Saturday, May 31, 2014

Chilcot Inquiry: US-UK Discussions Transcripts 2002-03

Email 2002/84

To: Rt. Hon Anthony Blair MP

From: POTUS@hotmail.com

Subject: Operation Kickin Saddams Fuckin Ass

Watchin clips from gulf war 1 Tony that road to basra is some fucked up shit this guys got his head all blowed off and his buddies are all like layin there all burned up and shit, totally rocks dude


Email 2002/85

To: POTUS@hotmail.com

From: Rt. Hon Anthony Blair MP

Subject: Operation Kickin Saddams Fuckin Ass

LOL

:)  :)

---------------------------------------------------

Transcript, Telephone #2, 10/06/2002 

BLAIR:   So we focus on the weapons issue - that we believe Saddam has stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction.

POTUS:  Hell, I believe that shit.  I can believe anything at takes, say he's like a fuckin wizard or something, shootin fireballs out his asshole and shit.

BLAIR:  Good.  It's important that the world sees that we're genuinely concerned about the threat that Saddam poses to international order, and that this invasion isn't seen to be personal in any way.

POTUS:  No sir.  After all, Saddam tried to kill my dad.

BLAIR:  And we're agreed that our aim is merely to uphold international norms, and that our quarrel is with the regime only.  We intend to create a new Iraq that will live at peace with it's neighbour.

POTUS:  I'm a-rootin for peace like a motherfucker over here, Tony.  When I take a leak, I'm literally pissin out my desire for peace all over the damn place.

(Crunching sounds) 

(Sound of POTUS choking on pretzel) 

(Sound of POTUS falling and bashing head against coffee table) 

----------------------------------------------------------
Transcript, Telephone #11 14/11/2002 

POTUS:  And Colin was all like, shit, shoot off one of these puppies at them Soviet tanks the Iraqis gonna be throwin at us, their skin'll be meltin off in like, two seconds flat.  Hoo-ah!

BLAIR:  That's excellent George, it's imperative -

POTUS:  Can I get a "Hoo-ah" from my little Britisher buddy?

BLAIR:  ...That we'll have superiority in combined arms, and -

POTUS:  Say it Tony, say it.  

BLAIR:  I really think we need to get back to -

POTUS:  SAY IT BITCH.

BLAIR:  Hoo-ah.

POTUS:  Hoo-ah!  Yeah, alright!   Woo-hoo!  Who's the meanest little badass in Parliament?

BLAIR:  (Sighs)  I am, George.

POTUS:  You're goddamn right.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Trancript, Telephone #24, 26/11/2002 

POTUS:  So Saddam is planning his big comeback, plotting how he's going to get even with everyone who ever wronged him.  He's teamed up with Satan, like, Satan himself, and it's like...  There's no-one to oppose him, but there's one thing he hasn't counted upon.

BLAIR:  Kenny.

POTUS:  Yeah that's it, like, Kenny's dead because the doctors accidentally switcherooed his heart for a potato, and everyone's like -

TOGETHER:  Oh my God, they killed Kenny!

POTUS:  (Laughs)

BLAIR:  (Laughs)  You bastards! 

POTUS:  And so Kenny goes up to Heaven but God's all like, no way sinner dude, and so he gets sent to Hell and totally disrupts Saddam's plan.

BLAIR:  And Satan's.

POTUS:  Yeah, and Satan's.  And that's like us, when you think about it.

BLAIR:  Yes.

---------------------------------------------------------

Transcript, Telephone #32, 10/12/2002 

POTUS:  But I must paint you, Tony.  Your skin is radiant like nukular porcelain.  Your eyes are like pissholes in an angel's wing, I must capture your fleeting, treacherous beauty.

BLAIR:  That's very nice of you to say so George, and -

POTUS:  I MUST PAINT YOU.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Email 2002/132

To: Rt. Hon Anthony Blair MP

From: POTUS@hotmail.com

Subject: Operation Kickin Saddams Fuckin Ass

14:43 29 December 2002

mnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnbhyu7777777777777777777778232292iuhfasdiufhahfoidfoafoihudddddddddddddddddddddddddd


Transcript, Telephone #38, 29/12/2002 

BARNEY:  Arf!  Arf!  Arf!  

POTUS:  Goddammit Barney, get the hell offa that laptop!  

BARNEY:  Arf!  Arf!

