Death by Tory

So Gordon's gone. Gone with dignity by all accounts, but still gone. That's means while Gordon Brown heads off to join the queue at his local job centre in the morning, perhaps developing a nasty Buckfast habit by late afternoon, our new illustrious leader will be getting his posh slippers under the bed at Number 10. Thanks to massive indecision by the British public we're now doomed to face the prospect of death-by-posh. This is not the kind of 'posh' that Victoria Beckham made a career out of - with her Louis Vuitton luggage and preposterous heels; This is the posh of David William Donald Cameron - The Etonian, baby-faced descendent of King William IV (which makes him a distant relative of Her Majesty), and pot-smoking Gordon Brown usurper.

The Tories are certainly bang up for a fight, we all know that, just look what happened when some Argie called Leopoldo stepped on Maggie's toes over the Falklands. But despite Cameron's insistence on renewing Britain's Trident defence programme, it's not the nukes that we need to fear. As the sun sets on Gordon Brown's career, tomorrow is the start of a new regime in Downing Street. Suddenly we're back to the familiar blue of the Conservative Party, a colour that still represents the epitome of evil for a lot of people in the UK, especially those with accents that you don't often hear on Newsnight. A Tory government for "them folk" is like the coming of Satan. Too many will remember it as the same blue that strangled entire communities in mining towns, introduced the poll tax and its subsequent riots, and basically managed to piss off everyone and his whippet with their highfalutin, poor-bashin' arse bandit brand of fuck you politics.

Give it a couple of months and parts of the UK may turn into a scene from that M. Night Shyamalan film The Happening, as ordinary people with no acting skill whatsoever begin topping themselves in the wake of toxic conservatism sweeping the land. The hapless plebs of Britain's downtrodden masses, who can't even get the hell out of the country because of a massive ash cloud hovering over our heads like a giant lid on a massive barrel of shit, will drive their cars into the sea, mouths agape at the hideousness of the scene. The last thing they will see as water fills their lungs and the life slowly fades from their eyes, is the gaping mouth of Gordon Brown muttering about how he told us so. Oh the humanity!