Saturday, 30 August 2025

Quarterly report

All the fours gather, and get in lather, about who has the best skin, how gay. 
A patriotic display, in a shit way. 
Not the 4th of July, just July the 4th.
For centuries, the white cliffs of Dover have stood sentry, barring the entrance of barbarous migrants a plenty. 
So true, yeah, stopped the Vikings, and the Norman’s. 
More than you can count. 
So yeah go on lads, stick these red crosses about, paint the white cliffs, the pale English gentry. 
Paint a big massive red cross, tell them dirty bastards that they are denied fucking entry!
All your problems gone. 
That’s all it took. 
Poof!
Holding so tight onto your whiteness, get a fucking grip. 
England is England, so if you live here-you’re English, regardless of whether you took a dinghy trip, or just happened to have slipped out of your mothers dingy minge, exactly in the place you wanted to live.
Lucky you. 
Now imagine, you were born in a war. 
Maybe it was caused by the place you wished you were born. 
You’d risk your life to get here too,
only to be met by you. 
What a shit welcome. 
I for one am ashamed. 
Seeing those hateful flutters make me rage and sputter until I am red and cross, then the irony of that sets me off. 
I’m hoping for a future where every colour can take pride in that flag.
A rainbow, how gay. 
My hope is having to stretch a bit further these days.