Tag Archives: Satire

The downfall of lockdowns

Well it had to happen sometime. Yet another ‘Downfall’ parody.

Sweetly apposite. ‘Nuff said.

It’s at times like these…

…that I just want to swear at the proponents of lockdowns like Samuel L Jackson.

Included in this number; The entire political establishment of Canada, the EU, New Zealand, UK and USA, and most of the panic mongering mainstream media. Also ‘Progressive’ NGO’s and anyone who follows their specious diktats are especially included in this number.

None of them have the wit to run a bath without inflicting their half-baked progressive politics on the rest of us. Neither do people who say they believe in ‘science’ without actually reading any of the scientific literature properly. Witless bunch.

My ill temper has been mostly created because I’ve just had a very trying meeting over building design with someone who just doesn’t understand about structure, services or the basics of sketching and don’t see why anyone should be exempted from a damn good swear. The mess we’re in is all the fault of people like the aforementioned. Every last single Muthaf*ckin’ thing.

I feel strangely better for having said that.

Muthaf*cka’s.

Being mindful

We are continually being told that ‘mindfulness’ is a good thing, a goal to be aspired to, the epitome, the acme of all that is good and righteous. To be ‘mindful’, practitioners inform us, is the path to enlightenment, nirvana, and paying off the mortgage on time. Now it seems that this key precept is failing, with many practitioners straying from the path and in the process becoming narcissistic, vile little eejits you wouldn’t cross the road to piss down their throats if their lungs were on fire. But they weren’t nice people to begin with, and no amount of ‘awareness’ and Yogurt can change their true nature, merely the way it is expressed, in saccharine insincerity, passive-aggressiveness and massive self-delusion.

Now it may surprise you, dear reader (Look, there’s one of you out there, I think) but I too once delved into the innermost secrets of the universal soul through meditation and Yoga. Through my contemplations of the infinite and divine, I have become the person I am today. Does this surprise anyone? Yes? No? Don’t give a monkeys? Whatever.

Now my yoghurt and mendicant training goes back a few years to the Dojo where I studied, a small covert room over a Chinese Restaurant in sunny Stoke on Trent. A secret place where ancient masters taught the stoic arts and the ancient, obscure Welsh martial art of LLap Mivitalls, which consists of disciplining mind and body to hardship via the use of large cups of tea and bacon sandwiches consumed in the vast hidden reaches of industrial estates and lorry parks. The major part of which consists of learning how to eat your bacon sandwich in a torrential downpour without diluting your tea or letting your bacon sandwich get soggy. You can brag about the athletic prowess of Shaolin monks all you like, but such things are child’s play when faced with the inner serenity a black belt in this Welsh martial art can attain. Let’s face it, when you can calmly munch your way through breakfast in a heavy Welsh downpour whilst looking totally relaxed, you are indeed a force to be reckoned with.

BC, my home for the last decade or so, is now infested with a plague of ‘mindfulness’ and narcissism to the point where recovery is not possible. There can be no vaccine for this plague, only the burgeoning awareness of the sufferer that all is not well with them, and why their friends seem to clam up or roll their eyes whenever the practitioner of mindfulness opens their mouth.

At my Dojo, we were warned about this outcome by the Dojo’s chief mentor, Lobsang Dai, a Cardiff born man and part time Tom Jones impersonator (Ask your Granny). “Now young disciple, look you.” He would say. “All this talk of inner focus is all very well, but will it keep the rain from getting inn your tea?” He would opine further. “The path to inner serenity lies not in the actions of others, but of looking to yourself and not letting the water in. And putting your right leg behind your left ear isn’t that impressive.” With such sage teaching has my path to inner enlightenment been scattered. If we studied hard that lesson, he would demonstrate his hip twist, and how it could instantly bring down ladies underwear. Never understood why he wore such apparel, but to each their own. We were a very progressive class.

Sadly Lobsang Dai is no more, having fallen from grace to the charms of a Hungarian long distance lorry driver called Magda, but my fellow disciples and I remember his teachings with great fondness.

Dear Santa…..