----------------------------------------------------------------

Transcript, Telephone #47, 02/03/2002 

BLAIR:  And of course you know, whatever you decide to do, I'm with you.

POTUS:   I'm just not sure, Tony.  That Jackie Chan sure is a hoot, but Agent Cody Banks has that kid from Malcolm in the Middle, and me and Laura just love that showDamn, this sure is a dilemma...  Cody Banks!  No, shoot, Shanghai Knights!  

BLAIR:  Shanghai Knights it is, then.  I'll bring the popcorn.

POTUS:  Cody Banks!

----------------------------------------------------------------- 


Transcript, Telephone #56, 14/03/2002

BLAIR:  So we're good to go but ideally, it would've been better if we could've got a few more allies on-side.  China, France, Germany, Russia.

POTUS:  Yeah, well, screw those weasels.  We got 265,000 troops in theatre, aircraft carriers, hundreds of fighters, cruise missiles, we got enough ka-boom there to blow up Iraq, like, ten times over.  We don't need those Chinese assholes.  We can do whatever we want and they can suck it if they don't like it...  I mean, I didn't see them rushin to help us out none when them Iraqis crashed them planes into the World Trade Center. 

BLAIR:  Actually, I think the hijackers were mostly Saudis, George.

POTUS:  Saudis, Iraqis, whatever, same difference.  The point is, we can't allow dangerous, unpredictable madmen who possess arsenals of deadly weaponry to hold the world to ransom.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

The League Cup Of UK Politics

So with the polls closing, some final observations about the European Parliament election campaign:

- The Euro elections are a bit like the English League Cup - nobody really cares that much, except for a few cranks and obsessives, and outfits full of hideous, ignorant mutants usually perform quite well in it.

When it comes to a serious competition though, the mutants finish in the outer arse-end of nowhere and the big four divide the spoils between themselves.

The Euros have long since devolved into a carnival of rank stupidity in which the same small section of the English electorate* rushes out to vote again and again for the ugliest, meanest, nastiest shower of pantomime villains that they can find, in a dipshit protest against whatever phantom horrors are biting their arses this year...

...And the candidates they elect then vanish off to Brussels to pick up fat paycheques for intentionally avoiding as much work as they can get away with.  For all the wails and screeches this last couple of weeks, this isn't exactly the Black Death we're talking about here, folks. 

- Despite the obvious, throbbing Farageophilia that has passed for a "national conversation" during these elections, I have to note that a lot of hard work and effort has gone into "exposing" the cretinous bigotry at the heart of the UKIP project.  Plenty of hacks and internet activists have got all hot and bothered about this bovine inanity or that cringeworthy statement, and yet the Kippers' support seems to be unaffected.

This seems to astound a lot of folk, although it shouldn't.  Every Euro election demonstrates that there's a small but vocal political tribe in the UK that respects belligerent stupidity; that admires viciousness, that applauds and rewards the most ridiculous, small-minded pettiness.

They're not going to change their minds about e.g. Nigel Farage** if you prove to them that he's a twat and an ignoramus - they're voting for him specifically because he's a twat and an ignoramus, out of spite, just to get it right up everyone else. 

- I've enjoyed watching the dawning realisation in the right wing press that they've created a small but unpredictable, spiteful little monster.  The Telegraph in particular, watching the nasty wee beastie yowl and spit at the Conservative Party, has suddenly noticed that its own Farage-fluffery may just have catastrophically split the spite vote for the next election.  So for the last few days, they've been parroting Tory claims about Nige and his buds threatening the free market.

It's too late to worry about responsible voting now, boys and girls!  Most humans grasp by the age of two that, if they shit their nappies, they're going to have to sit in it for a while.  It looks like certain newspaper owners are going to have to learn this lesson the hard way.

- Elsewhere, the Sun has been awesome, suddenly denouncing Farage as a horrid racist out of nowhere.

No doubt that'll go over well with the thin section of their readership that takes their politics output seriously, given that the Sun has spent much of the last fifteen years angrily shouting that e.g. making racist statements isn't racist, or that promoting racist policies isn't racist, and that being racist isn't racist. 

- And all this back-tracking is happening because the aim here isn't to boost UKIP, although that's certainly a side-effect.  It's all about pushing British politics generally in an ever-more idiotic direction, then quickly sprinting back to ostensible centrism in time for the General Election.

