Land of Coke and Glory Holes

“Is it that time already?” The readers didst cry.

“Surely it cannot be a whole five weeks since the last instalment of prophetic wisdom, hammered out through the splintered cheap nail polish shards of OT Strange.”, they gasped.

I know, it barely seems possible.

It has been a busy period of inactivity for the most part, interspersed with brief sprints of self improvement, including the joys of losing money on Crypto Currency, watching live online drag shows at 3 am and, my favourite of all, being called a racist, by white knighting SIMPS – fighting for the honour of their basic white bitch queens.

In addition, I have just returned from a spiritual vision quest, as my medicine bundle had been aching with a longing to spread its legs and when the spirits call, I must follow.

Upon my return to the native space of the linear beings, I am shocked and indeed stunned, to find that the very fabric of the United(ish) Kingdom is hanging on to existence like a badly glued false eyelash on a drunk girl.

The root cause of this schism to normative thinking, is of course those ghastly Marxist types, who have had the absolute cheek of suggesting that the Police stop beating the crap out of and/or killing black folk.

Only this time those commies have gone TOO far, they are looking to remove ‘decent’ folks rights to sing a tuneless racist anthem, one of many that make my sphincter spasm at the very thought (and not in a good way).

Land of Hope and Glory.

Or if you are a Conservative MP Land of Coke and Glory Holes, fisting up the poor… (that’s quite a good lyric that, they should keep it in.)

Anyhoot. Back in the day, I recall making the mistake of introducing myself as ‘British’ to a Scottish bird I had started working with. Her response was to kick me in the nuts and inform me that I was not British, I was just ‘another fucking English wanker’ – and how right she was.

Britain was never great and never will be, it is a basic shit hole of a country trying to cling to some semblance of relevance, like a one hit wonder band trying to milk their one hit for another 600 years after placing 37 in the ‘hit parade’.

Like the spreading of the final toast crumbed and plastic scrapings from the tub of Stork Margarine onto a floured bap.

Or indeed like the final three seasons of Baywatch.

I realise that this news may perhaps be a lot to take in, especially after you readers managed to finish the side of the cereal packet only a week ago, therefore I shall refrain from diving any farther into my initial intent for this post.

In other news I have just cracked another nail. #FML


Internet personality who writes sometimes