Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)
Article 12: Leningradskoe
Published: 29 March 2021 ~ Lifting the bridge on Leningradskoe beer
Over the past few weeks, I have been playing it safe. Whenever I have had ‘the ‘ankerings’, as my old East London friend used to call the acute desire for beer, I have gone for something tried, tested and approved, which in my case has been Lidskae and Ostmark. But what’s life without a bit of diversity (not too much, mind; look what it’s done to the UK!)?
You don’t drink the label but, as with all that we consume, appearance and packaging is everything. The same rule applies whether you are shopping in the supermarket for pasta or shopping in your local nightclub. Being a lover of the past, it is not surprising that I usually go for beers the bottles of which are labelled as though they belong in the archives of a library’s historic records section or carry a typeface and/or image that speaks of the quality of things that were and which can never be again.
On this drinking occasion, a few weeks ago, I chose something that on first consideration might seem to go against the selective criteria grain, inasmuch as the branding has a stark, cold, metallic-feel about it, but, if you look again, you will see that the purchase compulsion was inspired in much the same way as it was when I chose Gold Mine beer. In fact, if you compare the labels of the two products the dissimilarities are insignificant. Both incorporate cool blue, white and gold colours and both favour cityscape skylines, silhouettes picked out by a mystical luminosity, somewhere between the aegis of dusk and dawn.
Then I was talking about Gold Mine beer; here I am referring to the beer Leningradskoe. In the case of the latter, the imagery concerns itself with Leniningrad, an open river bridge set against the domes and spires of St Petersburg (formerly Leningrad, after it was St Petersburg ~ if you know what I mean?). So, although it is not a million years ago, the historical connection still holds true. I suppose the attraction lies in the disequilibrium, the nearness and distance evoked by the reversing memory of the Soviet Union.
Lifting the bridge on Leningradskoe beer
So, purchase compulsion explained, let’s get down to the drinking of it.
The initial aroma is one of strong corn, in other words it is grainy rather than anything else. It arrives in the glass looking like Gold Mine’s long, lost brother ~ bright and golden. The head fizzes, rises to an inch but dissolves rather smartishly, leaving just a trace ~ a little bit like a lifting draw bridge: up one minute and down the next. The beer’s carbonation does not, from its appearance within the glass, have an overwhelming disposition, but there is sufficient of it to ensure that it holds up the relatively low flavour, rather like a pair of 1940s’ braces. In fact, I suspect that it is the carbonation that keeps the body of the beer afloat, the cunning adjunct that delivers the touch-of-bitter taste which sets it apart from bog-standard lager.
The aftertaste is not strong, but it is palatable, becoming more so after the initial twang has died. To my mind, and tastebuds, it is this feature, two pints later, that most distinguishes and recommends it. In the last analysis, it is a kind of half-way house, occupying a surprising place somewhere between keg bitter and lager, and because in its earlier stages it is clear and crisp, although I was drinking it on the outskirts of winter, in the midst of a nice summer’s day, whilst sitting back in the garden watching your wife do the weeding, I anticipate that it would be cool ~ as cool as the label suggests ~ and also rather refreshing.
So, whilst you are buying your wife a trowel in preparation for summer, don’t forget to treat yourself to a bottle of Leningradskoe. You know, if nobody else does, that you deserve it!
😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS Name of Beer: Leningradskoe Brewer: Baltika Breweries Where it is brewed: St Petersburg Bottle capacity: 1.5 litres Strength: 4.7% Price: It cost me about 137 rubles (£1.32) Appearance: Pale golden Aroma: Strong corn Taste: Hybrid lager & keg bitter with satisfying after taste Fizz amplitude: 5/10 Label/Marketing: Soviet Would you buy it again? Would do Marks out of 10: 6
You can check-out any time you like, But you can never leave!’
Published: 26 March 2021 ~ 25 Reasonable Excuses for Leaving the UK
You might not believe the BBC, and that is all to your credit, but, as sensible as it sounds, the UK government has indeed ruled as part of its battle against freedom, sorry, I meant to say coronavirus, that any Brit who attempts to flee the Blighted Kingdom could face a fine of £5000.
