Yet More Elections, Yet More Democracy

Say whatever you like about democracy, but it’s still the best system that man, or woman has managed to think up of so far for delegating power and structuring his, or her society. Democracy is so great that this will be the third time in two years that the people of the U.K will have been asked to go to the polls and enjoy the thrill of democracy, proving that you can never have too much of a good thing

If last year’s E.U referendum is anything to go by then anything is possible in the forthcoming election. When Theresa May called for a snap election, ignoring the Fixed-term Parliaments Act that her own party brought into effect just 6 years prior, the polls gave her Conservative party a 22 point lead. Now that she’s been out meeting the public she’s been able to reduce that lead to single figures. YouGov’s latest poll has the Tory lead at just four points over Labour, as at 5 June. It’s been a somewhat fragmented election campaign owing to a handful of murderous bastards perpetrating acts of extreme violence in the name of a morally bankrupt ideology. If these maniacs hadn’t forced suspensions to the campaigning, it’s reasonable to assume that the more the public would have seen of  Theresa May the more appealing Jeremy Corbyn would have become and maybe the Labour party would even be ahead in the polls.

The parallels between Theresa May and Hilary Clinton are obvious. It’s like watching two people in quicksand, the more they struggle the more they get consumed. The more they talk the better their opponent seems to do. In the near future, if anyone has any sense, political candidates will just say nothing throughout their campaigns, a strategy adopted by Blackadder when he put forward Baldrick to run in a by-election:

So with Theresa May projecting all the charm of toxic waste seeping into an orphanage, this raises Jeremy Corbyn’s profile, without him actually having to do anything. When Corbyn does speak, he sounds like a 1970’s politics student who only got as far as reading Marx’s Das Kapital. I’ve got nothing wrong with Marxism per se, it’s just that I’m not sure how viable it is to the complex economies that we have today. Corbyn is also very open minded towards the ideology of terrorists, I have a hard time validating this stance towards terrorism in light of recent events. But whatever Corbyn might think or say is of little consequence, Corbyn’s most electable quality is that he’s not Theresa May.

Essentially, on Thursday the people of the United Kingdom have to chose between Jeremy Corbyn, a man who looks like he would be more comfortable pottering around an allotment, or Theresa May, a woman who we can’t trust to sit the right way round on a toilet.

A friend of mine made the following analogy of this Thursday’s election:

 … so we are faced with a choice that is similar to being asked to move a dog turd. You can either pick it up with your bare hands and take to the bin, or pick it up with your bare hands and put it in your pocket.

Crude as though the dog turd analogy might be, I consider it to be fairly accurate one. The British electorate is once again being asked to choose between the lesser of two evils: Image result for hunter thompson lesser of two evils

Image result for hunter thompson lesser of two evils

There can be little doubt that this general election pits two of the blandest party leaders against one another, offering the electorate a choice of either grey or beige. But, if our democracy can be so easily reduced to turd analogies and choosing between two evils, then I’m left to wonder if the terrorists haven’t already won.


While we should consider elections to be meaningful and terrorism to be a very real

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EPeter Sallis, star of Last of the Summer Wine and voice of Wallace from Nick Park’s Oscar winning Wallace and Gomit, died June 2, 2017.


threat, I was saddened to hear of the death of Peter Sallis. Sallis starred in the BBC’s Last of the Summer Wine for 37 years, and provided the voice of Wallace in the multi award winning Wallace and Gromit animations. As a child I spent many a Sunday having tea and sandwiches, whilst watching Last of the Summer Wine, which was essentially three old men wandering aimlessly around the verdant Yorkshire Dales accompanied by a hauntingly beautiful theme tune. Now that’s something a jihadist will never understand. In fact that’s what I recommend for radicalised extremists, they should be forced to watch all 37 years of Last of the Summer Wine, can there be a surer way of curing a person of homicidal ambitions?




Image result for theresa may jeremy corbyn star wars
Probably as good a reason as any that you’ll find for voting Labour.


Lord of the Deathly Swallows and the Prisoner of of Azkhabaggins


Barry Trotter slowly extricated himself from out of the deep shag rug in front of the fire. He adjusted his glasses and wiped them clean. A couple of metres away, by the light of the fire, Barry could make out the form of Professor Bumsosore, it was made more difficult as the professor’s robes were pulled up over his head, but Barry could identify him easily enough by his fully exposed wand.

