Thursday, September 3, 2009

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?



RantinRab said...

I've ran out of tablets...

killemallletgodsortemout said...

I'd send you some of mine, but I have to pay for them. Don't you porridge wogs get free prescriptions?

The Lord's My Shepherd, There is Fuck All I shall Want.

Keep at 'em, Rab, me old mate.

RantinRab said...

I'm a working porridge wog, so no free anything for me!

Lord Lindley said...

and it seems to be some scottish mong's that are running all this, even though the puppetmaster is Dame Mandleson himself.

Oldrightie said...

I had a similar bout a few days ago. Perhaps it's this?

Conan the Librarian™ said...

Porridge wogs...must think of something interesting for our English Cousins...Bacon butty bastards? Whelk suckers?

Whelk suckers it is.

INCOMING!!!!!!! said...


get a grip.

The numbers thing is so her maj can post a bond on your lifetime's projected sweat and toil. She loves tha fact that we're swamped with illegal aboriginals, she gets a bigger chunk of change every year to redo her fanny again.

Heads up.

Barking Spider said...

I've still got some tablets, Rab, but they don't seem to be working properly anymore as I continually erupt into rants measurable on the Richter Scale when I think about what these utter, utter cunts are doing to us day in and day out!

Constantly Furious said...

Fucking great post.

Keep furious!