Tag Archives: brexit

David Davis – International Man of Mystery

David Michael Davis MP – now there’s a curious fellow. You’ve likely seen him, though given he’s somewhat of the retiring type you perhaps couldn’t spot him in a parade – he’s far more likely to be lurking in the confines of his office, taking occasional bites from a ham sandwich somebody else made, than jet setting around the world, being a relentless antagonist to the EU and pushing the case for a “Global Britain” he so obviously entirely understands.

Reclusive as he may be however, he does come bearing a rather unmistakable presence – wide eyed and befuddled, stumbling around the European Council with an alarming passivity more befitting of a competition winner being given a tour than the British Brexit Secretary.

You know, this bloke?

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He doesn’t just look like a competition winner, he’s also done the same amount of prep work.

See? Instantly recognisable. Bet you never thought such an expression of smug bewilderment was even possible but there you go, apparently. It’s fair to say that Mr Davies has become somewhat a figure of ridicule in the past two years. While unsurprisingly reluctant to position himself as the de facto figurehead of Brexit negotiations – most likely down to his desire to not leave too many fingerprints upon this most sorry of car crashes – when he has dared to stick his head above the parapet, he’s immediately the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights. Eternally equivocal and preposterously hesitant, with each increasingly unwelcome query of his rhetoric being met with ever more pronounced involuntary tics – the most notable of which being the near constant removal and immediate reseating of his glasses, the irritation growing as the questions continue to search for answers he simply doesn’t have.

Still, his allies are quick to remind us that chronic incompetence and expertise in the placement of spectacles aren’t the only strings to his bow:

insanity
So he’s just like James Bond, basically. Only entirely different.

Basically, if you thought he was merely a jobsworth you’re mistaken – he’s a jobsworth who is apparently trained to take people out; presumably with a machine gun crafted out of a discarded fag packet.

The how and why as to the apparent need for David Davis to take someone out remains unfortunately confined to the limitations of Nadine Dorries’ fevered mind – not to mention being entirely irrelevant to the real reason his mug is currently being plastered all over the news: he’s threatened to resign. Again.

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You’ll be reassured to know that the headline hasn’t been doctored – it is indeed real. Have a nice day.

Curiously enough, despite it being the apex of good sense to offer your resignation should a work colleague be sacked for throttling the old fun stick on company time, David didn’t fall on his sword following Green’s rather enforced departure. This presented somewhat of a problem for what was, at the time, the prevailing narrative – it being that Davis was simply looking for the best way to abandon ship before it careers off the face of the Earth. It just didn’t seem to fit, so what else could our erudite man of mystery be up to?

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Oh look, it’s the broken clock’s time to shine.

For your answer to that poser, you need to strip away the polish and other assorted artifice to look at Mr Davis in the simplest possible terms – does he want Brexit and what would he stand to gain from it?

As if his support for the Brexit cause pre-referendum didn’t provide a resounding enough answer to the first question, the fact that he does indeed have a considerable vested interest in Britain crashing out of the EU only strengthens the case.

It’s with that in mind the pieces all suddenly start falling into place; as with all Leavers standing to personally profit from Brexit and are faced with debate they lack the coherent argumentation for, he resorts to his last remaining card – distraction.

Given there’s growing unrest amongst British citizens that this Brexit malarkey isn’t quite what they had in mind back when they lent their support to it, it’s understandable that the Jacob Rees-Moggs of this world are getting a bit antsy. With dissatisfaction comes the need for debate and it’s a debate the Brexiteers simply don’t have the ammunition for. Even nauseatingly slick operators like Jacob have been reduced to gibbering simpletons when the perennial party pooper of reality decides to show up at the worst possible time.

Their only remaining tactic is simple – if the debate can’t be won then it must never be held in the first place. There’s no room for pride; the moment the gaze of scrutiny goes all Sauron on you there’s little choice – jettison what little of your dignity remains and pray your inquisitors take the bait, irrespective of how non-sequitur it may seem. Don’t believe me? Simply look at the intense scrutiny the current Brexit proposals are being subjected to. Or at least, were – before the silver fox decided to unleash another circus by pondering his resignation once more only for nothing to happen. Just like the last time, right? On a superficial level, it all seems somewhat pointless – until you’re hit by the sudden realisation that the most ridiculous version of Brexit possible has edged ever closer to the finish line while you were busy talking about something else.

