It must be a full moon...

I can hear the collie dogs barking in the distance. Can you?

I'm not sure why, wait, I do know why. I know only to well why but I'm feeling particularly angry and agitated today. I want to do something spectacular, something that will tell the complete and utter bastards who try to control our every living moment, the bastards who have catalogued and numbered us ALL from before we were even born. The bastards who have mapped out our lives for us and pushed, prodded and cajoled us into doing what they want us to do. To tell them to just leave us alone, leave my family alone. Leave ME alone.

Let me go about my life as I please.

Who decided that the entire population needs a number? Who decided that we all must play a part in this so called 'society'?

Where is the opt out option? For a free country, we are not very free. Far from it.

Layer upon layer upon layer of 'authority' above us, telling you and I what we can and cannot do. Rules and regulations. Signs barking orders. Five hundred channels on the TV and Sky Plus to record those you can't watch because you're watching something else. Keep the sheep distracted, in case they WAKE UP and realise just what the fuck is going on.

Our disgraceful 'leaders' shame and embarrass us at every turn. Not even elected, they shit on our faces and like submissive bitches, we take it. The dodgy dealings done behind closed doors are rife and the soap opera played out to please us and to hide the devious truth are contemptible. But still it happens.

Like a bitch we accept it. More, more. Please give me some more.

From the wheelie bin police to number 10 and beyond, from the local council employed 'community wardens' to the united nations. Control, control, control.

Distract the masses with hour after hour of shit on the TV, everything from do up your hovel to non celebrity worship. Oh dear, we have a recession. The credit crunch. Swine flu. It's all bollocks people.

Like the shepherds flock, the border collies control us, forcing us to do as they wish. Pushing us through one gate into the next, from one field to another. We are allowed to graze for a while, then it starts again. Move on to the next part of the master plan. The shearers clippers await us and we are stripped bare. Whether we want it or not, the knees of the shearer clamps the back of our heads and our comfort is gone.

We worry that we are cold. A distraction whilst the slaughterhouse truck drives up the track. Then the collies start their barking and snarling.

The question is, sheeple, who is the shepherd?

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