Beautiful plumage, yer Westminster Blue
Will the real David Cameron please stand up?
No, he won’t. There is no real David Cameron, and he will never stand up for us, because there is nothing he stands for. He will put up with anything if there’s money in it, and on that dimension there’s nothing he wouldn’t stand for in order to get it.
He is a parrot. His feet have been nailed to the perch of his gilded cage to make him seem a thoroughly upright sort of chap, but he is ethically dead. His morals have ceased to be. He is no more than what he started out as, which was less than nothing. He is a soon-to-be ex-Prime Minister who was never more than a parrot.
He is not a resting parrot, he is a parrot who should be arrested. He is an abbreviation for a parrot, that is, a pr. He could not even get a leg up on a level playing field without using his ghastly mother-in-law to get him a job. He is a bird of staggeringly little brain, and in that respect is the heir to Blair by being a featherweight dinosaur whose bird-calls of big society, high speed trains and safe Health Services are so much bollocks.
He would sell his kingdom for a bourse.
He would sell Waspis down the river.
He would sell the National Anthem for a song.
He will sell us out.
He is past his sell-by date.
He should be sold off for lapdog food.