Talentless freeloaders known as ‘cabinet ministers’ pose and preen as “rebels” and “hard-liners” to the point where projectile vomit feels like an under-reaction. Days of
delays slither into weeks, only the seasons change, and the calendar months clatter by like a Brussels gravy train.

What in the name of God (Allah? Christ?) are we paying these people for? Politicians, they call themselves. They do nothing, create nothing, contribute nothing, produce nothing at all but words, and only weasel words at that.  A job that a half-dozen graduate lawyers could have completed in a few months has not even begun, over two years down the line.
The one, simple command given by the public – leave the European Union, is simply ignored. Two grubby parliamentary fingers to you, me, and every other sucker who believed their greasy claptrap about “the will of the people”. A Brexit story that began with a pig’s head is ending as a pig’s ear.


If democracy was once a living thing, the current British version is a jangling, gibbering skeleton with holes in its skull and a pair of stumps where the itchy feet were hacked off with a machete (the EU  hacksaw of diversity).
Western democratic government -once the envy of all- is revealed as the confidence trick we always suspected it was becoming. 
Our parents (or grandparents, dear millenials) who fought wars to preserve this country – a heroic tribe, killed and maimed in their millions – have been utterly betrayed. Their memorial is now a crude desecration, an obscenity so gross it could not be exceeded if May and Corbyn were caught dancing a naked tango on the Cenotaph. My own father carried the mutilations of full-body third-degree burns to the day of his premature death, his personal legacy from the slaughterhouse of the RAF / Luftwaffe face-off. He volunteered at 17, lied  about his age, chose his own agonising destiny, on behalf of children yet to come, just as his father did in World War One.

This desecration did not have to happen. Only the dark manoeuverings of party politics could have brought Britain back to the edge of annihilation that two generations were bled dry to prevent. No-one – least of all the survivors- was willing to contemplate another holocaust.

And so, into the peace that followed WW2- (yes, my young friends, that sweet, lifelong peaceful idyll which you take for granted) – crept a series of international lobby-groups with big ideas for the controllable world. A ‘League of Nations’ was born, squawked and died, to be quickly succeeded by the shrill sermonising of an endlessly corruptible United Nations. And the big wheels of big banking (which own and run the poodles of the UN) rolled back onto the super highways of profit. For decades their artfully crafted resource wars (there are no other kind) were conveniently located in faraway countries. Europe was carved up, rebuilt, rebooted. Rebranded, eventually, as a ‘Union’, while we the people dreamed a victor’s dream. We had not, could not be conquered. And while we slept, the banks moved in, the Left moved right and the Right moved left until they all held hands in Brussels -as we snored- and our country was sold to the lowest bidder.


And lo, there came upon the land a thing known as the European Economic Community. Now this confection was, from the get-go, a con trick. Given that all wars are the logical extension of aggressive business practice, this so-called “Community” looked far too much (to those with memories) like the Nazi dream-economy imagined by Hitler and his backers. Which is hardly surprising, as at every stage of its Frankenstein-like creation, the European Union has been riddled with deep-state German families, banks and businesses which -by mysterious means- had all somehow survived the economic destruction of Europe. Mercedes, Schroder, Siemens, Junkers, go google the history of these names and ask why and how these businesses thrive today just as they thrived in the Third Reich.

By 1973, Britain’s busy, hard working, war-weary population had been secretly inducted into this Community without ever being asked. When word of that disgraceful ploy leaked out and a referendum was clearly required, a naive population was carpet-bombed with pro-Europe propaganda (ring any bells?) and duly voted (with a markedly low turnout) to “stay in”. Please note those words carefully. Because the “it” we voted to “stay in”, was the EEC, also known as the “Common Market”. Even the most bitter, twisted Remainer might raise an eyebrow to observe that the word “Union” -hardly an insignificant term- appeared nowhere in the 1973 referendum question.

So it’s not surprising that Britain’s collective experience of waking up in a Union no-one had voted for led to another referendum. History will record as an outrage against democracy that  over forty years passed before the UK public got the chance to leave a club they had never agreed to join in the first place.

Imagine you woke up to find you are not only trapped in a gym membership you don’t want, but the gym has somehow transformed into a building site where you have to compete for work with untrained illiterate idiots. And the only place you can eat is an onsite cafe owned by the gym. That’s where we were on referendum day.
So when Remainers whinge and howl about  “a second referendum” remind them that 2016 actually was the second referendum, and one that took four excruciating decades of fighting to arrange. 


So here we are, still trapped in a Union we never intended to join, like some wretched child-bride, forced into bed with a drooling thug. Waiting, watching, cursing at the latest twist and turn of “negotiations” which increasingly resemble the scripted farces they always were. The sickly, predictable Euro-truth has to be faced.
The Labour Party will never execute Brexit, not now, not ever, not over Marx’s long-dead body. The Conservative Party will never execute Brexit – not in a million leadership elections. These two groups are just fins on a dead fish – like the twin wings of the Democratic Albatross – mercenaries of business, prostitutes clutching rosettes like fig-leaves, united in contempt for the foolish ‘johns’ . (You and your family). Politics used to divide this nation, but no longer. The new divide is between the Westminster whores and the nuclear core of Britain’s public-the ones who understand why Britain was and is worth fighting for -the ones to whom Britain represents more than a free ticket to eternal state benefits. The ones for whom only two choices are now open. 
1. We immediately find -and elect- politicians of neither the left or right stripe, but individuals whose sole commitment is to an immediate severance of all legal and financial obligations to the European Union.          

2. We cease cooperation with what is now a rogue government. A government which defies the explicit command of the majority (a referendum vote) has no right to govern. To be taxed by an elite which refuses to serve is tyranny, pure and simple. Better anarchy than servitude.


That second option is, incredibly, looking more likely every day.
Or we can take the third way. Sit back, neck some happy pills, bitch at the TV and watch as the political crooks who infest our Fools Parliament dismantle the Brexit we demanded. We can huff and puff and nod in dumb submission. Because one day very soon, Britain will find itself staring at the smirking face of our first, custom-made Muslim Prime Minister, the chap who was long ago commissioned by his bosses at the Deutschebank. Sajid Javid is waiting. Will we seriously persuade ourselves that this pinstriped globalist stooge will ever be working for Britain? For if we can, perhaps a Fools Parliament is all a Nation of Fools deserves.

Because it actually is down to us now. It’s showtime, ladies and gents. We are about to find out how many people in Britain really give a damn. The Left won’t help you. The Right won’t help you. Will you help yourself? 

Ian Andrew-Patrick


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