BANK-BOTS IN BRUSSELS AND BRITAIN

Onto our twenty-first century screens they swarm, these new political bank-bots. They roll off the assembly-line as soon as their human brain has been replaced with
a standard globalist talking sponge. That's why modern politicians all sound the same, because when pressure is applied to a sponge, nothing emerges but a grubby puddle of drool. And they all wear the same moronic ferret-grin because their creators insist any old rubbish can be spoken so long as you keep smiling. Forward, loyal bank-bots! Freshly minted from the bathroom mirror, towards the cameras they strut, blunt fangs bared to dazzle the viewers at home.

But television has taught us how to spot the murderer at the start of every episode. The inner ugliness that dulls those glassy eyes, the weasel-coating of innocent-sounding words. 
 

Diversity is our strength

Only mass immigration can save our economy

We know the script by heart, well aware this is a story in which we ourselves do not even appear. But who really listens when the bank-bots speak? Once upon a time the scions of government 'rose through the ranks' or 'climbed the greasy pole'. Nowadays they arrive fully-formed, shiny new products of elite intent. These new politicians are created and put into place. Consider just a trio of the products decorating European politics in June 2019: by their job histories shall ye know them.

PresidentEmmanuel Macron: One job: Rothschild Bank.

PrimeMinister Theresa May: Two jobs: the Bank of England and APACS (money-transfers for European Banking).

HomeSecretary Sajid Javid: Two jobs: Chase Manhattan Bank and the Deutschebank.

Who do you think are their masters? In whose interests do they toil?

Their loyalty must be to someone. Bear in mind that their banking masters gave them millions - and will give them millions more. What have you ever given them? You have nothing to give but your vote, suckers.

A political gene pool this incestuous is filled with damaged goods - creatures with dangerous mental flaws and built-in globalist prejudice. If you bred dogs this way the parks would be filled with howling, mutant mongrels.

But the new-breed politician is an inevitable, unavoidable product of the technocratic revolution. Once upon a time the quiet, sinister elites and their financial stormtroopers were at least identifiably human, like the Presidents and Popes they chose to engage. Their powerlust and greed were tempered by negotiation with other minds of a different stripe. Politics and Art, Economics and Philosophy were understood to be aspects of each other, not just oppositional pursuits by which society was divided.

The digital chip ended all that. A two thousand year-old roaring, hammering engine of human guile and aspiration fell silent overnight; the machinery of civilisation had clanked to a halt.

The beasts from Silicon Valley know nothing of culture and care less. In the worst of all possible ironies, the ultimate tools of unlimited control fell into the hands of digital bricklayers. Laboratory geeks woke up with superpowers, became omnipresent, cyber-gods that dwelt in every home, sparking and weaving their magic in the dark plastic interiors of the boxes we hurried to buy.

Only the joke miracle of the limitlessly broadcasting chip could raise an amoral intellectual pygmy like Mark Zuckerberg to the throne of World Censor. But there he sits, in all his weedy glory, the Skinny Controller of Permissable Thought for fifty million limp minds. In some unmarked grave, the ghost of Goebbels is spinning in fascistic envy.

The weak have not inherited the earth, but they have been stuck on top of it, like plastic Santas on a Christmas tree. In what universe does a simpering oaf like Justin Trudeau become a national leader? In what comic novel was Britain's destiny placed in the care of a gormless shrew like Theresa May - whose sole academic qualification is a second class degree in geography? (From Hughes College, Oxford where the crucial entry requirement is possession of a vagina).

Like the new-model political robots, a new public is being created, from the primary school up. A dumbed-down child army of the ever-gullible, the last fragments of their will-power sliced and diced by the endless repetition of attractive collectivist lies.

All cultures are equal

Like the ignorant, credulous generation it spawned, the jackbooted centipede of technocracy does not pause for thought, and extinction walks in its footsteps.

Do as we say or the earth will burn

Once we could hear the voice of a solitary man stood on a box in the street, until he was drowned by the volume of a million televisions. Then the internet placed a screen on the table in every room, and into the pink palm of every child. Now the only voice that mattered was the one you believed you had chosen yourself.

There is no need for borders

Now the bank-bots have come for your children. Because young people will believe any pleasant-sounding idea that uses less than ten words. What child of the inner-city battlegrounds can resist the appeal of escaping into an imaginary world where all are equal?

Imagine no machetes – it's easy if you try...

But when coarse reality intrudes upon their cultivated fragility, millennials turn and flee, as trained, to a 'safe space', clutching the smartphone for digital comfort. These infantilised youths will, by design, grow into weak, solitary adults. Lonely people, as any Zuckerberg knows, are grateful to receive any communication at all, even if it's just a bot-brain clicking hello. And who will not be lonely in tomorrow's digital Sahara?

Add to this generation of neutered losers an equal number of poor, uneducated migrants. (Because people exported from third-world hell to a country where food and shelter are free, will do whatever they are told). And behold, now you have a new-model population to match the new-model politician. Shallow, cheap, and docile, the ideal herd.

If schools and colleges actually taught history instead of concealing it, the children of the twenty-first century would know that fascism flowers – as it always has and always will – on the Socialist tree. Just ask the proles of Russia, Italy and Germany. But history is too dangerous for kids, and the hatchet-faced control-freaks of the EU want another turn at the helm. Click below on just one more go for details...

Just one more go 

From towering glass penthouses the bank-bots of Brussels gaze out across the European farmland of their dreams, where all tax-cattle are equal and dissent is verboten. In a factory next door, their latest batch of Macrons, Mays and Merkels are being readied for distribution.This time, they tell each other, we'll get it right.

It matters not at all to the controllers that the price of their custom-kit society will be civilisation itself.

Ian Andrew-Patrick