Thought Vomit #119: ft. Mass Debators

Television debates? Seriously? Why don’t we just admit defeat now and let Simon Cowell produce the next election? We can jeer at Gordon Brown, and patronise Norman Clegg like he’s an old woman, and eventually cast our phone votes for Crazy Changey Davey; and all because he’s slightly less offensive than a spider laying eggs in your testicle.

We’re not electing a President. How can a debate on the national level ever work when our electoral system is based around local constituencies?

The Tory lead seems as massive as Cameron’s forehead right now, but it translates into a very small minority for them in Government, or indeed a hung parliament. And who wouldn’t want to hang everyone in parliament after the expenses scandal, eh kids? Right on.

Crazy Davey
Crazy Davey As Tagged On Facebook

So, instead of a reasoned election campaign, it’s going to descend in to a televised bar fight. Now, there is something appealing about watching an angry Scotsman laying punch after punch into an Etonian glass-jaw, but we all know that’s not going to happen.

Instead of chewing his opponent’s face off like Hannibal’s half-brother, Brown is going to be advised to make nice and smile for the camera. And to be honest, that’s more unnerving than watching him lick a man’s liver. So, because Mr Brown is uncomfortable in front of a camera, that slender Tory lead might balloon in to something scary. A proper, unopposable majority.

If all we want to do is stare slack-jawed at a photogenic politician mouthing the word Change like he’s sucking Maggie Thatcher’s cock, Labour should dump Brown and install Milliband in his place. Or better still, a ball with a face penned on it.

I quite like the idea of watching Cameron’s descent in to madness as he hollers “Wiiiiilsssssooooonnnn” down the barrel of a lens.

We really can’t go on like this.

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