Tag Archives: Immigration Disaster UK

Spare Some Change Makes Beggars out of All of Us

Change, Spare Change, All Change, Why Change?

22 September 2024 ~ Spare Some Change Makes Beggars out of All of Us

Have you ever noticed that when you go away for a few weeks, on your return not everything has changed, but some things have and subtly. For example, after my recent sojourn in the UK, I returned to Kaliningrad to find that the vacuum cleaner appliances had strangely disappeared, that someone had half-inched the mat from my office/study/drinking den, that the water jug had vanished, that a small table was where it wasn’t, and that the cat’s bowls had turned from plastic to ceramic. On a not so subtle and more depressing note, I learnt that the neighbour’s cat ~ I used to call her ‘Big Eyes’ ~ had scaled her last plank backwards. She used this technique to descend from a flat roof on the second storey of her owner’s house after her owners cut down the birch tree along whose branches she used to scramble.

Unlike our stay-at-home Ginger, she was an out-and-about sort of cat, a brave and intrepid adventurer, who, alas, was to put too much faith in the mythical tale that cats have nine lives and met with the truth abruptly whilst she was crossing the road.

The old philosophical question is there life after death is problematic enough without appending to that question are cats accorded a similar privilege?

“Of course, cat heaven exists,” cat lovers cry indignantly, but does it follow from this assumption that parity heavens exist for pigs, cows, sheep, chickens and every other animal species that are brought into this world merely to be slaughtered for the tastebud pleasures of carnivores?

Abstractions of this nature, though they may well have once occurred to me in some distant, cynical, cerebral past, found no room in my consciousness on returning to Kaliningrad, for soon I would be fretting about an entirely different dilemma ~ is there life after YouTube?

In the short while I had been away not only had my rug gone west but also YouTube with it, or to be more precise, had thereto been confined. “That’s buggered it,” I thought ~ I am prone to moments of eloquence like this ~ for though I could not give a monkey’s for the loss of Western mainstream media, where would I go with YouTube gone for my daily fix of music, for documentaries of an historical nature and for classic pre-woke TV dramas like 1960s’ Dangerman, filmed in glorious black and white when the use of the term black and white was not endowed with racial undertones and even if it had been nobody British at that time would have given a monkey’s f.ck. Ah, Happy Days indeed!

Sixty minutes searching Google for credible alternatives to the sort of content with which I engage on YouTube was enough to reassure me that whilst life without YouTube was not as we know it ~ YouTube is but one place in the internet’s vast and expanding universe but in itself it seems infinite ~ life without it was not unsupportable.

I found a site I had used in the past which offered a reasonably good selection of archived TV dramas and classic black and white films, and I also upturned a second site which, although containing the sort of stuff I would not touch with a barge polack ~ modern, glossy, tacky and geared to a left-leaning audience ~ tendered the consolation of half a dozen history programmes of a fairly reputable nature.

I was conscious that I was doing something that the so-called entitled millennials are only just coming to terms with in these rapidly changing times: I was having to ‘make do’. The derivation actually precedes the generation to which I belong. It has its origins in wartime slogans, and was born out of the real necessity of making the best of a bad situation, using whatever scant resources were at hand. Making do in the age of misinformation/disinformation, the cast offs and the hand me downs of second- and third-best websites represent a collateral revision of the quid pro quo arrangement of if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine, rehashed by modern politics as so long as you let me show you mine then I’ll let you show me yours.

I sometimes wonder if any of our contemporary politicians have bothered to read Gulliver’s Travels, written and published by Jonathan Swift in 1726, and if the answer is yes, did they find it illuminating. I for one believe that Swift’s seminal work should be made mandatory reading for anyone who is contemplating taking up a career in politics.

Ping Pong You’re Not Wrong

Ping pong, aka table tennis, is a game like many other games, such as cricket, rugby, tennis and football, I can honestly say I have never much cared for. I don’t care much for the tit for tat and the way in which the ball, be it big or small, gets passed back and forth with monotonous regularity between two opposing but rules-based players or carefully hand-picked teams, with no apparent benefit to anyone else outside of the game, give or take a cheer or two, which quickly fade in euphoria’s twilight.

Above: Ping and Pong. It’s batty.

At least in the UK when the sad illusion Democracy has been stripped down naked like the tired old whore she is, which many, out of trained submission or a sense of misplaced respect, shy away from doing, the rules of the game, whose they are and who it is that benefits from them are as transparent as a Nylon negligee (What happened to that in my absence?). Thanks to long experience of the electoral system’s hocus pocus, the who will it be first past the post, we know that whether we make our mark or not, we are guaranteed for the next five years to be saddled with one or the other bunch of ineffectual dunderheads and that, give or take a nuance or two, whichever party claims Number 10 as its prize will be singing, rather badly as usual, from the communal globalist hymn sheet: Money, Money, Money. Please to sing along now. You are all familiar with the refrain.

During my last assignment in the UK, I was treated to the spectacle of this perfectly meaningless political role play, the changing of the old guard ~ ping pong, ping pong … pong, pong, pong. Out with the old and in with the old: the Tories on their way out, Labour on their way in, but significantly rather more out than in and with many of them clearly quite out of it. Bring on the men in white coats. (Sorry I did not mention women; I’m taking a course in misogyny.)

This rotational, completely predictable, seesaw-moment momentum has less to do with change than it does with continuity, as most of the Tories’ acclaimed centre right are so way left of centre that they ought to be in the Labour Party, as many of them effectively are, whilst the Labour party itself knows no longer what it is, what it wants to be and least of all where it is going. Shame it is taking the nation with it. Half of Labour is hard left, half of it is half hearted and the other half is clearly insane (and clearly possess a triple ‘A’ in Maths). Neither Labour or the Cons ever recovered from Tony Blair. Both exhibit incurable symptoms, and the plague they exhale collusively is addling minds and destroying the country.

Nowhere is this emergency better illustrated than when the media cries exultantly that one or other of the old two parties has ‘won it by a landslide’.