Example - how many MPs do UKIP or the BNP usually end up with after pulling off a good result in the Euros?

None, of course.  And one of the main reasons why they get zero MPs is because they don't have the zoomer press pimping their idiocies, since they all back the Tories in elections that matter. 

- If UKIP aren't around at the next Euro election, the press will prop up whatever fraud it can cram into an ill-fitting real-human-being costume and film making inflammatory comments in front of a microphone, for no other reason than shoving the mainstream parties rightwards.

A new English Fuck-Everyone Party, the Ebola virus in a barber jacket, Kilroy-Silk - it doesn't matter who it actually is.  The sole qualification for representing the rampant id of Middle England is a willingness to be as cuntish as humanly possible about absolutely everything, and there's never a shortage of that type of candidate around.

- Elsewhere, I've also enjoyed the ever-popular cries of "Oh no, calling UKIP stupid or racist is counterproductive and disrespectful to ordinary, decent voters".  

But if we're being really honest, politicians can cheerfully call UKIP voters whatever they like - reactionary zombies, coffin-dodging dribblers, closet autoerotic asphyxiators - because within twenty years, around half of them are going to be either too infirm or too dead to vote, and few of us who are still going to the polls in 2034 will care one way or the other whether or not the gays can get married.

If this all strikes you as contemptuous and dismissive, well, it's meant to be.  But you'll notice that we only ever hear this Please Do Not Offend The Cretins stuff about the far-right parties, and those folk don't strike me as particularly deserving of some extraordinarily sensitive and tender treatment that the rest of us never get.

Nobody gives a damn about offending people who vote for parties that aren't filled with furious xenophobes, and I see no reason why this section of the electorate should be treated differently to everybody else.

Because in the end, that's what's been at the heart of all of this nonsense - the really histrionic, weepy section of the UK electorate demanding respect and affection in a great red-faced strop, stamping their little feet, shouting nursery cursewords and flinging their toys across the room.

Now, you might think differently, but I'd suggest that picking the delicate little flowers up, tickling their wee chins and singing them to sleep with a sweet, sweet lullaby probably isn't the best way to respond to this kind of tantrum.


*Okay, and maybe the Welsh as well.

**Or, previously, Nick Griffin.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

The Clue Is In The Name

So there seems at present to be a lively debate about whether capitalism is hugely weighted in favour of those who already possess capital.  I'm not sure why this is controversial, since the clue is surely in the name, but it appears that there is one.

And those who know me, will know that I'm forever kicking off about something or other, and last night it was rent.  It occurs to me that these two topics are probably related.

A bit of context: while Mrs R and I are both from working class backgrounds, our combined paycheques place us firmly in the middle class bracket.  We live in a nice, posh part of Edinburgh, itself one of most well-to-do parts of the country.

Thinking about this, it occurred to me that I've rented seven flats over the years - six of them were bought by the landlord's parents for their children to live in while at university, while the other was inherited.

I guesstimated that I'd probably paid these people somewhere in the order of twenty thousand pounds over the years - I pay round about 20.8% of my pay packet* to my landlord every month, and that sounded about right.  Having just run this through the calculator, I realise that the figure is actually around about £43,000 in twelve years, and that's just the cash I forked over when I was working, not including my student years.

And this further led me to wonder why rents are set at a particular level.  It seems to me that the main effect on Mrs R and I is to extract just enough cash to prevent us from saving enough to buy our own place - that is, to effectively block us from potentially joining the landlord class ourselves**.  And I started to wonder whether this was a coincidence, or an intentionally desired outcome.

Then it struck me that nationally, this situation appears to have arisen from the home-ownership obsession of the eighties, which was itself in large part the consequence of the political thinking of, amongst others, fans of Friedrich Von Hayek.

Which struck me as particularly ironic - that a book called The Road to Serfdom, which panicked about the threat of the too-powerful state, had produced a situation in which I have no choice* but to pay what could quite easily be seen as an Existence Tax to a class of people who have done absolutely nothing, not a jot of work, to deserve a penny.

Basically, that the necessity of merely getting a living in the modern era involves paying vast tribute to people whose sole entitlement to a huge chunk of my income is having squirted out of the right vagina.

And it seems to me that, not only isn't this considered to be an odd state of affairs, but it's widely regarded as right and just.  There must be millions of people in the same boat as I am, and yet I rarely see a headline decrying this situation.  But you know, there are lots about how e.g. immigrants are stealing our stuff.