Dear Santa,

Now as a grown up I’m told you don’t exist, but if, on the off chance you somehow do, I’d like to point out that I’ve been very, very good this year and would like to ask for a few things. If you think some of my listed items are a bit of an ask, I’d like to point out that I haven’t asked or begged for anything from you before in my entire life, but I would very much appreciate one or all of the following;

1. An end to all the palaver over BREXIT. I’d just like to see no deal happen so the EU wakes up and give the UK a Canada style free trade deal so we can all move on.
2. An end to the relentless propaganda over this virus thingy. Some unpleasant accidents to befall those constantly advocating for lockdowns. The demise or shutting down of Piers Morgan and his entire propaganda team would be nice. Something messy and public please, so we’re left in no possible doubt why it’s happening to them and their fellow travellers.
3. An end to the lockdowns and mask restrictions please would be appreciated. They serve no useful purpose.
4. Some kind of legal safeguard to be put in place so that these lockdowns can never ever happen again.
5. A return to pre-COVID normal life and sanity please.
6. Some kind of serious poetic justice against the most enthusiastic COVID enforcers and snitches would be much appreciated.

You see Santa, I’m not asking for myself, but for the rest of humanity who are continually watching their human rights and livelihoods being trampled. Not by any virus, but by stupid panicky people whose brains have shut down with all the fear being pumped out by the politicians and media.

Would really, really appreciate some intervention. Please and pretty please with sugar on it.

Many thanks in advance and a happier 2021 to us all.

Bill Sticker

P.S. For me, a small Christmas stocking with a Satsuma orange or two, a small bar of chocolate and maybe a packet of wine gums would be highly appreciated on Christmas morning. There’s a large bottle of vintage Port in the drinks cabinet. Put your boots up, give the reindeer a breather and have a large drink on me.

Lemon and Lime Mousse

Food post. As if you didn’t know from the title, but literacy is so neglected in these times that sometimes one is forced to reiterate. Right, this mousse comes with a mental health warning. If it were human it would be a bullwhip-toting dominatrix clad in white stockings, leather basque and no knickers. And heading your way with a knowing smile. Seriously. This little dish is salacious.

There are some times you luck on to something which teases some taste buds, putting the rest in chains then bending them over a chair. Similarly, this is a recipe for the BDSM crowd that punches back through your salivary glands and leaves you with a sensation of pressure at the back of your shoulders. Well it did for me. Mrs S is reporting similar sensations. Caveat; this is very, very grown up. Children will not like it because it is not very sweet. Grown ups will because it isn’t.

Mousse is normally a fairly mundane dish. Soft and billowy in the mouth, tasty and refreshing, but fairly unmemorable. Mousse can be the base of a pleasant savoury starter or a lightweight dessert but this one is neither. The texture is light and billowy like a ballerina’s tutu, but with the bite of a lime flavoured mongoose on methamphetamine.

To experience this sensation you will need;
1 lemon
1 lime
1 tablespoon of granulated sugar, no more
Half a pint of whipping cream
1 dessert spoon of full fat Greek Yoghurt
A large bowl and a whisk
3-4 raspberries for garnish per serving

The above recipe will make enough for three people. You may also need a bucket of water with five pounds of ice in it. Or not, depending upon your personal predilections. The great thing is that it’s very unfussy. No eggs, no gelatin, no unpleasant bending, just simple ingredients in proportion.

Squeeze the juice of both the lemon and the lime into a small glass. Remove pips but not the pulp.
Put the cream in the mixing bowl and whisk until it begins to thicken.
Add sugar and continue whipping until the cream stiffens.
When mix is stiff enough that most of it forms a soft lump inside your whisk, fold in the Yoghurt.
Mix in the lemon and lime juice.
Decant into serving bowls. I use small Ramekins.
Put in fridge for half an hour to finish setting.
Garnish with raspberries.
You may also garnish with a little lemon and lime zest. If you dare.

Eat and enjoy the savage tartness. At this point you may need to use the bucket of iced water. As for the rest, well disclaimer alert; this blog takes no responsibility for your actions during or after consumption. Do not eat in public. We will not pay your bail money.

Now I must go and polish my mistresses high leather boots.

