Your erstwhile correspondent, yesterday, took a trip to the NAZI store to stare at some flat packed.
Firstly, the trial by digginguproaditis that afflicts this country. A permanent and incurable condition. Everywhere. On this journey it was the Henlys Corner remodelling that made the journey hell.
As I remarked later that day to the secretive squirrel, whilst I knocked back a rocket fuel strength Thatchers, “Have you ever managed to make a journey in London this past decade and a half and not had your lawful progress hindered by geezers digging great holes in the Queens’ highway? Usually, as in motorway progress, with no one actually doing any work. The concept of uninhabited road works being a particular quirk of UKplc.”
“No” was the answer
A generation of UKplc roads users are being formed who have no experience of making their right of way without hindrance. It means that the new generation of licensed vehicle owners/drivers will not notice so much the switch from digging holes in roads and traffic management and Red stop sign iGREEN scheduling and the JUGENDiGREEN Einsatzgruppen demanding your papers. No please in UKplc no matter how 6sigma’d up the arse they’ll be in their particular and peculiar business model.
So I fought my way to the big blue and yellow, OFM, and made my way round the great big brainwashing yellow bricked road. No deviation, follow those arrows, a great lowing herd of flatpacked addicted PhukkD’Witz shuffling their way round the workhouse.
Jedem das Seine.
One piece of social and aspirational engineering designed to make sure you don’t notice that the country formerly know as Great Britain will soon be known as Derelict Runway One. A no work serfs paradise, the servile economy writ large, stocked with clients not citizens, chocka with retainers not free working men and women. Slave caves on the Rothschild plantation. High packing density ghettos made by firms who generally couldn’t build a decent house in the whole history of UKplc’s housing stock construction because their business model is that of the rip off.
Two Jags and Shags idea of the proles’ hutches. The capsules that show you how a whole podded lifestyle can be shuvved into the tiniest of spaces. Space station like but on planet earth.
The 25M2 Suite with the smiley happy young professional soma’d woman’s face magnified to frightening proportions on the marketing compliant 6 sigma’d exterior. It was a hideous cynical manipulation of hope mandated by the UN and was the most puke making, in your face, sight that no one notices.
25M2 Suite in the 21st Century!!! FFS! That is your allotment. 25 square fucking meters. 16ft by 16 ft by 7ft after you’ve struggled through all the crap that our so called education process saddles you with. After finding one of the few remaining jobs in the pyrrhic Ponzi scheme. That is it. A little cell in the hive.
Pure NOAHide, Absolut AGENDA21, triple distilled poverty.