"If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or your arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen."

Saturday, 11 July 2009

Some Light Relief

Head over to the Daily Politics to read the full story about Stan's dining experience with Yorkshire ex-pats. Here's an extract:
Oh ah’m proper man Ah am, curry gotta be red hot for me, like burning aviation fuel from nine fucking eleven, otherwise is pansy, innit, and me, too, and I must have mine all season-up with broken fucking glass and side order of drawing pin, marinade in turpentine. Mah Mrs knows what I like and I like it proper hot. And then I like to get liquid fire out from bottle and pour all over rotten stinking roasting hot ten year old goat meat flown in special from Birmingham HalalButchersRusUlike and would be better and less painful to take fucking blowtorch to open mouth for thirty seconds. And to arsehole because next morning has le posterieur flambee and firing red hot liquid shrapnel all around toilet is, for fuck’s sake, would rather go out to auto-asphyxiation party with lonely Tory MPs than fucking curry dinner with mad bastard expats...

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