The only landslide the public sense is that things are slipping away from them, that things are going from bad to worse. And yet as catastrophic as British life now is, many in the UK are yet to grasp the intelligence that by hook or by crook the old two parties need to be put out to grass. Change is as good as a rest, as they say, and a rest from them is badly needed and, more to the point, excessively overdue.

The Labour and Conservative parties: two old horses out to grass

Above: I think it’s self-explanatory …

To be fair, if that is the same as being honest, Liebour did in its accession usher in some changes, albeit typically hurriedly, typically without much thought and typically in the process breaking most if not at all of its pre-election promises. But as the changes so far instituted are typically Labour in character, they have in the absolute sense changed very little at all. For example, if a Labour government did not raise taxes what a momentous change that would be. But then if Labour did not raise taxes would anybody know they were there?

Whoever it was who thought to dub Labour the party of taxation was a percipient man indeed, so much more than just perspicacious that the chances of him being a woman are nil (Excuse me for being sexist, you see I’m taking this course in misogyny.). But don’t you dare complain, not about being a man when you would rather you were a woman (it’s something you cannot change) and don’t complain about Labour’s tax hikes. You were warned that Liebour would tax you, and tax you into the ground, so why did you vote them in!

It is a fact of life that some things change and some things plainly don’t (Come on now transvestites, don’t get those knickers into a twist!); some things change a lot and others don’t change that much; some things get done for a change, and just for a change some things don’t; and there’s not a lot of change to be had out of six quid for a pint. But there are some things that will never change, though given time they probably will, but by the time they do will it be too late? Let’s talk immigration. Somebody ought to, has to, as it should be abundantly clear by now that that somebody is not Starmer.

Immigration is possibly the one issue that leading up to the General Election the Liebour party did not lie about; perhaps they simply forgot. Those of us who did not vote Labour were right, not far-right mind you, but right that we did not do so, if only for this reason, since with depressing predictability Labour has not done, and has no intention of ever doing, as much as diddly squit to resolve the immigration crisis, a dastardly weaponisation programme which represents the one real threat to the stability of the British nation and the safety of its indigenous people.

Spare Some Change for immigration: the elephant in the political room

Where Labour has excelled itself is channelling more resources into the conflict in Ukraine at a time when we need to squander it least on globalist-led agendas. Do you ever ask yourself what it is that they do with your money which they take in the name of ‘council tax’? Could it be used to foot the bill for conflicts in which we have no legitimate role, even if we started them, and for paving the way for dinghy migrants to live it up in luxury?

Immigration has changed and also it has not. It has not changed in that we still have it, has not changed in that we don’t want it, but has changed inasmuch that want it or want it not, there is a lot more of it than there used to be. Central to this change is that the major EU powers no longer deem it necessary to conceal their complicit role in organising and facilitating the migrant invasion of Britain.

The infectiousness of this invasion is far more virulent and far more lethal than any contrived plandemic could be. Perhaps we should call on dear old Bill. Come on Bill, old boy, whip us up a jab or six to provide the British people with the immunity they so desperately need to protect themselves from Coronomigrant. Violent crime is rampant, acts of terrorism sweep the nation, the police are no longer a force but a branch of the social services and the government is so dismally limp it is crying out for a shot of moral Viagra.

White fight not far right

One thing that was markedly different during recent months in England, which was not necessarily good but understandably necessary as an alternative stay of civil war, was that when the riots came, as come they did and come they will, it was the whiteys on the war path. Now that did make a change!!!

It was no change at Notting Hill Carnival. Yet again it proved to be London’s annual ethnic stab fest. Any other event with a history resembling the mind of an on-the-rampage serial killer would have been banned years ago, as would the Notting Hill Carnival if it was anything other than black. It is patently inconceivable that a white British festival with a similar record of bloodlust would be allowed to continue year on year. Murder or no murder, it would have been denounced from the outset as unfit for ethnic consumption and that without equivocation would have rapidly been the end of that. This year’s Boot Hill incident cost two more people their lives, adding to the festival’s ever increasing death toll. Meanwhile, the Labour government is contemplating doubling down on the British tradition of fox hunting. It seems that rural blood sports must be banned whilst urban ones are tolerated, encouraged one might say. Brrr! it felt as if something just walked over the United Kingdom’s grave. Could that something be two-tier policing?

Over to our new prime minister. He may resemble a disciplinarian, a 1950s’ schoolmaster parachuted strategically in from a time when Britain was really Britain, but as far as ethnics are concerned looks can be deceiving. Did he give the carnival organisers the six of the best he gave the white rioters? Did he give them lines to write, “Thou shalt not stab at the Notting Hill Carnival”? Did he heck as like. He caned himself instead, by forgetting the lines of condemnation the public were waiting to hear from him, either that or the savage events and the fear of being called racist deprived him of his left-wing backbone and left him morally speechless. He eventually did cough something up, but before you could say one rule for them and a different rule for us, and before some impudent scallywag could raise the uncomfortable spectre of policing on a two-tier level, he was banging the same old distraction drum about the number one priority being the need to protect society from the heinous actions of right-wing thugs. As for random knife attacks by men whose names we can’t pronounce and acts of organised terrorism by medieval hostiles (I’ve just had a call from my stockbroker ~ invest in inflatable dinghies), the message from Britain’s political elite is as masters of the hen house they have every right to fill it with as many foreign foxes as the ECHR permits, so just sit back and enjoy your fate.

Immigration: the Fox in the UK hen house

I began this post from the perspective of change and seem to have moved mesmerically into the realm where déjà vu governs the laws of momentum, and yet not everything in the world is as predictable as we would like to think. Those who live in a certain street in Kaliningrad thought they would never see the day when they would get themselves a brand-new pavement, but that day eventually dawned, despite one woman tutting, “It’s taken thirty years!” and now that vital change for which we had all been waiting seems as though it was always thus, that the pavement has always been there.

