Farage’s Political Earthquake Begins to Rattle Britain’s Foundations
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Operation Dumpling Drop: Where Have All the Hot Tigresses Gone???
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Show him an image of a virus under a scanning electron microscope, he will still deny its existence. He's at the same IQ level as flat earthers. -
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Operation Dumpling Drop: Where Have All the Hot Tigresses Gone???
Nope. You can get into Maejo University prettay, prettay, prettayyyy easily. You just drive in. No security will stop you. I go play basketball there all the time. -
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Britain's Got Talent - Still the Undisputed Empire???
You can’t even nip down the chippy these days without some bald geezer in a Union Jack gilet whispering about “globalist agendas” while spooning mushy peas into his gob like it’s intel from MI5. Everywhere you go now it’s Farage this, Farage that, like he’s the patron saint of pubs and passive aggression. Man’s made a career outta getting angry on telly and acting like being mildly racist at a Wetherspoons counts as political resistance. And the worst part is, half the country’s lapping it up like he’s Churchill reincarnated, not just some posh bloke in boat shoes who once got milkshaked for talking rubbish outside a Greggs. You talk to one of these lot and straight away it’s “I’m not racist but” followed by something so utterly deranged it makes David Icke look like a life coach. They think the country’s being run by Davos lizards, the BBC’s a Marxist training camp, and every weather warning is a false flag to distract from the real crisis, which is apparently some bloke in Barking who got arrested for saying “bird” instead of “person of ovulation.” Meanwhile, Farage is banging on about saving free speech, as if he’s being tortured in the Tower of London instead of shouting at microphones for money. Every week there’s a new panic. One minute it’s 15-minute cities being trial runs for open-air prisons, next it’s the council collecting bins on a Wednesday as proof of creeping communism. I overheard a bloke in a Costa saying ULEZ is actually a UN plot to force everyone onto electric scooters so the government can remote control your journey to Aldi. And when you ask them for proof, it’s always, “Do your research.” Which means “I watched a YouTube video made by Steve in his shed who’s never voted but knows what’s really going on.” It’s always the same crowd, standing outside Parliament screaming about white powder and kids in tunnels under Windsor Castle, wearing “I survived lockdown” hoodies like they spent two years in a Vietnamese POW camp and not just sat at home watching Homes Under the Hammer and arguing with sone bloke they don't know on Twitter. One woman reckons the Bank of England’s been taken over by paedophile dolphins trained by the EU. I says, “You alright, love?” and she screams, “Read the documents!” What documents? She whips out a printout from some telegram group with spelling so bad I thought it was written by a Labrador. They’re still furious about Brexit too, even though they got what they wanted. Blame everything on “remoaners” and “the blob,” like some shadowy cabal of civil servants are sabotaging Britain by… I dunno, making Marmite dearer and ruining strawberries? I heard a bloke in the boozer blame the council tax on woke mobs and Meghan Markle. Another lad reckons immigration’s outta control ‘cos he saw three Polish lads fixing a roof. I says, “What d’you want, mate? A leaky Britain?” He just shouted “Take our country back!” like we’d loaned it out to Belgium and forgot to ask for a receipt. Now they’re saying Labour’s in bed with Soros, Rishi’s a WEF puppet, Starmer is a Trumpist, the Tories are actually socialists, and the Lib Dems are plotting to make gender-neutral roundabouts. It’s like everyone’s necked paint thinner and decided the only truth comes from whichever geezer shouts loudest on GB News in a cravat. “It’s all a scam!” they cry, while chucking their savings at crypto scams and sharing Facebook posts from blokes called PatriotKev78. So yeah, Britain’s already bonkers enough without trying to turn every pothole into a plot by Brussels. You don’t need Farage to save the nation, you need a cup of tea, a lie down, and maybe, just maybe, log off the internet for five bloody minutes. But go crack on with your Farage fan clubs, your imaginary boat armies, and your constant whingeing about migrants while your own government’s robbing you blind. Britain’s got talent, alright, talent for delusion, denial, and electing Poundland strongmen. Still the undisputed empire… of taking the piss.
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