A business opportunity

Having had a look at some of the ‘Vaccination’ cards supposedly to be used as ID, I’m amazed at how easy to fake they will be. A picture of both sides of the card, fake batch number and appointment date and Robert, as they say, will be one’s fathers brother. Any modest home office could turn out hundreds. A photo printer could probably print out better looking copies. I believe there are even pre-cut ID card templates on sale via stationery stores.

No doubt this has occurred to everyone with a working brain cell, but a combo scanner / fax / printer, scissors, card and glue with a small home pouch laminator and you have all you need to charge ten quid a pop. Flash one of these at the average security guard (or below average if you’re talking about ‘COVID Marshalls’) and all of a sudden you’re a solid vaccinated citizen. Keep a few spares in your wallet to sell to friends. Charge your enemies ten times more.

No doubt certain enterprising gentlemen in the illegal intoxicants trade already have copies rolling off backstreet printing presses, out of the back door and via their distribution networks. Soon to appear on every dodgy mobile phone cracking market stall or via some slightly shady home delivery service.

Don’t you just love private enterprise?

Did say this whole COVID restriction business was as flawed as the idea of Prohibition. All you need is a plausible copy of a ‘vaccination’ card and you’re in to whatever gig / pub / club you want to, no dodgy jab necessary.

Only Governments can cock up like this.

Conspiracy theories.

I try not to deal in conspiracy theories, only in that which can be independently verified. The numbers contain truth, only people lie. So it is with COVID-19. I’ve been called an ‘arrogant conspiracy theorist’ for saying that the worst was over in May, when the numbers clearly support my view. However, there are those so entrenched in their world view, so poisoned with fear that they have nothing left but insult and denigration in their playbook. They will never be convinced. I say let them hide behind closed windows and curtains for the rest of their days if they so choose. At least let the rest of us get on with our lives. SARS/COV-2 is endemic within the population now.

I wish the idiocacy of the mainstream media would stop trying to sell the same tired old disaster narrative, which is, like the motivation for the second Iraq war, a conspiracy theory based on the notorious ‘dodgy dossier’. But no, the current crop of talking heads drone on with the same old tosh.

On the other hand, ‘awaken with JP’ nails it. The media deals in conspiracy theories better than real conspiracy theorists. Who knew?

Watch and laugh, then cry a little for all the harm that is being done in the name of fear.

Today I have to snarl at a few people. Something that never sits well with me. The dragons scales must flash a little. Not much, just enough to let the subjects of my displeasure know that they have erred. Then I can get on with moving some money around.

An ordinary act of terrorism

Went into Local Store the other day, the local radio station was on in the background. “Er, yeah. So we’re going into level five in a few weeks. We’ve had a doubling of cases over in Ennis to at least thirty, and a report of someone sneezing in Shannon. Two elderly people died of an influenza like illness which we’re assuming was COVID-19. Health authorities believe a sniffle may have been involved and a Gardai task force has been set up. So we’re going to lobby Government to go into level five lockdown at the end of the next three weeks.”

All right, I made that up, but it is closely representative of the non-stop terrorism the mainstream media are inflicting on us all. Endless repetition of the disaster narrative. We’re all doomed unless no one can never ever go out of their house ever again. Don’t listen to the ‘Deniers’ or the doctors who say it’s not that big a deal, they’re all a bunch of cranks and half wits. On and on it goes. All the time.

This is how Hamlet’s father died in Shakespeare’s play, through having “Poison poured in his ear” by the evil Claudius until the King died of despair.

This is terrorism, plain and simple. A hostile act against an entire way of life, and we’re doing it to ourselves by listening to the scaremongers.

Switch off the propaganda, step outside out in your back yard, or open a window and take a breath of sweet morning air instead. Stop, look around and listen to the birdsong. Take a moment to drink in the calm. Masks are no longer necessary. There is little to be afraid of if you’re looking after yourself properly. Life, outside of the media terror bubble, is good. Chill.

This was a public service announcement.

About time, maybe…

Mrs S and I are taking a time out today, as she has been spending far too much time behind a keyboard. I have baked bread this morning and being an habitual early riser, left it to cool ready for her breakfast. When she gets out of bed there will be tea, coffee and toast. I like early mornings. There’s time to think and consider before the sun comes up and the noise of the day crowds around you. And who doesn’t like waking up to the smell of fresh baking and new brewed tea or coffee?

