Guest post: Trumps junior stoking our xenophobic instincts
Originally a comment by latsot on Let’s be serious.
And Trump does the thing he always does when someone else is talking* which is to jerk his head around in apparent annoyance, roll his eyes and blow out his cheeks in boredom until it’s his turn. Then say something absolutely blithering to the deep embarrassment of everyone else on the planet.
Over here we have Trumps junior – Johnson and Farage – stoking our xenophobic instincts. It’s as though we forgot to tell foreigners how much we hate them for a few decades, while all the time employing them to do vital jobs for low pay and then throwing them out of the country with no possibility of appeal and lying about it. But now it’s suddenly OK to tell them we hate them as well as acting as though we do.
The only UK party leader who is worth listening to is Nicola Sturgeon, and she’s not even a real sturgeon. She answers questions with actual answers rather than pustulant bluster, gish-gallop or outright equivocation. She puts bad interviewers in their place by telling them why she thinks they’ve asked the wrong question instead of droning on about something else. She’s head and shoulders smarter than Johnson and Farage and Corbyn. She opposes Trident. She opposed austerity. She agrees that the climate is the biggest emergency we will ever face. She’s a feminist who believes feminism should be at the front line of politics.
I rather wish we could have her as Prime Minister.
* Unless it’s a woman speaking, in which case he can just bellow an insult at her and make a lunge for her crotch.
Pfiffelpotty – with apologies to Lewis Carroll; our prime minister’s full name is Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, by the way.
’Twas brexit and the slithy Gove
Did rap and twitter in the wabe,
All mimsy were the Pettimoggs,
And the Doomraabs outgrabe
‘Beware the Pfiffelpot, my son,
The jaws that lie, the flaws that catch,
Beware the Priti bird, and shun
The faraging JavidShapps.’
He took his vorpal pen in hand,
Long time the borrish foe he sought –
So rested he by the Poll-Poll Tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in leadsom thought he stood,
The Pfiffelpot with eyes of flame
Came waffling through the tulgey wood,
And blustered as it came.
One two! One two! And through and through
The lies and bunk went snicker-snack!
It left him dead, and with his head
It went galumphing back.
‘Oh hadst thou slain the Pfiffelpot,
All Britain might have won!
“Fuck you, Calais!,” the Tories bray.
And we are all undone.’
’Twas brexit and the slithy Gove
Did rap and twitter in the wabe,
All mimsy were the Pettimoggs,
And the Doomraabs outgrabe.