How mental would a war with Spain be?

The calm before the storm.

The calm before the storm.

With all this guff about a war with Spain in defence of Gibraltar we got to thinking: What would happen? How would it play out?

We’ve concluded that such an event would be an absolute farce. Probably beginning with:

Theresa May ordering a seaborne invasion of Spain with a ‘Task Force’ comprising of an aircraft carrier with no planes. The Spanish President responds by appealing for volunteer fighters, but the appeal falls on deaf ears as the only Spaniards with any interest in coming to the cold damp UK are already here working in bars and restaurants. The rest like their sunshine, their senoritas and their La Liga and can’t be arsed.

Arron Banks funds a home defence unit and appoints Nigel Farage Captain of the Walmington on Sea platoon.

Theresa May makes plans for a bowling game with Donald Trump at Plymouth Hoe on D-Day2.0 and promises to wear ‘fuck me’ shoes and test the weight of Trump’s bowls.

In the meantime while the Spanish are watching El Clasico between Real Madrid and Barcelona at the Bernabeu and lobbing pig heads onto the playing area, Britain launches a sneaky full on naval assault in a pincer movement, targeting the Northern port of Bilbao and the Med city of Barcelona.

In London, Spanish waiters retaliate by masturbating into the carbonara sauce of Conservative and UKIP voters.

The Royal Marines land on the beaches near Bilbao but the locals just laugh, befriend them and buy them Margaritas. The assault stalls as three Marine battalions are pinned down on the beach drinking and singing Julio Iglesias songs deep into the night. Fireworks are let off by the locals. Initial concern by the Marines is not in evidence.

“They’re just fireworks,” one says. “Best war I’ve ever been in. Apparently the lassie in the flamenco costume wants to take me for a paella. Wah hey! Get in!”

The Spanish President interrupts all media broadcasting to announce that Neymar’s third goal was a blatant handball after Barcelona’s 6-5 win at the Bernabeu and slams the Brazilian for being a “dirty cheating hijo de puta.” (Son of a bitch.)

Boris Johnson likewise interrupts all UK public broadcasting to complain that the Spanish aren’t taking this seriously.

The Spanish President responds by saying: “How can anybody take a gringo oaf like you seriously? You mop-headed Bullingdon Club muppet?”

Nigel Farage deserts the Walmington on Sea platoon and in defiance of orders commandeers a Piper Comanche light aircraft, which he proceeds to fly to somewhere near Berlin in order to beg for Angela Merkel to intervene and call for a halt to hostilities.

Theresa May would probably get very shouty and sweary.

Theresa May would probably get very shouty and sweary.

The SAS storm the beaches at Barcelona but it’s too hot so they doff their uniforms and make camp. Before long they’re approached by hordes of weed dealers, prostitutes, human statues, jugglers and beggars. They all get stoned while they wait for orders. To keep the troops hydrated a convoy of waiters in tuxedos serve our boys absinthe and cocktails and tell the troops they’ll have to up sticks and move if they aren’t dining or have a pre-booked reservation.

One irate SAS officer on Barcelona beach threatens to shoot a particularly aggressive waiter in the head over a tipping argument but the face off is defused by a passing taxi driver who takes the SAS man twelve metres further down the beach for 20 Euro.

UKIP leader Paul Nuttall announces that he’s been awarded the Victoria Cross for storming and holding single handedly an ice cream van on Las Ramblas as he penetrated enemy lines. Strangely the Twitter message bearing the announcement was posted from an IP address in Birkenhead.

Nigel Farage cocks up on the map reading and instead of landing in north-eastern Germany actually parachutes into North Korea. He is picked up by Kim Jong Un’s security forces and taken to Sandow Prison where he is interrogated by North Korean agents. Farage offers to treat Kim Jong Un to a black forest gateau, a bottle of Grouse and a bag of Walker’s crisps by way of a bribe. Jong Un refuses.

Angela Merkel tells Britain to stop being stupid. Douglas Carswell announces that he can’t take it any more and he’s moving to North Korea. ISIS release a video stating that they’re totally confused by the whole situation and can’t make head nor tail of it.

