Saturday, 3 May 2008

In Which I Finally Give Up

Seriously, London? Boris fucking Johnson? There are at least five million people in our capital who don't get to complain about the US re-electing Bush any more, since we're apparently A-OK with racist homophobes as long as they have floppy hair and a neat line in one liners. It's been said before that relying on the public's intelligence is a mug's game, but surely there's a limit. A friend of mine asked today if this was one of Nostradamus' conditions for the apocalypse, but frankly I don't believe even he could have forseen so many fucking people being so fucking idiotic at the same fucking time. The people who vote for X Factor exhibit more taste.

I mean, c'mon, London; I get that we're supposed to root for the lovable loser, but the whole fucking point is that the lovable loser loses. Endearing is not the same thing as competent. I love my dog far more than I ever will you pathetic flesh-bags, but I am unlikely to suggest her name for the Mayor of Europe's most populous city. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I know my way around a witty put-down, too. Why not put me in charge? At least I won't call anyone a piccaninny or fuck someone other than my partner. I won't even accuse people of cannibalism or threaten to use Navy Seals against bicycle thieves.

It's something to think about as your chaotically-fringed new leader accidentally loses your entire city down the back of the fucking sofa.

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