The same could be said of a certain sub-post office in a certain UK shire town. The post office seems to have been there for as long as memory itself, and mine is quite a long one, but it’s ‘all change’ when you scratch the surface. I am sure that this has got nothing to do with the fact it is run by Asians ~ which British post office isn’t! ~ but everything to do with the erratic hours it keeps. It is the first post office I have ever encountered that opens when it likes, making it an excellent venue whenever you catch it right, because since nobody trusts its opening hours very few people use it, hence the absence of queues. Not having to stand in line makes such a welcome change from a trip to your average post office, where you need to go armed with a sleeping bag and enough provisions to last you a fortnight, and yet it is such an odd phenomenon that it has you asking the question, could this peculiar post office that is more often shut than not, in fact be a front for something else? Like all these foreign food stores that pop up overnight and the multitude of barber’s shops purporting to be Turkish when the owners and all who work in them look and talk Albanian. Perhaps the owners of these businesses are engaged in some other activity, such as laundering, for example. There’s no hard left sign visible outside the coven of Hope Not Hate, but just because you cannot see the twin tubs does not mean that they are not there and the country is not being rinsed.

Whilst every street in every town and every city in England have fallen forfeit to immigration (you may have heard the phrase ‘Our cities have changed beyond recognition’), the streets of Russian Kaliningrad have decidedly changed for the better, that is to say materially and, with the restitution of law and order and regaining of self-respect, which had been partly laid to waste as a repercussion of perestroika, in matters of social decorum.

Whenever I walk the perimeters of Königsberg’s ancient ponds, this variance in urban life does not leap up and out at me like something dark on a no-go street in Peckham but is inviting enough to assail my senses with what we have lost in Britain. The contrast in the cultural climates is visible, audible, palpable, and it starts with the way in which people dress.

From New York to the South Pole, almost everybody these days is hardwired to dressing casual. I suspect that I am one of the few remaining sartorial standard bearers who espouses cravat, frock coat and top hat ~ not forgetting silver-topped cane ~ rather than wear a pair of trainers.

Above: “I don’t as a rule wear any, but I always make sure not to go out with, or in, a strong wind”

Kaliningradians and Kaliningrad visitors from other parts of Russia tend to follow a smart-casual trend. Whereas, as in every other sphere of cultural life, dress code in the UK has taken a turn for the worse and worst, going from ultra-smart to smart-casual, to trendy casual, to half casual, to dumb-down casual to bags of shit.

Who is not acquainted with that funny old Asian man? Let me point him out to you: that’s him there, there, there, over there and over here … See how he wears all sorts of oddments, everything thrown together: the workshop apron, pantaloon trousers, corny ill-fitting jacket bought from yonder charity shop and, of course, a pair of iridescent trainers ~ what lovely colour combinations, orange, yellow and purple. And he is indisputably the best dressed man in Bedford.

Now turn around and cast your gaze on those beautiful English ladies amorphously squashed in over-tight leggings, all bums and large tums, with cattle rings through their noses, shrapnel embedded in brows and lips and covered in head to foot with tats. Isn’t their language colourful: f*ck, f*ck, f*ck. And what is that pervasive smell, no not that smell, this smell! Pooh! It is the town centre gently marinating in the stench of stale and smoking Ganja. Look up, it’s a live one, and he’s heading in our direction! Time to take evasive action! Cross to the opposite side of the street and quick!

UK's city centres are filling up with Zombies

The fundamental difference between Britain’s streets and the streets of Kaliningrad is not confined to sartorial consciousness: manners maketh man (they seem not to maketh UK women). Public behaviour on Kaliningrad’s streets, give or take the inevitable exception, is generally better than it is England. And, with the Russian accent on family values, traditional family groups of traditional Russian heritage freely and with confidence enjoy the streets of their city. Contrast homely scenes like this with the kind of groups you can expect to find, and more’s the pity do, hanging around in England’s cities and degrading its small-town centres.

Lefties would have us believe that the gangs of blacks and Asians, and the johnny-come-lately tribes flooding in on the promise tide of benefits, rights and endless freebies from far-flung parts of the world’s subcontinent are an enriching sight for monocultural eyes. But such postulations are unconvincing even through their glasses. Excelling the attitude and behavioural problems evinced by their white ne’er-do-well counterparts, a pervasive air of ‘up to no good’ hangs above the Ganja cloud and fills the vacuum on Britain’s streets left by the absence of coppers with an ‘at any moment it could all kick off’ incertitude. Menace and apprehension rule. Britain’s streets are not just uncouth, they are gravely infected with passive aggression.

Yes, things have certainly changed from the Britain I once knew and loved. I wonder what the Victorians and Edwardians would make of it. I wonder what those who fought for their country and died in two world wars would make of it. What would Sir Winston Churchill say? We know what Enoch Powell would say, since he said it back in the 1960s. Lord, if only someone had listened to him!

Spare some change, please!

I read somewhere (please tell me that this is not true) that housebreakers in the UK do not qualify for prison sentences until they have been convicted of 26 successive accounts of burglary. It is an indisputable fact that you have got more chance of winning the lottery or stopping the boats at Dover than getting arrested for shoplifting. It’s take your pick skanky ladies and nothing resembling gentlemen, you’ve really nothing to lose. In the unlikely event you get caught in the act, just give the merchandise back and have it away from the shop next door. Nice one, mate: Ha! Ha! Ha! Easy-touch-Britain, innit!

I have no idea if shoplifting is as prevalent in Kaliningrad as it is in every British town and city. I somehow feel it is not. But I do know, as I have witnessed it personally, that Kaliningrad has a boy-racer problem and that those that race are not all boys. Thankfully, however, one of the more applaudable changes has been the city-wide installation of efficacious pedestrian crossings. Gone are the days when we used to huddle in groups of five or more on the opposite sides of the four-lane roads and then, on the count of 10, make a nervous dash for it. Oh, how the drama of youth gives way to prudence in later life!

If someone was to ask me, and I don’t suppose they will, what is the one thing you would like to see changed in Kaliningrad, the answer without a second thought would be the introduction of a law to stamp out dugs that bark incessantly or, better still, to penalise their owners. These must-be mutton-jeff mut-lovers can never have heard of noise pollution, possibly because like the rest of us, they can hear precious little above the row that their barking dugs are making. It’s a dugs life, as someone said, someone who couldn’t spell dogs correctly.

