Britain's Next General Election Has Been Decided: Net Zero Wins
Everybody's planning for the next election: it's TOTALLY important for the future of...oh, anything you like really. Tomorrow belongs to thee. Doesn't everyone love the magic of theatre? The democratical waltz takes another turn, all swap partners and when the music stops nothing has changed except the foot on the accelerator to hell. After 12 years of pretend Tories we're due for a stint of pretend socialists. After three rights to the head, there's a left hook coming to finish us off.
The baton of globalism must be handed forward and as we recently intimated, Lucky Liz Truss has been instructed exactly how to do it. Conservative voters -bitterly dissillusioned after a decade of merciless betrayal- were already preparing to either not vote (futile) or switch to Labour (futile). Undoubtedly aware that millions of the Tory faithful are poised to desert, one might expect- if politics wasn't a rigged game- that the new PM would come up with something vaguely positive to recapture the loyalists.
But defeat is the name of the left-right game. Like Marlon Brando's doomed boxer in On the Waterfront, Lucky Liz had no sooner strapped on her heavyweight gloves than the word came down from the Mob. The fix is in and she's got to take the fall. "Sorry kid, it ain't your night." The big money is on the other guy and the big money never loses. Liz Truss couldn't win the next election this side of a new pandemic teamed with atomic war.
To anticipate our future political flim-flam, we need only inspect the tide of Parliamentary froth to see how the scum has, once again, risen to the top when required. As I've been explaining since 2017, the Brexit referendum left the globalist establishment no option but to launch a wave of political suicide-bombers, of whom Truss is the latest and likely the one with the shortest fuse this century.
TIME BOMBS
Dumbo Dave Cameron led by example, falling on his sword as commanded, and dutifuly passed the poisoned chalice to Bank-of-England graduate Theresa May. [See THIS from 2018 and THIS from 2019] Like the good marionette she was, May stuttered and stalled her way through three years of fictional Brexiteering before her terminal speech and and a horrific explosion of fake tears. When the smoke cleared, enter Alexander Boris Johnson, almost gibbering with delight at the prospect of seeing his face on TV every night for years to come.
Four weeks into his Premiership, in August 2019 I wrote "Watch
in amazement, as from this point forwards,
the cheaply-bought Boris will begin spewing recycled gibberish about the
Irish Bloody Backstop and the Single Market and the Customs Union.
Exactly the same delaying tactics used by Theresa May, in other
words." [To read the full article CLICK HERE]
If this sounded cynical, consider that three interminable years later, in May of 2022, Johnson's final fling with his fake Brexit was "a draft document that would unilaterally change parts of the Northern Ireland Protocol, citing issues with medical supplies and cuts in VAT. One of the thornier points of contention involves safety regulations for food and plants, an area where the British government is opposed to a closer alignment with existing EU regulations. For its part, the EU has so far rebuffed the idea of changing the text of the treaty to accommodate the British. A unilateral override by the UK would be tantamount to a breach of the Brexit agreement." In other words, six years since the referendum, exactly as predicted: no real Brexit at all, just more hot air from the Westminster flatulence factory.
COVID KILLED BREXIT
In the winter of 2019 -mindful that the upcoming plandemic would torpedo any functional Brexit- Johnson tried to hustle a deal past Parliament, but failed. Having thus convinced the gullible Tory faithful that he meant Brexit business, a snap election bought him four years to play with -and Britain's cooperation with the plandemic was greenlighted.
On 31 January Boris Johnson announced that "Brexit was Done!" Just 50 days later he ordered the entire country shut down and locked the population in their homes. While the public was subjected to the waking nightmare of the next two Johnson years, illegal immigration would escalate wildly out of control -just as Johnson and the EU had always intended.
Business is business, however, and sooner or later Johnson would be obliged to detonate his political suicide-vest, ideally without resolving the Irish Protocol issue (the "Irish Backstop" by another name). However, being 7 parts ego and 3 parts slime, Johnson twisted and turned once too often in his desperation to remain PM, prompting the whips to dig out the Partygate photos and tapes prepared for just this eventuality. The game was up, and the most unprincipled oaf ever to hold the Leadership office was dispatched by a swift pincer movement of the 1922 Comittee and controlled media.
Unmentioned, unnoticed amid the interminable coronation of Mary Elizabeth Truss, the Irish Backstop / N.I. Protocol remains, of course, unresolved. This ongoing non-event -a gift that keeps on giving (to the EU)- will guarantee years more of not-quite-a-Brexit, with limitless potential for the kind of 'negotiations' that keep everything exactly the same for ever. But we kind of knew that, didn't we?
IN LIZ WE TRUSS
So to the New Boss. Mary Elizabeth, for her part, comes wearing a backpack filled with ideological Semtex. Ordered to render the Tories completely unelectable, she has already gone the extra mile for her offstage directors. By their actions shall ye know them. Even before her silver slippers were tucked under the Downing Street table, Truss announced that not a single top cabinet post would be occupied by a male white person -perish the thought. Bravo, young Quisling. It is quite hard to concieve of a simpler way of losing votes than sticking two fingers up to 49% of your potential supporters.
But this was only the beginning. Unfazed by nine weeks of official mourning for HM the Queen (it was nine, wasn't it?) Truss is rolling out her next brilliant vote-loser. As of this Xmas, Britain's banksters will no longer see their annual 'bonus' capped at 200% of their salaries. Pay those heroes whatever you like, says Truss, and you can bet they jolly well will. If you listen carefully, you can hear the whooshing sound of a billion imaginary quid dissolving into the untaxable Caribbean.
I say 'imaginary' because fantasy dosh is all the British economy contains. What we might call the the Sunak System is in full swing -the process of imagining money into existence and thereby driving prices through the roof. Nothing, we know, shoves Tory voters away faster than financial incompetence -it's just indecent, after all- and la Truss is all in for the Big Splurge. Liz gonna pay yo' bills! Liz gonna up yo' benefits! Liz got cash for all! Yeah, right.
Meanwhile, the pretend Labour Party is quietly assembling a manifesto that will be indistinguishable from the Conservative policies of the last decade, because when both parties offer the same thing, the ones who haven't had a go for a while win the election. The pendulum swings, left, right, left, right until one day you wake up dead. Despairing Conservative voters will 'punish' their clay idols by electing the other team -that'll show them.
So the clunking dragon of World Government tromps over the horizon towards Europe, where the Uniparty reigns supreme in each and every failing state, including our own. Another election, the same selection, the vow of protection, the booster injection. Same again, please, till the bottle's empty.
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