Donald Trump flies into Heathrow on Air Force 1 and tells everybody to calm down. “Just calm down,” he says. “Calm down. Right down. All the way down. Get Zen. Do it bigly. Chill the fuck out,” as he waves his tiny hands in soothing gestures.

Vladimir Putin calls Trump a “yellow bellied bastard” on Russian state TV. According to Trump’s spray-tanning technician and chief advisors there isn’t really any point arguing with that, so Trump lets it go. For now… He later calls Putin a “gay Russki poisoner” on Twitter but subsequently announces that his Twitter account has been hacked by a mysterious man in a hat in Manhattan.

Theresa May is absolutely gutted when a glamour photographer – mistaking her for an aspiring model – says that he wouldn’t waste valuable film on her. She retreats to Downing Street and kicks Geoffrey Hammond’s cat on the way in, sparking cries of outrage from animal activists. She will go on to call a halt to hostilities, recall the troops from Spain and cry herself to sleep.

Patriotic UKIP supporters would probably be cheering our boys on from the safety of their own living rooms.

Patriotic UKIP supporters would probably be cheering our boys on from the safety of their own living rooms.

In an effort to secure Nigel Farage’s release, intrepid Mail reporter Katie Hopkins jets out to Pyongyang but turns back at the airport after discovering that North Korea is chock full of “smelly yellow low rent people.” She is violently sick on the return flight and an emergency landing in order to secure medical attention for the withered hack is only averted when Ms Hopkins reads a comment on Express online where somebody calling himself “RockHardJohnson” from Bromsgrove wrote: “She’s a bit of a pig but I’d give her one. For spite.”

Meanwhile back in Blighty everyone celebrates VE day (Victory over Europe day) by going down the pub and grumbling about gays and Muslims, apart from the Remoaners – who aren’t actually moaning any more, simply making plans to get the hell out while the going’s good – and Jeremy Corbyn calls for an election whereby he has as much chance of winning as he has of backing an athematic in a blow-football game against a free diver.

In North Korea Nigel Farage announces from his prison cell that he’s forming a new party – NKIP – North Korea Independence Party, based on anti-American propaganda and an inherent fear of the Japanese, calling for mass rallies and an end to immigration. Kim Jong Un laughs in his face, telling Farage that no fucker in his or her right mind would want to immigrate to North Korea but tacitly agrees to the proposition.

Arron Banks offers financial backing to NKIP, Douglas Carswell declares his intention to stand as the Member For Pyongyang Western Ward but is bitterly opposed by Paul Nuttall – winner of 8 Victoria Crosses in the Anglo-Spanish War.

Guy Verhofstadt reportedly died laughing and Paul Golding and Jayda Fransen invited Pippa Middleton to be Chief Bridesmaid at their impending nuptials in The Grand Central Mosque in Karachi, Pakistan.

Kim Jong Un advised North Koreans to “Keep Calm And Carry On.”

That’s enough.

ENOUGH!

It couldn’t possibly get any dafter.

Unless you know better…

Paddy Berzinski for www.cafespike.com

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Brexiteers still not quite sure about almost everything

Farage - appealing to the intellectually challenged.

Farage – appealing to the intellectually challenged.

A quick look at comments on social media reveals that Brexiteers aren’t quite sure about anything at all. What does seem abundantly clear is that many Brexit voters confidently anticipated some form of ethnic cleansing within days of a leave vote. Perhaps naively, many believed that voting for Brexit would result in an end to the free movement of labour and the expulsion of EU migrant workers from the UK along with mass repatriation of the UK’s Muslim population.

A not insignificant number of Brexiteers have been left confused and bewildered as they’ve come to the realisation that this isn’t ever going to actually happen.

Many are also disappointed in that they used the referendum as a protest vote against David Cameron’s government, and although Cameron, Osborne, Gove and co were consigned to the rubbish bin it’s still pretty much business as usual in Westminster. Only the faces have changed.

Campaigning and voting for a massive sea change in a nation’s future is all well and good – providing there is a plan in place. The Brexit campaign had no such plan – probably because they all quite confidently expected to lose the referendum, and now they’ve been caught with their trousers down.

