I do like a damned good skit in the british, English,
pantomimesque tradition. It is the season after all. So when I spark up the
liar’sbox to check on the state of the enchanted weather over the smoke and the
black magic underground railway here (if ever evidence was profited for messing
with time it is the London Underground Minute, as everyone watched the jews
dragging stone blokes up a ramp for der Phjaro, when the universal constant of
WTF can join Newton down Leicester skwaure) I am always ready with the old “oh
no you are not, look behind you, your getting knifed in the back”
BWAHAHAHAHAAAA.
A long time ago in small soupcon of reality I watched a
retard being maternated. It was a weird scene. Repeated almost ad infinitum across
the UKplc experimental ward. Those whom I used to play football with in the cow
pats would have been agog at the spectacle of a kalergibeastling getting lauded,
by a be-earringed cryptoaboexterior priestess of the faith, to the heavens for
walking straight. Our future leaders or failures if you are a real person.
So when the prisonerfunded unreality machine here, unreal as
in Lokibollox actjujality, parks a minister for something in the queerqueenzone
then one can immediately make a mental note “well you lot are phukked then”,
innit.
As an example, look at the great Layabout administration of
Enki in the 1960s where ministerial portfolios included aviation…well go and
have a look on any iSTASI controlled ausphaart engine. As the song should
really say “gone and truly Fergusson”. One portfolio never to be seen is
pantomimes which tells you it must be MEMOREX. Like Policing here, kill anyone
you want and leave the country free. Fart sideways and get sent to prison. Or
genocide your country and steal all its wealth then park yourself and the loot
in London City and the RCE/LC IP talent will protect you.
In the internet of thangs one can be sure that the WC is
listening for an outbreak of the Horst Wessel again. A little tinkle on your
personal device, or tooth DIckestylee, will tell you that they don’t like the
way your arse is thinking, truth suppositories will be delivered to you by home
visit if you are not compliant, which might complicate things if you are a
hoimologatedhomoservilual, japseye, sweetcorn et al. Meanwhile your next door
neighbour, who cracked their hip falling down the stares, will die in the unknown
stairing cold.
To forever escape the slaver inclined is your anonymous life
and nothing else.
One lives in a psychohistorical package, a quantum of life,
long engineered before the collapse into a HAS.
We might as well prepredict their insanity engines of faith
and start the appeal to free Alan “Googulag” Buttle. El Kid is too on the case for
the Big Ben’s liking.
Enjoy.
Mami's Shit: The Graham Hart Show - With Brizer 2020.01.13: Brizer's guest: Alan Buttle (Irish History etc) Graham's blog Graham Hart - Hoax Train.mp3 Cornwall Stream Mami's Arc...
