john bright said...

john bright said...

Prostrate with grief, bereft of their bilious, harridan protector, Gwyneth the Bad-Mannered, the serfs of Crewe fell to their knees before the MediaMinster juggernaut. We are sick, they said, much as we loved old wotsername, a real character, a true parliamentarianite, we are sick of her mates shitting in our faces, we don't want her daughter and heir, the Lady Tampon, shitting in our faces for the next five years, ano-fucking-bulimic, intshe ? Be all yellow. And watery. Or else little hard brown bullet-turds. Fuck that shit.

Stooging around their own grim town centre, foregathering in fish and chip shops and at the hot pork batch stand, Crewe and Nantwichians, egged-on by TV producers, vied, one with another, to mutter Northern imprecations at the visiting horde of serpents, drunks, sex addicts, dipsomaniacs, child molesters, grave-robbers, arse bandits and sticky-fingered vermin swarming all over this dire hamlet. Please don't shout at me, chided Mr David Moneybags, I am an Old Etonian and I shall do what I can for you, my good fellow, although it may not be entirely what you want. Thank you, Sir, said the peasant, you can be sure of my vote.

I shall, if I may, take your name and phone number, hissed Lady Tampon to some churl, grasping the sleeve of her suit jacket - from Marks & Sparks Skeletor range - and I shall look into this matter and, under her breath, do fuck off you horrible and poor bastard, don't you know I am a fucking aristo, like the Queen and Tony Benn. Oh, how I shall not vote for thee, said the oik as the cameras panned to the BBC's Mr Michael Crick in his fetching, boyish scarf, chortling at his own cleverness.

And so the word went out around the constituency: We Crewe and Nantwichians shall not kneel before NewLabour a moment longer to have them shit in our faces, never. We are a proud people and will seek our face enshitment elsewhere. Mr Cameron and Mr Gove, the SpeedFreak, they shall empty their bowels on our upturned faces; encrusted we shall be with the faeces of Mrs Shoe Fetish and that little mouthy, slaphead, Yorkshire git. Best of all, les cremes des les merdes shall be ours, a torrent of greedy, braying, inbred Old Etonian layabouts and sexual degenerates shall dump their portions in our grateful faces. And in this manner we send a message to the whole country. No need to be stuck with NewLabour shitting in your face, give the Tories a turn. This, after all, is a democracy.

Back in the studio, earning his stipend from the BBC, Sir Michael Kneepads White was having a nervous breakdown or was deeply drunk, or both. Ceaselessly insulting his co-parasites, Professor John Rentagob from some pretend Jock University and pretend journalist, Anthony Teeth-Hangover, a septuagenarian political groupie, Kneepads ranted and railed and frothed, almost taking over the entire dismal programme, it's only a by-election, these people deserve Labour shit in their faces, not Tory shit; I knew Boris Johnson's father, y'know, thirty years ago; funny how we both turned into complete cunts. If Kneepads is serious journalism then we should elbow the Liberal Democrat trysters aside and seek more useful illumination down on the nearest shithouse wall.

A plethora of independent candidates - none of whom, however eccentric, could be as bad as anyone from the leprous, dinosaur, Expense Account & Home Inprovement parties - stood in Crewe, none of them secured any backing. An opportunity presented itself, too, in the light of the recently disclosed widespread, cross-party levels of corruption, for a forest of spoiled papers. But no, the dummies in Crewe, habituated to shit in their faces, did exactly as they were bid by the Westminster media, switched their copraphagic fealty from one Gangmaster to another and in the words of famous kiddy-porn researcher, Mr Pete Nose, of The Oo, it's a case of meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

Persisting in his life-long delusion, Brown insists that this latest humiliation is just part of a dialogue between he, the cleverest boy in Scotland and some of his electorate; they are asking him to tweak his uber-Vision, modify ever so slightly the Values he personifies. However pleasant it is to see the prime minister increase his fevered, stuttering, gulping bombast, repeat his sorry-arsed and weary long-term decisions mantra, this is no bright new morning. Cameron, too, is a worthless never-done-a-day's-work-in-his-life cunt. Everybody knows that, apart, it seems, from the compulsive voters in Crewe and Nantwich, may God bless the shit which pummels their faces, now and forevermore.

May 23, 2008 1:11 PM