The f*****g Merseyside Police have got nothing better to do, yesterday and today. I spotted them hiding in an ATV (an “all-terror-vehicle”, which is to say: a white hatchback with blue and yellow squares down its side) at the junction of Sefton St and Scarisbrick new Rd last night, and also this morning when I turned in.
I was immediately hauled in, a few seconds later, outside my house, and given what is called a “fixed penalty notice” for £60, for “not wearing a seat belt.” It did take quite some time. The wind was cold, I was wearing only a shirt and I was freezing to death, but I declined the little Police-girl’s invitation to “step into the car please”. Also I wanted my neighbours to view what was happening. And you don’t know what they have there in their ATVs, these people.
It’s hard to know how to begin to explain, in particular to these eyeless goons “following orders”, that one has NOT worn a seat belt on principle since it became compulsory on 1st Jan 1993. It probably would not do any good anyway: so, why is that then?
Because the enraged British masses are unlikely to rise in anger at my subsequent exemplary punishment, and carry me triumphantly from the torture-house, my shackles having been smashed with the sledge-mauls and stihl-saws of 100,000 righteous white-van-men, trashing the state-machinery in their victorious progress through the ministry-malls of the guilty.
Interestingly, all sorts of details were asked for: like (1) Is this your car? (2) Where do you live? (ans: here,) (3) What was the purpose of your journey? (4) How old are you? (5) What is the nature of your business and what is the vehicle used for (please list…) (6) Have you had a fixed penalty notice before? (I suppose that’s to track returning clients for modifying the marketing…) (7) Does your partner live with you and why is the vehilce registered to her?
The little Police-girl then went online to the great-Gestapo-database-in-the-sky, to check that the car’s papers were in order (they are) via some sort of monkey-house-control-room-cum-torture-chamber, wherein I could hear all the various conversations and barked codewords of strange unknown droids doing identical things to other miserable people.
You see, it’s not even worth whingeing to friends, neighbours or (most of all) my dear wife. Everybody has been so conditioned by the Big-Brother-State apparatus that my non-wearing of a belt will just be regarded as a stupid pointless libertarian affectation, and will be “my own fault”. My wife especially will loudly publish the list of all my (very very many other non-liberty-related) faults to me, in front of my sons, no word allowed in edgeways, So I shan’t even tell her. It’s rather tragic really.
Was it the Jews’ own faults that they tried to hysterically protest at the doors of the gas-chambers, realising what these finally were? Should they have gone in more docilely? I truly fear, I really do, for the future of liberty in Britain when one has got to the point that it’s not worth making even a gesture against tyranny.