Thursday, 7 October 2010

My grubby little secret

Tis a rare time that I agree with anything that the poisonous, foul, repulsive, greed party suggest. The Tories to me represent all that is loathsome in England embodied in the grotesque little cockmonkey that is William Hague. That appalling little man speaks for Britain abroad. Well, not Britain per se just the controlling parts. Anyway, how they must slap their heads in disbelief that this nation, well those that count, choose that buffoon as foreign minister. Well, apart from Berlusconi who is probably king of the cockmonkeys. None of which is not to say that Labour tickle me too much. No, the pandering to business, the deity that is or are The Sacred Markets and of course the twisting and turning to voice the concerns of the weirds who run the Daily Mail who supposedly represent the voice of the mythical lost land of Middle England. A nasty small minded vapid place of jealousies, petty ambitions and a blind-eyed view of history.

My very own inner Daily Mail. Cute eh?
Well, that's now out of my system but the scene needed to be set as I found myself having to take a metaphorical thump in the face from the wet fish of hard cold reality when I found myself nodding unconsciously in support of the nonentity arguing with Paxman that excessive benefits should not be given to those serial spawners many of whose progeny despoil my school and give benefit claimers a bad name in the aformentioned toilet paper. It should be unsurprising I suppose, as I have often let loose my inner Daily Mail when bemoaning the ferret faced furrowed browed loin fruit I have had to attempt to teach. I have overheard many aspiring hard-faced mini-mums-to-be drone on about how she would have an oiklet and get a council flat just like her elder sister Slapella, (19) already on her third siring so why bother studying your crap subject? And when said mini-mum's brood mare is still in her 20s you end up thinking yes maybe the scumbag greedball Tories are on to something...and then you feel exceptionally grubby and foul at having acknowled that you, like everyone else, has an inner Daily Mail. Ugh.

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