One of today’s tasks is getting out and about, checking on what’s open and what isn’t. Looking around and packing our bags for the next part of our journey. I’ve been taking advice from locals and they say that as we’re far out of Dublin, there won’t be much to worry about. I fancy a trip around the Dingle peninsula. Our last trip to a beach was a bit lonely as we were the only people in sight. Today’s forecast is for rain, but I have a seeming that it will pass and I’ll end up needing sunglasses by early afternoon.

Well now, we’re well into the third week of the ‘second spike’ or ‘second wave’ of ‘cases’, so can I ask a few questions? What’s the death and hospitalisation count? Anyone? Come on chaps, the rise in cases started over a couple of weeks ago, so hundreds of people should start to drop like flies around about now. Anybody seeing that? No? Riight.

Does this whole wavy hand panicmongering start to look more than a bit foolish to you? Because all the detected SARS/COV-2 infections should start to cycle through the system by now, surely? The ICU’s should be standing room only and the mortuaries should be starting to stack ’em up in refrigerated containers, right? What? It’s not happening? All the potential COVID-19 deaths the ‘Government scientists’ have been banging on about, where are they? Where are they hiding? Is there some dark and super secret government base where all the excess stiffs are being disposed of in huge crematoria, or on ‘black sites’ known only to a privileged few? Do you mean to tell me there aren’t any? What? Only one or two ‘extra’ deaths? Well that’s no fun. I feel rather cheated. I was promised a proper apocalypse and I want this one sent back for a refund.

All that drama, all the flashing red and blue lights and people in smart new uniforms dashing back and forth doing derring deeds? Or is the sad truth that there are few who need saving, apart from the usual falling over a toy on the stairs or one of the many banal banana skins of life. Even Trump is back in the saddle after only a weekend’s treatment. Much to the elevated blood pressure of all those deluded lefties who seem to be seriously intellectually challenged when it comes to understanding how the world works.

I hate to be a Donnie Downer (No I don’t – I love it), forever raining on the panicmongers parade, but the SARS/COV-2 crisis is over. The ‘second wave’ should be crashing down about our ears like a massive Tsunami right about now if all the ‘experts’ had even the faintest scintilla of credibility.

Let’s face it, as I’ve said before, these are the same clique of ‘experts’ whose advice led to the foot and mouth debacle, decimating UK beef and dairy herds, sending family farms into bankruptcy. And the same people who predicted an epidemic of Mad Cow disease in humans. Whatever happened to that?

Where are the zombie hordes staggering around the streets… no, sorry, you’re quite right, they’re the ones still wearing masks, wearing masks in their car with the windows rolled up, or all alone walking across an empty car park, glaring and shaking their heads at people going about their business maskless. Forgot about those. Apologies. The unthinking Zeeps. Gotcha.

Those are the people I intend to avoid today. Despite the forecast rain it might just be a lovely day.

Our main weapon is…

Mockery, and bags of it. These bloody silly restrictions need mocking at every point. Like those you see in lifts (Elevators), where only two people are supposed to be in there at any one time. Has anyone seen the markers where there are two markers on the floor designating where users of the lift are to stand and it looks like they want you to think you’re on the ‘naughty step’ or the ‘dunces corner’ facing the wall, head down, not allowed to look around like some schoolboy being humiliated in front of the class for some petty infraction?

I roared with laughter. “Look Hon.” I said to Mrs S. “This elevator comes with it’s own built in naughty step.”
“Stand on it.” She said tersely. She finds my sense of humour a little trying sometimes.

So I did. “Sorry Miss.” I said meekly.
“You’re not kidding anyone.” She replied.

Not the end of the world

Moving forward into our new place and getting stuff organised. There’s a lot of detail to go through and I’m busier than a bee on amphetamines. However, each step forward brings us closer to getting sorted. It’s just time and effort. Mrs S is up to her neck in her own affairs, so it falls to me to ensure things happen in their proper order. Fortunately we agreed a division of labour for this move and we’re all good. Money is coming in and we’re actually paying less in terms of rent and utilities for a similar size property than we were in BC. All we have to do is ensure the cash goes to the right places. Such is the life of a permanent expat. Not that I mind, it’s actually fun if you have the right attitude.

