THOSE FUCKING PITCHFORKS

Down the fucking garden looking for my fucking pitchforks and torches again.  Is there no let up, no reprieve, no rest for the mere wicked like me.  I'm cussing and swearing to myself about those fucking BBC employees getting all that money for sitting around on their fat fucking arses enjoying themselves at the expense of the hardworking TV licence payer.  They should be ashamed of themselves parading their opulent wealth to the impoverished austerity plebs in this economically thriving Britain.  Wait a minute; economically thriving Britain, impoverished plebs?  There seems some contradiction there.  Never mind I haven't the time or the energy to think about that now; I'm too fucking angry about these rich bastards.

Oh, there's Dave the fucking supercilious twat next door tending to his pretty little garden and always minding everybody else's business.  What's your problem Dave?  I don't suppose you give a fuck about those BBC presenters ripping off Britain and wallowing in money stolen from the proletariat.  It's the likes of them what make you and me so poor.  Well I guess you think you're one of the well off with your nicely mown 30 square foot of Roundup and your potted peculiars decorating your front porch.

What was that?  DUP, £1 billion pounds?  Billions gifted to Israel every year?  Lashings of money to the Chinese for an uneconomic Nuclear power plant?  50 billion railway extension?  What the fuck are you talking about?  I don't know about those complicated political matters, I'm just a normal guy who's fucking angry about the BBC presenters.  I hate Dave.  He always has to spoil a good soap box diatribe with some stupid esoteric facts that no one in their right mind gives a fuck about.  Why do I care about Neoliberal political philosophy?  I'm just a poor ignorant peasant.  I leave that stuff up to the experts running the country.

Now where did I put those fucking pitchforks?