The Bully and his Fan Club.

When I was at school, like most schools, there was a bully. Big oaf who could only communicate with violence. People just avoided him because they realised he was a product of his own low intellect and face full of pus and dried egg.
We reserved our contempt for his sidekick. A weedy, sinister, little toad. He wore the full uniform, carried a satchel into his late teens and would drool if a girl spoke to him. The kind of twisted non entity who would change alone in the toilets, smelt of urine and crept to the teachers.
He befriended the bully for his own safety and encouraged him to vent his own jealous insecurities.
I always think of him when I see Nigel Farage because that is what UKIP are. The frustrated, insecure runt hiding behind the uneducated mob. Waiting in the shadows until the innocent kid has been battered. Emerging to taunt the poor kids, take his share of victims dinner money and kicking the lone Asian kid. Running away to hide again behind the thugs.
Despite the desperate efforts of the media to portray them as the Daily Express subscribers Imperial Guard, they have reached and passed their pitiful orgasm. Delivered too early and with no finesse.
They will have their Euro triumph because results are skewed by the apathy of the electorate. They will win seats because people who quietly fear progress, polish the chemical bog from their caravan and sneak furtive glances into their mother in laws knicker drawer, will turn out.
In a year or so most of them will be in denial or the EDL. Same thing really. Enjoy your long weekend, don’t worry. Treat them with contempt. Drink, love, laugh and fart out loud. I will be anyway.
The thug was expelled for trashing a church. His sidekick spent the last year refusing to leave the classroom for breaks. Last I heard, he was doing insurance exams and masturbating himself to an early grave.

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