Guido does it best, but…
…..from the blog’s mud-begrimed, isolated and black-earthed fastness in Lancashire, I feel a wave of collective public ennui approaching. Not merely about Miss Piggy’s six-figure-claims for staying at her sister’s house (pretty rich and brass-necked I admit, even for a Gramsco-Marxian) but about the entire notion that there is soemthing extraordinary about what these political scumbags are doing. (Tipped by The Landed Underclass.)
Perhaps politicians in the UK have got so much like African “big men” (whom they have always brown-nosed anyway) that they can’t help helping themselves to what’s in the Treasury, genuinely thinking that it’s their property. True, they haven’t got round yet to killing us and our male children, and then shagging our wives and daughters after burning our kraal and then eating our cattle, but I guess it’s only a matter of time.
But since most socialists have had their hands in the till since God was in short trousers, and most Tories have had their trousers down in the wrong woman’s bedroom for almost the same time, perhaps people have got innured to it.
All we can do is keep a log, and get the dosh back form the buggers when the time comes.