Friday, 24 June 2016

Congratulations, Leave voter

Content note: the following contains a lot of ranting about the Euro Referendum result, which in itself might be triggering. It also contains a section where I write from the viewpoint of a geriatric Leave voter, which includes some of the racist terms they use, a pretty horrific description of a disaster in the Channel Tunnel and the phrase 'a horsecock class dildo covered in chili powder'. There's also an extended metaphor about Leave voters pissing in their kids' faces. 

Congratulations, Leave voter. You won. In the tightest referendum in British history, which divided the country and led to the murder of an MP, you managed to squeak out a victory in the same way I might squeak out a fart I wouldn’t want the Queen to hear. You must feel so very proud.

Will you still feel proud in a year’s time, I wonder? When the consequences of your decision take effect? Maybe. It’ll be nice, won’t it, to sit there and kid yourself that we’re a great nation again. That we still have an Empire a commonwealth Scotland Gibraltar and the fucking Falklands. It’s just a shame about the children.

Because what you did, Leave voter, was you directed a warm streak of piss right into the faces of your children. That’s kind of weird behaviour, shouldn’t you be on a register or something? Maybe you are. Maybe you ought to be locked up. Ironically if you were you couldn’t vote, because it was the EU which wanted prisoners to be given that right. What Euro madness! Treating prisoners fairly! What a nonsense! It’s only been called one of the best ways you can judge a civilisation, but that was by one of them, the brown ones, and what do they know, eh?

Did you enjoy it? When you directed that hot streak of piss right into the faces of your children, I mean. Did it make you feel good? Did you almost get a semi for a second? Did you remember what that was like? It must have been so good, the thought that this act, this glorious sacrilege, the coppery stream splashing all over their innocent eyes, might almost remind you what it was like to have an erection, what it was like to feel wet, and oh it was worth it, wasn’t it, it was so worth it to have it back for a moment, that feeling of standing firm and erect like Plucky Little Albion, eh, going it alone, though you’ve handed the country over to the exact people we were going it alone to fight now so you even devalued our participation in the Second World War well done you  but don’t think too hard about that or you’ll lose it, Britain standing erect, alone, PROUD, FIRM and you’re not going to lose it, no, look at their faces, look at it dripping off their chins dammit, BRITAIN! PROUD, ERECT! ALONE! But no, no no no, the semi’s fading already, even urinating on kids won’t bring it back, it’s crashing like the fucking stock market, it’s dwindling to nothing, and you’re forced to accept that your member is as useless as Britain was to the EU. Never glad confident morning glory again, alas. And now all you’re left with is a shrivelled dick in your fist and kids whose faces are covered in piss and suddenly it seems like soap’s a lot more dear. Maybe they should just swim in the river. Maybe they should let it dry.

Maybe the staff in the shitty care home where you’ll wind up will just let it dry too. It turns out that for all the lies about us putting £350million into the EU we actually used to get a lot more out, and without that funding, and having lost our Triple A credit rating the morning the world discovered we weren’t a functioning adult polity anymore, everything is a lot more expensive, and your kids have less money, and they looked at you funny and said ‘since 2016’ when they dropped you off at the home and they’ve never been back. You were abandoned like a dog. Alone.

It didn’t stop brown people coming either. All the nurses here are coloureds now. No Polacks anymore. And more Syrians than ever since France stopped policing our borders at Calais. The trains to the continent stopped a while ago, the tunnel’s too dangerous now. It made you sick when you watched it on the news, about the fireball. People burning. People melting. They kept saying and you shouted at the screen in the lounge shut the fuck up about it they’re not people, and the nurse from Bongo-Bongo Land or wherever it is looked daggers at you when you said it.

There’s a lot of bruising on your arms. The nurses are rough when they put in your cannula. When they grapple you out of bed and into the sit-down bath. You could complain, but who to? There wasn’t the money to keep the CQC going. Care Home inspections are carried out by private firms now and they must be a success because the figures for failed inspections have gone down so much. But the staff are still rough. They still manhandle you. They still leave you to sleep in your piss. They still talk in their funny languages and now you realise how wrong you were when you would hear them on the bus because hate translates. You don’t need a two-way dictionary to work out when someone’s bitching about you, if someone can’t stand you you’ll know from their tone, and you know the tone that they use when they talk about you. But in a way it’s what you wanted. On the bus, in the street, when they talked in their own language you were sure that they talked about you, and now they do. In the same way you always imagined. You got what you wanted! Go you!