So don’t be fooled by the blunderings of David Davis. He’ll lie, he’ll misdirect, he’ll even fall flat on his fucking face if he has to – all to keep us laughing as he surreptitiously delivers a burning bag of dog faeces through our letterbox.

And trust me, you won’t be laughing when it’s your turn to scrape up the shit.

 

Open letter to Jeremy Corbyn – The People’s Vote is perfectly compatible with your ideals

Dear Mr Corbyn,

How are things? Bet this recent sunshine has done wonders for that allotment of yours, though hopefully you haven’t dwindled away too many hours there – not least because a considerably more publicised letter than this one has made its way through your letterbox in the past few days.

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Give the people a say on their own future? What a novel idea.

Yes, it appears that those latte slurping, metropolitan elites are at it again – keeping the feeble proletariat down in the disenfranchised dirt by way of a diamond encrusted shoe. Except that they’re not – a fact which will become remarkably apparent if you listen to what they’re actually saying, rather than tuning into the witless bloviations of Nigel Farage.

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See? Seems reasonable enough now, doesn’t it? Which is precisely the reason why it’s a source of endless puzzlement that you, as yet at least, don’t seem particularly keen on the idea.

You see, I rather like you Jeremy. While I haven’t yet taken a gulp of the Corbyn kool-aid, I’m most certainly not amongst the unpardonable cretins who consider you the love child of Stalin and Fidel Castro. You seem a perfectly nice bloke – amiable, considerate and, above all, possessing a genuine desire to improve the quality of life for your fellow travellers. All that lovely shit of which I’m entirely onboard with.

However it is with some sense of regret that, despite the aforementioned superlatives, I find myself unable to lend you my vote. Sure, it’s only the one vote lost amidst a vast ocean of ballots up for grabs; but given that you’re a man who utilises sincerity as a key staple of his brand, positioning it neatly alongside your apparent quest to aid the forgotten in their bid to finally be heard, it’s a vote you should care about. Also, if one were to further extrapolate, the notion of a people’s vote on the final Brexit deal should be perfectly compatible with your aims – not to mention being a wonderfully effective means of wrenching power from the political elite you so despise and handing it to the people you dearly wish to represent.

Yet you continue to oppose such an idea, affording the proposal such disdain that you sacked Owen Smith the moment he publicly uttered his sympathies for such a cause.

owensmith
Being “for the many, not the few” is a key tenet of Labour party policy. Except when it isn’t.

Of course, there was semblance of logic in your decision – you can’t sell your manifesto without a united front standing behind it – but that’s somewhat of a red herring in this case. Under your stewardship, Labour have (for perhaps the first time in years) been able to create a clear distinction between themselves and those curmudgeonly old Tories – at least when it comes to the prevailing narrative. You’re not merely content to just be the party for the people, you yearn to be the party of the people – hence why your steadfast reluctance to even entertain the idea of a final Brexit vote isn’t just befuddling, it’s entirely antithetical to your aspirations.

Now you could very find yourself retreating to the confines of the politicians playbook at this point, trotting out the groan inducing mantra of “the people have already spoken – they voted to leave” and yes, that is indeed true – they did vote to leave. However, failing to acknowledge the vast wealth of nuance that goes along with such a proclamation is the undoing of many a man’s credibility and it would sadden me to see yourself, a man of obvious good character, fall victim to the horrendously binary trappings of the Farage school of thought.

Not least because the man’s clearly an idiot:

nigelfish
You might not get another vote on Brexit, but Nigel is happy for you to dump dead fish in a river.

That said, there was a brief glitch in the matrix when Nigel rather bizarrely called for a second referendum himself – before quickly changing his tune once more, going as far as to claim he never actually said the words that millions saw him utter on live television. As I said, Nigel’s a man who indulges in idiocy with apparent impunity – though there is a certain, rather disheartening irony to the fact that, if only for a brief flicker of time, Nigel Farage was more for giving people a voice than you are.

Not that I’m putting you anywhere near Farage on the Disingenuous Pissweasels leader board; please don’t think that of me – though I do implore you to listen to what those voices are actually saying. Despite what your Eurosceptic comrades may tell you, they’re not all clamouring for a Viagra charged Brexit while erecting picket fences across the entire coastline – there are many disquieted murmurs out there if you’re willing to seek them out.

