Or more correctly, I’d like to sup some fiery distilled sippin’ liquid originating in Speyside, from out off a transparent tumbler fashioned from a hyper viscous fluid.
You see it all depends on your point of view and command of tongue.
So we return to the kernel of truth, the immovable, incorruptible, religiokiminal free measure,IFI, that this here numpty fashions from time to time for your illumination, couldn’t resist that.
By far remove these measures and metrics reflect the real world’s state of phukkedness more accurately than anything a bankster approved rating agency or government department full of boybitch and bitchboy jaffa-eunuchs could provide.
So with the good of the common weal in mind I will introduce a new metric to allow us to gauge and measure the complete state of utterkantkuntedness of the dump, formerly inhabited by sentient inhabited carbon based life forms, the toxic waste suppository, known for some weird reason as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and
Yesterday the fiction factory released an unreal double think set of phoneyfigures at a time when the geriatric criminal, Rupert the dead children’s phone hijacker, was being given a Stalinesque shine job on the GGT at the Levyson show trail und McPuke children’s party. Don’t forget your unhappy bag; you are getting phukkedover with extra bukkake mayo in your eyes and no gherkin up your shitter, just yet, again. I mean if they cannot hide a manipulated double dip, read recession ongoing since 2000, within their extreme, system breaking, made up, ersatz stats then guess what?
So now that scene is set I wish to introduce the new metric from my purest of ratings agency, specifically to aid the stripy pyjama’d inmates of the world's largest open religious prison to get a grip.
My Erse Index.
The MEI aims to summarise in one easily remembered phrase, note the innovative step at this here unthoughtschool, no letters for us, just real wordy words. Don’t say you aren’t getting treated like adults here rather than ignorant, illiterate children as at the criminal vowels and consonant alpahbetti spaghetti twisters at Fitch et al.
So here are the ratings and their brief codex.
No phukkin’ idea. It has never existed. Though perhaps the idea of the Greek golden age might approximate.
Trumpton Unter Chiggley.
A children’s fairy tale land of happy Phukk D’Wittz as brought to real life by the GGT's Watch with Mother half a century ago.
Opiate Pastoral Idyll.
Easily recreated on canvas by 17/18th century English artists, purveyors of unreality to the gentry. Today the likes of
Patagonia or secret parts of Hertfordshire would be
Null Und Void.
Best imagined as the abandoned Garden of Eden or a deserted tropical island’s highlands.
Shitty Picture Show.
Well run federal republic with a shed load of problems heaving into view. Imagine USofA corp. circa 1950.
Nut House Cacophony.
Anywhere with any other form of central government, other than a Shitty Picture Show, infested with religiokriminal banksters. Think
Unbelieving Totally Phukked.
Russia around 1905. USofA corp.
Ever Gone Forever.
or Renaissance Italian city states.
Phukked Once Again.
Special category for UKplc. Totally Unaware of how Phukked it is. In fact the pigsty manure pile is so far gone that a new word needs to be created to be used in this very special case.
Only in a nation that is TPnP, sorry I’ve gone all S&P on you, could this lot get reality time for their crime management schpeil.