Brownian Motion

Aaah, the death throes of a government. Such blissful music to one's ears. Well, we should enjoy it as much as we can before the inevitable panic sets in. You know the panic I mean: the nauseating, gut-numbing sensation that strikes like a dose of some particularly nasty and virulent form of influenza as you realise the kind of options that we, as a country, have lined up to replace him. Hmm, what a selection: Tory-boy Cameron, he of the corporate-sponsored trips to apartheid South Africa and the inability to properly secure his bicycle, or the Lib Dems latest offering, Nick Clegg, who seems to have slept his way to the top of the shortest of political shitheaps. Whatever happens when Gordon eventually deems the time is right to call a General Election, be sure that we will be just as royally buggered (by a butler probably) as we are now.

But that isn't my real problem. My real problem is that I have a perfectly servicable Journalism degree, yet am languishing in dole-queue hell whilst Our Leader is obviously desperately in need of someone with at least a half-ounce of media savvy to point out that posing for photo-shoots in front of the most instantly recognizable symbol of evil in the world is maybe not an amazing idea. Instead of forking out for Special Advisors to leak rumours and send smear emails, Gordon would be better off splurging on a brain-dead monkey, who despite its awful and debilitating condition, would still be able to drag the PM away from the rather obvious BIG FUCKING SWASTIKA that he decided to pose in front of. And maybe to slap that stupid grin off his face.

Big Gord's obviously been told recently to smile more, presumably to counteract the grim predicament the nation's finances are in, but instead of offering reassurance to the populace in times of trouble, all it does it make him look like a syphilitic tramp who's just managed to pass wind for the first time in twenty years.

We used to complain that we were importing personality politics from the States, but in true Brit fashion, we now seem to have turned that into Lack of Personality politics. Blair may have been a compulsively lying Thatcherite sack of shit, but at least he could smile on cue.