I mean, I hate to judge before all the facts are in, but this does look a lot like our society is founded upon the extraction of cash from one class of people by those fortunate enough to be born to wealthy parents.

You'd think that'd be more of a political issue, wouldn't you?  I don't want to sound cynical, but the fact that it isn't much of one does sort of suggest that, far from worrying about serfdom, the nation actively encourages and exploits it.

*I'm aware that many people pay considerably more than this, and I think that reinforces my point.

**The only alternative is Mrs R and I moving in with my parents for circa two years and exploiting their niceness in order to save lots of cash, which is basically of a piece with your mum and dad giving you lots of money.  Mrs R and I are in our thirties.

Monday, May 12, 2014

Why Don't We Have a Nice War?

And while we're on Boko Haram, let's observe a minor UK political morality tale developing here.

For more than a decade, we've all been consistently trolled for our insufficient anti-Jihad belligerence.  You all know the drill so I won't over-egg it, but it usually goes like this: Why oh why must the awful liberals support and fellate Islamist terrorism by not enthusiastically backing (x) utterly idiotic bout of deranged and insane ultraviolence?

Some folk have fallen for this one again and again, with many being all accommodating with an Okay, let's support a nice anodyne "intervention" to prevent a bloodbath in (x), then actually getting stupendously destructive regime change wheezes that had little or nothing to do with their ostensible justifications.

So now, here we are with the current situation in Nigeria: as it was throughout the Arab Spring, it was the world's lefty and feminist types who were first to kick off awareness-raising campaigns to denounce the primary villains and bring the horror to planet-wide attention.   For this, they've received either hoots and snorts of the Oh, I bet Boko are pure shiteing themselves, now you've hashtagged them into submission variety from precisely the same condemnation-demanders; whatabout the boys trollery or finger-waggy, mission-creepy If you hate Boko Haram so much, why don't we have a nice war with them? lectures. 

The Guardian were at the forefront on the kidnapped girls story, publishing calls for action by the Nigerian government; loud declarations of solidarity and requests for the public to take notice of the abduction.  They put out demands that feminists get behind the campaign; lots of supportive coverage and actual calls for UN-led military intervention.  Much of this was long before the rest of the press and social media even noticed there was anything amiss.

What thanks, for this entirely sensible use of the resources at their disposal?  Their sister-paper's stupidest columnist accused them of apologism and deceit, and nobody else even noticed they'd said anything about it until the Graun finally published a Stop The War statement that everyone could throw their hands up in mock-terror at and pretend to be astonished by.  Despite all the genuine outrage and all the hashtagging and campaigning, it's Why must the librul leftissess blah blah blah arse all over again.

This should be a bit of a lesson, and one that should be learned well: no matter how hard you try, you can't out-condemn a bunch of none-too-bright bawbags whose sole mission is relentlessly trolling the nation into ever-angrier levels of furious belligerence against whomever we can bomb, whenever and wherever possible.

So it should be clear that every demand to Condemn! this or that, or to support (x) or (y), is merely another hoop to jump through.  As they always do, more and more hoops will follow until you can't jump any higher, at which point you're back where you started, only more tired, exasperated and looking like a bit of a fanny.

So you know, this is why I've spent so much time over the years advocating a basic stance of open mockery for the nation's war-fluffers, rather than encouraging polite and constructive debate.

Because you can't ever have a constructive discussion with people whose every response is to repeat your own statements back to you in a whiny I'm a big jessie who loves Saddam Hussein voice. 

In Our Own Modest Way

This ludicrous Boris Johnson piece about how the BBC are, like, a bit like Boko Haram and that, has been extensively commented on today, so I'll just add a couple of brief observations here then leave you alone.

First, you can imagine exactly how this would go down if, say, Ken Livingstone had come out in favour of minor celebrities' right to use racist epithets on air - we'd get an outbreak of wails and screeches so loud that it'd put a mob of enthusiastic Shi'ite flagellants to shame and it'd be aired every time he opened his yap for the next ten years.  Somehow though, I imagine that the rank stench of this particular mediafart isn't going to waft around Boris for long, for reasons that should be obvious.

