Jeremy Hunt insists that – given the likelihood of a No-Deal Brexit – evacuating the nation’s children to the countryside and flying the Royal Family to Canada is Project Reality rather than Project Fear. But then, the new Foreign Secretary is a serial liar, tax cheat, Gradgrind employer, player of the Murdoch pink oboe and perfectly-formed wormhole, and so we should expect nothing less from him.
The poll evidence suggests that, in terms of both leaving the EU or believing a single word the Prime Minister has to say on the subject, the Government’s hogwash about biblical catastrophe is being treated with the same disdain normally reserved for Arthur Scargill Socialist candidates at general elections.
For myself, I greet each scare story with such tooth-clenching anger, I was today forced to calm my wrath by listening to Mozart’s Violent Concerto for Foot Pump and Bedsprings #Opus 53, soloist Fanny Haddock.
But I proceeded onto Twitter, and such Karma as I had attained was instantly diluted.
Owen Jones is the Gay Olympics Giant Leap with Zero Evidence champion sans pareil. He has variously concluded that UKIP voters caused Jo Cox’s murder, racism swung the Referendum vote in Brexit’s favour, and he can find no reasons at all (not one) to leave the European Union.
Now he wants Kate Hoey and Frank Field deselected from their Parliamentary seats:
With a clinical accuracy Professor Barnard would’ve admired, the Boy Wonder has chosen the only two MPs still admired across the political spectrum. But then, if you’re an unpopular gay Stalinist rude boy, populism must be rejected.
If you’re confused by what makes Jones the Butch gay tick, then the odd political place occupied by Piers Morgan will leave you baffled beyond all understanding. He was the editor of a left wing tabloid before being fired, and then courted all sorts of US liberals while at CNN before leaning towards Trump. Now he seems to be in favour of money-throwing parenting and neoliberal slave labour:
Yes, a Dad in Pittsburgh had to work 24/7 at three jobs to buy his teenage daughter a dream dress. Wouldn’t it be better if he had a proper job, a decent level of disposable income, and spent more time at home giving out loving realism rather than buying affection? You can’t buy dreams for your children: you can only give guidance to help them cope with reality, and recognise injustice. Morgan gets worse with age.
The trolling leftist tweet Rachael Swindon (who, it transpires, is a bloke – very MetroLabour) has had two chats with Corbyn of Nazareth, and on the basis of those brief encounters, is confident that her leader really is The Messiah:
Meanwhile, forty years of solid testimony and photographic evidence suggest very strongly that Mr Corbyn and those close to him were indeed IRA sympathisers, card-carrying Communists, pro-Moscow on Hungary and Czechoslovakia, pro-Arab, anti-semitic on the basis of Jewish banking hegemony, pro Winnie Mandela – and defenders of the use of violence to achieve political ends…this last confirmed eighteen months ago during a meeting of the Momentum Executive.
Eight Momentum big beasts are currently standing for Membership of Labour’s NEC….despite the fact that their parent organisation is not affiliated to the Party.
Rachael is obviously out to replace Theresa May as Britain’s Number One purveyor of utter fiction.
And talking of our Cap’n of the Mayflower, Big T herself is in turn vying for a new award reserved for the most insincere, fame-by-association, clichéd claptrap available in socil media:
Mrs May is not a pioneer, can’t fly a plane, has made cuts to the Air Force, is not an inspiration to anyone who cares about British citizens, and doesn’t give a monkey’s chuff about the many friends and family of Mary Ellis.
But Mrs Ellis stands for everything the Prime Minister isn’t, and so Theresa May would like some of Mary’s pixie dust to rub off.
Not a hope in Hell.