Wednesday, 29 April 2015
Electing to live, by Stevie dead Haston.
Are you going to vote? And for who? Vote for your self by going climbing, have a good time, breath moderately fresh air, do not look into the abyss of the politicians eyes, and lies, yes go climbing. But first consider voting. You may not have anyone to vote for, so choose the lesser of two or three evils, or weevils, as the joke goes, and yes politicians are jokes, bad jokes! If you don't want to vote, cos you think they are a bunch of insane, immoral lunatics, consider saying so. Shout it, not from the cliff tops, but in the pub, at work, SHOUT. Tell your friends, tell your family, tell the world you don't wanna go to a War Party, and have the Health service sold off.
Humid down here no politicians, not even in those dark slimy caves. When I was young I went to the houses of Parliament a few times, I counted alotta guys asleep, fat comfy looking guys in good suits, asleep! I watched the two so called leaders arguing like two spoilt twats (brats is too honorific) over words, one guy had his feet up on the central table, he was so short it looked like he was going to slide off.
When walking the other day, not thinking about boat people drowning, and poor people having their homes crumple around them, I spied this completely detached small abode. I thought perhaps I could move in and get off the grid, the political, electric, electoral, hell- even moral grid, so I went for a look. It took ages, bamboo, decaying garbage, collapsing fig trees, snakes, etc.
Got there, and it was an old Dove cot. A beauty too, a good century old, and more than a hundred nest boxes. It's a little climb up the cliff, a couple of locals know about it, that's it, it's in no books. It's great, I am moving in, but wait, where's the plug inns man? What about my drill charger, and the 55 other fecking chargers my modern life seems to fecking need?
Personally, I am voting for the No Fecking Chargers Party.