“I just had another awful f*cking day. I woke up and turned on the telly only to see Gordon Brown’s ugly brute face winking at me like a demented Cheshire cat mumbling about his handwriting or something or rather. Then we received more economic forecasts, X-Factor news bulletins and a dollop of Katie Price shenanigans. I might as well top myself now I tell you,” a resident of Grimtown, Manchester told the UK’s state controlled news service, the BBC, this morning.
If you’re not freezing in your mortgage hell cell block in some urine infested tower block in Lewisham waiting for a winter fuel allowance that will never come, then you’re doing alright. The rest of us just have to put it all on a credit card. Don’t think about tomorrow when you have to pay it all back at 39.5% APR or whatever astronomical amount it is. You can buy your loaf of bread and eat your watery pork fat soup for another f*cking day of misery in Gordon Brown’s grey horrible Britain. Cheer up folks it’s good to be alive, aye there’s another bonus for the bankers as they sit in their ivory towers frittering away our cash on high class prostitutes and cocaine and laughing at the taxpayers.
How about another strike in Gordon Brown’s Britain? Maybe a postal strike or an Underground strike, consider the dustmen as well, they need to strike too and the buses.
Is Simon Cowell dead yet? Unfortunately not yet mes amis, he continues to pollute the airwaves with the exploitation of young stupid karaoke singers judged by thick talentless c*nts with no remit whatsoever. He may be exploiting these idiots and raking in huge profits, but there is a good thought at the end of it all, he will pass away one day and have to leave all the millions of pounds he has acquired through evil means behind. His material possessions will hurt him more than anyone who detests his very being and soulless plasticity ever could.
More Good News
Gordon Brown will soon be gone. He will be discarded into the anal cavity of historic failure; to rest in abject anonymity and shame. No one will want to remember his unelected tenure because they will be reminded of pain and hurt and utter utter gormless stupidity.
Entrenched within the walls of prison Britain, where the surveillance comes thick and the police sit in their well lit offices writing out endless reports about nothing in particular, you may venture out one day and not worry about losing your spleen to an intoxicated feral 12 year old girl sloshed out of her f*cking brains on alcopops and skunk.
You may one day take a walk and sniff the air of future optimism, but then again, you may wake up and realise that you are still living in Gordon Brown’s Britain and it was all a dream.