Let’s get this very clear. I am in no way qualified to be casting critical lines of comments into our latest, laughable torrent of current affairs. My knowledge of politics doesn’t even skim the fat off the top of ideologies and most of the time I scroll down the BBC website to the miracle stories about babies being born with three eyes and two heads or something. But these days I can’t seem to avoid it (and believe me when I say I am very good at avoiding things). So this pisses me off, I don’t know who this Trump guy is, or why he thinks a fake tan and a wig is a good look. I also couldn’t give a flying fuck about his latest tweets or his Freudian-esque relationship with his daughter. And I cannot even begin to fathom why someone like Margaret Thatcher, sorry, I mean Theresa May is leading our unwanted divorce, no-one even voted for her and she is the last person I would recommend to squeeze into a £900 pair of leather trousers (leave that for the professionals Theresa).
Maybe we’ve got some bad drivers in the driving seat, but what’s grating me most of all is that I can’t go on the internet without being subjected to all this flaccid drivel. Get the fuck on with it. I am bored of the bullshit.
This poem is in response to all the cat fights scratching it out in the back alley’s of our international relations.
I hope you all enjoy my words, and if you don’t, it is no matter.