I prefer wit, brevity, the quick dagger breezily slipped between the ribs of my enemies, but my elegant postures collapse in a heap before David Cameron, leader of the Cameroons and their hangers-on, aka the Conservative Party of Great Britain. This party leads the polls, so Cameron may well be Prime Minister in 2-3 years.
Cameron fuses my circuits, smoke seeps from my eyeballs, I can't speak, I gawp like a fish out of water. This,this,this Old-Etonian, ex PR man, slimy spiv; this oily chancer, this BBC nominee, this faux-conservative, nouveau-man; this,this,this is the successor to Margaret Thatcher. Woe. Is. Me.
There have been have been so many last straws with this, uh, scumbag is the mot juste, but this is the last, last straw. He's re-invented himself as an eco-fascist and invited Al Gore to address the Shadow Cabinet. Listen, friends in Utah, reserve a place for me in your country. I may need to tear up my passport and get one of yours. Just don't elect Gore, Clinton, Obama or McCain.
