Well that’s me home now. Big thanks to Macart and all the people who published guest posts during my absence and kept the shop open. I appreciate it immensely. I forgot my phone charger so decided just to switch it off when leaving Heathrow and spent the entire holiday incommunicado. On reflection, that was a better idea. Being disconnected from electronic devices meant I was really able to relax and forget about everything. But I’m back now, refreshed and opinionated as ever.
I had a wonderful time in Boston, doing all the usual touristy stuff. It’s an easy city to discover on foot. The food was great, I’ve now acquired a new love for Vietnamese food. I met up with an old friend and had a fantastic time with him. He’s the self-confessed world’s worst tour guide, but great company, and didn’t even complain when I insisted on dragging him to the nether end of Boston’s public transport system so I could have a ride on an old fashioned streetcar.
I also discovered the real reason why they threw all that tea into Boston harbour and sparked off the American Revolution. It wasn’t a principled stand against unfair taxation, oh no. It was really because American tea is seriously howffstrous, boakalicious, and just plain boggin. You’d think that a nation that put a man on the moon might have grasped the simple concept of putting the teabag in the cup before you add boiling water, but seemingly this is beyond the wit of a country with drive in funeral parlours. Probably saying this makes me an evil Scottish cybernat, but apparently evil Scottish cybernat racism only counts as evil Scottish cybernat racism when you tell jokes about English people while in pursuit of Scottish independence, so I reckon I am on safe ground here slagging off American tea making abilities. Although with the Daily Mail you can never be sure. Americans don’t count as foreigners to the Daily Mail, at least not the white, heterosexual, English speaking ones, even if they can’t make a decent cup of tea.
One trendy “tea bar” near Harvard Yard asked if I wanted bobo in my tea. I thought that was Michael Jackson’s pet chimpanzee, but apparently it’s some sort of tapioca. Apparently people with ironic beards like that sort of thing. Anyway, I politely declined the cuppa semolina chimp, and told the server I just wanted a common or garden cup of hot tea – because by this time I’d worked out that if you ask an American for tea you’re quite likely to get given something with ice in it. And then I got presented with a cup of tepid water to which a tea bag had been briefly introduced. To be honest, the chimpanzee would have tasted better, which is probably why Michael Jackson got him in the first place.
So there you have it. America got its separation from the UK because their tea is crap. Not any high principled stuff about taxation or democracy. Perhaps we could take a tealeaf from the Americans’ book and start a Scottish revolution by demolishing the BBC Scotland headquarters and chucking the pieces into what used to be the harbour at Pacific Quay, not because the licence fee is an unfair tax and obligatory state sponsored propaganda is profoundly undemocratic, but because River City is a bit rubbish.
So while I was away out of touch with Caledonian civilisation and being offered bowffericious tannin based beverages while learning about their relationship to revolution, Clypegate happened. The Labour party in Scotland is in a death spiral, it’s already bouncing off the treetops and about to plunge into a deep ravine and explode in a shower of spangly Blair McDougalls, so you’d imagine that any party in such a dire set of circumstances would be taking a long hard look at itself and considering fundamental changes to the way it has operated all these years. But no. Labour thinks it just needs to keep on doing the exact same thing, only more so. Because that’s really going to work for them.
Labour has stared defeat in the face, and it’s crapping itself. Having scrapped any form of socialism that the party once possessed it’s no longer a Labour movement but a bowel movement. Now it’s decided to use the Daily Mail to help it spread the keech about a bit.
Personally, as an evil cybernat, I was devastated to discover that I wasn’t named by the Daily Mail. I’d say named and shamed but I was born without the shame gene. And I’m so evil I throw jeely pieces out of windaes, and the pieces don’t have any jeely on them. That’s pure evil that is. However it’s not as pure evil as the Labour party, which is pure evil combined with pathetic and disgusting and has long since gone off the boil, a bit like American tea really. There’s a real insult there – far worse than calling them traitors, the Labour party are the American tea of politics.
I’m not taking it personally, as the real reason I’ve not been named and unshamed is because I’m not an SNP member so there’s no political mileage in it. You can’t scream SNP accused at a person who’s not answerable to the SNP.
However it’s unlikely that there’s a great deal of mileage for Labour in screaming SNP accused at people on Twitter who are SNP members. It’s not like this is a tactic that they’ve never tried before and represents a new strategy which will turn around their fortunes. Labour’s staff members and its few remaining politicians have been trolling the nation for years now and screaming SNP accused at every opportunity – aided and abetted by their friends in an increasingly discredited and discreditable media. And look where it’s got them. I thought Blair McDougall was supposed to be a master strategist? I suppose he is if you want a strategy for disappearing down the nearest stank. And to put the yellow ice on the crapcake, what Labour has done might even be illegal and a breach of the Data Protection Act. It is not illegal to call a politician a traitor. It’s a robust opinion, and robust opinions are what democracy is founded upon. The American revolutionaries understood that one, even if they didn’t know how to make a decent cuppa.
So to those souls how have been demonised by the Daily Mail for calling someone a traitor, wear it with pride. It means you’ve annoyed someone. And that’s a great start for a revolution.
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