Inside the swirling, whirling, pube-twirling orb that is global politics, the response to an awkward question is more often than not another question (offers of blowjobs in public conveniences notwithstanding). It’s a neat trick. Why bother confronting incoming discomfort when you can simply deflect concerns elsewhere with your own raised inflection and a rapist’s grin?
Likewise, ask most people on this side of the Atlantic who they think the next US president will be and the answer will come flying back with its own interrogation point: “Why the fuck should I care?”
Well, quite. Washington DC is 3,670 air miles away, after all. We don’t live there. We don’t pay our taxes to the federal government. We don’t rely on the White House to safeguard our livelihoods, our futures, our dignity. And if that isn’t enough flawless-argument-in-favour-of-blithe-isolationist-ignorance for you, if you still harbour the nagging concern that maybe you should at least give the toe-end of a shit who is crowned The Most Powerful Man on Earth come November 6th, just ask yourself this: when have the actions of an American president ever had a detrimental impact on our day-to-day lives here in Greatest Britain? Exactly. I rest my case.
A sturdy firewall exists between our two shores keeping Blighty safe from third-party Yanktwat -induced catastrophe and vice versa
As a man who lived through the thoroughly enjoyable and completely uneventful Reagan/Thatcher years, the entirely benign bible-sanctioned Bush/Blair cum-swap, and the heart-warming ebony-and-ivory duality of Coldplay/Jay Z, I feel vindicated in my belief that even if I’m way off the mark with everything I just said, a sturdy firewall exists between our two shores keeping Blighty safe from third-party Yanktwat -induced catastrophe and vice versa. A firewall that remains resolutely impervious to viral stupidity, warmongery, economic fuckwittery, shadowhanding, corruption, deception, incest, Christian Fundamentalism, mindless teen fads, shit slang, crap bands and carcinogenic beverages. So with our safety absolutely guaranteed, the prospect of a Romney/Cameron rich-elite reacharound should fill us all with nothing but absolute bloodshitting dread the evangelical glow of immortal apathy.
Now I realise a great many of you Guardian-reading, mashed yeast-munching liberals would have it that Mitt Romney is hardly suitable material for president. But to his detractors I say this: who better to rescue America from its most profound and devastating economic slump since the Great Depression than a super-rich, dog-torturing shitwheel who openly admits to having nothing to offer the poor and the needy other than his unremitting contempt?
Who better? None better, that’s who.
“But Darren, the guy is an absolute egg-fucking imbecile.”
Well, we’ve all got our faults. And so what if a man with the hair of Ron Burgundy and the mind of Ron Burgundy is that close to becoming King of the World? So what if ‘President Romney’ ranks alongside ‘I’m pregnant’, ‘It’s terminal’ and ‘Andy Townsend’ as one of the most terrifying two-word phrases in the English language? So what if the dictionary definition of Mitt is “an awkward, impractical, pruritus sack of retard fists”? So what if America – the very same America that elected Dubya twice, allowed a crap-acting tower of Austrian idiot-gristle to govern its most heavily populated state, and gave Texas license to execute an innocent man – can’t be trusted with sharp objects? So what if they choose to place the keys to the apocalypse in the hands of a feckless Mormon vajazzle who makes Dan Quayle seem deft? What’s the worst that could happen?
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