Election 2015: Day 20

Last orders

Like it or not the election is here. Four weeks it’s been creeping ever closer, a plume of smoke on the horizon. A burning pot of rubbish at the end of a poisonous rainbow.

Time has come for you to have your say. It’s election day and even though it’s pissing down news outside you have to put on your bloody jacket and go and do some democracy.

But do it with a heavy heart and the righteous sigh of the disappointed electorate; the disapproving teacher, the jilted ex-partner and the disappointed mother all in one. Because in this election all comers have been found wanting in the lawless mud-pit of British public opinion. Friends, countrymen, we’re faced with an unenviable choice.

In one corner we have MechaDave 500 , a synthetic heartless Eton toff who can’t remember which football team he supports. He looks modern but he is still running on Thatcher version 1.1. In the other corner stands Red Ed The North London Geek. Standing weirdly. A streak of piss, an embarrassing cousin at a wedding who eats sandwiches like an unemployed vampire impersonator. In the margins we have a drunken racist who blames immigrants when he is late for a meeting and a powerful Scottish sorceress casting evil spells from her tartan tower. So just go and cast your vote to make someone lose. Get it over with. Crush them.

And because we are so displeased we have decided to collectively vote for no one. All the polls say we have achieved the impossible dream of sacking everyone simultaneously. We’ve lived in the forest and we've lived on the plains and now we want to live in the swamp.

And what a swamp it is, beautiful and primeval in its British eccentricity. In the swamp the last day of campaigning is like high summer. Everything is action and movement. Today in a bakery, Gideon was off his nut fingering the dough, in Glasgow Nationalists and Unionists are punching each other in the face, Farage is necking a pint and the Al-Zebabist Nation of OOOG are demanding the eradication of Broadstairs and the establishment of Thanet as a Zebabist state run by Boalia Law. Just the usual stuff. Meanwhile a UKIP candidate threatens to shoot his rival ‘right between the eyes’’, Gordon Brown is going off on one like a malfunctioning washing machine and Dimbleby is being removed from his cryo-suspension chamber. Most importantly, across the nation calm methodical people are pulling dusty ballot boxes out of cupboards in church halls.

We’ve got a full blown election on our hands.

As for the big boys, Dave, Nick and Ed, they were locked in a brutal death roll of closing speeches; hoarsely screaming worn out lines at each other as they plummet towards earth. Dave was going mental and ‘bloody lively’ on a five city tour getting a last bit of use out of his high-vis jacket. he hasn't slept for days and just like his old rave era when Thatcher was in power he stayed up all night talking shit to strangers. He even took the press to visit an unfinished zoo with no animals.

Confusingly, and in keeping with his shameful Stalinist lineage, Miliband seemed to exhort his followers to commit election fraud and stuff the ballot boxes not just with a vote for him but votes “for themselves and for their families too.”

And Clegg. What of the great survivor. After his 1000 mile journey from Lands End to John o’Groats Clegg tried to drown himself in a vat of oats. Later one of his aides slapped him round the face and told him to get a grip. He restored his dignity and in oddly cinematic moment ended his campaign silhouetted against the setting sun at the very ends of the earth, staring wistfully into the sea. Nick Clegg. Too rare to live, too weird to die.

For all of us the palpable relief that it is almost over tempered by the fact that it is only just begun. This time tomorrow it will all be over and we will finally be able to say with confidence that we have no clue WTF is going on. We might just accidentally follow through and unleash a full blown constitutional crisis.

To paraphrase blow job maestro Bill Clinton, ‘the people have spoken, it will take some time to work out what they said.” But we do know they still hate us because it was written in excrement on the garage. That hasn’t changed.

For all the bluster, nothing has really changed. In the six week campaign approval polls flat lined. The caring scale literally never got above zero.

And it’s not for want of trying. The politicians have chucked literally everything at the wall to see what sticks. What do you want? House? Car? Pension? Lower Tax? NHS? Blow Job? Sure, you've got it, just vote for me. How are we going to pay for it, doesn't matter, don’t ask, don’t worry, we’ll work everything out later.

