Tuesday, 9 June 2009

Welcome to Hell, gentlemen

I'd like to take this opportunity to bid a hearty welcome to the BNP's new representatives in the European Parliament, Nick 'The Fat Hatemonger' Griffin and Andrew 'Sorry, what did you say your name was, again?' Brons . In particular, I'd like to say how much I'm looking forward to watching their work in that august institution. No, really. I am genuinely looking forward to seeing how they do. I'm as giddy with excitement as a schoolgirl at a Jonas Brothers gig.

Because, you see, I know that now they're in, they're going to get absolutely monstered. They're going to make themselves look like idiots in the Parliament itself, and every single fuck-up and dumb, hate-filled remark they make will be aired absolutely everywhere within seconds. Richard Barnbrook , the knuckle-dragging BNP oaf who somehow managed to get himself elected to the London Assembly, has been hauled over the digital coals for telling a series of outrageous lies, marginalised by his own party, and completely pwned in debate by Boris Johnson, of all people.

And that's exactly what's waiting for Griffin and Brons. By the time these two jokers are finished their time in office, they'll have made themselves look like such idiots that even the whey-faced, shit-eating scum who voted them in this time - and it's worth keeping in mind that less people voted for them at these Euro elections than did at the last - even the vile, hate-filled cretins who have to rack their memories of their failed primary-school education to remember how to draw an 'X' in the box on the ballot paper next to the funny shapes with the flag in them, even those idiots will decide these two are too dumb to represent them.

This is a decisive turning point, but not in the way that Nick Griffin likes to think. This isn't the first step in the glorious march of Fascism across Europe: it's the BNP being given, at long last, enough rope with which to hang themselves.

The best thing is that, even as they're swinging in the wind, the last drops of vitality seeping out of their bodies as their puny reptilian brains, stung into action by a vague sense-memory of normal human nervous reactions, nudge them towards something vaguely resembling the involuntary reflex orgasm of death by hanging, Brons and Griffin will still deny that the rope even exists, and will probably claim that the apparent lack of breath in their bodies is simply more evidence of a Jewish conspiracy to stir up hatred against indigenous white Britons by comparing them to corpses, and anyway if they aren't breathing properly it's because Islam has been scientifically proven to reduce the oxygen content of indigenous British air, and besides which darkies queers paedos Islams dammit I want Hitler in me akk akk akk akk aaaaaakkk...

And then, as the swinging corpses describe their ever-decreasing arc to stillness and the warped wood of the gallows creaks like a badly-oiled bicycle wheel and an unkindness of ravens makes ready to peck out their eyes, the idiots of Britain, surprised by the newsflash breaking in to the commercial between Britain's Got Loonies and Celebrity Hooker and John, will turn to each other, and ask 'Is that those two morons you voted for, when you were pissed on White Lightning that morning?'

And there will, of course, be much rejoicing.

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