MARGO IN CHAINS
ALL THAT GLISTERS, ISNAE GOLD.
Ms subrosa, at her excellent blog, reports, mournfully, the death, after a long illness, of Scottish MSP, Margo MacDonald. MacDonald was all those things - y'know - fiery, a maverick, fiercely independent, radical, feisty; pick a journalistic cliche card, any card, Margo was it. A former tribeswoman, she differed eventually with the Fatman, Salmond and for the last few years struck a Tony Benn-like figure in MediaRood. She had many friends and admirers, just like the late former Viscount Stansted and even the turdheads of the current govament, as it calls itself, - if it is a governement, why is it calling for independence; surely, to be a government you must be independent, otherwise you are just a local govenment, innit, that's the Tribesmen for you, less logic now than they showed at Culloden - anyway, that shower, Shitbrain Swinney and Fishwife Sturgeon and the fat, oily fucker himself gushed hypocritically at her passing.
I am a little more cynical, a lot more cynical than ms subrosa and tar them all with the same Millarbrush, politicians. MacDonald, like Benn, managed to fool many people into thinking that she was one of us pretending to be one of them, when, in fact, she was one of them, pretending to be one of us, she would have had more in common with a Scottish Tory MSP than with a constituent.
Aside from her lifelong, gold-plated ticket on the gravy train, aside from her conceit and her gobby arrogance - think Tommy Sheridan in golden multi-medallions and truest, most phospherescent peroxide - Margo, at the end, suffering from the shaking disease, used her seat as the most vulgar bully pulpit, blethering endlessly about an Assisted Dying Bill, she didn't want to die that much that she'd shut the fuck up and stop putting ideas in people's heads - ideas of compusory but entirely voluntary euthanasia - no, firebrand, radical, selfish old cow, right to the bitter end she stood shaking and dribbling, yet making, cogently, she believed, her case to be a legislator or last resort; oughta be a law against that sort of cheek. Fuck me, the nerve of some people, who do they think they are?
It is a matter most depressing that even the shrewd amongst us, like ms subrosa, all seem to have their MP, their councillor, their MSP who, because of the theirness factor, isn't like all the other filth; oh, no, Margo was different. And it is by this cosy self-subterfuge, ms subrosa, that we are all doomed. We don't need showbiz fiery, showbiz radical, showbiz independence, we need Samson, to pull the whole stinking place down around his ears. I'd vote for him.
5 comments:
Ochfirchristsake- whit a pile o pish.
Away an bile yer heid.
Twice, just tae make sure it works.
Sorry, mr jock, i don't speak tribesman. You, however, from what I can deduce, rise to the stupidity bait just like the proper, inbred, inebriate, child-molesting, wife-bearing crossdressing imbecile which you clearly are.
Debating other opinions ? Nah, I dinnae do that, I'm a cunt, me, and proud of it, that's the ribesmen isn't it? You should go awa back tae yer bed wi' yer niece, breed some more ginger mongrels, yer no' fit tae be oot wi' the big boys, y'ken, the ones who do thinking. Mindless fucking brainwashed toerag, that's you and the sooner you fuck off out of Scotland the better we'll be.
Sorry - been otherwise engaged.
Fair enough - thought mines was pithier though. I do get the impression you rant at statues, indifferent cattle in fields, and the like. Do you approve of anything much at all?
Sorry, mr jock, that you don't care for my tone; perhaps you could try Songs of Praise, they don't do much ranting there, well, they don't call it ranting, rsther like Mr Salmond doesn't call his ranting ranting, either. Or you yours.
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