Since the subject of this post is change, I expect that you expect that at some point in the narrative, at this point, for example, the temptation to make some corny remark about change in relation to underpants would finally prove too much for me, but I hate to disappoint you that I am about to disappoint you, because someone might pull them up on me, I mean pull me up on it, and I do not intend to stoop so low, so let’s instead be briefs.

Ringing the changes is happening in a negative way on the Polish border. Always slow and unhelpful, the Polish border authorities are excelling their own track record for putting obstacles in one’s way where none should be encountered, thus holding up one’s journey as though suspending it in empty space by a very strong pair of invisible braces (we’re suspiciously close to pants again!). The object of the exercise appears to be none other than to subject the weary traveller to the torment of terminal boredom or failing in that ambition to simply delay one long enough to make one miss one’s flight. If you have been an unhappy recipient of this apparent change in policy and believe you are being short-changed by conditions of an adverse nature at the Russian-Polish border, here is where you can lodge your complaint:

Against the intolerable conditions on the Russian-Polish border (Kaliningrad)!

I was going to finish this post on change by saying something profound, like ‘things change and that’s a fact, and very often not for the better’. And then it suddenly occurred to me that women in leopard print tights rarely change their spots. So, then I revised my ending to read, ‘if it don’t change it will stay the same’, but whilst I know it will not change anything, I went and changed my mind.

Something for the weekend, sir?

UK Anti-immigration Riots Herald New Dystopian Era
Lies & Democracy are they now the same thing?
Don’t Kill Cash
Britain a Nice Place to Live on the Telly

Image attributions

Beggar: <a href=”https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/homeless-man-sitting-ground-flat-vector-illustration-desperate-hungry-poor-male-person-sitting-street-near-trash-bin-asking-help-getting-into-financial-trouble-poverty-concept_24644540.htm#query=street%20beggar&position=0&from_view=keyword&track=ais_hybrid&uuid=af6b8f40-80ae-4929-ae9a-94b805e40e71″>Image by pch.vector</a> on Freepik

Suit: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Wedding-suit-on-a-stand-vector-clip-art/20642.html

Outline map UK: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/UK-silhouette/55420.html

Playing table tennis: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Kids-play-table-tennis/87262.html

Scotsman: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Orator-in-black-and-white/77202.html

Two horses grazing: https://garystockbridge617.getarchive.net/media/two-horses-grazing-3dbc66?action=download&size=1024 [Arthur B. Davies (American, Utica, New York 1862–1928 Florence)]

Elephant: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Elephant-contour-vector-clip-art/7929.html

Empty room: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Empty-room/70655.html

Fox in the hen house: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Fox-in-hen-house/81729.html

Zombie silhouette: <a href=”https://www.freepik.com/free-vector/zombie-silhouettes_805714.htm#fromView=keyword&page=1&position=8&uuid=31cda339-13bb-4ae8-b7a7-d96bb5b9b834″>Image by freepik</a>

UK Identity Crisis and its Impact on Patriotism

What’s the difference between a country and a camping site?

Published: 7 October 2022 ~ UK Identity Crisis and its Impact on Patriotism

In 2014, Russia ditched daylight-saving time and switched to permanent wintertime, which is good in some respects as it negates the need to remember when clocks should go forward or back one hour. How many times in the UK have you forgotten to apply this rule and as a result have woken up either an hour too early or an hour too late? Admittedly, some people seem to revel in the confusion, possibly believing that by gaining an extra hour in bed they have become the master of time, rather than time the master of them. For we who are lifelong insomniacs, however, that extra hour in bed is something to be abhorred: arrggh, another hour of torment!

Permanent wintertime removes this obstacle but replaces it with another, which is no less disorientating for my circadian rhythms.

In summer, should I have forgotten to put the blackouts up, at 4am the sun blares through the window as objectionable as Tony; in winter, especially in the depths of winter, it is as though we have been plunged into eternal night. It is dark until 10am and dark again at 4pm, and the filling in between is like the illusory light of white privilege (or should that be the illusory white of light privilege?).

This is not something that our cat, Ginger, unduly worries himself about. No matter what time I stagger out in the morning, he’s there to greet me … rolling around, stretching, purring away. He doesn’t have to worry about getting up for work, driving home at night, paying the gas and electricity bill, Liz Truss devaluing the pound, virtue signalling by changing his avatar or wearing a tight green T-shirt. And if you happened to mention mobilisation to him, he would possibly think you meant that it was time that he took a turn on the balcony.

Ginger Mick Harts cat Kaliningrad doing the twist 'Bet you can't do this!' — **Bet you can’t do this!**

It was presumably for this reason that a when a friend from the UK, who would no doubt be a friend of Gingers if he did but know him, attempted to engage me in a discussion on mobilisation, Ginger did not to take part.

Our conversation on this topic prompted speculation about the reaction of the UK populace should a similar situation ever arise in Britain. And it was then that we went all historical goosebumps.

UK Identity Crisis and its Impact on Patriotism

At the outbreak of the Second World War ~ and, incidentally, I am using this purely as an example and not trying to pre-empt events with predictions of a third world war, as I would be expected to do if I worked for the UK media ~ conscription was introduced and was, by all accounts, successful. By the end of 1939 more than 1.5 million British men had been called up for military service. Times change (don’t they just!).

A survey undertaken by YouGov in 2018 revealed that only 20 per cent of male Brits said that they would volunteer for service and as many as 39 per cent said they would avoid conscription. Not surprisingly, the highest percentage of males within the avoidance bracket, 34 per cent, fall within the millennial category (ie, the age group which the media likes to refer to as the ‘entitled generation’).

Now, as an oldie, I am not in a position to pass judgement one way or the other, or I could end up sounding like one of the elder generation from the First World War: “By George, If I was your age; I’d be going with you!” But I suspect that the abstention figures from an updated 2022 survey would cause even greater concern in the corridors of power (or, knowing our government, perhaps not) and among the British military establishment’s chief of staff, when it comes to evaluating Britain’s ability to raise the manpower needed to respond to a major conflict. (Oh, I’m sorry! Tut, tut: and the women power, and deviant power, etc)

In trying to define this seismic shift in attitude, we have to look beyond the response of the entitled young millennials, who could be seen by some as the enlightened entitled young millennials, as there is more to the changes in Britain than living at mum’s and breakfast in bed.

