25 August 2008
Maggot Thatcher goes dribbly
It's official: the creature known as Maggot Thatcher has reached the happy daft stage in its existence. There's no word yet as to whether it has to have its arse wiped whilst it lies there dribbling, but even if that stage has not yet been reached, it won't be long a-coming.
Gloating at the creature's misfortune is all very well - and your friendly old Exile has to admit that you would need a heart of stone not to laugh at the thought of it forgetting its husband's death and having to be reminded of it daily. The thought if it reliving its grief every fucking day is one that will please millions, but it doesn't alter the fact that a reckoning is still pending between us and the class that did so well out of its time in office.
As we head into the fourth decade of life without any control whatsoever over the bastard jobs that we are now forced to do, always assuming that we haven't shrugged our shoulders and got used to a life on the social that is, the notion that this is all the fault of the Maggot is one that needs to be challenged.
The Maggot represented a class, and the reckoning will have only been paid in full when members of that class have been reduced to the level where they have to pimp their daughters to put food on their tables.
Until that day dawns then the reckoning is still outstanding.