“This new measure has absolutely nothing to do whatsoever with forcing Britons, and those who call themselves British, to holiday in appalling places like Hunstanton or Skegness, and is not affiliated in any way to the Have a Gay Holiday in Brighton scheme,” said William Butlins, Minister without portfolio but with a family ticket for the Costa del Sol, Wokesperson for the Kickstart Domestic Tourism Campaign.
The ban on people leaving the UK in search of sun, solace and sanity is what one man on a bicycle in Northamptonshire said was a ‘one way street’. He said a lot more, but we could not publish that for fear of the Free Speech Watchdog ~ who lives in the UK and barks in seven different languages, except English. What he meant by ‘one way street’ is that nobody is allowed out but people from everywhere else in the universe are allowed in, especially on small boats that come bobbing daily into Dover. Well, that’s alright then.
However, every cloud has a silver lining, except for the one called Biden’s Agenda, and that has a globalist golden one (incidentally, that is also a ‘one way street’). In the case of being forced to remain in the UK (which serves illegal immigrants right! Be careful what you wish for!) the proviso is that as long you have a ‘reasonable excuse’ you can be released on bail.
For those of you who have not downsized recently and therefore cannot afford, or do not qualify for government assistance, to pay for legal advice, here is a checklist of ‘reasonable excuses’ for leaving the UK.
25 Reasonable Excuses for Leaving the UK
1. Immigration
2. Coronavirus
3. Police State Coronavirus Restrictions
4. You don’t like Boris’s hairstyle
5. You like Matt Hancock’s hairstyle (what there is of it) but you don’t like Matt Hancock
6. You have no intention, now or ever, of paying your BBC protection racket license.
7. You want to go to a country where statues feel safe and heritage is valued
8. You really cannot prefix every statement you make with “I’m not racist, but …” anymore
9. The adverts on the telly do not reflect what it is really like to live in Britain (Thank Heavens!)
10. Political correctness
11. You want to go to a country where they are proud of the nation state
12. You want to go somewhere where you feel that your children are safe
13. You need to see a neck specialist as you cannot turn your head the other way and ignore anti-social behaviour any longer
14. You are frightened that if you write something on social media in the interests of your children’s future, you might be arrested for inciting the truth
15. Now that you have posted proudly “Yippee, I have had my vax,” and changed your Facebook avatar with some pretty rainbow colours, you feel such a prick that you are still locked down in your home
16. As a ‘first in and out of the queue’ early coronavirus panic buyer, you feel the need to travel abroad and stock up on more shite paper
17. You have run out of bog paper and feel embarrassed as the neighbours saw you fill the front room with rolls and instead of not paying your BBC license fee you’ve watched what they broadcast and used it all up as a result
18. I am an escapologist
19. You’ve experienced claustrophobia for the past 12 months, now you’d like to give agoraphobia a try (The UK establishment has given you plenty of aggrophobia!).
20. I want to go so you won’t let me back in
21. Just because you want to control me does not mean that I am going to make it easy for you
22. I am looking for the truth, and I know I won’t find it here
23. I was a liberal, but now I have learnt to see and think for myself
Someone did try using ‘I have grown allergic to the sound of sheep!’ but as a reasonable excuse, it was struck down for failing to register on the Fauci-controlled Baa-ometer.
On reading the 23 valid reasons for leaving the UK, one liberal remainer, who did not want to remain anonymous because he/she/it is an overpaid, untalented celeb with delusions of political grandeur, sneered venomously (well, they do, don’t they!) “It serves them right [It having nothing, of course, to do with gender]. Those who voted for Brexit wanted out of Europe so why should they be let back in!” And then she went straight back to her mum’s house to make a banner for this summer’s BLM riot ~ another reasonable excuse for wanting to leave the country.
So, 2021 promises to be not so much the summer of discontent as spending the summer in a clapped old tent, in your own back garden if you have one and in nobody else’s if they have one and you don’t, six feet apart from one another, wearing a mask, waiting for your 131st vaccination against alleged mutated strains of a similar number and counting your antibodies to see if you have enough to get you into the pub.
