< > Thursday 8 June 2017. Put that fucking date in your diary NOW, because that’s the day we REALLY get our country back, ladies and gentlemen. Brexit 2016 went some way to getting it back, but General Election 2017 is when we actually DO get it back. It won’t be going back to the bloke who lost it (Gordon “cod-eye” Brown), but to the man who has been putting the razzle-dazzle, the pizzazz, and the razzmatazz in politics since he murdalised all of the other contenders to the Labour leadership in 2015; Jeremy #JezWeCan Corbyn. Yes, the beardy old cunt is back where he belongs; on centre stage, capturing my imagination with his home-spun wisdom, left-leaning principles, raggedy old cardigans, clean shoes and “bad-ass radical” smile sneaking out the side of his mouth. This boring-looking, back-bench Labour boss has cocked his lock on the metaphorical Uzi 9mm, he’s loaded it up with political bullets and has set his sights right between Theresa May’s eyes, and he’s not afraid to pull the trigger on a woman…or hit a woman with party-political punches to the jaw, midriff and nose if he misses her with the political bullets from his Uzi.
On Thursday 8 June 2017, it’s going to be BLAM BLAM; ConDem coalition OUT, Old Labour IN. And then what? When #JezWeCan gets into 10 Downing Street, the first thing he’ll do is SCRAP having to sing the national anthem in front of Queen E-lizard-abeth, SCRAP Scottish nuclear weapons, SCRAP university tuition fees for my little cousin and personally boot every Tory and Lib Dem out onto the streets of Whitehall in an act of power not seen since Tony Blair CRUSHED the evil Iraqi government in 2003. Who wants five years of Theresa May plodding about with a face on, cutting NHS funding, cutting public services and RAMMING austerity down our throats? The Tories keep banging on about how much the last Labour government spent, and how much in debt we are because of it, but isn’t that what we fucking want? That kind of debt is something that NOBODY alive today will ever see cleared, so fuck it. Spend, spend, spend, because you don’t take it with you. Let the politicians who are around after we’ve all died worry about it *shrug emoji*
< > I can’t fucking wait for Jeremy Corbyn to win this election. Haha. Election. Election sounds a bit like the word, erection, doesn’t it?
That reminds me of the time I told a definitely not racist anecdote on the Weekly Review of Dance Music in 2012 about a hilarious misunderstanding between a westerner and a Chinese prostitute. LOLoutLOUD. I was so proud of it that I repeated it again on the Ran$om Note in 2015! MILFNUR. And again, now, in 2017:
One of my old girlfriends said some funny things. She used to say to me, "Tonka, I love elections", before reaching for the crotch of my jeans and slowly massaging my flaccid little penis into a 7 1/2" sledge-hammer. Her name was Ching Lan and we didn't last. She hated minimal techno and she loved fucking lots of other men.
< > “If the pre-op meeting doesn’t go well, I’ve probably got about nine to thirteen months left to live”, said my uncle Brian as he sucked down hungrily on a ciggie, a curled up, rough-as-fuck smile bopping all over his face, especially in the mouth area. The poor old cunt has got arse cancer, and he was telling me about an upcoming meeting with the doctors that will determine whether or not he’s due to become a corpse any time soon. I bumped into him at the children’s playground opposite the Top Shops on Yew Tree Estate, a short walk around the corner from The Archers, and the best hang-out for children on the whole of the estate. He offered me a drag, but I could see that he’d duck-arsed it, and I don’t smoke, so I declined. “I only do class As”, I laughed with a flouncy, Londonist gesture of my hands. He was on his way to Nanny Kath’s to drop off some groceries (she’s still not dead), so I said I’d see him there.
I just wanted to watch the children for a little while longer.
< > I remember my dad telling me that when they were teenagers, Uncle Brian took him out and used him as a “look out” when he robbed the Tizer factory. Why anyone would want to steal bottles of pop is beyond me, but then he always was a trifle insane. For instance, shortly after robbing the Tizer factory, my Uncle Brian clambered up onto the school gymnasium roof and lobbed a load of javelins at the teachers and the peers he didn’t like during sports day. ROFLOFL. Can you fucking imagine that? When I was growing up, he was doing hard time in the house with many doors for manslaughter; a little while after chucking javelins at teachers, he burgled an old bloke’s house, tied him to a chair, stuck a sock in his mouth and the old cunt suffocated and died!
Something something he’ll be knock knock knocking on Heaven’s door in nine to thirteen months. Something something or clambering over the Gates of Hell like it’s the gates of a Tizer factory. Something something LOLoutLOUD.
I’m dead good at writing, but that bit about my Uncle Brian could have been a lot better. Maybe I’ll re-write it at a later date. I’m tired.
< > I’m going down/up The Jazz Café in Camden tonight for Adrian Sherwood and Vic Reeves. Above is one of the best things you’ll ever see. Fuck knows what he’ll be like as a DJ, but I’m sure it’ll be a lot of fun, etc. If he’s shit, at least I’ll be able to tell everyone on Facebook that I went to see Vic Reeves at The Jazz Café to cheer myself up.
Tickets for Sherwood at the Controls: The Return of Creation Rebel + Adrian Sherwood + Vic Reeves are available from this link here.
Follow Vic and Bob on Twitter on: twitter.jumpthefuckoutofyourenvironment