Back in 1939, Britain still had a sense of who it was. It drew for its identity on its history, its traditions and the glories of its past. Its people were largely united ~ or as united as a country can be, given its class divisions ~ and the need to defend the realm, should that need arise, was questioned, when it was questioned, by the relative few.

Fast forward to the 21^st century

In case you’ve missed it, twenty-first century British society bears little or no resemblance to the social and values composition of its 1940s’ forebear.

Today’s Britain is, to put it bluntly, a cosmopolitan catastrophe, a place of muddled multicultural mayhem, a country divided and fragmented along exacerbated fault lines and manipulated sectarianism, the proponent manifestations of which are diversity, race, religion and gender transmutation. In short, the UK of the twenty-first century is in a terminal state of identity crisis.

This in not to say that if the balloon went up, there would not be any number of English men who would volunteer for national service. I can clearly think of some who would be champing at the bit to go and do their bit, but what about the rest ~ the liberal anarchists, the illegal migrants ferried into Dover each day by the Roya Navy taxi service and the entitled enlightened young millennials, who demonstratively have what it takes to take but not, it seems, what it takes to give.

Then there is the question of the ethnics, which is one that is easily answered. The Black Lives Matter mob are hardly going to rally around the flag, are they? They are far too busy defacing and pulling down statues and rallying around luxury goods, such as widescreen tellies and the latest iphones, which always seem to go missing during ‘largely peaceful’ demonstrations. Terrorists don’t as a rule rally around the flag, do they? In fact, they usually burn the flag of the country to which they have run for sanctuary.

Black muggers and Albanian drug dealers are a category apart. These groups can be said to have reserved occupations: the first, to relieve the useful idiots, tolerant whites, of their ill-gotten privilege, especially the privilege of walking the streets in safety (Where’s a policeman when you need one? Arresting Englishmen for mean tweets, of course!); the latter working hard to get themselves on the waiting lists for a nice comfy cell in UK prisons. And even if these two factions, and the many others like them, were not gainfully employed as described, would the British flag mean anything more to them than an accommodating table cloth for a line of doctored snort?

It is not just the ‘take me to your free hotels’ and bless-me-with-benefits freeloaders that fall into the ‘useless’ category; homegrown liberal lefties are hardly likely to lower themselves to rise in defence of the realm when their entire life has been devoted to parasitically trashing it.

But I hear, you say, somewhere among this rag bag of worthlessness surely there must be patriots? Patriots? Yes, we do have patriots, but since patriotism became a dirty word in the lexicon of the left, what patriots we do have are supressed by an ideology that they vehemently despise and a virtue-less society which they do not recognise, never asked for and certainly do not want.

Ask yourself this: Would you rally around the flag to ensure that the UK’s liberal elites continue to live and rule in the woke and globalist manner to which they are accustomed?

Ironically, for the past thirty years or more our political classes have been actively engaged in rebranding the British flag as a racist symbol, disposing us to guilt, even imposing fines, should anyone in an illicit moment of patriotic pride hoist it up a flagpole and by doing so commit the cardinal sin, as enshrined within the religion of Woke, of impinging upon the delicate blossom of ethnic sensibilities. (All sing: “Oh, show them the way to go home …”). And yet, a second and saving irony is that ideological dictates such as these are just what the doctor ordered for patriotic verve to flourish and perpetuate.

As good or bad, depending on your point of view, as today’s nationalist disenfranchisement is, the defiance and indifference from which it takes its lead was cultivated and curated during the Vietnam war of the sixties, as epitomised by the then controversial, fabled and now dated but eternally seductive slogan ‘make love not war!’

UK Identity Crisis and its Impact on Patriotism

Doomed to perish prematurely, but not before deflating the fortunes of rubber plantation owners whilst sugaring the pharmaceutical industry’s promiscuity pill, it was what sentiments of this nature were not putting into the perennially voracious coffers of the transatlantic industrial military complex that would eventually ensure that the 1960s’ pacifist movement would be rendered virtually impotent.

Notwithstanding, nineteen sixty was a very significant year in British social history. It was the dawn of a new, new decade and, although no one, with the exception perhaps of the fashion industry, the music industry, the brewers and the dope dealers, fully realised the extent to which it could be exploited, the country was on the threshold of a social revolution.

Affectionately, nostalgically, we refer to this era as the swinging sixties, but as innocent as the sobriquet sounds the fundamental truth is that the pendulum of change that provided its momentum was a force that was far from benign. Each sweep swept away years of traditional norms and mores. It slashed through the fabric of British life and what it left behind, which it left in tatters, was the beginning of the end of civilisation as we knew it ~ a headlong fall into the murky abyss of a post-conservative world.

UK Identity Crisis the Pit and the Pendulum — Illustration shows a man labelled “Consumer” tied to a bed with cords labelled “Graft Tariff”, watching as a pendulum labelled “Cost of Living” with a sharp blade affixed to the bottom swings over his body, coming closer to cutting him in half.
~
My caption: 21st century Britain

It may or may not be coincidence ~ the old guard would argue not ~ but 1960 was also the year in which National Service officially ended in Britain.

National Service had been introduced in Britain in 1916 and remained operational until 1920. It was revived in 1939 and continued until 1960. In its latter iteration, physically fit males between the ages of 17 and 21 were duty bound to serve in one branch or another of the British armed forces for a period of 18 months, and then placed for four more years on the reserve list.

I, and my generation, were subsequently excluded from it, although my father wasn’t. His National Service stint coincided with the Korean War, but Lady Luck smiled on him. Possession of a spotless HGV (Heavy Goods Vehicle) licence and experience of driving some of the then largest flatbed trucks, diverted him from overseas deployment to the not unenviable job of collecting damaged tanks and other battle-scarred military hardware from their disembarkation point at Liverpool Docks and transporting them, depending on their condition, either to repair shops in different parts of the country or, if they were beyond repair, to breakers and salvage yards.