And the last two reasonable excuses for wanting to leave the UK are?
24. I want to send the UK establishment and it’s sheeples a postcard. “Hello Boris et al, I am having a lovely time in the real world. Sun, sand, sea good weather, wonderful bars and restaurants. You can take your lockdowns, masks, social distancing, never-ending vaccines, antibody tests, and pub vaccine passports and stick them up your a!*e! We would like to say, wish you were here, but we’re rather glad that you’re not! And, after all, without a ‘reasonable excuse’, you couldn’t be if you wanted to.
And finally, number 25, the most reasonable excuse that anybody could give for wanting to leave the UK:
How to make history repeat itself to your advantage …
Published: 16 March 2021 ~ Harry & Meghan the sad case of déjà vu
Have you ever experienced déjà vu ~ you know, when you instinctively feel that you have lived through something before; that you are experiencing something that you have already experienced?
When the news first broke that Prince Harry was to marry Meghan Markle I, like so many other people, thought oh dear, it can only end in tears. Doubtlessly, the UK media and presumably others were of a different opinion, that it could only end in adverse publicity for the Royals, some extra pocket money and lotsa dough for the media.
From the media’s viewpoint not only would the inevitable break with the Royal Family make good copy, but it would also enable them ~ at least the dominant liberal faction of the press ~ to indulge themselves in their favourite preoccupation, which, when they are not sniping at Russia, is Royal Family bashing.
Back in the days of Tony Blair, days which most old socialists can barely bring themselves to talk about ~ you don’t broadcast it when you’ve been had, do you? ~ their more limp-wristed colleagues in the liberal camp longed for the end of the monarchy, envisaging instead a new Federal era with Tony Blair as president. Ironically, most of those who had this nickel-plated dream are tarnished by the memory, which is why so many liberals hate our Tony’s guts.
Harry & Meghan the sad case of déjà vu
I got into conversation about my déjà vu feeling with my old drinking partner Reggie Vallance from Shadwell in east London, known to his friends as ‘Call Me Cynical’, who has an opinion about everything.
The conversation began with my remark about déjà vu in the context of the no-longer Royals, Harry and Meghan.
“Well,” says Call Me Cynical, “it stands to reason dunnit. Think Princess Di and old Ken Doddy…”
“Er, no,” I interrupted, “You’re confusing Dodi Fayed with Ken Dodd the English comedian.”
“Strewth, you’re right,” said Call Me Cynical, “One had way too much hair and teeth and was British and the other had way too much money, a good suntan and there weren’t nothin’ English about him at all. OK, I stand corrected. Now, where was I? Right, think of his nationality, think of his colour, think of the alleged reaction of the Royal Family, think of how this ‘acquaintance’” ~ he said this last word slowly and with a certain emphasis ~ “compromised the Royals and then think of the reaction of the press? Got it? Well, there you are my son: no wonder when you think ‘arry and Mugup …”
“Meghan,” I corrected him.
“Who” he floundered, “Meghan mugged Harry?”
We seemed to have jumped a little here and were swinging about aimlessly.
“Listen Tarzan,” I retorted, Cynical was a large lad, “what’s this got to do with …”
“Turn those bloody drums off! Sorry,” Cynical resumed, “I shouldn’t have bought my boy those, the neighbours are terrified! Do you read Shakeshaft?”
It took me a moment. “You mean Shakespeare?”
“Stop throwing that thing about! Sorry,” Cynical apologised again, “I brought the lad a spear for Christmas, and he will keep chuckin’ it abart. I told him, it’s a wall-angar!”
I wondered if his ‘lad’ understood him.
“The reason that I asked whether you read Shakespier is that if you do you would get to understand why you are suffering from a bout of the déjà vus.”
Now, Cynical was beginning to sound like my doctor.
“There’s a lot of Machiavellian stuff in Shakespier …” he continued.
At least he had got the Machiavellian right.
