ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BIRMINGHAM, REVISITED. QUESTION TIME PBC1. SHOULD STANISLAV,A YOUNG POLISH PLUMBER, BE DEPORTED, AS UKIP DEMANDS?

 Good evening from Birmingham

 and let's start straight away with the question that has divided the nation;

 

 Should stanislav, a young, polish plumber, be deported?

It is simply outrageous, and morally indefensible, and ethically questionable and probably illegal and brings politics into further disrepute, not as though it occupied the moral high-ground to start with,

And let's face it, it's not as though you could sink much lower. 

 Speaking as a Muslim woman, I mean, if you deport stanislav, who's gonna fix my fucking shithouse? Cheap4Cash?

I mean, if you're stood at the bottom of the stairs and there's a flood of icy water coming down, with condoms and Tampaxes and turds and toilet paper and Allah, peace and blessing be upon his name, knows what the fuck else in it  then you don't need a fucking politician, you need a fucking plumber, innit, ToryBoyGoneBad? 

The whole stair carpet's ruined and the house reeking of piss and  menstrual blood and nappies and nuclear-strength curry-shit, eh?  And your wittering on like a cunt about quotas and skill sets and residency cri-fucking-teria? Good for fuck all, 'swhat you are;  need a quick rub-down with a fucking housebrick. UKIP? You'll have us all down on our knees in front of the khazi, up to our shoulders in our own shit.  Fucking useless bastards.

No-one in UKIP was suggesting that we round up foreigners and either put them in work camps or deport them. Much less exterminate them. 

Not yet, anyway.

Let's be absolutely clear about that, Yazza, lovely name by the way, Yazza, is it foreign,some of my best friends are foreigners, British foreigners but foreigners all the same; no, no, all that happened was that after an ubelieveably busy day, working, I might say, frightfully hard for the people of this country, as, might I say, do all of us in politics;  being quite incredibly tired, my colleague, Mark Dickless,  gave a slightly confused answer with regard to our policy on the Final solution, I mean UKIP's strategy for promoting harmonious integration...........Good God, look at that.......

 I say, Dimbleby, are there darkies allowed in the audience?

Look, there's another one, in the second row, a Paki.....

And there's another, on the end of the row, up there, 

you're not letting him ask a question are you.....??

 

 Calm down Douglas, old girl, don't get your knickers in a twist, you know what you're like.  No, it's quite simple, we wouldn't allow him to ask a question until he'd been here for three months. Or is it two years.......Play some really cool jazz, though, some of them,  blacker the better, tne blacker the dude, the cooler the tune,  as we jazz lovers say.....

.

 No,  Ken, no way, two years is far too long, we simply couldn't get 'em registered, not in two years......

 

    Registered, you mean eligible for NHS DeathCare,

 as happened on your watch, Andy, on your watch, in North Staffs.?

 No, Ken, registered to vote Labour...

The dreadful, the unspeakable PBC1 Question Time show came from Birmingham last night, a place, judging by the audience, wholly unmoved by Mr Fruitcake, his colour-it-in politics-for-morons  and his angry Poundlanders and contemptuous of turncoat MP,

 

Mr Douglas Gobswell, 

although not nearly as derisory as it was in response to the laughably shrill utterances of some pathetic little scrubber

 

belonging - and I use the word  keenly -  to whoever owns the so-called Taxpayers Alliance,

 

poor little fool, clearly a graduate of the Guido Fawkes School of Political Science,  had no idea of the scale of her self-ridicule, 

oughta be a law against that, people using the PBC to make of themselves irredeemable fools. 'Snot fair on them. Not fair on the viewers, either; even on my side of the screen,  I was tied in knots, Embarrassment's figures-of-eight contorting my limbs, Please-God-Make-It-Stop-ing for all I was worth. One of the most brazenly stupid people I have ever, ever, ever seen. And she thought she was clever, NowLet'sBeClear-ing her empty head off.

Anyway, a member of the audience, 

rather more grounded than the TaxMinx, completed her caustic assessment of the panel with the question, referring to  turncoat opportunist arsehole, Mr Mark Dickless 

- What, anyway, are we doing, 

even thinking about voting for a man who, 

when he gets tired, turns into  a racist?

If I was WysteriaDave I'd be on the 'phone to a tee-shirt printers, right now, ordering  thousands:

 UKIP

 

ONLY RACIST WHEN WE'RE KNACKERED.

It was a gem of sharp, Brummy realism, sparkling on an ocean floor of trash, effluent  and wreckage, the panel was  a grim school of bottom-feeding professional parasites, juicily barracked by its audience, pointlessly circling itself,  excreting clouds of rhetoric and bombast, I-Know-Besting;  the audience, however, just for once, was - apart from a feeble sprinkling of Kippers - united in hard-baked scorn and derision against MediaMinster. If you didn't see it, it is available on the Ouija-Pad; there is a hint, there, from Birmingham, a glimmering, that all may not yet be lost to Knavery, Farage's or the others'.