Somewhat ironically, Nigel Farage – whose sole raison d’être was to “free the UK from the shackles of the Brussels dictatorship” – stood down as UKIP party leader, yet strangely didn’t resign his position as an MEP, ensuring he keeps his snout in the EU trough claiming salary and expenses from an institution that he supposedly detests. (Yes, the same institution that has paid his salary and expenses since his election in 1999.)

All of which leaves Brexiteers scratching their heads in vacant confusion.

And what of UKIP itself? Is their any point in its existence?

Potential party leader Steven Woolfe seems to think so. Wolfe wants to rebrand UKIP, with a name change and a change of party colours in order to appeal to the more moderate sections of the electorate. However, being a Mancunian raised on a Moss Side estate and with black and Jewish heritage he hardly seems likely to be flavour of the month among UKIP’s grass roots element.

So basically Brexit is in turmoil. The pound is on the slide despite massive cash injections from the Bank of England, the future is uncertain, we’re probably heading for a recession despite what the right wing press would have you believe and nobody seems to have the slightest idea what to do next.

As Brexiteers crow from the rooftops that they’ve won, that we are now free from the evil EUSSR, the Coudenhove-Kalergi Plan, the reptilians, the cultural Marxists, the lefties, political correctness, the New World Order, the Illuminati and all that other conspiracy bollocks they’re so fond of quoting, we have just one question:

What exactly did you win?

“Sweet fuck all really” is one phrase that springs to mind.

Martin Shuttlecock reporting for cafespike.com

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UKIP Plan to reintroduce steam engines, rickets and head lice

Here's a steam train we cleaned up earlier.

Here’s a steam train we cleaned up earlier.

Sources are reporting that in a bid to assuage disgruntled Brexit supporters who were expecting a 21st century re-enactment of Kristallnacht and a Stalinesque purge, UKIP will be campaigning to reintroduce steam engines on British railways, and throw in rickets and head lice for the kiddies as an added bonus.

“This is great, the best news I’ve heard in decades,” said Daily Express comments section veteran NotaNaziReally. “It’ll be just like the glorious 50’s and 60’s before the moose limb invasion and will certainly put the Great back in Britain. We”l have proper trains again – where the driver and fireman shit on the same shovel they cook their breakfast bacon and eggs on and bandy legged kids all over the place scratching their heads like men possessed. I can’t wait!”

But the plans haven’t exactly been met with unanimous approval.

“I was never keen on steam trains, or rickets, diphtheria, scurvy or any of that stuff,” said veteran journalist Gerald “Inchcock” Chambers from Nottingham. “I lived near the main line as a nipper and the passing trains used to shake the bones of the house, as well as spew out sparks and soot and all manner of filth. And there were nowt nostalgic baht my childhood – none of us kids ever had enough to eat and we were all forever poorly. Why anyone would ever want to go back to them days is beyond me. Mind you, I were younger then, and a bit more sprightly than I am now, but that’s abaht it really.”

“Ha! This Inchcock character sounds like a proper PC cultural Marxist lefty traitor to me,” retorted NotANaziReally. “I’d be willing to bet he voted to remain in the EU along with his fellow Trotskyite Marxist EUSSR shills. Some people really don’t think these things through…”

More when Nelson gets his eye back.

Cafe Spike dot com

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Stuff Your Referendum – Says Local Man

A picture of a woman wearing a bikini top inserted for no immediately obvious reason.

A picture of a woman wearing a bikini top inserted for no immediately obvious reason.

Local man and part-time website editor Martin Shuttlecock told both Brexit and Remain campaigners to: “Stuff your referendum up your khyber.”

The astonishing outburst occurred as canvassers simultaneously turned up at Shuttlecock’s front door brandishing leaflets and all manner of scare stories and worst case scenarios .

“I’m not interested in any of it any more,” he said later. “I’m damn well sick to the back teeth of the lot of it. It doesn’t matter which way you vote because you just can’t win. Cameron and Osborne spearheading the remain camp and Boris, Farage and Duncan Smith doing the Brexit thing…

“They’re all lying sadistic butchers. How can anyone believe any of them?