For post-1960s’ Britons, however, the closest yoof came to National Service was watching Get Some In!

On the flip side, I do know people who have been in the army, left the army but never left the army. Case in point: A few years ago, I was strolling peacefully across the English countryside with a friend who had served in the special forces, but, like me, had reached an age where anything more demanding than enlistment in the Home Guard would have been nigh on impossible.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, it was a perfect day in early autumn, when we approached a large grass meadow that rolled down hill quite steeply, reached a point where it dipped and then travelled back up as steeply again to a gate on the far horizon.

As we entered this field, my ex-military friend espied a pile of stones. They were big, round and heavy. Suddenly he stopped. Came to attention. Glared at the stones and said, in a sergeant-majorly fashion, “I bet you can’t put one of those stones under each arm, Hart, and run across the field with them!” And without waiting for an answer, a stone apiece leapt under his armpits, and he was off across that field like nobody’s business. I stood and watched him go in awe, glad that we hadn’t put money on it.

Furthermore …

Woke and Hypocrisy. It really is God Save the King!
Thinking about moving to the UK? Think again!
Sunak or Truss? Who will end Globalism, even the World?

Image attributions
Black & white jigsaw: https://www.freepik.com/free-photo/white-puzzle_6543626.htm#page=2&query=missing%20puzzle%20piece%20UK&position=5&from_view=search&track=ais >Image by Racool_studio</a> on Freepik
Flag and country outline of the UK: https://clipartuk.com/#link
Looking in mirror: https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/2695355-cartoon-ugly-man-looks-in-the-mirror-and-thinks-he-is-so-handsome-vector-illustration <a href=”https://www.vecteezy.com/free-vector/looking-in-mirror”>Looking In Mirror Vectors by Vecteezy</a>
Condom: https://freesvg.org/skotan-condom
Rocket: https://freesvg.org/skotan-condom
Pit & Pendulum: https://picryl.com/media/the-pit-and-the-pendulum

Word War III the Latest Media Plandemic

“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.” ― Oscar Wilde

Published: 6 June 2022 ~ Word War III the Latest Media Plandemic

So, do you do it and, if the answer is yes, do you do a lot of it? I do ~ musing, I mean.

And isn’t there just so much to muse on?

Let’s take Ukraine, for example. When I say take, I don’t mean as in takeaway ~ which, someone suggested, is what the Poles want to do ~ I use the term figuratively, as in example¹.

I am sure you will agree that it is an excellent example, as it is virtually impossible these days whenever the need for musing arises not to have a muse or two about what it is the West is up to out there in Ukraine.

The one place where you won’t find that out is in the British media, because Britland’s media is far too busy making (you could say ‘manufacturing’) news than reporting it. They did it to you with Brexit; they did it through the Plandemic; and now they are doing it to you again with Ukraine. Why does the British government and its media lackies want to scare you shitless?

The simple answer, but not the whole story, is to get you to buy newspapers and to click on their websites, thereby enabling them to fleece gullible advertisers. Terror sells ~ but there is more to it than that.

It is ironic don’t you think (well, do you think?) that UK media is obsessed with speculation as to whether the crisis in Ukraine will result in World War III (it has certainly resulted in Word War III), which, incidentally, should it happen would make it hard to find the UK on the global map (not trying to frighten you, or anything), but continues to support UK government policy to pump shipment after shipment of arms to Ukraine, thus bringing the threat of Armageddon closer. Such irresponsible profligacy costs the British taxpayer dearly for something that to all accounts gets itself blown up soon after it arrives on foreign soil².

If the Labour Party was not so riddled with woke, someone ~ someone who is not scared to be called misogynist ~ could come right out with it and tell the foreign secretary ‘Liz don’t Trusst her’ that she is not fit for purpose and that perhaps it would be better for everyone if she just went home where she could try to do something useful like whip up a batch of scones. That something from the Labour party could then add that the money the UK is throwing away on its latest imperialist misadventure could be put to better use, such as donated to its favourite political hobby-horse the NHS, if only to finance the extra burden that will soon devolve to this commendable institution from the influx of merry migrants that keep grinning their way on boats to Dover. The logic is elementary but fundamental: more people in an over-populated country means less NHS to go round.

I know that there are an awful lot of Brits musing on the immigration fiasco, most of whom will never go beyond musing as they are afraid to voice their opinions, and I fully understand why. It is all so tiresome, is it not, having to prefix every honest syllable you utter with, “I’m not racist, but …” And after all, why should you bother? It is obvious that Britain’s political elite don’t or else the little overcrowded boats would not keep bobbing in. But then the difference between Britain’s political elites and you is that when the sh!t hits the fan, which it will (look at Sweden!) the elite will be going the other way and you’ll be left in the line of fire.

This tragedy is no longer one which is waiting to happen. It is already underway. But let’s not muse on that. Our current muse turns on the question: Is the British establishment placing the lives of every citizen in the UK at risk by openly suppling weapons to Ukraine, by its bellicosity towards Russia and by playing lapdog to the United States?

When nuclear war was first mentioned, which, in case you didn’t know was by the West and by the Brits, Sergey Lavrov, Russia’s Foreign Minister, had this to say:

“I would like to draw your attention to the fact that the thought of nuclear war is constantly running through the minds of Western politicians but not the minds of Russians.”³

Since then, however, the unthinkable, which also used to be the unspeakable, makes guest appearances on a regular basis throughout the UK media, so much so that if it wasn’t for Britain’s endemic violence and the UK’s cops losing the fight against street crime, the possibility of nuclear war would even eclipse these subjects.

Given the extent of the media-led psychosis and the paranoia it has imbued, it is hardly surprising that there are people in the Russian Federation who have begun to respond in kind⁴.

Time, do you think (well, do you think?) for British people to stand up for themselves, to instruct their ‘democratically elected government’ and its malignant media that enough is really enough.

There are, however, other ‘atomic bombs’ that haven’t gone off as planned, for example sanctions.

