Children were crying in the streets. Men and women quietly wept, trying to keep up a front, trying to keep the hysteria at bay. The rivers ran with blood. Crops failed, drought ravaged this once great land. Cats and dogs were playing together. Traffic lights when round in circles, holding their silent vigil, seemingly for the leaves and the dust being whisked away by the wind. But not just any wind. A wind that carried the distinct odour of despair. Of hopelessness. Of longing. The one eyed bear had been wounded, and was seeking refuge in the palace of the damned.
Where were you when it happened?
Gordon ‘Fisting’ Brown had given a not emotional resignation, but somehow had managed to evoke a figurative tear in ones eye. I’ve said before I don’t hate Brown and I fear I may be wishing for him to be back sooner rather than later, eating small mammals and shrubberies in Number 10, quietly privatising things and maintaining a couple of wars for no reason other than profit. The writing had been on the wall for years really, no need to go into the reasons now, it was, as they say, an inevitability.
Could Labour have managed to step back from the precipice with a new leader? I don’t think it would’ve made much difference. After years and years of Tony Blair hand wringing his way through his premiership, his pathetic excuses mounting with the bodies of dead soldiers, dead civilians, dead civil rights, there was nothing that could’ve been done, it would be like trying to piss on the Twin Towers.
New Labour was Tony Blair’s Labour. Labour under Brown had a different tone, a little less presidential and a little more British, gruffly chewing over the issues of the day along with half a cow, but they did suffer somewhat at the hands of the media, the News Corp machine taking it to 11, which of course led to the eventual out manoeuvring by the Tories. It’s like Brown is a buffalo that’s been bitten by the Tories Komodo Dragon, News Corp, letting him trudge on through the economic crisis, patch things up a bit and then the infectious disease takes hold and accelerates until we reach todays crescendo of cuntery.
I think the next Labour Prime Minister will be David Miliband. If Miliband is as wise as he should be then he should let someone else take the job that has been left by Brown. Labour are going to be in opposition for a couple of terms, at least, and whoever leads now will not be the man to lead them back to Number 10, when the circus resumes in however many years time, if the country hasn’t descended in Daily Mail hell, and now the Tories are in, that’s entirely possible. Keep twitching those curtains, people.
I heard a helicopter in the sky. I wished, nay, prayed that a sniper was calibrating his sights. I saw Cameron’s fat head flapping around, the torrent of bullshit that I had managed to avoid since the debates had resumed, and Jesus H Christ, it was a vile as ever. His stupid fucking wife with her misshapen face stood there, looking like a twat, looking like she was queuing to see poor peoples children fight to the death and then the winner indulges in a light spot of cannibalism before being let out into the grounds of her vast estate, being chased by the hounds, all for her own evil, twisted pleasure. It’s no wonder her face is so weird when you’ve got all that evil floating around in you, it’s bound to fuck your shit up. There was also this lump, presumably containing another symbiotic Cameron inside of her, in case the first unit failed, which also seemed to be emitting rays of damnation. I could almost taste the nefarious plans afoot, being cooked up in her cunt factory, in her face, and in Cap’n Cunt himself, David ‘Cap’n Cunt’ Cameron.
It didn’t start well. Cameron paid lip service to Brown and then basically launched into a tirade of woe, about how shit everything is and about how it’s going to get shitter. There are so many things wrong here I just don’t know where to start. What this country needs is a leader, not a whinging shit bag, telling us how we’ve got to help ourselves. It’s your job to help us to help ourselves. Not to help your class and to hell with the rest of you.
There is, however, a silver lining, or rather, a pitiful yellow one, like piss in the snow. Cameron is only able to call himself the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland on the basis of a deal between the Tories and the Lib Dems. We do not yet know the minutiae of the deal but obviously Clegg will have forced concessions from Cameron but there are several problems here.
Firstly, Clegg could be shat on from a great height. The Tories have a majority, although it’s a minority majority it’s still a majority and I don’t know how these things work but I hope to fuck that something is signed with these concessions on, otherwise Clegg could be steamrollered, and all the deal making would’ve been for nothing. Secondly, both the actual parties constituents have to be convinced of this deal and the Conservatives and the Lib Dems are pretty far apart with their ideologies, they are not even a remote match and it’s going to be interesting to find out what has been given in order for Cameron to take. Thirdly, there is the working relationship between the two parties, and indeed Labour. Will it work at all? We are about to find out.
A lot of questions need to be answered but the most pressing issue is the devil in the details. It will become clearer tonight and tomorrow. There is a chance we could have a reasonably balanced, working government, with Clegg managing to reign in some of Cameron’s more hare-brained ideas, but Clegg cannot stop them all. The worst part of it is, I feel, that it will be the big, long term issues that we’ll lose out on.
We shall see.
