The despair Of The British nation.

Friday, 27 February 2009

Dear Diary, weekend beckons.



I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Watched a play about the cast iron Lady. Seemed a bit like what’s happening to me. Then, in my musings I reflected on my advantages. Largactil, less damaging than scotch for starters. Mind you I rather enjoy mixing them.
I also began to realise that my grip on propaganda and The BBC is such that the peasant population, growing exponentially by the day, is clueless as to how much they are fucked. Still they refuse to do as they are told and my camera network daily reports on anti-government gestures and ingratitude.
I am also amazed but pleased how easy the populace are duped. I’m off to see Obama soon and though I have had to offer a Muslim State on a platter it’s going to be great. Two speeches to The American Upper and Lower Houses. I’ll have them rocking in the isles with my razor sharp mind and world saving powers. The silly buggers won’t have a clue about The British banking system or that their American Ponzi citizens screwed them over with my unstinting collusion and support.
Fred, bless him and the terrific play acting with Paul dominates the news for a second day. That my old Crossy Crosby and me Scottish Mafia gang beat the living crap out of Dearie Darling fearty has gone completely unnoticed. We got Lloyds to buy a pig and not even a poke. £50 billion quid shot and nobody saw it. Just so brilliant.
As for three days of Turner trouncing, Mervy meddling and Bounder Bundred bashing, not a peep apart from that Speccie irritant. Life is so grand I can afford to buy more farm animals and enjoy more time with them whilst Sarah is shopping in Paris.
Scorched earth remains on course and is such an easy job. Far more satisfying shafting the Country than when I tried that so difficult Tory spending scheme back in the nineties. That was tough, spending only what we earnt, saving for a rainy day. How dull and stupid was that. Still I soon went my own way and steered us to the point we are now at. Elections finished, state of emergency, seize all farms, banks, the few remaining profitable companies. Move on to playing The World against itself and controlling a much bigger holocaust. Legacy, I’m making Hitler saintly by comparison. Now week-end coming up, Chequers or Dunblane? “James”, my Butler, so helpful rescuing young boys off the streets, “lay out my tracksuit for a trip to Dunblane, would you”. I think I’ll go for a ride on Dobbin before changing this nappy. Sleep, who needs sleep?




5 comments:

Sue said...

Hee hee, anyone would think you didn't like our great leader :)

Sue said...

You should start a fresh Gordy Diary blog call it something trite like "A right good Fisking"

Oldrightie said...

Sue, thanks for that but one's enough! I shall probably ask Snotty for a couple of extracts per week!

Anonymous said...

Captures the bloke perfectly!

Sue said...

He is a bit of a target!