“… and there’s a lot of Machiavellian stuff goin’ down ‘ere with ‘arrold and Megoff. Call me cynical, but Harry ain’t your proper Royal, is he? I mean look at him. His old mum, gord bless her, she weren’t no proper Royal either. Neither of them could hack it! High society, the rigours of Royal life ~ you know what I mean, opening garden fetes in Surrey and what ‘ave yu; ‘arry just weren’t cut out for it. He’s more yu stay at home with his PlayStation type. I imagine that the nearest he got to being Royal was wearing a pair of monogrammed jim jams. Did I say that right?”
“Monogrammed?”
“No, jim jams ~ you wally! And did you ever take a good look at ‘arry’s shoulder.”
“Not really, I …”
“Well had yu dun, you would ‘ave seen a chip the size of Harrod’s! The question is was ‘arry waiting, brooding, biding ‘is time ~ waiting for the moment when he could get the Royal Family’s leg up, as payback for the shabby way he believed his mother had been treated and was Meghim that moment?
“I mean, if anyone knows ‘arry’s weaknesses it stands to reason it would be ‘er, and she would also know that once she’d got him by the …”
“Niagaras,” I proffered, politely.
“Yeh, that’s them. They would be in and out …”
“Steady!”
“ … in and out of the Royal Family faster than you can shout ‘yo-yo’. Now, it don’t take a university degree in common sense …”
“Good,” I thought.
“… to skip onto the next hopscotch square, if your British, and the next small boat in France if you’re not, to work out the rest of the plot. Harry meets Meghan, is seduced by her sparkles, next thing you know it’s the old horse and carriage, feet under Windsor Castle’s dining table, up comes the winging and next they are doin’ a bunk. Give it a month or two and then comes a touch of the Kinks …”
“Sorry, you’ve lost me,” I interjected.
“… you know, the Kink’s ~ the lyrics, ‘tellin’ tales of drunkenness and cruelty’, moaning on about the Royal Family, tellin’ tales out of school, making themselves out to be victims … victims with a capital ‘P’.
“Don’t you mean ‘V’?”
“No, I mean victims with a capital ‘P’ for Publicity.
“Call me Cynical, but the liberal-lefty press loves this sort of thing, because once the race card has been played, they can follow suite, stirrin’ up more division with loadsa articles and programmes on the telly about discrimination and all the usual old guff that most of the UK population don’t listen to anymore.”
“So, where will it all end?”
“It won’t end ‘appilly for ‘arry, and that is a fact! The public might be thick, or they might be overly sensitive, but the media will, and are, finding it difficult to pull the same scam twice. Oh, the liberal-lefty media will make much out of it, they always do, and they will use words like ‘Outrage’ in their headlines and exaggerate the number of Brits that see the world as they tar it, but they’ve got off to a bad start anyway. Ninety percent of comments at the end of online articles and from Arsebook users show that ‘arry and his paramount haven’t got half as much of the sympathy vote as Di got, and most people are glad to see the back of them.”
“And you?”
“Well, I don’t much mind seeing the front of Sparkle, but call me cynical, what goes around comes around. In my mind, the discriminated duo is pullin’ a fast one and like any drag-racing fan will tell you, once the flames and thunder have died away all that is left is the skidmarks!”
“Last word?”
“Underpants! Tell ‘arry to buy some soon. He’s goin’ to need them on this roller coaster ride”
Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 365 [14 March 2021] Anniversary of self-isolating in Kaliningrad
Congratulations to who, exactly? To WHO? Today marks my first anniversary of self-imposed self-isolation ~ of sorts. Three hundred and sixty-five days of watching where I go and who is standing three hundred and sixty degrees front, sides and back of me. Have I passed the test? And, if so, for whom and for what? And what should my reward be? A diploma in philanthropic consideration for my fellow man (no sexism intended) or a degree with honours in credulous compliance. Let History be my judge! And, of course, be yours as well!
Quite frankly, apart from this milestone, there is not a great deal to report about coronavirus here in Kaliningrad, Russia, certainly not about lockdown as there isn’t one. Everything in Kaliningrad appears to be functioning as normal and the only concession that I can see to coronavirus is the mask-wearing thing. And even then, I have noticed that the percentage of people wearing muzzles, as my wife refers to them, has diminished in the past few weeks.