I sometimes get the impression that I am the only one that the West has sanctioned! Recently, someone sent me some money from the UK, and it arrived in Russia worth half as much as it was before the liberal globalists set out to cripple Russia’s economy! Am I missing something here ~ apart from half my cash? Did the West unleash sanctions deliberately to make the rouble stronger? Last month, the pounds weakness in relation to the rouble meant that I could only buy half the amount of beer that I would normally buy? Now, that is serious! Meanwhile, according to my family and friends in Britland, the cost of living is soaring and the standard of living collapsing. Ahh, but I hear you say, there is madness in our government’s method.

We all know by now, or should know, that the sanctions have been successful, at least in punishing every Tom, Uncle Tom, Dick and Leroy in the US and UK, but not, it would appear, in Russia. The civil unrest hoped for and orchestrated with the assistance of a certain ‘philanthropic billionaire’ has not materialised, and Russia’s special military operation appears to be going as planned. Political analysts opine that whilst the West may delay Russia’s progress in Ukraine, it will not stop it from achieving its goals⁵.

The extent of the West’s frustration is encapsulated in the ever-self-explosive rhetoric embarrassingly evacuating from the oratory orifice of the Polish prime minister, who appears to have ordained himself as the Archbishop of Anti-Russian Hysteria. Notwithstanding his ‘personal shame’ ~ ‘the personal shame of the Polish Prime Minister’⁶ ~ at least he looks good with his 1960s’ hairstyle and specs, but even those have not proved sufficient to dissuade neither US nor British governments from continuing to spend billions on military equipment bound for Ukraine, where off it goes to get blown up. Someone commenting on a media site waggishly asked, wouldn’t it just be a lot less trouble and considerably less expensive to blow these shipments up before they leave the US and the UK, thus saving the price of the postage?

Every crisis known to man {LGBTs, Its and Others} ~ or should that be ever manufactured by man? ~ has been a godsend for profiteering of one kind or another.

Evidence suggests that the UK establishment is profiting from the conflict in Ukraine by using it as a cover for the miss-management of its economy⁷: terror and hysteria make superb attention conductors. The strategy is not new. It’s merely a resuscitation of the old Theresa May ploy, “It’s ‘highly likely’ the Russians have done it!” Move along, please, nothing to see (or believe in) here.

But even exploitation, or so it would seem, is not what it used to be. I must say I am rather surprised that someone in high office has not yet implemented Plan A as a means of reassuring Brits that should the UK government over play its hand in Ukraine, thus sparking a global disaster, surviving a nuclear holocaust may yet be possible providing that mandatory lockdowns, mask-wearing, compulsory vaccinations ~ and WHO knows what ~ are rigorously adhered to.

I am convinced, however, that the endless stream of third-world migrants pouring into Dover is a crucial component of the UK’s defence strategy, guaranteed, I imagine, if not to act as a shield against incoming missiles to effectively deter any kind of invasion other than the migrant one, which the UK establishment appears to support. For surely nobody in their right mind would want to take possession of a country ravaged by migrant unrest and migrant-related violence, plagued by woke, cancel culture and, buggered if I know what else, ahh that reminds me, gay parades.

I’m not suggesting that lockdowns, mask-wearing and mandatory vaccinations would be any less effective than they have proved to be for anything else, but better the devil you know than the ones that make work for idle minds.

References

1. https://www.reuters.com/world/russian-spy-chief-says-us-poland-plotting-division-ukraine-2022-04-28/
2. https://militarywatchmagazine.com/article/russian-precision-strikes-destroy-major-depots-for-western-weapons-newly-delivered-to-ukraine-s-lviv
3. https://russische-botschaft.ru/de/2022/03/05/foreign-minister-sergey-lavrovs-interview-with-tv-channels-rt-nbc-news-abc-news-itn-france-24-and-the-prc-media-corporation-moscow-march-3-2022/
4. https://yakutsk-ru.translate.goog/news/armiya-i-oruzhie/id10004-solovyov-prizval-putina-steret-velikobritaniyu-s-lica-zemli-s-pomoshhyu-kompleksa-sarmat/?utm_source=yxnews&utm_medium=desktop&_x_tr_sl=ru&_x_tr_tl=en&_x_tr_hl=en&_x_tr_pto=sc
5. Москва не исключает затягивание спецоперации на Украине из-за Запада (pravda.ru)
6. https://www-mk-ru.translate.goog/politics/2022/05/13/yarovaya-nazvala-slova-premera-polshi-ob-iskorenenii-russkogo-mira-prestupleniem.html?utm_source=yxnews&utm_medium=desktop&_x_tr_sl=ru&_x_tr_tl=en&_x_tr_hl=en&_x_tr_pto=sc
7. https://u–f-ru.translate.goog/news/politics/u9/2022/06/02/338827?utm_source=yxnews&utm_medium=desktop&_x_tr_sl=ru&_x_tr_tl=en&_x_tr_hl=en&_x_tr_pto=sc

Image attributions:
Finger on the button: https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Pushing-the-button/36285.html
Boom: https://pixabay.com/vectors/explosion-detonation-blast-burst-147909/
Atomic bomb blast: Author: Comfreak / pixabay.com; https://www.freeimg.net/photo/203289/nuclearexplosion-mushroomcloud-atomicbomb-weaponsofmassdestruction
TV smashed: Smashed TV vector drawing | Public domain vectors

25 Reasonable Excuses for Leaving the UK

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 131^st 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:

“Give me one good reason for wanting to stay?!”

Feature image attribution ~ Scary shadow: https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/en/view-image.php?image=281804&picture=man-scared

The Coronavirus Files:

Tracking World Vaccination with the Prickometer
The Great Re-set, Answer or Suspicious Coincidence
Clueless! World Health Game

Tracking World Vaccination with the Prickometer

Sorting the Pricks from the Prickless

Preamble

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’.

Tracking World Vaccination with the Prickometer

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.