“It’s like being offered a choice between hanging and the electric chair.

“I won’t even bother to vote – I’m just going to get a few beers in instead and binge-watch a box set of ‘Walking Dead’ to cheer myself up.”

The referendum will be held on 23rd June.

UKIP supporters will self destruct as soon as the result is announced.

Paddy Berzinski

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MP’s To Be Subjected To Random Drug Testing

Gideon mate - give yer nose a good wipe before we go in.

Gideon mate – give yer nose a good wipe before we go in.

MP’s based in the House of Commons are threatening to go on strike after being told they face mandatory random drug testing, like footballers and athletes and employees of puritanical multi-national corporations. Members of the National Union of MP’s have slammed the move and are threatening a series of one day strikes in protest at what they describe as “an unjustifiable assault on our human rights.”

One particular MP complained: “I’m not having this. Who is anyone to make life changing decisions affecting my professional life? I didn’t study all my life to become a freeloading profiteer only for some fucking oik to start poking his bastard nose in. I’m a human being too for Christ’s sake.

“Just because I have an addiction to Colombian marching powder doesn’t mean I cant do my job properly. This is a bridge too far. Before we know it they’ll be clamping down on our tax avoidance schemes and scrutinising our expense accounts. If I choose to snort Charlie off an escort’s tits that’s my business. We’re all together on this one. We aren’t having it.”

This one promises to be ongoing.

More as we get it.

Martin Shuttlecock

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Has England Sold Its Soul To The Devil?

Once Upon A Time We All Worked Together As A Team

Once Upon A Time We All Worked Together As A Team

So, the election results are in, and as Mr Cameron himself might say, the electorate have sent out a clear message to our political leaders that we want the next five years to be presided over by the Conservative party. True – not everybody wants it, but the geopolitical minority obviously do. That’s democracy in action.

For the less well off, the elderly the sick, those who care about our NHS, those on low wages and zero hours contracts it maybe isn’t such an enthralling prospect. It’s another five years of living on the edge, food banks, insecure low-paying jobs, praying that you don’t ever get sick, and sort of wondering where all these people actually are who you read about in the Daily Mail? You know the ones – the ones the Sun calls ‘benefit scroungers,’ the ones who ‘come over here taking our jobs’ and walking out of benefit offices with the keys to a posh house in Mayfair and pockets stuffed with cash? The ones with the big plasma screen TVs who drive brand new BMWs, holiday in the Caribbean and dine out at Michelin starred restaurants?

I’ve never known anybody on benefits who lives like that. And I’ve known a lot of people who survive on benefits; strangely enough, none of them were exactly living the high life.

The less well off in our society – including the millions engaged in low-paid employment are pretty nervous right now. Given that the coalition government have absolutely hammered the most vulnerable in society, and with a promise of even greater austerity to come, their concerns must be taken seriously. Nick Clegg, the former Deputy PM and Lib-Dem leader has said that the influence of his party in its coalition role reined the Conservatives in to some extent, preventing them from going all-out psycho on the poor. Now that restraint has been removed and the Tories have a free hand.

Not much more than a century ago, when the British Empire was the most powerful in the world, when the rich lived in palatial luxury, the poor made the money – in the factories, in the shipyards, in the steelworks, down the coal mines, and for their labour they were worked slowly to death in appalling conditions, crowded into ramshackle slums and left to their own devices. If you didn’t work you didn’t eat, if you got sick you died. Happened every day. Most people couldn’t read or write. Travel was unheard of. People lived and died in the same small area and rarely went anywhere other than home or to work. Some joined the army, fighting for the Empire. Women were second class citizens. Life was brutal. Life was short and generally extremely unpleasant.

It was these people who were sacrificed on the fields of Flanders, these people who shed their blood, the same people who manned the factories, the mills and the pits who fought the enemy and were regarded as expendable.