A mask-wearing enforcement policy continues to operate on public transport, as I witnessed a couple of days ago, when a thoroughly inebriated fellow, who had been celebrating International Women’s Day (no gender discrimination here in Russia!), refused to put on his mask whilst travelling by bus. The young bus conductor did his level best to prosecute the law thanklessly handed down to him, but vodka is a wily opponent and the recalcitrant drunk would eventually fall off at the stop of his choice, still maskless but no less gracious, for even in his triumph of the common man over authority he chose not to stick up an offensive finger but holding up two thumbs saluted International Women’s Day as the bus full of masks roared off.
Running out of kitchen cabinets in the UK
Whilst almost everybody that I have spoken to here in Russia are of one mind: they consider lockdown to be a step too far, I cannot help but feel that Western governments do not approve. Not that anybody here cares a fig about them, but it is a point of interest that whatever the West prescribes the presumption is that the world should follow, even if its example runs counter to the common good. But that is the way that global liberalism works: in their language it is ‘intervention’ but you naughty cynics might want to refer to it as globalist interference. In the UK, it is not enough to say, “We don’t do lockdown!” because you have no choice. And even were you to add, “because there is no real proof that lockdown really works, but there is plenty of evidence to suggest that it does more harm than good”, you still do lockdown because this, presumably, is the democratic way?
It is the epitome of irony that given the official mortality figures for coronavirus in the UK, lockdown has become, at least for liberals, not just a law but a religion ~ Woe betide anybody who questions its logic or the controversial efficacy of sticking a piece of cloth on your face.
Western authorities are sensitive to the fact that many of the methods chosen to combat coronavirus have no empirical evidence with which to back them up, which accounts for their pique when other countries try different approaches that are no less effective than their draconian measures and arguably equal or better.
Thus, we find in the world’s press recently an unsavoury little piece in which it is claimed that the coronavirus situation here in Kaliningrad is far in excess of what it is claimed to be.
The article to which I refer was published by a media enterprise which checks out on mediabiasfactcheck as ‘Left’:
“These media sources are moderately to strongly biased toward liberal causes through story selection and/or political affiliation. They may utilize strong loaded words (wording that attempts to influence an audience by using appeal to emotion or stereotypes), publish misleading reports and omit reporting of information that may damage liberal causes. Some sources in this category may be untrustworthy.”
This is the same media source which suppressed information about the coronavirus situation becoming so appalling in the UK that the Co-op was running short of coffins.
I can report that I have been in touch with one of my brothers, who is a carpenter and cabinet maker by trade, and he has verified this shortage. Apparently, a UK government department asked him to convert the fitted kitchens, which he has been making in his living room, into caskets. Lockdown prohibits him from using his workshop so he has to work from home, and anyway because of lockdown no one has jobs and cannot afford to buy kitchens. As he has not sold anything for 12 months, he is only too keen to comply, but I am yet to be convinced that a send-off in a converted kitchen cupboard made from MDF complete with plastic handles will ever catch on. No doubt we shall hear more in due course from the reliable leftist media source that I mention in this article. (I have withheld the name of the media outlet so as to protect the gullible.)
These are the coronavirus case figures for Kaliningrad, 14 March 2021, since the beginning of the pandemic*: 29,294 cases of coronavirus identified in the region 26,863 people have recovered 328 deaths.
An ex-colleague of mine, whom I have not heard from since his wife became a diversity manager, submitted this essay to me, ‘Tracking World Vaccination with the Prickometer, saying, “I think you should put this on your blog.” At first, I thought it might be something from The Guardian, so naturally I ignored it. But curiosity, not being the sole province of our cat, Ginger, mugged and got the better of me. Two paragraphs in and I was thinking, “Hmmm, this is rum stuff.” So, I did what I always do in times of trouble (they would make good lyrics for a song), I contacted my old friend Lord Wollocks.
“Ha!” he snorted, having read it in less time than it takes to enter Britain illegally, “You know what you can do with this …”
“Wollocks!” I reproved.