As for all the COVID-19 restrictions, apart from masking up to go into shops when we’re in town they’re no big deal. The people who are suffering the most are the urbanites and students under house arrest, particularly if they’re living on campus.

Not that the people who impose these rules are following them, the hypocrites. They still get to go to dinner parties of more than six people any time it suits them. And their bars don’t have to shut at 10pm. I also bet no-one goes peering through their letterboxes.

One rule for us plebs and divine privilege for them. Don’t they understand that we’ve chopped the heads off royalty over divine rights and exclusive privilege? I bet that Charles 1st was thinking as he was being led to the block for a quick bit off the top “I wish I’d told everyone that one rule should be for all, not just the privileged few.” Foolish man. Took thirteen years to get back to somewhere near normal after three civil wars in the 1640’s. What? You thought there was only one? There possibly was one period of civil war, but there were actually three English civil wars where there was actual fighting if you take the time to read the History properly. Charlie boy lost all three. And his head because the silly bugger couldn’t take the hint. Dozy eejit.

Perhaps the current powers that be might benefit from reading their history a little more closely. Because this whole SARS/COV-2 business isn’t the end of the world. If people paid attention it might just be the beginning of a much better one. Which is why the current draconian restrictions are proving counter-productive, but who listens to me? I’m just a blogger with a lifetime of world-experience. They’re just chickens with their heads cut off wearing their face masks wrong. See inset picture and click to enlarge for a giggle.

And I’ve got this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side.

Anyway, it’s not the end of the world, even if all the over privileged drama queens want it to look like it is. It’s effectively a lot of fuss about what we can clearly see now is a comparatively low risk. The worst is past. Time to move on. I’m sick of writing about it, and I bet my last remaining reader, if they’re still here, is pig sick of hearing the fear-porn about COVID-19 as well.

Eleanor Rigby redux

All the frightened people, where do they all come from? All the frightened people, where do they all belong? To bowdlerise the chorus rhyme scheme of the old Beatles number ‘Eleanor Rigby’ which I have reworded for 2020 below.

Ah, look at all the frightened people!
Ah, look at all the frightened people!

Eleanor Rigby
Watches the news on the box for all the fear stats
Maybe she’s bats
Watches the Telly
Hiding her face with a mask from behind her closed door
What is it for?

All the frightened people
Where do they all come from?
All the frightened people
Where do they all belong?

Doctor McKenzie
Writing the words of a lecture that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working
Writing his blog in the night when there’s nobody there
Why does he care?

All the frightened people
Where do they all come from?
All the frightened people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the frightened people!
Ah, look at all the frightened people!

Eleanor Rigby
Died all alone and cremated along with her name
Nobody came
Doctor McKenzie
Hand sanitising out in the ward but there’s no-one to heal
Thinks it’s unreal

All the frightened people (Ah, look at all the frightened people!)
Where do they all come from?
All the frightened people (Ah, look at all the frightened people!)
Where do they all belong?

Original sequence from Yellow Submarine, the Beatles movie (I have a DVD copy) in YT video below. Tell me it’s not bang on the money.

Mrs S and I are hunkering down at our new place away from all the insanity. Heating and insurances have been organised, rent paid in advance and we’re sorting out our Interweb connection ahead of moving in our worldly goods. It’s a bit echoey at the moment and we’re subsisting off mobile data, which is okay, but sometimes the connection can get a bit hokey, which is par for the course. Then there’s just the business of our driving licences and getting our clean driving records acknowledged by the insurance brokers.

On the upside, a turn around the streets of our closest new town shows all the symbols of people getting pissed off with the lockdowns. “Free the streets” placards in business windows, people paying lip service to the restrictions, wearing masks with nose and even mouth exposed just so they can breathe properly. No-one getting really upset just yet, although I’m waiting for some kind of anti-lockdown protest to snowball from students under house arrest in their halls of residence. Maybe they could have a ‘sneeze in’ over the security who are forcing them to stay in their rooms during ‘Freshers week’? Or more appropriately all over the pro-lockdown politicians. That could be fun.

