Because this is, quite simply, beyond the fucking pale.
Pub happy hours should be banned and supermarkets stopped from selling alcohol at a loss in order to combat drink-fuelled disorder, MPs have said.
The Home Affairs select committee said reckless drinking was placing a heavy burden on police resources.
One possible solution for England and Wales, MPs said, would be legislation setting a minimum price on alcohol.
"Reckless drinking" is placing "a heavy burden on police resources", is it? Tough. We employ the police to deal with crime.
Besides, what has happened to the enormous piles of our fucking money that you have piled into law and order over the last ten years? What has happened, come to that, to any of the new £300 billion per year extra (compared with 1997) that you are spending? Where the fuck is the money?
And setting a minimum price for alcohol? Ending happy hours? What the fuck are you talking about, you evil little cunts?
As my newly-returned, impecunious Greek friend points out, you fat, bloated cunt-holes subsidise your bars with our money: money that, apparently, is too good to spent on the police and only good enough to spend on your own gross appetites.
I propose setting up a pilot scheme in one of the worst crime hotspots in the country: the Palace of Westminster. Over to the Association of Licensed Multiple Retailers (PDF):The House of Commons Refreshment Department operated on a subsidy of £5.5 million of taxpayers’ money in the 2007/08 financial year, equivalent to total annual tax receipts from 35 pubs. The subsidy, not published in the House of Commons’ Annual Accounts, was £693,000 higher than in 2006/07, a 15% increase.
It accounted for 43% of the Department’s operating costs, meaning that the taxpayer coughs up £4.30 for every £10 spent refreshing our politicians: even before they claim back their outgoings without receipts through the notorious expenses system.
There are at least 12 bars in the Parliamentary estate, excluding the various dining rooms, brasseries and banqueting suites. Unsurprisingly, given the MPs write their own laws as well as ours, they operate without a licence and have no restrictions on hours.
Given the level of subsidy, it is unsurprising that MPs can enjoy much cheaper drinks than their constituents. A pint of Foster’s in Stranger’s Bar costs £2.10, compared with a national average of £2.80 (33% higher) and a London average of around £3.00 (43% higher). A House of Commons 8-year-old Scotch costs £1.35, while our politicians can enjoy a Pimm’s on the Thames-side terrace for just £1.65.
It's a minor miracle that our MPs are sober enough to sit through committee meetings at all, let alone pontificate on the perils of subsidised booze. Here's a challenge, you hypocritical snotbags; I will abide by the rules if you will. When you stop taking my fucking money, spending it on getting your secretaries pissed so you can stick your hands up their skirts, and then claiming it back from me a second time in expenses, I'll stop endangering Western civilisation by buying 6 bottles of Stella for the price of 4.
I seriously do not fucking understand how anybody—even the terminally corrupt fuckers who insinuate themselves into our Parliament—can be so brazen. How can anyone takes these cunts seriously?
They are not even trying to hide their corruption and hypocrisy anymore: they are drinking beer subsidised by our tax money and then pissing in our open mouths and laughing. This just isn't funny anymore.
So, once again I shall quote Cromwell—although the man would probably have approved of the Puritanical nature of the proposals, he most definitely would not have approved of the rampant hypocrisy of the proposers.
"It is high time for me to put an end to your sitting in this place, which you have dishonored by your contempt of all virtue, and defiled by your practice of every vice; ye are a factious crew, and enemies to all good government; ye are a pack of mercenary wretches, and would like Esau sell your country for a mess of pottage, and like Judas betray your God for a few pieces of money.
"Is there a single virtue now remaining amongst you? Is there one vice you do not possess? Ye have no more religion than my horse; gold is your God; which of you have not barter'd your conscience for bribes? Is there a man amongst you that has the least care for the good of the Commonwealth?
"Ye sordid prostitutes have you not defil'd this sacred place, and turn'd the Lord's temple into a den of thieves, by your immoral principles and wicked practices? Ye are grown intolerably odious to the whole nation; you were deputed here by the people to get grievances redress'd, are yourselves gone!
"So! Take away that shining bauble there, and lock up the doors. In the name of God, go!"
Yes, go, you bunch of hideous, corrupt, venal, hypocritical fucking bastards! How fucking DARE you sit there, with your hands clasped over your obese bellies—your huge, wobbling guts filled with fine food and subsidised booze paid for by our hard work—and demand that we be further fucked up the arse?
Seriously, how very dare you? Have you no shame?