You want me to talk democracy for you, big boy?
"Can I just conclude with a request: however you feel about all this, please vote. And, if possible, take your children to the polling station with you so that they can see how it is done, and how important you believe it to be to participate in this system for which so many people have given, or been prepared to risk, their lives."
Thus the Filth-O-Graph's shilling-a-line philosopher-battleaxe, Janet Daly, condescendingly chivvies her readers into believing that no matter what, all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds, as though she stood in a shieldwall going back to Runnymede or Agincourt or the Normandy beaches, as though the shithole of MediaMinster was just experiencing a littte temporary difficulty, easily corrected by a thoughtful electorate, doing as it was bid. It is your duty to vote for one of those we allow on the ballot paper.
Janet, of course, works for the secretive, anti-democratic filthsters, the Barclay Twins, who don't believe in voting, regularly tyrannise their neighbours in the Channel Islands and would do the same here if possible and seek so to do via the mewlings and pukings of this rancid old woman.
Others, mainly NutKippers, are calling for a large turnout in order to honour the memory of Trooper Lee Rigby and his various wives when, in fact, the arrest of Tony Blair, rather than the election of even more greedy, worthless shitheads to Brussels, would more usefully serve that memory. Britain has been given over to nignogs, they urge, nignogs killed poor Lee, vote, therefore, for the only truly anti-nignog party. A vote for Nigel is a votye for Lee. We are not racist, we just hate nignogs of all colours and none, Paki nignogs, Frog nignogs, German nignogs and specially Romanian gippo nignogs.
I said to mrs ishmael this morning that although I was not discouraging her, I would not be going through this voting charade. Even before her eyebrows raised I said And don't gimme any of that people died so's you could vote shit. It doesn't wash any more, parliamentary democracy, political parties; they are all shit, any one of them, all of them, how many times must I say, they all have more in common with each other than with us; this is a farce, doesn't matter who they are, Jock tribesmen, Welsh fucking nutters, LibLabCon, those insufferable green bastards and now this limping, dimwit, Zimmerframed, sclerotic, angry horde of dispossessed Thatcherite, National Frontsters, starching-up their brown shirts and Union Jacks, they'll all be a long time dead before Nigel Fruitcake forms a government and even if they weren't, governents, all governments are just enforcers for global oligarchy. Nigel Fruitcake and Nick Clegg, what's the difference, both will reinforce the gun-bristling, armour-plated barricade between the filthy rich and the rest of us, voting for one or the other is joining in the spastic shuffle of the village idiot, tormenting himself with the vague, shadowy notion that tomorrow, maybe, someone will be kind to him.