“Put it on your blog,” he continued. “Heaven knows, I, and most of my class, come from a long line of pricks. Take my second cousin, The Duke of Megan Merkel, at last removed …”
I got the point. At that moment, our next-door neighbour’s boy, Little Tommy Goodsense, who had been eagerly listening to my conversation from behind the Truth, chipped in, “Mr Rart …”
He’s got a bit of a lisp, bless him, and cannot pronounce his ‘Hs’. When he says WHO, he usually says ‘WO!’ ~ he’s an intelligent child.
“Mr Rart. If it says ‘Freedom of Speech’ on the can, then it should do as it says. Just because they say that Freedom should wear a muzzle does not mean that Covid masks really work.”
“They, Tommy, Who are They?”
But before he could answer, Tommy had seen the light and had quickly emigrated, taking his Noddy books with him.
I realised, of course, what it was that my ex-colleague was getting at in writing and sending me this post. He knew that I was contemplating having it done to me later this year. He knew, in other words, that I was a potential prick, and like the British education system he was out to take advantage of me.
“I’ll show him!” I thought. “I’ll post his manifesto and let that be a lesson to him!”
Tracking World Vaccination with the Prickometer: Chapter (& Verse)
The race to see which country would develop the vaccine first is over; now it is the race to see how many will get the prick in each country and which country can claim that theirs is the first to be full of pricks.
Dr Force-It, whose name is synonymous with prick, vows that all Americans will be pricks by the summer of 2021 and mumbled something about ‘open season on something’, which will make anti-vaxxers think twice before bending over indiscriminately. If all goes according to plan (but whose plan is it?), even if some Americans do insist on remaining prick-free, herd immunity could be achieved by late summer: ‘baa, baa’.
In order for us to understand how well their plan is working, we are indebted to Big Pharma for providing us with the world’s first Prickometer, a cunning tracking device sponsored by the NWO (New World Order), which will please some and confirm the suspicions of others. Already the Prickometer shows that in most European countries pro-pricks are on course for a majority, but what does this mean for the prick-resistors?
Some of us flew to the UK to find out, where we were forced to stay in hotels for two weeks costing us almost two thousand quid a person or be promptly sent to prison. The rest of us travelled by small boats and inflatable dinghies across the English Channel, were bussed to five-star hotels, and each offered a free prick along with British citizenship. We turned the latter down on the grounds that it might affect our benefits.
Whilst we discovered that the Prickometer was a useful tool for persuading the majority to continue to be the majority, its big carrot has been let down by its even bigger stick, which, although it rhymes with prick, is seen by some as a back-passage way of enforcing mandatory pricks. We refer here to the controversial Prick Passports, which Hatty Mancock has refused to rule out, but which prick-resistors feel will soon be used to shaft them.
But what does this mean exactly for society at large, or rather, before total lockdown, the society that used to be at large?
It means that pricks with Prick Passports will be allowed to roam the globe at will (no change there then!) whilst conspiracy theorists and those without a prick will have to content themselves with sneaking out in the dead of night for illicit trips to Skegness or bumming around in Brighton.
Opponents to the scheme worry that once Prick Passports are introduced, it will pave the way for including them for pubs, clubs, restaurants, museums, art galleries, various regions of the UK and hopefully McBidens, in which case the best that prick-resistors can hope for will be to sit at home doing distance holidays on the liberal-left censored internet.
Whilst some are determined to avoid a prick at any cost, others are crying out for one. Take this woman from Scunthorpe (she wished someone would) Mrs Northgob, who having received her first prick free, courtesy of Big Farmer (blast Gates and his spell checker!) went on to equip herself with several different identities: she just could not get enough pricks! And can you blame her? With so many to choose from, Big Pharma has ensured that one-size-fits-all is simply not an option.
But sailoring is not as plain as first it might appear.
A spokes-it for the UK Outrage Industry claims that every ethnic minority no longer under the sun, because they are all living in Britain, are victims of prick discrimination. They are disproportionately short on pricks.
“Give them an inch and they’ll take a yard,” sneered someone who was feeling particularly inadequate ~ he was waiting for Labour to make a come-back.
Leroy, currently doing a 10-inch stretch for procuring illegal pricks, said that it was simply a case of supply and demand, m’lud, and if white bois won’t help white chicks, it might be a dirty job, but someone had to do it!
