However, the best assessment of Darling's performance—not to mention that of his Gobblin' puppetmaster—surely comes from the irrepressible Mr Eugenides.
These are the same people that have been fucking you up the arse for the last ten years. Now they’re offering a lemon-scented towelette for you to wipe the semen from your thighs, and they expect gratitude. Oh, and for the avoidance of doubt: you’re paying for the fucking towelette, too.
After ten years of NuLabour, I am used to my ringpiece feeling like it's been roughly fucked by a fully-inflated puffer-fish but I had been wondering why my thighs smelt of lemon...
5 comments:
Is this some warped competition for who can come up with the most vile mental image of the day?
This is exactly the kind of writing my English teacher (back in the days when we were of course taught properly) was on about.
The difference between Labour and the Tories is that the Tories only stuff an uninflated puffer fish up your arse.
Rule of Unintended Consequences kicks in an the puffer fish, none too happy, does what a puffer fish does...
What the fuck is this all about?
The moist towelettes I paid for out of my taxes are a bit rough and dry, and they don't use real lemon, so I use my own. It's called Choice. Okay, so I get nothing for my taxes, but I niavely expect my tax, which I graciously give, to be used to help genuine unfortunates (perhaps like MPs who want to retire before normal people).
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