We need aliens

Mrs S and I were discussing the current government caused coronacrisis yesterday as the rain fell and a thought popped into my head. “What we need. Really need right this minute.” I declaimed. “Is a bloody great flying saucer landing in every capital city on the planet. We need aliens. It would take everyone’s mind off this stupid panic.”

Mrs S started to laugh, then her expression changed. “That’s not such a bad idea Bill.” She replied. “But it’s hardly likely.”
“A man can dream can’t he?” I said, staring gloomily at the trees. At that moment I would have shaken tentacular appendages with whatever life form who wanted to say drop by and say / squeak / whatever hello.

Does anyone else feel this way about lockdown and this belated and unnecessary mask policy? We really need a real-life, no shit Sherlock event to wake people up from their blind compliance. A few starships dropping off tourists to visit our blue green marble might be just the societal kick up the arse everyone needs right now. Arecibo is off line at the moment, so they could probably sneak right on by and drop in for tea / beverage of choice.

If any non-humans from beyond our solar system are reading a translation of this text, don’t be shy. Come on down and just remove the uncertainty. Give our politicians something to really think about. Phasers or whatever energy weapons you have need not be set to stun when you meet them.

No alien civilisations were harmed in the writing of this blog post.

Scolds

Here at the Bill Sticker Paragraph Ranch, we’ve been raising sentences and phrases at stud for years and are currently training thoroughbreds for the rough and tumble of the St Mildews essay stakes steeplechase.

This morning, as I was making my daily tour of inspection, one of our doughty staff trainers waved me over as he was giving our little corral of suffixes their oat and bran mash. Beset by curiosity I went to the fence. “Morning Igor.” I said, raising my umbrella and sealing my immersion suit.
“Greetingth marsthter.” I could see by the look on his scars that there was a problem.
“Okay, what is it? Spit it out.” Shouldn’t have said it quite like that, but I did.
“We’ve got the Scoldth marsthter” He gushed.
“You mean Scolds?” I asked after I’d hosed off all the resultant snot and spittle.
“Yeth.”
“Nagging pain? Ringing in the ears? Depression?” I enquired.
“Yeth.”
“Oh dear. I knew there was an epidemic, but I hoped we’d be spared the worst of it.” I remarked. This was bad. A dose of the scolds at premises like ours can ruin everybody’s week. “How bad is it?”
“They’ve got the Thunbergth Marsthter.”
“Wrong climate eh?” I remarked, trying to make light of the situation. But I could see the state of our suffixes. They looked despondent, preferring to huddle in a corner, periodically glancing upwards in a manner best described as terrified.

Getting a dose of the Thunbergs, a nasty carrier for the terrent caeli virus can play havoc with a paragraph, not to mention what its related condition the iustitia socialis bacterium can do. You often end up with runaway pronouns and it takes ages to get those under control. Most of those infected pronouns die of course, but the infected language then needs a thorough de-worming, which is a protracted and very messy business no-one really likes doing. The Grammarian fees are phenomenal.

I paused, opened my visor and scratched my chin thoughtfully before closing it again. “Have we any Sargonite left?”
“Didn’t work marsthter. Itth the logic rethithtant variety.”
“How about a quick course of the historicals? I thought we had some Hellerian or Wattsup for this kind of thing.”
“Tried everything thur. Lithten to the poor little thingth marsthter. Itth pathetic.”
Sure enough, all I could hear from the pen of suffixes was the sad, soft bleating of “Denier, denier.”

Frankly it was heartbreaking. A whole chapter of suffixes infected. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. “Shoot them all.” I said grimly.

Dear Remainers

Hello My dear BREXIT remain campaigners,

Just a little missive from over the pond to say hi and point out a few things. If the UK does not leave the EU on the 31st October 2019 you are all screwed. Not just you, but the Brexiteers as well. In fact the whole population of the dear old UK. As an expat, my funds have very little exposure in Europe at present, but yours. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. You are so totally fucked. Not because of BREXIT itself, but by the continual uncertainty and delay you have caused.

