Tuesday 4 February 2014

The Scottish Game

In September there is going to be a referendum in Scotland.
The Scots are supposed to be voting on independence from Great Britain.

This is a huge fraud.

First of all, independence would be a sham. The Scots would be ruled by the same busybodying oafs they have today, but without national parliamentary restraint.

These politicians claim that Scotland would be 'rich in resources', by which they mean that the declining North Sea oil fields would somehow transfer to the Scottish collective, that public that never seems to own anything but that which is disposed of by, yes, politicians.

Of course, the companies that have developed the oil and gas are the owners, governments merely tax.

So I suppose that for Scottish politicians to be able to buy more favour, they would tax to the hilt the remaining investment there.

Then they claim that they want to keep the pound Sterling.
Well I'm sorry, but we've seen what happens with the Euro, and we know what your dirty little plan is.

They want independence they can have it. But not the pound, as Carney says.

As for England and Wales, they would lose tens of Labour parliamentary parasites, ensuring that no Labour government would ever sit in Whitehall again.

Which is a good thing.

So bring it on. But don't try to have it both ways. It won't wash.

Tuesday 28 January 2014

Cheap Television.

There's a show on today in the USA.
With a cast of one, a poorly written script that, unlike Art, does not mirror life, and a garish set covered in red, white and blue, it will attract an audience of millions, millions who, dizzy with disappointment, will tune in to hear the little man reading the prompts reassure them that there is hope still.


These people will be tuning in to the State Of The Union address to be told that everything that they have seen and heard, everything that they have learned in the past year, isn't real.

With the faint brightness of children recovering from a crying fit, they will face the man who gains strength from their inexplicable attention, a man who needs nothing more than the knowledge that people are yet listening to validate his contempt for them.

For who else but the contemptible would tune in to watch this wretch wriggle?

The age of Man is nearly over.

This is the age of belief.