Late October 2022
Cheerio! What a Dog!
This past week, I was informed by Dear Husband of actual news: The sudden resignation on Monday, 17 October, of Liz Truss from the office of Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. The news didn’t shock me because I’d given her six months to endure the globalist pressure to keep that wrecking ball rolling on the destruction of her nation.
My spouse put it more succinctly: “She’d have gotten crushed by a rolling Cheerio, never mind the greedy Globalists.”
The picture has become all too clear in terms of the evil hysteria to control the world which so vilely possesses greedy men and women, some with names, some without. But, either way, They are There, in the background, pulling the money strings that were surreptitiously handed to them, decades ago, by the citizens within free nations. Most of those free nations are mis-operated by parliamentary systems that are inherently and extremely rife and ripe with the potential for those members to be bought off.
And so they were.
Waking up to this ugly reality has taken the Brits a very long time. I feel for them, just as I feel for the French who have to contend with their Gallic President-Clown in a Designer Turtleneck, giving his semi-eloquent version of the Jimmy Carter sweater speech of 15 July 1979.
I’ve been expecting the sacrifice-sermon from our installed curr-dog mean marionette in the White House, but, evidently, the Polling indicates that the Waffle Cone Slurping garners bigger approval numbers.
25% or more!
I still expect the American People to be subjected to a 2023 Blame Tirade from the tinpots not in charge of my country, with similar results:
The Malaise Speech, or Crisis of Confidence Speech, sank like the Titanic.
In embattled England, the Titanic keeps getting overhauled, with newer VIP Passengers (the ones who get the lifeboat rafts), also known as MPs. The subsequent results will still be the same if the citizens don’t effect real change. Greasy Rishi is not change, and his oratorical skills rival those of the former Teleprompter President of my nation.
In oh so many nations, the politicians change, but the policies do not. Here, in America, it took the earth-shaking year 2016 for a real man, a real patriot, and a real winner to show the way forward for true blue Americans. During late 2014, a friend of mine in Northamptonshire had asked me, with true concern, if Mr. Trump had any scandals to be exploited to sink him fast in the campaign waters.
I replied, “No, but that doesn’t mean They won’t plant something totally made up.”
Obviously, that prediction was accurate! (Actually, I was quoting from my first novel, NORTHSTAR.)
I have no predictions about what will happen in this creepy, lazy cavalcade of losers, standing for election in a land where they’re being propped up by the Foreign Money-Men and Women outside of their country, and, I presume, within it.
My Dear Husband is the one who has really gone out on a limb in the prognostication of this parade of horribles on its way to 10 Downing Street:
The return of Boris Johnson to the Prime Ministership.
My immediate response to that cynical augury was:
“He’s a dog, and not a nice one. He’s not the loveable Newfoundland he pretends to be. The Brits have had enough of him. He’s the dog who tears up all the furniture in the house.”
“Yes, and then he breaks through the fence and goes and humps the neighbor’s dog. But there’s a plan in play here.”
Boris could return and actually Churchill, or half-Churchill, the nation that is on a collision course with becoming a colony of the EU, or China, or both.
As dastardly as that conceivable idea of Round Two of Bojo seems, I think the dirty game of politics in the Old World has reached the dog-eat-dog stage where the wicked globalist game has been laid bare by the globalists themselves. We, the Citizens of the World, have too readily seen the boozing, barmy behemoths who have been, and still are, behind all of the financial chaos of the past ten, fifteen, twenty, even thirty years.
It’s not like it used to be, when the Davos swine could party with impunity. That photo line-up of the gas-guzzling jets of The Elites proves, without any doubt, their pompous-ass existence — in a world that demands solutions to the problems that The Elites have caused, and continue to create, from which to obscenely profit and profiteer.
You can always count on a narcissist to go too far, and not know he’s without boundaries or brakes. Drunk on their putrid and putrefying power, the megalomaniacs stayed too long at their own parties that were paid for with the liberties, and the lives, of We the Peasants.
A crossroads has been reached, and the Globalists cannot find enough traitors to buy off within their own homeland to do the stinking debauched bidding of the Creepy One-World Cabal.
Who will be the PM that actually betrays his nation with such perfidy that he can’t slick it with another awful ad campaign???
The direct election of a Prime Minister would, in my opinion, resolve much of this horrific mess in John Bull. Of course, the People would have to demand that right which, historically, has very rarely occurred. Such a momentous development is not likely to transpire soon enough for the English to avoid the catastrophes they presently live amidst. Traditionalists through and through, the Anglo-Saxons abide new political parties for an issue, for one election cycle, but not for the issue of monumental reform. True change must come from within, and when “within” is corroded and rotten to the core, a new Within must evolve, somehow.
A Glorious Revolution might take a few decades this time around, but that first step is being taken, with filthy Wellingtons.
Let’s hope they don’t become Napoleon at Waterloo.