running dog capitalist lackeys will be chased form Downing Street and we will once again be able to breathe the clean and bracing air of a true socialist democracy.
The colour of your skin, your choice of gender and sexuality or your ability to compose a sentence of English will no longer be an iniquitous obstruction to your self fulfilment.
And conversely the public school you attended will no longer confer an equally iniquitous advantage for you over honest working folk (yes, I'm pointing at you sir Charlie and your venomous little sidekick Berni).
'Seems that I was busy doing something close to nothing
But different than the day before'
'Met a dwarf that was no good, dressed like Little Red Riding Hood'
'Now you're unemployed, all non-void
Walkin' round like you're Pretty Boy Floyd'
I'm as much of a fan of Wodehouse as the next fellow. As a matter of fact I have this sort of great uncle up in Stirling, Scotland, now literally probably ninety, who has almost every Wodehouse. That and a robust supply of undrinkable currant wine that he foists on you.
"Plenty of strikers can score goals," he said, gesturing to the famous old stands casting shadows around us.
"But a lot have found it difficult wearing the number 9 shirt for The Arsenal."
Corbynistas and Brexiters are both cünts. As are Tories in general, LDs, Jocks and Taffs and the Greens.
Basically, it's Screaming Lord Sutch or no-one. We used to have Fox vs Pitt, good ol' Pam, Dizzy vs Gladstone, DLG and Winnie.
Now look. Bunch of cünts that wouldn't even make the short-list for the Loony Party in the most backward northern hell-hole.
I shall cross out all the names on the paper and write Lord Sutch and/or Indira.