Abstinence on medical advice

I am suffering a very bad attack of the recently discovered variant of the Dianamania allergy virus, Suffragator demens-furiosus gravitas.

A rash from head to foot. Taken to drink. Not allowed near sharp objects or explosives for fear I'll go out and slaughter the whole fucking doltish, dumbed-down, politically-illiterate, suicidal, media-fattened, shit-for-brains, who-gave-these-stupid-bastards-the-vote-anyway, let-us-eat-cake apology for a lobotimised electorate who cannot see what's heading their way if they follow the latest X Factor wannabe.

I am not watching any more TV coverage of the election apart from the debates. Maybe not even those. Wall to wall Radio 3 and exploration of my vast CD collection which has cost me thousands and taken a lifetime to build up. Praetorius and Bach today. Very calming. What? No. Nor do I know who or what the fuck Lady Gaga is. I only know one fairly recent pop hit.

I have realised that I can get everything any chronically addicted political anorak needs from teh interwebs, including accounts of what I missed on TV, in doses I can cope with and from thinking adults who similarly refuse to be insulted by freeloading, lying, egomaniacal, bought-and-paid-for, anti-liberty-and-of-course-they-know-better, stop-the-Tories-at-any-price-and-fuck-democracy, enemies-of-truth-and-free-speech, marxoid bastards in the let's-patronise-the-amusingly-thick-unwashed media who, when I rule the world, will be up against the wall on day one, starting with all bastards having even the vaguest ancestral connection to the Guardian or the Mirror.

Long live Liberty.

What? You think so? Sue me.

If you want me, I'll be in the back stuffing Conservative campaign envelopes. I'm the one with the headphones on to stop you fucking talking to me. Sod off.