It’s too easy to hate, to say with screams, to find alt-solutions in final extremes, your volume racked up In your echo chamber, Knowing your hatred Reverbs beyond there; Too may such rooms, with men pushing in these are the places where the end begins.
Who is Nick Timothy? Do you give a toss? He’s the quiet one, St Theresa’s soft voice. Almost Deputy PM, with no vote or mandate, he’ll re-draw Conservatism, tracing over the Left; aided by Fiona, the Queen of Press Passes, but Nick wears the boots, ‘cos he likes to kick arses.
It’s has been a traumatic and tragic week for our wonderful country, (formerly known as the United Kingdom), and it is difficult to write anything at all amusing, but then Paul Nuttall hove’s into view and the satire flows like a Parisians bum after a feast of Escargots way past their sell by date. To be honest do I need to write anything further? If you thought Nigel '2 Fags'
Following on from yesterday and after a chance to digest the Conservative manifesto Miracle on Downing Street by Mike Bell St. Theresa knows what is good for us, she 'Hallelujahs' for votes (The Mail prints the chorus). She cleans the feet of the blessed rich, with her giving hands on their privatised bits: She's touched The Trump, held the hand of 'God', and now she is saying: 'Come and buy