Been a long time coming, this, ever since they tore up Clause Four, Labour has been heading to History's dustbin. Come now, I can hear people say, can't maintain that sort of nonsense in the modern day, people owning the means of production, distribution and exchange; well, if you can't or at least if you can't maintain the threat of it then we see what happens - GlobaCorp, the post-capitalist gangsterism which privatises profits and nationalises losses, which pays no tax, which pays penury wages and which, now, is able to sue us if we don't allow them to steal from us such endeavours as remain in collective ownership, the NHS; these are Blair's chickens come home to roost; Mandelstein's buffet of wealthy fairies, gone septic; Campbell's mendacious bullying, biting him in the arse and Brown's and Balllses bankers' prawn cocktails spewing-up, over their designer shirt fronts. The useless fuckwit - how dare anyone call him an itellectual - Miliband dutifully completed the rout of organised labour, much of it already sold-out by its union masters. I remember that prat, six-figure Dave Prentiss, selling-out his members in exchange for a handshake with Blair, the Warwick Agreement, thay called ir, and I'm fucked if I know how anyone could call Len McFuck a leftie, him crowning Miliband, when there were other, better candidates around.
This, today, is their victory, NewLabour's and the union bosses'. Fuck 'em, useless, scheming, traitorous bastards. This is Toilets Maguire's victory, a supposed socialist hack, sucking Murdoch's rank, ancient knob by night, waving a red flag by day in his shitawful newspaper. This is Polly Toynbee's victory, the Guardian's victory, it is the victory of many of those sophisticated metrosexual tossers, who thought they knew better the road to Jerusalem, even though their preferred destination was Rotherham-on-Sodom.
Look, I said it enough times,
apres moi, le deluge.
That'll be a hundred thousand pounds, please
and make the cheque out to Imelda, would you?