While this letter may have come across as adversarial at times, it remains addressed to yourself in perfectly good faith – and, for the record, I do consider you a man of integrity and honest intentions. Yet I simply can’t clamber on board your bandwagon given the stance you currently subscribe to – even if it is heading to the most happening music festival of all time.

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I hope John McDonnell plays the album version of ‘Let’s lynch Esther McVey’. The single cut was rubbish.

Honestly Jeremy, there really is no reason to oppose a people’s vote – especially if using your own ideals as a baseline. The naysayers might be insistent but they’re not infallible. This isn’t about blocking Brexit, nor is it about undermining the “will of the people” – it’s simply a chance for those very same people to make a final, informed decision on a question they were posed two years prior with minimal information. That’s all there is to it at its very core.

When all’s said and done, you perhaps said it best yourself: leadership isn’t just about talking, it’s about listening too – and what sense does it make to listen to a previously uninformed electorate as if their word were gospel if you’re just going to close off your ears the moment they start putting the pieces together?

So come on Jeremy. Clamber out of that allotment, dust yourself down and get to work putting power back in the hands of the citizens you value so highly; by backing a people’s vote for the many, not just the few.

 

Impotent shrieking, spoiled ballot papers and the eternal quandary of the politically homeless

The local elections took place the other day. You may have noticed – they’re like a general election only even more effective at creating a malaise of voter apathy.

Momentum activists will likely claim that the tide is turning with regards a general political disinterest amongst the populace – and it is indeed true that, in London especially, punters were sufficiently jazzed to vote for Labour; but alas, the turnout in my local constituency barely scraped past 20%. Nobody gives a shit round here it seems, the sad fact of the matter being that the jenky local gala which insists on blocking up the main access road every fucking year garners more enthusiasm from my fellow town dwellers.

Reasons for this likely exist beyond the realms of my rather limited understanding but, for anyone who gives a shit, here’s how it ultimately panned out across the nation:

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Somewhere, in an all but deserted UKIP headquarters, the world’s smallest violin plays a pitiful tune.

As you can see, a fairly standard outcome in which the apple cart merely wobbles rather than capitulates completely. Labour made some pretty nifty gains though perhaps not the sort they were hoping for, the Tories are merely glad that their eternal buffoonery wasn’t quite capitalised on in the way perhaps it should have been, the Lib Dems finally had reason to smile and UKIP’s vote share fell short of Enoch Powell’s electoral reach and he’s been dead for twenty years.

Still, the results being very much open to interpretation didn’t stop the odd malevolent shitrag or two from declaring victory from within the midst of a befuddling stalemate.

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At least Meghan found a nice dress.

But what of the fate of Graham’s vote I hear absolutely nobody ask; what became of my solitary ballot? Well, it’s ultimately rather hard to say for I, like many, found myself treading the desperately isolated path of the politically homeless.

Alas, this was not a route I willingly set foot upon, instead being entirely a matter of circumstance. Being one of those unreconciled Remoaners who consider Brexit the worst idea since Piers Morgan, there was only going to be one issue that fully captivated my mind. Not to say that I’m a single issue voter of course, but let’s not kid ourselves into thinking that Brexit limits its influence to a single sub-category of politics – it has an oily tentacle plunged into every facet of our nation; its venom ever seeping in and leaving our future locked in a state of uncomfortable paralysis.

Which is precisely why our de facto two party system ultimately holds nothing for me at this current moment – the only distinction on offer being a delusional Brexit and a “Who gives a fuck?” Brexit. Hardly inspiring and leaving representation for the 48% entirely in the hands of the smaller parties. But just what voice would my constituency afford me?

No voice at all, put simply.

horse
Oh look, a horse. I’m sure this will have no relevance to anything, ever.

Ah, the Democrats and Veterans Party. If you detected the whiff of a faint, Brexity stench in the air then your suspicions are bang on the money. Not dissimilar to the equally pitiful For Britain. the DVP were born out of a failed bid for the UKIP leadership – only this one was more interesting because it involved gay donkey rape.

No, really. It did.

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You don’t say.

DVP supremo John Rees-Evans might have fond memories of this unauthorised tryst that he saw fit to commemorate with the party’s official logo but alas, such charming tales of horse violation were never likely to win my vote.

