Well, Jeremy, good news, it's two hundred and fifty six, now, or is it seven? And so, much as it goes against the grin, I mean grain, I have to agree with the prime minister, the big flirt, that we are really winning now; the more of our troops they kill the more desperate they are, so the more we have them on the run. In fact I would go so far as to say we have them exactly where they want us.
And the great news is that the UK hospitals are all creaking under the strain and will soon have to throw-out the civvy patients to make room for Tommy No-Arse. He'll be ok, they can do wonderful things with tubing and plastic bags. So if that isn't proof of how well we are doing I don't know what is. We have to fight them there, else we'll be having to throw civilians out of hospital, here, which we are, anyway; is that how it goes?
So now that that's all sorted out, huge respect for immense professionalism...great debt...duty.. supreme sacrifice, blah blah blah maybe we can get back to what this is all about, Tommy dying for the British way of life, summed-up, quite neatly, I think, by the taxpayer paying for my gardener, and, indeed, my garden. If a garden's worth planting, it's worth somebody else dying for. And long may they continue to do so. I mean, you get the MPs you deserve. Like Terry Waite.
No comments:
Post a Comment