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A poem I wrote a little while ago regarding Thursday’s general election. I will be voting, but I will feel a little like I’m choosing a sandwich in a bad supermarket:
Sounding off in Carluccio’s. a little eave’s dropping this morning confirms the bullshit motto taught to me by my Great Uncle Gilbert. (Wonderful man). Just look at that finger.
Media Mum demonstrates irritating and not uncommon 500-decibel-own-child-worship. Sideways glance from Mother in Niquab confirms this.