D’you smell that, Reverend? It’s pungent and it’s everywhere and it’s revolution. The air’s thick with it. Things could actually change tomorrow. The Angry Mob has changed its clothes and washed its hair and could even be mistaken for you or me. And that’s putting the willys up those in the bowler hats and those clutching their expenses forms. Violence. Riots. Terror. That’s what we’ve told to expect over the next two days. You better be nimble on your feet, Reverend. You won’t be able to walk down a single London street without having to dodge strung up bankers swinging by the throat from lamp-posts. Stay indoors. Dress down. These people that want equality, fairness and change may look like us but really they’re children-guzzling monsters in jeans and T-shirts. Stay away. Don’t even look at them. And definitely, under no circumstance, listen to what they have to say.
Do they really expect us to swallow that rotten spunk? This time their foul play is a little harder to cover up. Now you can see it on Kensington High Street and on Clapham Common, not just on a remote highway outside Basra. They’ve numbed us into forgiving their crimes overseas and their contempt for public opinion on such issues. We were angry, but our stomachs were full, and, because of this, they could always call our bluff. Even the march of 5 million back when the invasion of Iraq was in its infancy could be shrugged off. But now we’re hungry. And those in power should fear nothing more than a discontent public with a growling belly. No amount of lies and spin can convince any of us that we are no longer hungry. And they know this. And that’s why we will win.