And let's pause for a moment and ask: Does Boris Johnson actually care at all about whether some DJ can play a song featuring a racial slur without getting a roasting?   Does he lie awake into the small hours of the night, wracking his brains for a way to keep Clarkson out of the clutches of the Commissars?  Is he really incapable of distinguishing between a public service broadcaster and a Nigerian death squad?

Obviously, that's No, No and Of course not.  The Mayor of London could not give a damn about any of these things.  What the Mayor of London really cares about is his future electoral prospects.

I mean, I can easily believe that Nigel Farage really is boiling with rage about the persecution of Britain in the Eurovision Song Contest, because he's precisely the kind of resentful little arse who would.  Boris, not so much. 

So while Boris doesn't much care about racist insults, he's very interested in kicking off  stupendously vicious and cretinous arguments that rile up lots of angry droolers who have nothing better to do than, for example, fret over how unfair it is that they can't say (x) without people concluding that they're racist.

Boris didn't put orange Crayola to paper on this topic because he thinks it's important or noteworthy.  He didn't write it to illuminate or edify.  He pushes this stuff for no other reason than having an argument for the sake of having an argument, and the longer it lasts, and the more idiotic it gets, the better.  In Boris's ideal world, it'd last for his entire political career.

Forget about Clarkson and Tarantino - if they weren't the topic, it'd be something else, because the sole aim here is to signal clearly that Boris feels the pain of angry, race-resentful droolers, and no sooner will any argument over this end than another one will start...  And it'll be even more hilariously moronic than this one because, as the EU elections are demonstrating, you can almost never be so moronic as to alienate a certain section of the British public.

Which is all actively worse than if Boris actually gave a half a damn about this nonsense, but it's not like he has to worry about anyone pulling him up on it.  After all, half the nation's major daily newspapers have been enthusiastically engaged in precisely the same scam for decades. 

Sunday, May 11, 2014

A Terrific Dancer

"Should we not do with racism, then, what the wisest of us do with jealousy, envy, pertinacious desire and the like, and accept we are not above any of it, however much we’d wish to be? Not acquiesce in its consequences, but not go hunting it down in others as evidence of their inextinguishable nastiness". 

That's the writer Howard Jacobson there, making what sounds like a reasonable argument on responding calmly and and sensibly to racist comments.   Let us not be too quick to ascribe racism to people who make dodgy comments for if we do, how are we to describe actual murderous bigotry?

And it'd seem like a fair point, and one I'd generally get behind - let's deal with incident (x) in a sensible and proportionate manner, rather than indulging in a massive social media spat - were it not for the fact that Howard has, for example, previously claimed to fear some protests meant that "a new Kristallnacht was in the offing". 

That was only one of a series of daft comments Howard made back then and four genocide-free years of UK life later, it's the kind of thing that could make a man look like a bit of a tit, if it were laid alongside a new call to calm down about racism.

Now, it'd be easy to draw a line under this and say, Hey, Howard is a bit of a hypocrite and a bullshit-artist, but let's be honest - who among us isn't?  Really, it's just another reminder that everyone is a relativist and a context-understander, until an issue swings round that they feel personally affects them and theirs.

At that point, it seems to be perfectly fine to start pretending to be terrified that people who disagree with you are actual Nazis, a hair's breadth from a bloodcurdling rampage.  Which may be understandable, but isn't really the kind of thing that encourages confidence in a person's powers of reason.

Sunday, May 04, 2014

A World Of Euphemism

Nick's latest column on the two hundred-plus girls kidnapped by Boko Haram in Nigeria really is a jaw-dropper...
"...Read parts of the press and you enter a world of euphemism. They have not been enslaved but "abducted" or "kidnapped", as if they will be released unharmed when the parties have negotiated a mutually acceptable ransom. Writers are typing with one eye over their shoulder: watching their backs to make sure that no one can accuse them of "demonising the other".
To pick a comedy comparison, this is basically the equivalent of a crank physician denouncing his fellow doctors in apocalyptic tones for using the words "cold sore" rather than "herpes", under the pretence that to do so is cowardly and quietly pro-virus.  It's beyond absurd.

You have to wonder what other journalists think when they see themselves being castigated in this manner.  In any other profession - teaching, medicine, science, law - the response to some numbnuts accusing his colleagues of professional misconduct on the basis of this sort of arse-extracted nonsense would be furious: letters, response columns, angry social media retorts and so on.

