Jo Cox

It’s a sad day, and I’m trying to focus on that, and not be angry.

Her poor kids.

Of course, it’s too soon to judge Jo Cox’s killer. He may be mentally ill. So I’m not judging him.

I’m perfectly happy to judge others though: the politicians who sacrifice peace and honour and public good for their ambition.

Are you happy now, Nigel? Sleeping well tonight, Boris?

img_3752Those things that used to define Britain… calmness, rationality, openness, kindness, thoughtfulness, intelligence, safety and peace… those things are being snuffed out.

But not by immigrants; by anti-immigrants.

By the angry, by the ill-informed; by the noisy, tiresome mob; the furious nostalgic pensioner who’s political curiosity is as deep as the front page of the Daily Mail.

By the raging middle-class who vote for cuts at home, then blame Belgium when little Cassandra can’t get into their favourite school.

By the Sun-reading, X-Factor-addled, mindlessly irate, who don’t recognise their own Home Secretary, yet regurgitate low-grade xenophobia about Bulgarians each day.

By the closed-minded, furious fools without even the courage to admit that skin-colour is behind their rhetoric.

Those thing that define Britain? They’re important.

And they’re being stamped out by the British: not by foreigners.

If you “want your country back”, start behaving how you want that country to behave.

You want it fair? Be fair to refugees.

You want it honest? Don’t tell lies about migrants.

You want it to be rational? Believe evidence, don’t dismiss it as the lies of the elite.

You want it peaceful? Don’t pour gasoline on the flames or racism.

RIP Jo Cox.

Bloody immigrants.

The building you’re sitting in right now is held up with Spanish or Iranian gypsum. Most of your car is probably made in Germany, Mexico or Japan. The oil that powers it most likely from Saudi Arabia.

You drink beer from Belgium, vodka from Russian and wine from France. You gobble Italian pizza and scoff Chinese rice, flavoured with spices from Indonesia.

You wear American jeans and eat chips made from Venezuelan potatoes. Your coffee is Brazilian,​ your tea is Tamil, the sugar is Jamaican and the milk is only safe to drink because a Frenchman made it so. If you fancy a little flavouring, you’ll use syrup from Canada, chocolate from Colombia, or lemons from Portugal.

Your democracy is Greek. Your humour is Jewish. Your numbers are Arabic and your letters are Latin. Your pyjamas are Indian and your slippers are Turkish.

And you’re reading this in a language that’s a bastard hybrid of French, Latin, Scandiwegian and Irish.

How dare anybody complain about immigrants.

Labradors: better than the English Defence League

Why vote for the English Defence League when you can do so much better?

Let’s compare their relative merits on a number of important issues:

Labrador dogsRacism

In this picture we see proof that labradors are less racist than the English Defence League.

Labradors with rubix cubeIntelligence

In this picture we see proof that labradors are more intelligent than the English Defence League.

Labrador balancing treatsBalance

In this picture we see proof that labradors are more balanced than the English Defence League.

Guide dogSocial value

In this picture we see proof that labradors are more socially useful than the English Defence League.

Labrador licking its ballsMasturbation

In this picture we see proof that labradors, while not bigger wankers than the English Defence League, are certainly more flexible and imaginative wankers than the English Defence League.

I think I’ve proved my point. So why not join the Labrador Party today?

The Labrador Party