Things changed. It wasn’t a simple process – this isn’t intended to be a historical document, merely a fleeting overview. Things changed because people began to care about each other, they formed alliances and fought a new enemy – oppression. The trades union movement was born – bringing equality and fairness to millions, education and womens’ rights to vote were fought for, and the crowning glory was that the National Health Service was created.

It must have seemed like Utopia – fairness at work, dignity, a sense of pride and the envy of the world – the NHS.

Consecutive governments – both Labour and Tory – have fought tooth and nail since the 1960s to either claw back, or completely remove these freedoms, and we the British public have not only allowed them to do this – we’ve given them our blessing, patted them on the back and applauded them. Something like leaving everything you’ve ever earned to your executioner because you think he’s doing a damned good job.

And before you start – no this is not some left wing socialist rant. I just want to know why we don’t seem to care about our fellow man any more. It’s a simple enough ask. We used to pride ourselves on our community and national spirit, we used to support our families, our mates and their families, our workmates, we used to have compassion, not just for our own people, for any group of people who were having a hard time. We used to send food to famine victims, help to the victims of natural disasters, and sometimes we still do back up a worthy cause but it appears to be a dying trait of our national psyche.

What happened to us? At which point did we actually stop giving a fuck about anyone else?

I spend quite a bit of time online, and sometimes it can be pretty disquieting. On the one hand you get people purring over cuddly animal stuff on Facebook, and you get people starting petitions because somebody shot a cat with a bow and arrow, or outraged because somebody dropped the ‘F’ word (The word is fuck.) on a TV newscast, and on the other hand you get people advocating gunboats in the Mediterranean and being applauded for it, and a lunatic fringe who want to pull us out of the EU because they’re afraid of Muslims. (You really couldn’t make this shit up.)

Are these people the new voice of Britain? Are these the same self-righteous people who voted in a government which has already started the creeping privatisation of the NHS? The government who vow to recoup billions from the most vulnerable in society whilst they turn a blind eye to their tax avoiding chums and the zero tax paying multinational corporations? Is this what the new voice of Britain voted for? Among a raft of equally nasty measures perpetrated by a government which will clearly only benefit the rich – who have got considerably richer as the poor die. Is this what we really want?

It must be. We voted for it. That’s democracy – even if we do have the worst performing government in a century? A government which presides over the biggest rich/poor gap since Victorian times? How did that happen?

For one thing – Rupert Murdoch and his insidious media empire. Aided and abetted by the Telegraph and the Mail. They warned of chaos if Miliband got into power and allied himself with the SNP, which seems a trifle hypocritical considering that there’s been chaos since 2010 and nobody has been effective in dealing with it. The Sun happily publishes xenophobic rants by middle aged women who ought to know better (Katie Hopkins) whilst the Express donates to UKIP, supporting its extreme right wing agenda – at the same time as the Mail, once UKIP friendly – suddenly coming to regard UKIP as a threat to the Conservative vote, omits to mention Nigel Farage at all in the days running up to the election.

UKIP were dealt a bad hand in reality – even though they shook up the mainstream parties with their xenophobic stance to a degree whereby immigration suddenly leapt up the agenda, second only to the economy. UKIP became cannon fodder because they threatened to erode the right wing vote. We all know how that turned out, and to be honest I won’t be shedding any tears over Farage. Whichever way you look at it, this election was a massive con – designed simply to divide and rule – and the electorate fell for it, hook line and sinker.

In my own constituency, Fareham, in Hampshire, a Conservative won by a landslide. I wonder if the electorate ever actually realised that by casting their votes that way they were virtually green-lighting a huge development plan known locally as Welborne, which will inevitably place unbearable strain on our already overstretched infrastructure. And that doesn’t even include further development programmes involving thousands of new dwellings. It all seems eerily reminiscent of the day after the 9/11 atrocity when I remarked to a colleague: “That was terrible. The most shocking thing I think I’ve ever seen in a nation at peace.” The reply was: “I don’t really care. It doesn’t affect me.”

But didn’t it affect us all? That’s the trouble. We’ve sold our souls. We’ve all been had. And the really sad thing is that we don’t seem to care.

Martin Shuttlecock.

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