Something for the World’s End, Sir!
UK Lockdown New Board Game
Exit Strategy Board Game
Clueless World Health Game

Image credit: Blidfolded dart player:
Openclipart
https://publicdomainvectors.org/en/free-clipart/Blindfolded-darts-player/68889.html

Image credit: Shoe banging tantrum
http://clipart-library.com/clipart/362082.htm

So Frightened of Priti Patel

As they would say in Northamptonshire, Priti Patel has got them frit!

The Good News, The Bad News

Published: 9 December 2020 ~ So Frightened of Priti Patel

After almost a year of coronavirus bad news, it is inspiring to know that come 31 December the transition period will be over and we will be more out of the European Union than we felt we were back in January 2020. So, the Good News is, ‘We will be out of the European Union’.

And the Bad News is that we will not be as out of the European Union as most of us who voted to be want to be.

I think we can safely say that 99.9% (and the rest) of those who voted to leave the EU did so because they wanted an end to open borders, free movement, and to ensure that the implementation of stricter immigration rules and a fast-track system for the removal of illegal migrants is no longer hamstrung by the politically motivated agenda of the ECHU (European Court of Horribly-twisted Rights).

It would appear, however, that the EU has successfully bullied (let’s use a word that they are familiar with) the UK establishment into retaining the final say on movement and immigration by shackling the UK to the European Convention on Human Rights.

Amusingly, how they have manoeuvred the British government into this checkmate situation is by threatening to remove access to shared intelligence on criminals. Why is this amusing? Well, everybody knows that the European Court of Human Rights is the de facto enforcement arm of the EU’s neoliberal migration policy, the court that continually overrules attempts by the UK and other hapless members of the European Union to block and legally deport unwanted, illegal migrants, including unwanted criminal migrants. So, it would appear that the UK government has signed up for intelligence sharing on criminals for the dubious benefit of knowing who they are but not being able to do very much about it.

Here is a quote, verbatim, unedited by me, which appeared recently in the comments section of one of the mainstream UK online news feeds:

The ECHR has no rights outside of the EU. It is just yet another court set up by the EU and fully enshrined into UK law by that corrupt Tony Bliar. As for the rule of law, the EU have never ever followed the rule of law, the only rule of law they follow is what Merkel dictates. Johnson should have totally scrapped the HR laws in the UK, it just gives these corrupt lawyers and judges that practice HR laws and twist them in favour of the criminal a further excuse to shaft the UK government. It is all this human rights rubbish that is preventing all these illegal immigrants and the bogus asylum seekers from being deported.

As Johnson has not got the backbone to scrap the HR laws completely and caved into the political dictatorship, then I feel that his days are numbered. There are many Tory MP’s that will be absolutely fuming of not only caving into the EU, but because it is on Human Rights. What about the taxpayers human rights, where we have to keep paying more and more taxes to keep these waste of space peers, corrupt judiciary and all these bogus asylum seekers and illegal immigrants very comfortable. Do our human rights not matter? I think Boris needs to start looking for another job, this is the start of the big cave-in and the EU are taking the pee out of us. Johnson is showing what a weak has been he is.

This comment is worth repeating again:

HR laws in the UK … just give the corrupt lawyers and judges that practice HR laws and twist them in favour of the criminal a further excuse to shaft the UK government. It is all this human rights rubbish that is preventing all these illegal immigrants and the bogus asylum seekers from being deported.

“Now look here, that’s just not true, innit”

Headlines from The Sun, 4 December 2020:

‘Priti Patel blasts lefty lawyers and ‘do-gooding’ celebs for keeping Jamaican killers & rapists in UK’

This report tells how at the last minute when 23 criminals originally from Jamaica where about to be deported, a last-minute legal challenge blocked the Home Secretary from kicking the undesirables out.

To quote The Sun¹:
“More than 60 MPs, mostly from the Labour Party, had urged Priti Patel to abandon the flight, saying of those being deported: ‘Britain is their home.’ And Labour backbencher Kim Johnson described the deportation as ‘obscene and irresponsible’.” Well, she would, wouldn’t she, because she’s a member of the political party that Cosets the Perpetrator, Blames the State, and Forgets the Victim.

The legal challenge that has been launched in order to ensure that these criminals, some of them rapists and murderers, can remain in the UK is of course underpinned by human rights laws (yawn, aren’t they all).

To quote The Sun:

“A large proportion submitted legal challenges, with new claims including human rights appeals and allegations that the criminals had been victims of modern slavery.”

You might ask yourself, on reading the article, why 82 ‘celebs’ ‘signed an open letter demanding the flight did not take off’. You might also ask yourself, in reflection on Brexit, why the majority of celebs threw their monied status behind the Remain camp. And you might arrive at the right conclusion that most celebs by virtue of their wealth consider themselves to be safe, secure in their Ivorine-towers, removed from what is happening to ordinary Brits on the UK’s increasingly violent streets. And you might want to remind them about lessons in history, that when society breaks down through mob violence, national lawlessness, coups and revolutions the money and the status that protects them during ‘peaceful times’, times of law and order, then become entrapments of their own destruction.

But we are not here to talk about poetic justice. We are here to consider the Good News and Bad News.

And the Good News is that we have Priti Patel ~ a tough, no-nonsense Home Secretary, who is determined not to be cowed by a politically correct oriented neoliberal elite.

Although it goes without saying that the liberal establishment, and its vampire media, are hovering bat like over everything Priti Patel says and does, it certainly helps from a purely PC perspective that she is not white English and male but the daughter of Asian shopkeepers, who were taken in by the UK after Idi Amin, the Uganda dictator, expelled them.

And the Bad News … Her courage, veracity and Eliot Ness-style incorruptibility, her unwillingness to cop out under duress or virtue-signalling inducement, has placed her in the cross hairs of those who pull the strings, hurling her into the proud position of PC Enemy Number 1.

But the Good News is …. The more adverse publicity she receives the more they reveal who they are and what they are really up to! The neoliberal gloves are flying off this year faster than bog rolls from supermarket shelves in a panic-buying pandemic, not because they want or can stomach an open fight but because desperate people from imploding ideologies need to feel as it all slips away from them that there is something left to cling on to.

As it was for Donald Trump, watch out for those sharpened knife-headlines in the latest instalment of The Fear of Priti Patel!