I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I’d ask of a genie if I had a magic lamp.
That sounds bonkers, I know, but given that the world is absolutely mad right now I thought I might as well join in with this batty fantasy and start getting my wishes ready – just in case.
At first I got my rage on and thought about the obvious things.
I thought about wishing Trump would choke on fumes from his own fake tan, or some equally unlikely and unheroic death. I thought about wishing that Farage gets strangled by a Polish immigrant with an EU flag, and that the nation realises what a twat he was then declares the day a national holiday, so that we may better reflect on the beauty of our Eastern European brothers.
I thought about wishing for an unlimited supply of gin to see me though this train wreck of a society with my humour intact, if somewhat inebriated.
Then I realised I had no gin and started thinking properly; what would solve all this?
And honestly? I think we should just burn The Sun. Not just each individual copy, but every office, every computer, every printing press from which this bastard thing springs forth.
Because last week, the NHS – and therefor the people of Britain – did something amazing, but The Sun took it, and twisted it and turned it against everyone.
In short, the NHS saved two babies of a quadruplet, and The Sun sold it as health tourism, when actually it was just a case of someone passing through at a difficult time.
Right now, when the nation needs something to be proud of – because let’s be right, is anyone proud of our prime minister, holding the tiny hand of a fascist tangerine? – that bastard paper is robbing us of it. The NHS – something we’ve all paid for and so all share ownership of – saved the lives of two tiny people who wouldn’t have otherwise made it. We did that. Us. Please, World, see our national beauty as well as our warts.
It’s time we take back control – that’s what those nationalistic pricks say, right? But this time it’s true. I want my country back. I want to be proud of saying that I’m British again, rather than mumbling something about how, actually, I can speak Danish too. I want to be able to say, “You know what? I’m from that awesome place that helped that woman save her babies without asking for money, just because it was the right thing to do.” And I hope… no. I believe, that the majority of my fellow countrymen do too.
So yeah, take note any genies in lamps. My wishes are as follows:
- Destroy The Sun. Stop Funding Hate is a good place to start, if you want to make it look natural and not like magic did it.
- Reverse this whole Brexit thing. Because really, Britain. What the actual fuck? Again, if you want to make it look natural have Theresa May and David Cameron hold a press conference. Make Cameron say, “You know what? I was just trying to appease some cunts I had to work with.” And have May say, “I was doing it for the Lols. Figured I’d call your bluff. Sorry about that – no hard-feelings, yeh?”
- Have Trump choke on the fumes of his own fake tan. Because actually that’s a pretty good wish.
Come on, friends. Take back control. Find the good in our tiny island rock – the NHS, my right to call the prime minister a cunting-fuck-face-cockmupper-donkey-wank-sack-shit-bag if I so choose, and tea – and share the fuck out of it. Applaud the times that kindness has won. Challenge hate. And BE EXCELLENT TO EACH OTHER.
Take it back.
Take it back. ❤