you!'
I can predict his future, and its rosy, to be sure. He will gleefully sign up to be a wage slave for evermore, make a mint on his own private castle, marry well to an equal no mark, and spawn 2.4 equally repugnant children. He will obey all the rules, pay every bill before the red one comes in, and simmer with rage at the ones who don't. The ones who chose to take the road less travelled. He secretly loathes his betters, but his one consolation is that he gets to gloat at those beneath him. Whilst he has no choice other than to tip his hat at his betters, kicking those beneath him, is positively encouraged. Its a great topic of conversation whilst quaffing one's gin in the Dog and Duck. He gets to say 'its their own fault, the dirty benefit scum they didn't work for it, like what I did'. And then you get one of those eureka moments, you suddenly begin to understand the crazy bastard. Its basic psychology, book one, 'fer feck's sake, somebody tell me I'm amazing', they are screaming and if someone doesn't put them out of their misery they join the local tory party where gloating is much encouraged. He goes to sleep in his comfortable bed, in his comfortable house, dreaming 'I could have so much more, maybe a flat screen tv on every wall, if it weren't for those grubby little plebs wanting food for doing nothing. I think I will go spit on a few more on them tomorrow'.