But all politicians are compulsive liars and the public just no longer believe anything they have to say. So in the final days of the campaign both leaders had to resort to extreme solutions to convince people they would keep to their word.

Dave admitted that he is a mad, bad and can’t be trusted. He passed a law and promised to throw himself in jail if he broke his promises.

I know, said Ed, lets actually carve the promises into a fucking massive slab of granite, everyone will believe us then? Once everyone in the room had stopped laughing they all realised Ed was serious and someone scuttled off to find a granite quarry. The #EdStone is a real thing that happened.

Usually lying is the biggest issue for politicians, but this time they have the added challenge of having to constantly refuse to answer questions about what will actually happen the next day. Imagine a football manager who, only one match from relegation, refuses to answer questions becasue he insists that they might still win the league.

Imagine a builder showing you his plan for the wall HE thinks you should build but REFUSING to show you plans for the wall you can afford until you show him your bank statements.

You would cast these two morons from your sight. Sadly they are the only show in town and one of them is going to grease into number 10 sometime in the next six months.

Still don’t know who to vote for? Don’t worry the press know what you should do in the little booth. Ofcourse we all know that Prophet Brand and his Trews media empire already went for Ed, but the old dead tree press wanted a say too. They still fondly remember when they got to decide all elections among themselves over a boozy Fleet Street lunch.

But you can ignore their ridiculous the ‘end is nigh’ preaching. In general the newspapers are owned by incredibly rich old businessmen who don’t pay taxes in the UK, and hate and despise the people they claim to represent. Worst of all is Murdoch, who supports the SNP in Scotland and patronises his readers with this infantile focus on a bacon sandwich.

So go ahead and ignore the papers because they don’t know what you should do. They are the playthings of the rich and famous and foghorns of a few weird creepy men.

Even the Independent, which is made up exclusively of journalists that hate the tories inexplicably endorsed Cameron because meddling editor (non-dom) Eugeny Lebvedev who also owns the Tory Evening Standard decided he wanted to back the Dish Face. Don’t worry about the readers, the writers or the papers 200 year history, the Russian editor had tea with the Camerons at the Savoy and throught they were bloody decent chaps, so that’s that.

Some people say the FT is the only serious paper left, and that might be true. They said we should just vote for Dave because silly old Ed is

preoccupied with inequality

Just a little thing called inequality. No biggie. No concern for the guys at the FT so I guess we don’t need to worry about it either. Oh, by the way, the guy who wrote the leader column in the FT that endorsed Cameron was in the Bullingdon Club with him, so that’s nice.

Sadly for UKIP only noted pornographer and “worst person on earth” Richard Desmond has backed them with his tragic range of shitty titles. WHY YOU MUST VOTE UKIP roared the header. By Nigel Farage whimpered the byline. Still,UKIP, to their credit took the issue of broadsheet exposure into their own hands and took out a full page ad in the Telegraph. Sadly for them it was followed by a headline saying that a vote for UKIP is a stupid suicide note. They must be disappointed that the Telegraph don’t offer UKIP the same editorial censorship power as they do their other big advertising clients.

Creepy editors

The papers think they should decide the election. Don’t listen to them and most importantly don’t listen to them the day after when they start trying to decide who gets to form a government. Just remember that if you both want to buy something that costs £3.16 and you only have £2.50 and £2.75 respectively the person with a few pence more does not have any legitimate right to buy the thing.

So who should you vote for? Far be it from me to try and tell you that. On one side is fear and negativity and on the other is the hope, and at least the aspiration for something better. It might be bullshit and we need to think about a genuine alternative from both of the main parties. but today in this campaign at least Miliband has tried to speak to the people and engage with us based on an idea and a belief that runs deeper than some tired analogy between the finances of the UK and a household budget. The UK should mean something more than a spreadsheet.

And if you still can’t decide. Consider that only a vote for Labour can piss off Rupert Murdoch, Katie Hopkins and a bunch of awful bankers in one flash of a pencil.

Time to do your duty. Power to the People.

Thanks for reading!

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.