                           *                              *                                *

All I have right now is this coffee and these pages and now that the fascists have won I don’t even know how long I’ll have those. A laptop is a luxury now, now that I might wind up having to write on toilet paper, now that I might have to figure out how to hide pencils inside me, now that the work of resistance begins.

Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you all, all of you who voted Leave, and fuck you especially in the North East, fuck you in Sunderland.

What you have done is put this country in a situation where we are going to be as fucked up as Germany was after the War without even having a war. We can’t invade anywhere now, we pissed our waning military strength up the wall invading Iraq for no fucking reason back in 2003. But that won’t matter because you may not have noticed we’re in a recession which we never left, and if you’re in a recession it’s not a great idea to knock out one of your key sources of funding. Europe is going to punish us now, you do understand that, right? Did you think it would all be okay? Did you think it would all be peaches and cream and gloriously curving bananas now we’re ‘free’ of the best thing that ever happened to this shitty country? Well I’m sorry to have to disabuse you of that notion but that is not how it’s going to go down. Europe wants to stay together, and they need to punish anyone else who wants to split. We are going to be made an example of, pour encourager les autres.

Do you genuinely think Plucky Little England can stand alone? Did you buy our national myth about how that won the Second World War? History lesson: the Allies won the Second World War because of US military might and the immense human sacrifice undertaken by the Soviet Union. Little England, however much pluck it might have, couldn’t have won that thing alone. If your fantasy was real then we’d all be speaking German by now.

I don’t know, maybe you like that idea.

Well, you’re going to learn what it means to stand alone now, especially as such a little country. You’re going to learn what it means to be fucked, and I don’t mean in a sensitive way. I mean no lube, no foreplay and a horsecock class dildo smothered in chili powder. What is about to happen will be brutal. America will not help you. Russia might, but Putin regards us only as a bauble. He won’t risk shit to save you.

France will stop guarding our borders for us. Immigrants flooding into the UK? You got your wish, that will happen. Scotland will go independent and the border between England and civilisation will be more fortified than it’s been since the Romans. A fortified border will also go up in Ireland. Europe will cut off every source of funding we receive. The Common Agricultural Policy will no longer help our farmers survive. Pretty, pastoral picturesque England will become instead an arid prairie of intensive, single crop or animal farms. Hog farms will be free to create giant cesspits which poison the air and cause birth defects in children. What glorious sovereignty!

Did you vote Leave in the North East? Congratulations, you fucked yourself. How much of the money that paid for our renaissance, for the Sage and the Baltic and all the lovely, nice-looking places that bring in the tourists, the National Glass Centre and the Winter Gardens, all that, how much do you think came from Westminster? You do realise the people who wanted Brexit are the same people who wrote papers arguing that Sunderland should be left to fucking wither? Again: hot stream of piss, your children’s faces. That’s what you did. Well done Sunderland. Well done, scum. I hope the chilli powder really gets into the fissures in your xenophobic ass. Fuck you.

Fuck you everyone who voted Leave, fuck you, fuck you this morning and every morning from now until the time this shitty country withers away to complete historical irrelevancy which, from the looks of it, will be next Tuesday lunchtime. Fuck your white faces, fuck your hateful little white children, fuck your white bread and your white food and your stupid mostly-white flag. Fuck your idea of what coffee is. Fuck your stupid fucking builders’ tea. Fuck your faces. Fuck your smug flapping mouths.

 And when, in twenty years’ time, England, defeated England, chastened England, penniless, pockmarked and camp-strewn England  begs for membership again, begs for readmittance on any terms, grovels to France and Germany and even the remaining Eastern European states which have become a paradise compared to our own, we will, in all probability, not be around to say we told you so because those defeated little Englanders will either have forced us to flee to an outpost of civilisation like Scotland or will simply have killed us off.

But if spirits exist then our spirits will see the final humiliation of England and derive joy from it. I hope that’s true, and I hope it’s what happens.

But we can’t kid ourselves anymore. Revolutionaries are dead men on leave. I would say dead people, of all genders. Because that’s what we are now. We are the dead.

And England is the enemy.

Fuck you Nigel Farage. Fuck you Boris Johnson. Fuck you Michael fucking Gove, Iain fucking Duncan fucking Smith, fuck everyone who voted leave. You’re my enemies now ‘til my body stops breathing.

I will see you fucking die. Whether from here or abroad or the fucking spirit world I will see you, and the pathetic dreams of your wizened little pseudo-nation die.

War it is. 

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