So what else? Well, not much for there was only one further party standing – The Yorkshire Party; whose entire policy on Brexit hinges on the promise that, whatever happens with the EU negotiations, the good people of Yorkshire will still be able to drink copious amounts of tea. In any event, their aim to increase Yorkshire’s political standing on a national (and indeed European) level, while admirable in its own right, isn’t a matter that is especially close to my heart and, subsequently, my pencil passed right over their box too.

So what was I to do? An embittered, alleged metropolitan elitist, with a mind hopelessly trapped in a debate I’m rather unreliably informed ended two years ago and nobody standing to represent me.

Well, the only thing left to do – spoil my ballot paper.

For all the inevitable (and, in many cases, perfectly understandable) howls of consternation this will invoke, I stand by it. Voting may well be perceived as a given right as opposed to a privilege of the fortunate few these days (though many EU nationals currently residing upon our shores will almost certainly beg to differ) and that’s a right I indeed respect, hence why I still felt it necessary to actually show up at the polling station – even if it was only to effectively piss scorn upon my constituency’s efforts at representation.

But why? Why bother to show up? And why not lend your vote to a legitimate party if you’re going to make the effort? Besides, these are local council elections, right? It’s not even about Brexit, you pissed your britches based on nothing more than an unfortunate misconception.

Well, sodden as my undergarments may be and as compelling as many counterpoints indeed are, I remain unmoved – if a tad pissy. I may not have backed a legitimate party but I backed what I consider a legitimate cause. While ostensibly an election based on matters of the local council, implications are eagerly seized upon in today’s political climate. Remember all that bilge regarding 85% of people supposedly showing their support for Brexit by backing pro-Brexit parties in the 2017 General Election? So desperate were the Brexiteers to snatch even the faintest of victories from the jaws of reality, they were more than happy to kick nuance square in the testicles to add fuel to their ever spluttering narrative.

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Brought to you by Daniel Hannan, a man with so little integrity he’s currently claiming that Brexit’s failings are down to the very people who didn’t vote for it.

The contrast between direct and tacit support becomes a distinction without a difference in the eyes of the narrative and, for that reason, I simply couldn’t shift the ever pulsating tumour of Brexit from my thoughts. If you believe in Brexit then I don’t believe in you. Sorry, but I’ll lend my admittedly infinitesimal amount of political influence to a notion I can support and, if that means hastily scrawling “STOP BREXIT” on my ballot paper in what could very well end up being an act of laughably impotent futility, then so be it.

A fart in the wind it may very well be, but at least it came out of my arse.

The Indifference of the Irony Lady

Ever wondered what it would be like to peer into a parallel universe? No, me neither – but if you were ever sufficiently curious to take a peek through the looking glass then fear not. There’s no need for scientific quackery or appealing to the occult; not when you can just pop down to your local newsagents.

See the below case in point:

steel
I preferred the leather trousers.

Yeah, nobody bought it back then either; except perhaps for toadying careerists and the hopelessly entrenched. In any case, time has only served to amplify the absurdity of what was already an inherently ridiculous proclamation. Though May can’t cry foul about a lack of opportunity to prove her mettle – the ludicrous doodle above being perhaps the perfect example. The battle lines were drawn and the tough talk spewed but, now we can look upon proceedings in retrospect, it was ultimately May who yielded first – most likely because the potential success of her negotiating strategy hinged entirely on the EU falling for a bluff that was visible from Jupiter.

However, Brexit being ever the malfunctioning drainage system, spurting out endless torrents of shit for some hapless patsy to clear up, there’s barely a day that goes by without a split pipe for Theresa to fix – or at least attempt to. So what better way to sway public mood and attempt to live up to a preposterously inaccurate caricature than by taking a strong stance on the recent and increasingly disconcerting allegations of skulduggery by the Vote Leave campaign? I mean nobody likes skulduggery, so surely May has to drop that hypothetical (and indeed, hyperbolic) iron fist of hers, right?

wontderail
She’s got a point. There’s no such thing as ‘allegatiions’.

Oh.

You could just look upon this as so far so predictable before your mind moves swiftly onto its next object of vague disgruntlement, but by doing so you’d be missing out on an absolute goldmine of diversionary blatherings – perfectly encapsulated by the following quote which is perhaps the quintessential Theresa May non-answer for all time:

quote

Yes, all your old favourites are here. Starting off with a standard “Can I simply say…” before setting up the finale with the classic promise to be clear (very clear in fact). Then for those still paying attention, their focus is rewarded with an oh so typical sidestep cunningly disguised as a definitive answer – a staple of the May premiership.

