Click on the Barbed wire. I have just eaten an apple Danish with a cool Pepsi
and find it most pertinent to define another chapter in this freakish
epoch. I returned from central London where I attempted to have my smart
phone repaired. I have meagre benefits, has Her Majesty's First Minister
stole my wages. I need to always open up my YouTube page, on my phone, so
that people are aware of where I am, as a band of hooligans in Westminster are
instead of working and representing society, attempting to attain carnal
cheap thrills from her majesty's subjects at all costs. They threaten my
life for not viewing sexual intercourse in their way and define an insurgency
of terror and plot, to the periphery of conscience and reason. Woe is me,
as I shall never succumb to that strange pagan cult, for I have quenched thus
the normalcy of nature.
Our police force, have blocked my smart phone so
that I am but an immigrant at home, for lecherous lusting of paliamentary paedophiles that lewd.
I have been told by our representatives in the commons that I did it, to what IT is I am but a stimuli of confusion, as IT sounds provocative and
vile. I have been hunted has prey for 12 years by uncouth men of Sodom
and vice. Now they attempt to incriminate me towards a more beastly persona, for
the equality of the toffs. They say that once they raise me to leveraged
heights, then 'I did it and must be incarcerated in the penal populations for
their sexual pillages. What I did I do not know, though I am confident
that I have broken no laws and have civilised decorum. They shout, 'You Did
It!'
Are the taxpayer not worthy of the respect of their
levy, for the stalking beasts are untamed to the wants of the electorates, as
they lurk the shadows to sexually stimulate their payslips. Whose fault
is it that they define the office of state is this way, mine, my mothers or
their conscience. Does the sex offenders register need to be an elevatated
stamp for the control of our representatives, or maybe the police could be better controlled, were they to benefit observance. Be it as it may, such
wanton display of a new stiff upper lip can only define crisis once the
lipstick leaves the tart. I will attempt to have the police unblock my
phone at their locally tax funded work base, has I am fascinated to their excuse
of innocence. This KGB which helps to barb wire the nature and nurture of
innocence and pleasure, with Dark Age and vulgarity are paid to protect the
British electorate. I am told that I am dishonest for feminine outwardly
interest, and not British so must go home! That band of wicked wankers,
from whence Wellington's Westminster willowed after Waterloo.
You may notice the flamboyance of an eloquent
British prose. Yes I do have fun has word smith, though eloquent terms
are hot air to my reality. The real issues are the rule of law from a
state in crisis, from carnal plot and bugger. Once liberty, democracy and
the rule of law are returned to Britannia's subjects, I am but sure that insurrection
and toffs' rebellion shall be replaced by dignity, respect, good manners and a civilised
yet moderate perspective at Whitehall and Westminster.Death to the buggers, clemency to that tart!
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