YOU MUST BE FUCKING JOKING

 

DAVID CAMERON AND HIS GANG OF CHARMERS, DRESSED IN THE REGALIA OF THE BULLINGDON CLUB, A MAINLY ARISTOCRATIC STUDENT ASSOCIATION DEDICATED TO DRUNKEN VANDALISM.

The talking heads, heads of this or chiefs of that, fuckwits, anyway, from the merchant banks and the think tanks persist in seeing the current situation as being remediable, get back to normalable, just as long as someone but obviously not them, bless, eats starvation rations, shivers a lot and endures a decade or so of unemployment and being bollocked by whichever impudent, repulsive, pampered, well-heeled reincarnation of Lord Tebbit of Telecoms - maybe the obnoxious ignoramus cocksucker Mr Sugar - urges them to get on their bikes and scour the country looking for potato-picking career opportunities. Just let the poor and the unconnected suffer, that's what they're for, and after they've done their penance things'll get back to normal, only they won't; how can they, Austerity is as Austerity does. They are already making the TV programmes, the vile slappers, Trinny and Wotsit, shouldered aside for some opportunistic Recession chic, make-do-and-mend for the dispossessed.

The malformed, maladroit stuttering monster, Gordon Brown, with his clunking, metronoming claw of Doom and his bogus over-articulation of madcap, folie de grandeur Sol-You-Shuns, has done away with both parts of boom and bust but to suggest that he has accomplished this single-handedly is infantile. A coalition of financiers, megalomaniacs, opportunist whore politicians, worthless, non-oppositional opposition parties, media slags on all sides and complicit honours-hungry union barons has jointly beggared the nation.

Consider the scale and the nature of the cataclysm and reflect for a moment that, acting for us, we have, on the one hand, a former Marxist solicitor, an innumerate, witless dunderhead, and his manipulative mentor, a snot-eating, nail-biting, non-driving, bad-tempered, maladjusted, bullying, cowardly, eternal student and on the other an over-privileged Oxbridge pair of coke-snorting, fancy-dress, sound-biting arseholes, good for absolutely fuck all. Jesus wept. This quartet, jointly, could not add-up the change in their own pockets and yet here they stand, snorting and braying of trillions, gazillions as if any of them had the foggiest idea of what to do for the best, save shouting at us, lecturing us on what's best as though they did not, every last useless bastard of them, for ten years, applaud the Iron, snot-eating Chancellor, the Man With No Nails, as though these damned thieving nincompoops were in any way different from one another.

There is no back to normal, the normal they speak of was aberrant, a Fools' Paradise. We have seen the best of days, a combination of post-war welfareism and grammar schools and techs., of apprenticeships and trades and skills and decent manual labour, of competent universities; of invention and productivity and North Sea Oil, of expanding global markets for proper goods and not just make-believe money, it's instruments, it's pinstripe hustlers; of wit and art and music and satire and, pre-Thatcher and pre-Blair,a collective impetus to do not the selfish thing but the societal, the familial, the neighbourly, the good; now the land is and will be increasingly a place of no-go areas, the City garrisoned by Russian gangsters in gated communities, feted by UK-native spivs for their megalarceny in Mother Russia, sticky-fingered, criminal capitalists emerging from the KGB to steal from their comrade citizens as well as just torture them, the city's real people battered by brutish Keystone cops, photographed, tasered, killed; it's children homicidal, drugged, drunk, malparented, raised, seamlessly, by Snotman and his crew, from poverty into debt. We, the lucky ones, have seen the best of days, they will not return. This is not a crisis fixable by David fucking Cameron.

We will be overtaken in innovation and industry by yellow and brown peoples, far away; as the lunatic consumption of trash goods, of trash holidays, of trash culture and exaggeratedly indispensable trash media recedes down Poverty's alleyways people will wonder what the fuck it was all about and find new fun, instead, in frugality and survival.