When you’ve wiped away the tears and looked beyond May’s seemingly automated soundbites however, you begin to see something altogether more troubling – indifference.

It’s true that the Tories have never quite been held aloft as morally sound, bastions of empathy (a picture that in of itself can lead to a reaction of indifference from the electorate themselves) but, in this case especially, such an empty response to allegations of criminal activity simply cannot be swept under an increasingly conspicuous rug.

If such a brazen lack of concern wasn’t insane enough then factoring Theresa May herself into the mix adds a whole new layer of absurdity. It’s no secret that May backed Remain during the EU referendum campaign; granted you’ll not receive a reminder of this from May herself, but fortunately the vast repository known as the internet continues admirably in its role as a politician’s worst nightmare:

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If Theresa May didn’t add enough pizzazz, Bob Geldof was in the “In crowd” too.

See? She had a sign and everything. Taking this into account it seems almost laughable that Theresa is naive to Brexit being an act of folly and, with her response to allegations of foul play during the referendum campaign being little more than a dismissive shrug, the situation grows increasingly surreal. We’re bumbling towards a Brexit, a path we’re pursuing in stubborn defiance of all the warnings to turn back, led by a Prime Minister who, not only doesn’t actually believe in it, but outright refuses to pause for thought when it’s revealed that a result she didn’t want just may have been won illegally.

Sadly, we’re all along for the ride; gagged and chained on the backseat of a beat up Ford Escort, helpless to intervene as Nosferatu’s great aunt slams down on the accelerator with a cliff edge looming ahead. Obviously this is a pretty horrifying predicament to find ourselves in and, as our minds scurry between visions of fiery doom and chlorinated chicken, a lingering question remains. We know that the one driving the car is fully aware that what they’re doing is madness, so just why is she doing it? If her actions aren’t of her own design then who’s pulling the strings? What do they stand to gain?

What does Theresa May stand to gain?

dacre

I rest my case.

Don’t wait for Labour to rescue us from Brexit – Jeremy isn’t coming

It’s been quite a hectic few days with regards the Brexit process. Not through decisive negotiations and the formulation of an actual plan of course, don’t be silly – but there has been a significant amount of impotent fiddlefucking on display. Owen Smith found himself unceremoniously sacked from the Shadow Cabinet for instance, exiled for espousing views that didn’t sit too harmoniously alongside the Brexit stance of his dear leader.

“Impotence” really does seem to be the prevailing theme of the day, the news littered with prominent, ostensibly powerful individuals being reduced to offering up meek excuses. They might not like Brexit, they likely view it as the festering swamp of deceit it’s been all along – but they can’t stop it. Or so they say at least. Makes you wonder why they bothered to become an MP in the first place, doesn’t it?

andrew adonis
Welcome to my fucking life.

Both Labour and the Tories seem united on that front, Brexit being an inevitability. This is largely the cause of a perceived lack of distinction between the two main parties – they may offer varying flavours of fatuous promises, but ultimately they’re both going to dump us head first into a septic tank come March 2019. Which septic tank you prefer is ultimately up to your own taste I guess.

However, such a perspective is far from universal – at least when it comes to Labour. We all know that those nasty, old Tories are eager to play the lemming and hurl themselves into the nearest abyss, but not Labour. They’re playing the long game; dabbling in a little four dimensional chess if you will. Labour, who ran on a manifesto promoting social justice and establishing a country that works for more than just the fortunate few, wouldn’t be so reckless as to continue with this preposterous Brexit idea. Corbyn, Starmer et al are just biding their time, concealing their real intentions with vacuous sloganeering, waiting for the right moment to unleash their coup de grace by stabbing the parasitic beast that is Brexit right in the fucking eye…

…aren’t they?

i'm sure th
Don’t worry Owen. I’m sure you and Jeremy will be able to laugh about this one day. Presumably over a glass of Russian Standard.

Whether you give any credence to this notion of Machiavellian subterfuge is ultimately down to how much you’re willing to ignore absolutely everything going on around you. But supposing it is true, that Corbyn is employing an absurdly risky gambit to grab victory from the jaws of Brexit, the real question you still need to ask yourself is “when?”

