I mean raw – served up still bleating. I want a
Brexit so hard it would penetrate pack ice like steaming piss through warm
ice-cream; so potent it could push through bedrock like a hot knife through
rancid butter. I want Brexit so pure it would make high end cocaine seem like
weevil-infested dust. I want Brexit so tough it would make John Wick look like
a soggy disabled kitten.
And in the words of Queen I WANT IT ALL AND I
WANT IT NOW…
Then I want it shoved down Ree Smogg’s weird neck.
Build Brexit into a wall to knock Boris Johnson’s fat head against. Grill it
into dry toast that Corbyn has to eat every day for a year with no fluids. Form
Brexit into concrete shoes for Gove to wear in Parliament.
I am sick of hoping for common sense to prevail. I
am tired of waiting for mediocre politicians to chuck in the towel like Cameron
and Clegg and go fuck up somewhere else. I am weary of waiting for decency to
outplay intolerance and for rationality to get a foothold and rise up over the
heads of the greedy and self-serving and those lacking self-awareness. I am fed
up of trusting to the end of wilful ignorance.
So – come on. Let’s get it over with. Let’s rip the
dirty plaster off the infected wound of British democracy.
As the blue collar America MAGA brigade who voted
for Trump in response to his dog whistle politics and white supremacy begin to
ache, so will the Brexit voters when they finally realise they’ve been duped.
The tax year is ending across the pond with huge numbers of US voters waking up
to just how much worse off their families are since Trump gave their money to
the billionaires whose validation Trump - a multiple failed business
conman - craves. Well – it’s too late.
I want to see the faces of the Brexiteers when
regulated workers from the EU are replaced by unregulated workers from anywhere
we can get them. I want to experience the reactions of those who followed
Theresa May to Armageddon as they struggle on growing NHS waiting lists while –
presumably - she will still get seen promptly.
Let’s see the responses of those who followed
Johnson’s jingoist gibberish when they stand in the supermarket queues in the
hope of buying scarce or unaffordable fresh produce – while he and his ilk
shuffle off to WE’RE OK LAND – or whatever place the well-heeled shits go to
when they’ve finished screwing things up for everyone else.
I want to hear the howls of the folk in Wales
and Sunderland and other areas that voted heavily (without bothering to check
the facts) to ‘reclaim our borders’ when companies along with Nissan swell the
Brexodus and industries like steel, complete their flight and the EU funding
that has helped keep many areas, ignored by Westminster, afloat after Thatcher
wrecked working class communities, dries up.
And yes – the people who didn’t vote for this
nightmare will hurt too, along with the many millions who saw sense too late
but I still want it.
I want the flea infested, un-house-trained,
incontinent cur to have its face shoved in the steaming pile it dumped in the
corner. And yes we’ll all have to suffer the stink but, just for today, I do
not care. Right now my inner 8 year old is stamping her foot…