You couldn’t make it up…
The echo of medievalism in Britain has grown to a
deafening roar. Over the summer the plebs were left in want and fear while the
toffs who created many of the catastrophes facing the country held a stupidity
contest (see last week’s blog) and the clown Johnson, nominally still in charge, holidayed and took photo opportunities. Just as the person we all knew and
dreaded would be handed into No.10 by the swivel eyed loons, remnants of of the Tory party, we were landed with a new monarch whose most recent claim to fame was taking
supermarket shopping bags of cash off a Saudi pal.
As the media manipulates the public into the requisite public show of hysteria and anyone who avers is accused of lack of compassion and rare dissenters - albeit non-violent - are arrested as per here in Edinburgh, we enter another period of collective amnesia and madness while the world burns and those in real urgent need are left to suffer.
And to be clear - the chap arrested in Edinburgh was rebuking Andrew - the Queen's favourite son who she'd recently bailed out with many millions of pounds from a little sexual exploitation problem. Andrew clearly saw more value in mummy - this time to rehabilitate him with a gullible public. Well it seems to be working with all apart from the one young chap who was arrested for disagreeing with the mob.
Back in what passes for politics these days, it would have been hard to think of a more unpleasant pair in no.10 than Boris and Carrie Johnson. Their pre Downing Street interactions will be remembered by a handful of folk with still functioning brain cells as being marked by the police being called on them by neighbours due to a 'domestic'. Their relationship beginnings at Downing Street were stained by Johnson’s absence from COBRA meetings at the start of the pandemic due to a more pressing problem. He needed to shuck off the wife in remission from cancer because the daughter-age girlfriend was pregnant. And all this from a PM with a known history of using the public purse via promises of public offices to get young women to sleep with him. Also something that had been tried and clearly worked with Carrie as it very belatedly emerged he’d tried to get her a cushy well-paid position she was clearly not qualified for in 2018. A secret well kept by the right wing press until recently.
Fast forward and there is another idiot blonde – or
“imbecile” to use Mrs Mercer’s possibly more accurate term. After all, her
husband - Tory MP Johnny Mercer - has actually worked with Truss. This
one also incapable of being faithful to a spouse. And there the two of them
were for the pics. He looking very much the hostage, the uncomfortable cuckold
with Liz smiling the inane smile of the daft, dim and deluded dame she has
proven so often to be. She is off her rocker. I have no doubt. Only someone
completely out of touch with reality of any kind could see someone so lacking in every way in the
mirror and say –
yes – its me – I am the person to steer Britain through the various crises
caused by the government I eagerly served in. It is I, vain stupid cookoooo Liz who threatened
nuclear Armageddon to get voted in, who insulted the Scottish first minister and
the French president to ingratiate myself with some swivel eyed loons, it is I who am the
answer to Britain’s prayers. It's me – cookoo Liz and my cuckolded hubby who
should now be replacing the Johnson gold wallpaper in the Downing St flat.
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Plus - Ill be doing a very short slot at the Edinburgh Poetry Festival at Ocean Terminal 12.30 this saturday