At time of writing we’re just over a year from Brexit D-Day – the 29th March. Given that we’ve spent the best part of two years lurching from one ill conceived Brexit proposal to another, our minds growing ever more crammed with misconception and outright fantasy, it does rather insistently beg the question as to when this masterstroke is to be unveiled. This isn’t a movie, I’m sure many of us would take salvation here and now rather than waiting until the dying moments of March the 28th for rescue. Sure, the idea is exciting and the inevitable nationwide joining of hands to sing Kumbaya in unison would make for a good closing scene as the credits start to roll but alas, I’m afraid to say such a notion doesn’t seem entirely plausible to me.

The truth of the matter is that the only people that can stop Brexit is the people. Like the One Ring, it can only be destroyed by its creator; in this case the British public – though for a sufficiently anti-Brexit demographic to rise they’re going to need to be informed. Standing at the pulpit and declaring that you’re going to deliver a “Jobs First Brexit” or some other such phantasmagorical proclamation might bring the cheers and adulation from the choir, but it does little to inform – instead only serving to bewilder them further as they wander endlessly through dreamland.

Even if it’s all ultimately just a ruse, you can’t take the winning shot without being ably assisted by the prevailing zeitgeist and that’s the sad reality of Labour’s Brexit stance – all roads still lead to Brexit. Sure there’s only two roads, with it being debatable as to whether the second even exists, but either way you’re still left with a rather dispiriting, binary outcome – submission or failure.

It is perhaps ironic, given that the likes of Arron Banks repeatedly crow on about how the Leave vote was won by appealing to emotion, that it’s the ‘feels over reals’ brigade who seem to subscribe to the idea that “Corbyn’s playing the long game” – and if you yourself are amongst them then fine. There’s probably little that I can do myself to convince you otherwise; but, as unshakeable as your faith that Labour will save us from Brexit may be, don’t forget to take a look outside at what’s actually going on every once in a while.

Otherwise you’re just trapped in a dreamland all of your own.

 

If you’ve never had a dream, you’ve never had a dream kick you in face

I like dreams. They’re nice aren’t they? Given life’s tendency to regularly shit out malodorous mounds of harsh reality upon our doorstep it’s a blessed relief to, every once in a while, retreat to the relatively safe confines of your head, immersing yourself in a dreamscape perfectly tailored to your own personal convenience.  Bad week at work? Finding yourself repeatedly foiled by your own innate lack of competence? Take a dose of that wonderful drug called delusion. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all need a break from the drudgery of own pitiful existence every once in a while. I sure as hell do. Why spend the day agonising over my latest, excruciating social faux pas when I can briefly drift off into a world where I’m erudite, charming and have access to a time machine? I don’t even have to get out of bed.

So there’s no real harm in it – at least providing you’re willing to come back to reality. Most of us do but, rather alarmingly, there have been some fairly prominent examples recently of those who chose to remain lost, forever scurrying blindly through the rabbit hole; searching in vain for the cheese that simply isn’t there.

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They may say I’m a dreamer…

Ah, Jeremy Corbyn. It is perhaps the perfect irony that a man who’s spent his life working to make his dream a feasible reality has found that very same existence become characterised almost entirely by artifice. Should you wish to gaze upon Comrade Corbyn through the lens of mainstream media you could be forgiven for absorbing the impression that he’s a traitorous Commie who shot John Lennon. When you brush the clouds to one side however, the picture is a little different – though it cannot be denied that he’s still a curious character.

A mild mannered, private man who seems far more content pottering about in his allotment than courting favour with the media. Certainly not the norm for a politician but it’s still undeniably bewildering that he provokes such a reaction from all ends of the political and social spectrums. However, whether he’s met with worship or disgust, old Jeremy plods purposefully onward. Sure, deep down he probably just wants to get back home to his cabbages but nevertheless, he has his principles and nobody is going to deter him from his mission.

I can’t help but respect that and, subsequently, Jeremy himself. He’s not doing it for his career, he’s doing it because he actually gives a shit and feels his voice can guide us onto a more prosperous path. He runs on the ideals of hope, proclaiming that if we simply all work together then maybe…just maybe, things might actually turn out alright. He’s far from the first politician to do employ this approach of course, but he’s one of the few who leaves you in no doubt as to the decency of his intentions.

