King Alec disappeared during the election. He had insisted that his tribesmen's party would win twenty seats in Westminster and that through them and the arithmetic of uncertainty he would rule the English roost; he had squandered fifty grand of tribesmen's money on a Fool's errand in the courts; so, shameless, he did his usual Brown/McCavity thing, locked himself in the shortbread cupboard and left his comrades in the shit, mainly the ubiquitous and unendurable First Fishwife, his depute leader, Nicola Gob,
KISSING FOR SCOTLAND
never happier than when Jock journalists, most of them with a face like a prison door and the IQ of a fencepost, are pointing cameras at her midget presence and hanging on her every garbled SeeYouJimmy, it's all they English bastards' fault. Lardman's clear strategy is to let others, mainly his dumbfuck finance minister, John Swinney and Wee Nicola Moustache, take the flak which is beginning to pepper the tribesmen's sky.
The posse of Westminster tribesmen never arrived, the judge mocked his demand to be on the would-be prime ministers' shows and JockLabour, as we predicted months ago, enjoyed a bit of a rennaissance in the face of a possible Tory government. As usual the bloated wee fucker was wrong on all counts and went into hiding, comfort eating.
ANYBODY KEN WHERE I LEFT THEY
BACON AND THISTLE SANDWICHES?
The leaking and grotesque half-billion pound parliament, Kirsty Wark House, is now in session, though, and for Salmond it's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Come out fighting, Genghis Salmond, therefore, was the order of the day in Jock First Minister's questions. Salmond had seen his grubby, lardy corpulence as KingMaker-personified, in a coalition, more Rainman than Rainbow of LibLab and Tribesmen, Welsh and Scottish, he extorting more than our share of money to squander on PR and smirking, maybe inviting he-man, Sir Sean Connery, 82, now patriotically residing on the bonny, bonny banks of Lake Geneva, to attend Bute House for a piss-up and a viewing of his amazing career in films, as they do; maybe selling more of Scotland to Donald McTrump or to the windmilling energy carpetbaggers. Labour, anyway, he insisted angrily, was wrong for not doing a deal with the Toiletmen, the Toiletmen were wrong for not doing a deal with Labour and doing one, instead with the braying Old Etonians and the Old Etonians were just plain wrong; the only person who was right in all this election shit was he, Alec the First of Scotland. And, come the next Holyrood elections, probably the last.
Smirk as he may, and he does,
I, TAVISH MCHOOTER, LIBERAL DEMOCRAT LEADER,DO SOLEMNLY SWEAR THAT I AM A TORYBASTARD, REALLY
Tavish McHooter must know that Scotland will be enraged at his Toiletmen for joining the Tory party; encouraged by their recent victories, Jock Labour will take their seats back, from both Tribesmen and Toileteers. If you took all the useless Torybastard leaders in recent history, Howard, Major and IDS, rolled them into a composite of abhorrent, unelectable failure, wretchedly off-putting, irritating, a six-legged, three-headed juggernaut of repulsive gabshitery they would not equal in smouldering wrath and simmering, punitive misanthropy the charmless, ghoulish matron, Annabel Goldie,
who currently leads the Torybastard MSPs, all up their own scabby arses with delight at the fact that an Old Etonian is at the helm again and can get back to dealing in unemployment for the poor and perks for the rich; it may be that Goldie's wretched JockLawyer bluster and fart in a colander indignation will ignite the Tory flame among a handful of Anglo-Scottish hangers and floggers but realistucally she's pissing up a rope, now, there's a fragrant, imaginative construct for you.
It is a right bitches brew, up here, the previous LibLab pact a byword for national embarrassment, political self interest and stupefying incompetence, Salmond's wee boat running aground, the local Libs quite rightly fucked by Cleggie's shenanigans, the Torybastards a barely breathing museum piece and Labour, under Ian Gray, putting the Wendy Fishmouth scandals behind them, perhaps being seen as the only ones able to withstand Cameron and his dopey chums and their servility to Money.
The Scottish elite, scumbag lawyers, rubbish journalitsts, jumped-up councillors and trade union capos - think pisshead and former NewLab minister for hire, Brian Wilson - often describe themselves as a village, really. Certainly no shortage of idiots, the Scottish people ill-served for centuries by scoundrel patriots like Salmond, braying wannabe aristos like Malcolm Rifkind, gobby, dipso wankers like Charlie Kennedy and deranged, presbyterian Nazis like our outgone premier, Gordon Snot. What we need, here, in the best part of England, is a revolution.