And yet the hacks have been getting this treatment off Nick for the best part of a decade with barely a squeaky fart of disapproval.  It's bizarre enough that the Observer chooses to pay someone to mount this kind of constant, clown-shoes custard pie campaign against its own writers and readers, and actually baffling that other journos clearly read this and either a) chuckle and say "Our Nick, there he goes again", or b) just assume that he's talking about somebody else.  He isn't.

Now, I appreciate that some journalists won't want to get into a fight with Nick, largely because they'd be better shouting into a bucket or trying to teach an excitable Cocker Spaniel to play the banjo.  Both buckets and spaniels tend to be more open-minded than Nick is, for a start. 

Nonetheless, the temptation here is to conclude that the hacks don't defend themselves because they actually think they are as shit at their jobs as Nick claims. By and large, they aren't - in fact, lots of them are actually very, very good at what they do.  You'd think one or two of them might like to say so, occasionally.

Thursday, May 01, 2014

Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-My-Tent Politics

At the Times, Tim Montgomerie analyses the minds of potential UKIP voters and advises everyone to listen to them more, and to condemn them a little less.  At Labour List, Sunny does the same after concluding that we shouldn't call the UKIPpers "racist"

Throughout the land, opinion hacks drop article after report after column describing the party's ludicrous work-shy, logic-defying, cash-sucking, oblivious, bumbling numbskullery on the public, and watch in horror as it affects UKIP's polling numbers not a jot.  Why, they ask themselves, are these dribbling mutants polling well, despite their glaringly obvious flaws, deformities and inadequacies?

And I understand their confusion.  The average UKIP candidate looks like somebody glued a pair of googly eyes onto a shaved scrotum, dresses like a refugee from 1938 and talks like they've just stumbled pissed out of a Mosleyite village fete.  The party's policies are composed of the most offensively slapdash, will-this-do raft of retarded inanities to embarrass British democracy since H'Angus the Monkey stood for election on a platform of free bananas.

There's little need to reiterate the sheer yakking know-nothingry of the movement here, but if a section of the public is repeatedly telling you that it would - literally, not metaphorically - vote for a purple balloon full of cold piss on a stick, provided somebody told them that it was against immigration, gay marriage and smoking bans, then the answer to this question of why so many people are planning to vote for them is pretty obvious:

It's because they're idiots*.

Now, I don't mean "idiots" in the sense that they have congenitally limited mental capacities or anything.  That would be sad, and would render mockery inappropriate.

I mean that they're idiots in the sense that, to pick only one hilariously obvious example, only a moron would protest-vote the European Union by deliberately choosing to pay the most feckless bunch of lazy-arsed, clock-punching graft-dodgers in the land vast sums of cash to bunk off work in Brussels. 

See, Tim Montgomerie has to try to talk round the UKIPpers, because he's trying to corral them back into the Tory fold.  Sunny has to kid on that they're not a pack of xenophobes, because he's a committed fan of big-tent politics.

Me, I don't like big-tent politics so much. I'm more of a Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-My-Tent politics kind of guy.

I couldn't give a damn who wins the European elections and couldn't care less whether people are fleeing the main parties to join great clattering cavalcades of wowsers, jingoes and dimwits.  If people want to be represented by a bunch of Jim Henson puppets who are plainly thicker than shitty jam, well frankly, fuck 'em - they deserve what they get.

Tim worries that UKIP might screw the Tories at the next election, whereas I hope that they do.  Sunny worries about Labour bleeding voters to them, whereas I think there's basically no point in trying to charm these utter wallopers back towards sanity.

If folk are spiteful enough on the topics of crime and immigration and Europe and gay marriage and what have you that they're now considering plumping for Farage's freakshow, there ain't no winning 'em over by stroking the backs of their hands and muttering sweet nothings, people.

Which is why I disdain all these endless calls to understand the poor precious dears and their concerns and disillusionment; why I decline invitations to blow each and every one of these delicate little snowflakes in the hope that they can be brought round to a vague form of half-reason, if only we tickle their balls just so.


Bluntly, half of these folk are tottering coffin-dodgers, and most of the rest are either angry yokels, spite-crazed nutters, glowering cretins or out-and-out fruitcakes. 

Let 'em have their day in the sun, I say, and good luck to them.  People who struggle this badly with reality are going to need it, but that doesn't mean that the rest of us have to indulge their fantasies.

*The voters, not the party.  Although they're all idiots, really.