It is perhaps then no surprise that this message resonated so strongly with the whippersnapper portion of the electorate; bright, young things with a head full of dreams yet to be contaminated by the inevitable cynicism that comes with experience. Of course they’d buy into Corbyn’s vision of utopia – it sounds bloody marvellous and, to tell the truth, I’d be pretty much on board too were it not for one, fatal flaw.

jobsfirst
Reminds me of those ‘Life First’ napalm strikes the Americans used in the Vietnam War. Probably.

Yes, of course it was going to be Brexit. What else? There’s been nothing that even comes close to it in terms of excreting misinformation and fanciful delusions upon political discourse. The referendum campaign was an entire landfill of unrefined bullshit and you’d be foolish to consider that particular stench as consigned to the past – the idea that we can somehow implement a “Jobs First Brexit” being a recent example. Less fanciful than the Tory’s laughably absurd “Moon on a Stick Brexit” perhaps but, critically, it’s similarly fuelled by the fumes of fantasy alone.

It’s true that Corbyn is a dab hand at campaigning. He mesmerised many during the snap election of last year, recruiting many a young, fresh mind to his cause in a manner not witnessed for a considerable time. The fact that he managed to achieve a respectable result, sticking two fingers up to the naysayers and stabbing the Tory majority right through the heart in one seamless motion, was miraculous in of itself. He defied those who felt he was leading his Labour lambs straight to May’s nearest abattoir and finally proved his credentials as a vaguely plausible source of opposition.

However, for all his brilliance on the campaign trail, he now appears to have bitten off far more than anyone could possibly chew. Unless he can explain how he plans to achieve a “Jobs First Brexit” when he’s set to dive head first into this cavalcade of shit:

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Long story short – we’ll be worse off with ANY flavour of Brexit. Even caramel.

I respect Corbyn. I’m far from being a Corbynite though, by the same token, I’m nowhere near the mindset that a Corbyn premiership would bring about our gruesome demise either. Despite my general indifference towards the bloke, there have even been times where I’ve found myself drawn to his charms without ever quite dropping over to his side of the fence – the deterrent in this case being his fanciful declarations on Brexit. Carrying the leitmotif of hope and aspiration is all well and good but it can’t achieve the impossible – and that’s precisely what the concept of a “Jobs First Brexit” is – impossible.

Dream all you want, oftentimes it can lead to priceless moments of insight and inspiration; but don’t get so lost in the clouds that you can’t see the facts lingering below. Even the nicest dreams can be punctured in an instant – often leaving you with both a heavy sense of shame and an ominous damp patch down the front of your pants.

 

 

Brexit – It makes sense if you really don’t think about it

Ever get cold feet? Ever found yourself living in a state of complacency; awaiting a troublesome yet seemingly distant event, only to be shocked into a state of sudden dread when it becomes painfully apparent that it’s now lurking right round the corner?

I’m sure you have. Suddenly shitting your pants upon the realisation that chronic procrastination is about to cost you is all part of the human experience. That particular sensation is perhaps something we’re all currently experiencing right now thanks to Brexit. The 29th of March 2019, once a far off time of little concern (“We’ll figure it out in the end”), is now little over a year away and, rather worryingly, the quest to “figure things out” is still haplessly spinning its wheels in the mud.

Now this is a cause for universal concern. Leaving the EU involves an absurd amount of ramifications and potential pitfalls. This is serious shit. The pound didn’t plummet when I quit the Beano Club; millions of people weren’t faced with the prospect of having their entire lives uprooted. My attempt to progress into adulthood didn’t matter – leaving the EU does.

So it’s up to us. Let’s face it, those in charge don’t have a fucking clue where they’re taking us. Maybe this entire Brexit caper isn’t actually worth it? Maybe we should do someth…wait, what’s that about George Soros?

nigel distraction
Oh good. Nigel’s on the telly again.

As if sensing the growing unease around Brexit, Arron Banks’ slippery foot soldier Nigel Farage is duly dispatched.

And how:

jointnigel
While your house gradually burns to the ground, Nigel thinks you should be more concerned about a rich resident installing a new swimming pool two towns over.

But wait? What has this got to do with anything? It seems that Nigel is decrying the notion of rich people having implicitly insidious influence over the course of global politics, craftily opting for the Remain backing George Soros as his exemplar as to shamelessly bolster the Farage narrative. However even the most subtle scratch beneath the surface will reveal that societal elites flexing their wealth in order to further a desired political agenda is an entirely universal practice – irrespective of which side of the political spectrum you care to glance towards.