An International Commission of Inquiry, costing the tax-payer millions, has been convened to look into allegations that the ‘Parades R Us’ community were short of pricks, hadn’t had a prick in months, wouldn’t know what a prick was even if it was offered to them, had had more than their fair share of pricks or could not decide whether they wanted one or not.
Alice Quimby, spokes-something or other for the dating agency Snatch, said that she was personally chuffed that none of her members were prick-oriented. She boasted that they had it licked, the system, that is, and then, just before she got the hump, she adjusted her strap-on ~ seatbelt ~ and before driving off on speed added that her friend Dilis de’ Doe had summed it up in a nuthouse when she said the whole world had gone arse about face.
Terry Twinky, owner of Tinker Tailors the Men’s Infitters (Alterations Made, Shirts Lifted), took umbridge at our suggestion that some of his lads considered themselves above pricks, whilst others in his sister company, sometimes referred to as his sissies’ company, Fudge Packers UK, downed tools and aprons at the mere mention of having a prick.
“I’ll have you know,” he hissed, “that my members have bent over backwards to meet the demands of this government and what have we got for it? Nothing! It was never like this when Jeremy Thorpe was in power!” Upon which, telling us in no uncertain terms that he would not bandy his wotsits and mince his words with us, he turned the other cheek, and walked away like the words he would not say.
Meanwhile on the streets of London, there have not been riots. According to the Indefensible, peaceful pro-prickers who were simply having a nice day out showing off the new banners they had made whilst living with their mums and claiming benefits, had been provoked by right-wing statues and anything vaguely phallus-like. Heckled by Far Right, White Supremacist, Nazis, disguised as two old ladies chanting ‘No more Pricks’, and then sighing loudly, the largely peaceful protest descended into a mild anti-Christ of all riots, about which Theresa May later opined it was ‘highly likely that the Russians dun it’.
Nelson (certainly not Persondella) was the first to get it in the neck ~ or somewhere.
An innocent bystander, who was later jailed for 5 years because it was discovered that he had once voted UKIP, said that he was “horrified”. “One minute, Nelson had been up there, proud and erect on his column, and the next he was sent crashing to the ground. In the ensuing impact, Nelson’s coat tails whipped up and what happened next was just too shocking to report … “
A man named Hardy (I think that’s how you spell it?), said “It Woke mine up!” He is now helping police with their inquiries ~ into people saying mean things on Twitter whilst terrorists roam the streets.
The only other witness, Churchill’s statue, was unavailable for comment since he had been boxed up and moved for his own protection and what had replaced him hadn’t got the intelligence to understand the question.
It was reported in The Gonadstan that the suggestion that the extreme left group Anti-Prick had fomented the violence was baseless, not least because the British establishment, which most likely funds and supports it, denies its very existence. The Gonadstan went on to say that pro-prick supporters had been provoked by something which Nigel Farage was doing, which was sitting outside a public house drinking a pint of beer whilst wearing his tweed cap, looking far too British for his own good and anyone up from Dover.
The British government, its well-paid advisers and members of the shadowy government, unassisted by the House of Frauds, immediately did one: they consulted the Prickometer.
But can the Prickometer help? The answer is no. There is little chance that Nigel Farage will suddenly vote liberal.
So, what does the Prickometer tell us? Well, the Prickometer tells us how many pricks there are per 100 population, the total number of pricks in any one country, the percentage of population that has had at least one prick and those that enjoyed it so much that they have gone back for another and then changed their Facebook avatar to something under a rainbow and had an orgasm. In short, the Prickometer is a reliable source of which countries are swallowing the official coronavirus narrative and which countries are a head ~ according to our expert Dick ~ of other countries in boasting more pricks than others.
In short, the Prickometer tells us that never before in the history of the world have there been so many pricks.
“Never before in the history of the world has so many pricks been administered by the machinations of the few” ~ Sir Wokeston Chapelhill
WHO SAID THAT!!! DOWN WITH HIS … STATUE!
Note: We have had to substitute ‘prick’ for ‘jab’ as ‘jab’ is the registered trademark of World Exploitation Inc.