Why do I say this? Well a few reasons actually, and they’re not hard to see from my moderately lofty viewpoint. If the UK bends the knee to the EU, either as a vassal state or still within that bureaucratic morass, I have seen hints that the next decade won’t be much fun for UK Plc as a whole. In fact you’ll only think it’s fun if you’re really into sadomasochism in a big way. This includes all those small to medium sized businesses struggling to compete in an environment ever more skewed by the EU to favour the big corporates.

Point of order here; you Remainers might think that you are on the side of ‘democracy’. Yet any effective democracy will die if the UK stays within the EU. Because the EU as now structured has about as much democracy as had the old Soviet Union. Don’t take my word for this, the documentation is all on the EU’s web site. All the legislation. All those regulations that will begin to tighten around the UK like a seventeenth century hangman’s noose. One that slowly constricts and strangles whilst the feet of the condemned dance in the air. Slow and painful. The economic punishment beatings of austerity will forever be your lot. See Greece.

You see, all the bad things that will follow a failed Brexit will be for your own good. Also to serve as an example for any other bumptious little country with ideas above its station who dares to even think of leaving the glorious EU empire. Also like Greece, your constitution and a thousand years of law will be torn into tiny little shreds. If you have the ill fortune to find yourself in a court of law, the onus will increasingly be on you to prove your innocence against fairly flimsy evidence. Think that’s easy? I could cite the examples of the UK Family courts where most fathers are considered guilty upon the most paper thin allegations. Like the so-called Canadian court of human rights where evidence for the defence can be (and often is) dismissed at whim. You’re there so you’ve got to have done something? Right? Think Twitter hate mobs are bad? These will be worse. Not only that but not falling foul of the rising flood of legislation will be an increasingly more difficult task. You will have lost even the pretext of innocence before the law. The process will go like so; allegation, automatic charging, show trial, conviction, sentence. Defence? Oh dear me no.

By the way, did you know that although the EU does not officially have a death penalty, there is a law on their statute books that allows for one to be imposed should you ‘insult’ the European Union? Go look. It was there when I last checked. So wrongthink might take UK citizens to whatever execution device the Eurocrats deem fit. Be that a bullet in the head or the horror of the Fallbiel. Even if at first it is only those filthy Brexiteers who literally get it in the neck. Don’t think that these self-serving Eurocrat bastards won’t consider mass murder to keep themselves in positions of power and privilege.

My brother in law, a staunchly typical remainer, has indicated that he would be more than happy to fill mass graves just for the ‘privilege’ of remaining within the European Union. So don’t say that it’s all paranoia. Remainers have left those on the pro leave side of the fence with no illusions on associated matters and what they’ll do, given half a chance. So give the pseudo moral outrage a rest. You’re only fooling yourselves.

Add to that, in case of civil unrest I hear that there are plans to deploy non-UK Police personnel and non-UK military personnel on UK territory. Think I’m talking from an orifice not normally used for that purpose? Go look it up. All within the EU’s web pages. The EU Army we were told was an febrile illusion invented by a deluded pro BREXIT faction? That’s there too. Ever closer union? Now we learn that was always the way this was going. The Eurocrats have been working toward that goal since day one. A new German empire with it’s own patrician class that you won’t be able to get rid off.

Free person or modern day serf. Ask yourself this; do you really want to be at someone else’s unfettered beck and call all your life? The EU will make you all slaves to a self-selecting elite. Think it’s bad now?

Oh and the European Central Bank is in serious financial trouble. The printing presses are rolling and ECB interest rates are sub zero. If you haven’t pulled your funds out, do so now. As a small investor I took this step a couple of years ago.

Now there is, however, one bright spot in all the imagined gloom that the remainer pundits endlessly (and tediously) predict. If a ‘no-deal’ Brexit does go through on the 31st October, at least you won’t have to hear another EU Parliament speech from Nigel Farage ever again.

See you in mid-October,

Stay safe.

Bill

P.S. I may be outside Canada when our Federal elections happen, but there’s a thing over here called ‘advance voting’ so Mrs S and I can get our anti-Trudeau ballots in the box before we board our plane.