[John Whitworth]

North Korea? General Motors? Global Warming? No! The only show in town is the slow and messy destruction of the British Governing Class. Moats and Moles, Toilet Seats and Dirty films. Come on Sphereans. You must have something to say about it. I'll start the ball rolling. I think being rude is allowable.

Triolet on the Political Situation

The bleeding country’s up the spout:
A rubbish bunch of muppets.
It’s time we kicked the buggers out.
The bleeding country’s up the spout.
Calamity without a doubt.
The whole show’s gone tits up. It’s
Right up the spout, gone walkabout,
A rubbish bunch of muppets.

[Martin Parker]

Douglas Hogg spent a mountainous lotte
of taxpayers' cash on his motte.
He said that his jobbe
as a top Tory knobbe
required it. The public said notte.

(I suspect this thread could run and run!)

[Martin Parker]

Come on, guys! Even though so many of you are American I thought you could have done better than this. It is a "gift" subject. Where are you? Do you really not have self-serving politicians on your side of the pond?

[Philip Lyons]

(It's only a squib, as well as a loose interpretation of the theme, but I'm a worried man!)

EU Marching Song

The fascists march through Europe in smart suits.
They’re looking good; they’re gaining fresh recruits.

They know that politics is just PR.
It’s how you play the game, not what you are.

In Brussels now we Brits have two, a coup
for true democracy or something new

to fester in the body politic
till it’s too late to heal the part that’s sick?

[Rory Waterman]

Horse sh*t, duck ponds, pristine moats:
all nice and free, but bad for votes.
They've burnt our boats and now we see
A foothold for the BNP.

[Clive]

I got a million o' these! I write a blog which is full of occasional doggerel. Here's me latest, about the BNP's Euro result: -

In 1939, we took them on.
By 1945, we had them beat.
And now we send their favourite grandson
to take up a European seat.

Doubtless, there’ll be calls for introspection.
This will be a navel-gazing time.
Hopefully at next years (?) election,
there’ll be no Commons seat for fascist slime.

But this is bound to happen when you try to
frighten people with a bogeyman
instead of putting forward reasons why to
vote for you. The British people can

recognise the smell of bovine faeces.
So now Old Glass Eye’s off to Brussels and
the government is falling to pieces.
Time the tiller passed to another hand.

[John Whitworth]

Does he really have a glass eye? Presumably they're not glass these days. Is it the same side as Gordon's? How did he lose it? Here's my poem ith another stanza on it.

Triolets on the Political Situation

The bleeding country’s up the spout –
This rubbish bunch of muppets!
High time we kicked the buggers out.
The bleeding country’s up the spout.
Calamity without a doubt.
The whole show’s gone tits up. It’s
Right up the spout, gone walkabout.
This rubbish bunch of muppets!

They signed the forms. They took the dosh.
They took the funny money
For tellies, wellies, knickers, nosh.
They signed the forms. They took the dosh.
A few were proles, a lot were posh.
They supped it up like honey.
Twelve years of tosh won’t bloody wash.
They took the funny money!

[Clive]

Nick Griffin's glass eye is the one that looks human.

[Terese Coe]

I got a good laugh out of Clive's "bovine faeces"...

And with apologies in advance for not having a UK citizen's right to complain:

They waved the Pound notes gently in our faces—
but what's a proper Brit supposed to do?
[incomplete line: suggestions?]
that's how you tell the Peer from the parvenu.

[Terese Coe]

Oh Christine Keeler, where are you now that we need you?
At least in those heady days, we had an excuse.
Whoring then was known to strip and speed you,
but now it keeps on giving—a rubbery noose.