Not sure if my resolution for the new year is to be increasingly sarcastic on political social media, punctuate and spell better on social media, be more angry on social media culminating in daily YouTube videos of me shouting in my car, or to get out more… hmmm...
Good to see that heroic tory bloke cutting short his holiday as we are being invaded by four or five people in little boats. That is leadership material right there. Our next PM... Someone who doesn't need holidays while small boats with poor people are invading our borders. This is serious. He is concerned. Concerned about protecting our borders. The Tory bloke needs to put his foot down about Brexit. Brexit is Brexit, even if some lefties call it lexit. That'll save us from four or five people invading our great country in little boats. Protect our borders. Protect people. Protect borders from people. Protect Brexit. Protect Brexit from people. Brexit those borders.
As the human world circles the plughole, what do you think you are winning, typing frantically, manically, with your thumbs?
The politics of people impacting on the thin layer that protects us. Will our politics help that thin layer continue to protect us? Or will our politics continue down the path of starving, bombing, burning people from their homes to die cold in seas, seeking a life we have stolen? Will our politics leave nothing for children?
If you reject the analysis, you are bourgeois. If you challenge the analysis written by the leader, you are an enemy of the party. People join to be part of the truth, the arrow, the one true socialist party. People join to be embraced, and to be heard. Noone wants to be cast outside, demeaned and be enemies of socialism. The unfortunates are outside, there to be pitied and led by the vanguard.___
Mum: Brexitina and Lexita, time for your bath!
Children: we've voted never to Bath again. Our current knowledge of bathing is that it gets in the way of playing and eating sweets.
Mum: but you'll end up smelling bad. You'll lose friends. You'll get ill.
Children: respect our vote.
Two years later:
Children: mum, Noone wants to play with us and we have open, running sores all over our bodies. We want to reverse our vote.
Mum: no way... The children spoke. I respect democracy. Now keep that bedroom door closed... Noone wants to smell that!
Next year the Queen needs to dress in a hoodie, pyjama bottoms and a pair of Nike or I'm not listening.