SHITLORDS, PLEASE…
Shitlords, please.
I can’t even.
How do you imagine your arrogant shitfuckery is going to end up? Seriously. Give it some thought.
Because we’re approaching the tipping point. The options left to us are becoming fewer with each act of your disgraceful fuck-buggery.
Do we really have to toss piles of burning garbage through your lovely parliamentary windows before you realise your behaviour and treatment of us is beyond the pale?
Must we flog police horses with star pickets and deploy cruel calthrops into their well-tended hooves?
Must we burn the world around us all before you understand how unspeakably disgusting you have become? How shameless and callow? How dishonest and greedy? How galactically arrogant?
Must we actively divest ourselves of good manners and Christian restraint, and march into grim, screaming battle with your police?
And they are your police. They are certainly not ours. So hacking at them with meat-cleavers and shooting fireworks into their faces will not present any kind of moral dilemma.
Must it come to this, shitlords?
Do not think for one second we are less able than the French.
Or less determined once our options have all gone and we are left with no other choice but to hoist that terrible black flag.
Shitlords, please. Arrogance, hubris, and parliamentary privilege are not armour. They will not protect you when the howling hordes start pushing burning dumpsters through your doors, wheels crunching over the shattered glass.
You will long for the days when sooky activists superglued themselves to the road, and acted out their angst in mime. You will reminisce fondly of a time when little children protested peacefully, and cried when your police monstered them unto tears.
Shitlords, please. You will think warmly back to a time when we actually appeared to be OK with your police strip-searching our children, and treating the rest of us with dumb viciousness. At least until their mutilated corpses start to pile up on the steps you stood on in happier days to have your smiling pictures taken for a media who failed in its duty to hold a torch to your privileged and dishonest bellies.
Can we do this? Of course we can. We still outnumber your police. You know that and they know that, which is why they always keen and whine for more better and stronger guns. Soon they will demand tanks and planes, and you will give them what they want because you know they are all that stands between us and you. That Thin Blue Line is thinner than you think. And you have to keep them onside, lest you’ve miscalculated about that crucial final straw and the strength of that camel’s back.
Shitlords, please. You can’t really believe we’re kind of OK with much of anything anymore. We know you’re not really stupid. You are, after all, where you are because of your innate rat-cunning and ruthlessness. You’re not of us, yet you presume to govern us. And we permit this.
Never forget that we permit this – your rule over us. Never forget you are not the kings of old, who ruled by the grace of a God who does not exist, and who themselves have largely ceased to exist.
You have replaced them. We replaced them with you. And we gave you parameters. And for a while, you observed those parameters. And because you did, we got complacent. And soft. And dumb. Fuck, did we ever get dumb.
And then little by little, step by step, you sought to capitalise on our dumbness and our trusting good nature. And because your shitfuckery was incremental, we only noticed it now and again and didn’t think much of it.
That is on us. We can own that.
But we can also own you. We just have to make that decision.
Shitlords, please. We don’t want to make that decision. Personally, I’m at an age when running through the streets with a gas-mask and an axe would tire me greatly. But don’t think for one second I wouldn’t make the effort.
And if I am driven to that point, then rest assured so will others. Many of them will be my age. But many more of them will be younger and stronger and crazier and more savagely determined than even you could ever understand, isolated as you are from the real world and the real people who live in it.
And who tolerate you because they have not yet understood there is an alternative.
And that alternative is to not tolerate you any longer. But to call you to task for your crimes against us.
Shitlords, please. Dig up. I am asking nicely.
About the Author
Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.
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