Ever since Barry’s scar had started to itch, Professor Bumsosore had insisted that Barry attend private, late night tuition in the professor’s own chambers. Barry’s scar was not ordinary, for that matter Barry was not an ordinary boy.

When Barry was a baby an evil wizard by the name of BaronVon Nastybastard hunted down Barry’s parents and killed them. When Baron Von Nastybastard tried to kill Barry his curse bounced off him and hit Von Nastybastard flush in the crotch, leaving Barry with a distinctive scar on his forehead, and Baron Von Nastybastard with an ineffective set of testicles. Most people ignored Barry’s scar out of courtesy, but it was plain for all to see, the rendering of a child’s simple stylized drawing of a cock, and a pair of balls.

‘Oh dear me! Is that the time? That took longer than I expected. Run along now Barry, back to the tower.’ Said the Professor straightening himself out. Barry always found himself to be rather poorly coordinated after these sessions, with his arms and legs feeling heavy. His head felt cloudy, the last thing he could remember was the professor holding the hem of his wizard’s robes up to Barry’s mouth and telling him to breathe deeply, and secure his mind against Von Nastybastards evil penetrations.

With his arms and legs feeling leaden, Barry found it an arduous to climb up the stairs to the Frygindor common room, but he was looking forward to seeing his two best friends Dom Beasley and Cordelia Puckle.

Harry and Dom had been friends from their very first day at school and Dom’s lack of self esteem helped to add to Barry’s already inflated opinion of himself. Dom had low self esteem for a reason, because he was a mindlessly uncoordinated dick, and there was nothing Barry liked doing more than to watch Dom balls up performing mundane, everyday chores.

‘Hello Barry! How was the professor this evening?’ Asked Cordelia as she looked over the top of the book she was reading. Whenever Cordelia spoke to Barry he would start to feel a little funny, and the other night he had dreamed of her sat astride his Nimbus 2000, riding it recklessly around the Quidditch pitch.

‘Hi Cordelia, you haven’t seen Dom anywhere have you?’ Asked Barry.

‘He’s up in your room, studying, or so he says. He does seem to be studying so much recently, but his grades never get any better. Strange.’

‘Well you know what they say, you can’t polish a turd. I better go up and see him. Goodnight Cordelia.’

Cordelia did not respond, her attention being engrossed in the book she was reading for potions homework. Barry climbed the stairs up to the room he shared with Dom and two other Frygindor boys, an Irish boy Paddy O’Furniture and Nevile Stretchedanus. As Barry approached the door to their room, he was surprised by how quiet it was. He opened the door and Dom quickly pulled up the bed sheets sending the latest issue of ‘Witches, Bitches and Wizard’s Wives’ catapulting across the room. Spread across the front cover, Barry recognized the provocatively posed figure of Fanny Fellatio, a witch that had been involved in a scandal at Pigshingles just last. Papers reported that Fanny had performed lewd acts with a slaughter of leprechauns. It had brought a great deal of shame to the school, fortunately Professor Bumsosore had arrived at the scene  first, and prevented the leprechauns from initiating some tag team action. Fanny and the Leprechauns (which coincidentally went on to become a hit porn movie) were immediately expelled.

‘Working hard again Dom?’ Asked Barry sarcastically.

‘What do you think it is she sees in leprechauns?’ Wondered Dom. Barry looked at the hapless Dom. ‘Just get over her will you! You’ve missed your chance, I mean she was hardly being subtle when she when she asked you if she could polish your wand. And to think you actually passed her your wand and a duster.’

Dom jumped out of from beneath the sheets still displaying evidence of being partly aroused. He walked round the bed and picked up ‘Witches and Bitches’, and showed Barry a tasteful picture, in which Miss Fellatio was trying her hardest to make a vegetable disappear without the use of magic.

‘I don’t know what you still see in her Dom. You have nothing in common, and what would your mum say?’

‘But I know where to hide the cucumber now, it would be different, I could be the wizard she wants me to be.’

It was painful to see such a dullard hurting himself owing to his inability to grasp reality. Barry was about to say something when the picture of Fanny Fellatio caught his eye and his scar started to throb. Barry winced, but not through pain.

‘Barry what’s happening?’

‘I don’t know Dom, it’s my scar it feels funny.’

Dom looked at Barry with his permanent vapid  expression, meanwhile the scar continued to throb and throb,,,,,,,,,,,,,,