It is not as though we will have endured powdered egg and meat rations in order to defeat fascism; no, our sacrifice, our fall from relative Plenty into durance vile is necessitated by the disordered,remorseless ambition of a handful of wicked messengers, Brown and Blair and Mandelson, their attendant, parasitic legions - in what other age, under what other regime might Draper and Milburn and Whelan and Balls and Hewitt have so flourished, become so enriched ? - and by the failure, the complete capitulation of parliamentary opposition. This is not crisis, requiring only a steely-eyed, unemployable former drunken vandal and his chums in order for it to be wished away; this is collapse and decay and ruination so complete that it doesn't matter which gang of scoundrels, slags, thieves and incompetents emerges after the next election, holding the international begging bowl.

The idea, therefore, of a glorious if penurious Tory renaissance, wrung from the failures of New Labour is not only optimistic - as though people, after all this shit are going to be enthused by such an obvious phony as Cameron - but also quite impertinent, as though those same people, chastened by their failure in voting thrice for Tony and Imelda, are going to masochistically applaud the wealthy Cameron slashing their jobs and pensions and services- why is it, incidentally, that it's wrong to steal private pensions but not public ones, what odd morality is at work here, why are bankers' pensions, terms and conditions legally binding, inviolate but those of nurses aren't ? - did not Cameron lead the applause for Blair when he stood or was pushed. Did not the visionary Cameron and his chums endorse the bloody pursuit of formidable, if non-existent, weapons of mass destruction, all aimed at making Cyprus toast in forty-five minutes? Was the inveterate dope fiend not, like so many, infatuated by the grinning young bisexual warmonger ? Does he come not a trifle late to the Feast ? Who, after his complicity in all that which brought us here, the fuck does he think he is ?

Shit certainly needs doing and undoing in the very unlikely event of Cameron becoming prime minister. Trident should be scrapped, ID cards should be scrapped, PFIs should be renegotiated, the Euro referendum should be held, failed IT projects should be compensated for; doctors, lawyers, accountants, police officers and politicians should no longer be permitted to police and regulate themselves; QUANGOS should largely be disbanded, torture should be outlawed and ministers or anyone else condoning it should be jailed. Cameron the great reformer, of course, will do none of these things; instead, driven by the looming PakiWars and by the need to balance the books after thirteen years of Labour misrule he will keep us all under constant surveillance, he will throw money at the Keystone Cops, as they valiantly protect Government from the People and move us swiftly into the protective arms of his chums in GlobaCorp.

Cameron's Five Year Plan, Cameron's tractor production statistics are probably irrelevant. There is no accurate way of judging the psephological mood of the country, especially not at a time like this. The Westminsterites would certainly give it to Cameron, as would the couple of hundred thousand - often it seems like just the same itinerant few hundred - who live and breathe blog but this is a tiny nit-picking obsessive minority.

It can be argued that given his catastrophic incompetence and wickedness Brown has no chance of winning an election and has therefore rigged and booby-trapped the Treasury for his usurpers. It was, though, surprising that George W Chimp, having with the help of his Dad's friends stolen his first US election, then comfortably won the second, not as surprising as the culprits' passports fluttering to earth from the Twin Towers, nor as surprising as those three buildings all just falling neatly into their own footprints, but still quite surprising. Blair's first two terms were Gate-riven, F1-Gate, Mittal-Gate, Mandelson-Gate, Good-Day-to-Bury-Bad-News-Gate, Imelda-Gate, Hinduja-Gate, WMD-Gate, Saddam-Gate, Kelly-Gate and so on and yet he still romped home for a truncated third term. It is entirely possible that Brown might refute all the lonesome obsessives so currently convinced of his imminent ejection, particularly if the electorate suspected an incoming Cameronian dismantling of the public sector. Once a vandal.

But all is moot. It is not the case that Brown is the question and Cameron the answer. Here, at the hands of Power in all it's forms, we are in Ruin. If the tank-thinkers are right, then it is greater even than the Badger man admits, although he admits to little, if anything. But there is no Buggins' Turn remedy. Fuck Cameron, he's as bad as Brown, probably, in office, worse, that's normally what happens; fuck the part-timer, Laughing Boy Hague and fuck the useless, twittering Osblow. There comes a time, doesn't there, a time beyond crisis, when Ruin does its work. This is ours. It is the political caste which has thus delivered us, a pox on them all; cry Havoc! let slip the dogs of resistance.