So why even bother? Why even waste your time on a debate, so flawed in it’s concept, that it won’t even go anywhere? Wasn’t there something infinitely more important that we were supposed to be talking about?

See what happened there? See how the moment we’re finally on the cusp of realisation that, actually, Brexit might very well be a shit sandwich about to infiltrate every home in Britain another incongruous bogeyman is thrown into the arena? It’s only when the aforementioned bogeyman is led away (after you’ve been forced to meticulously explained as to why he’s got no reason for being there) that you realise that yet more precious seconds have ebbed away; seconds that, thanks for the artificially imposed deadline brought about by the triggering of Article 50, are in desperately short supply.

And, as you may have guessed, the Brexiteers are keenly aware of this:

distractions
With the ‘Good Brexit news’ pigeonhole once again empty, Leave.EU set about scraping one of their few remaining barrels.

When specific examples are viewed in isolation they indeed appear suitably ludicrous but, with widespread practice, it becomes an unnervingly effective tactic.

This is in essence a multi pronged attack. First it plays on the generally passive nature of the populace as a whole. The truth is that a hefty demographic of the people simply don’t give a shit about politics, with those that do often having their exposure limited by time constraints. There’s only so many hours in a day and, chances are, most folk wouldn’t wish to spend to many of theirs ingesting tales of supreme ineptitude – each detailing how their country is haplessly tumbling down the nearest open manhole (believe me, it’s fucking depressing). This is then coupled with exploitation of the over abundance of information on offer, leading anyone brave enough to wade in becoming immediately lost amidst the haze. When there’s thousands of sources at your disposal uncovering the credible can become an arduous task. I mean I’m fairly certain that Corbyn didn’t sell depleted uranium to Al Capone, but do I have the time or inclination to rifle through countless sources in order to uncover the truth? Probably not and neither do you but it’s become locked in my mind regardless and, with that state of befuddlement now firmly in place, it’s now time for the trump card to come into play – outrage.

We all love to be pissed off. Anger is a powerful driving force, effortlessly focusing your mind into a single line of thought. That self entitled dick who stole the last parking space at Tesco will occupy your brain for the next two hours, just think how furious you’d be if it were revealed that wealthy, unaccountable business men are trying to betray your democracy? Furious enough to set all other concerns to one side certainly, especially those that take some degree of effort to fully understand.

Finally, if all other means of distraction fail, they can simply cut to the chase and shut down the entire debate altogether. Anything to stop those irksomely curious plebs from poking too deep into their half baked schemes, right?

nothing to debate
Millions of potentially displaced citizens might not necessarily agree with the above sentiment.

It’s no coincidence that such strategies often emerge as a result of chaotic transitions and shambolic administrations. Just a cursory glance towards our friends in America will confirm this, with Mueller’s FBI inquiry into the Trump campaign’s possible collusion with the Russians becoming an increasingly prominent story. With new indictments being prepared as we speak and the net seemingly closing in around them, the Trump team must be feeling understandably antsy right about now. The pressure rising and the media questioning becoming ever the more intense, there’s only one course of action left for them to take – strap on their best poker face, proclaim they’ll “make America great again” and…hey, what’s that over there?

donaldtrumpjrdistraction
No it isn’t.

Pretty transparent, right? Of course, but its laughable nature becomes significantly less comforting when you see the results it can bring. After all, it’s arguable that the devilishly persistent “but what about her emails?” line of questioning played a fatal role in Clinton losing the 2016 election.

Look – when all’s said and done, which side of the battle lines you plant your flag upon is ultimately an irrelevance. The facts of the Brexit (or indeed, Russia) situation don’t shift. Reality doesn’t bend to the popular will and, as such, claiming “we won, you lost, get over it” is utterly meaningless. Once you’ve realised this, all there’s left for you to do is to look at the facts of the matter – facts that certain self styled “Brexit legends” might not be too keen on you having a rummage through.

So the next time you’re having a gander at the perpetual shambles going on around you, don’t allow yourself to become distracted just as an epiphany draws near. There’s a very good reason why the sleazy, would be used car salesman insistently tapping you on the shoulder doesn’t want you doing anymore of that pesky thinking.

Isn’t that right Donald?

blamefbi
You sir, are an utter cuntbiscuit.