How To Deal With Local Elections
As the local elections draw closer, the long standing door to door campaigning has begun in earnest. Even the hostel Back and to the Left are currently based in isn’t safe from the tentative knocks from hopeful candidates and their shady associates. It’s said that politicians will do anything to get into power, and Back and to the Left decided to put this to the test. We set up a small video camera above our front door (we don't want to be answering it to the TV license inspector do we?) and waited for our unsuspecting candidates.
A clearly overweight man with slight pattern baldness trundles up to the door, his face was screwed up in concentration as if trying to contain a shit. He appeared to break into a sweat raising his fist to knock.
A clearly overweight man with slight pattern baldness trundles up to the door, his face was screwed up in concentration as if trying to contain a shit. He appeared to break into a sweat raising his fist to knock.
Like this but more sweaty
As Balshaw completed his first knock Back and to the Left took him by surprise by somersaulting through the down stairs window to greet him. Obviously taken aback by our sudden appearance (and by the fact we were now bleeding profusely from several wounds) his opening statement came out in a stuttering mash of ums and ahs. Not a good start. Politicians need to be great orators like the great war criminals Hitler and Blair. Although they wrought a terrible destruction upon the human race, they were fantastic public speakers.
We quickly tired of his manner. Here was a terrified individual who realised he had no control over the situation. He knew his entire election plan was about to be picked apart like the pack of lies it so obviously was. He knew he would never direct the ebb and flow of this conversation, as the steely eyed glint in our eyes showed our conviction. That
and my partners repeated jabs into his chest.
“I’ve campaigned tirelessly....”
“This isn’t about what you’ve done; it’s about what you can do for us now!” I shouted, cutting his politic-babble off mid stream. It was like an expertly thrown linguistic dagger through the throat of politics. I do like to think of us as political ninjas on account of the number of back flips we attempt in any conversation/interrogation of a political figure.
He stood in fearful silence awaiting our instructions (like those girls in Thailand) “What will you do for us?” we bellowed in unison.
“I...I...I. what do you want from a politician?”
We quickly tired of his manner. Here was a terrified individual who realised he had no control over the situation. He knew his entire election plan was about to be picked apart like the pack of lies it so obviously was. He knew he would never direct the ebb and flow of this conversation, as the steely eyed glint in our eyes showed our conviction. That
and my partners repeated jabs into his chest.
“I’ve campaigned tirelessly....”
“This isn’t about what you’ve done; it’s about what you can do for us now!” I shouted, cutting his politic-babble off mid stream. It was like an expertly thrown linguistic dagger through the throat of politics. I do like to think of us as political ninjas on account of the number of back flips we attempt in any conversation/interrogation of a political figure.
He stood in fearful silence awaiting our instructions (like those girls in Thailand) “What will you do for us?” we bellowed in unison.
“I...I...I. what do you want from a politician?”
"What about all the tea in China? Can you do that?"
Tits and hand jobs!” I blurted out before I could stop. “Sorry. It’s just an automatic response to a question like that. Shall we get started?”
We each took a arm of the now quite subdued candidate and walked him into our kitchen. Upon entering he was greeted by a stack of dirty dishes, which if discovered by a EU regulator, would constitute a war crime.
“Clean the shit off these plates and no that wasn’t a turn of phrase. I want to be able to eat my dinner off them!”
Balshaw started to say something but we didn’t hear him as we were already on our way back to the front door. Also we’d bolted the kitchen door and the kitchen itself is very soundproofed. We’ll check on his progress in a bit.
Liberal Democrat Candidate- Laura Watson
Ah Laura. Sexy, sexy, police calling Laura. What a surprise she’s going to have when we answer the door!
We did not steal this image from her Facebook account. She gave it too us. We swear
We swung it open and thrust our faces out making our chins seem as defined as possible. “Hi Laura, you look great with your clothes - ”
Traditionally, standard pepper spray will burn the aggressors eyes rendering them into a state of submission. However this enhanced brand of civilian napalm attacks all senses indiscriminately. Laura must have emptied half a can directly into our open eyes. Luckily our natural immunity to the weapon means our eyesight will return within the hour.
Conservative Candidate Lord Charles Chubb.
This dude has already got a name that sounds like a slang term for a pitiful erection and the look on his face suggests he would have trouble achieving that. If there’s one thing I don't want in a leader it’s an inability to grow a larger “lob on”than I. I like to think of our leaders being able to beat other European members of parliament into the ground in penis like lightsabre duels. Hence why I’m so disappointed in the current government; they all look like they would be taken in a fight by a poorly trained team of eunuch.This guy has a hell of a lot work to do to get our vote. At the moment the pepper spraying lady is in front of him.
Traditionally, standard pepper spray will burn the aggressors eyes rendering them into a state of submission. However this enhanced brand of civilian napalm attacks all senses indiscriminately. Laura must have emptied half a can directly into our open eyes. Luckily our natural immunity to the weapon means our eyesight will return within the hour.
Conservative Candidate Lord Charles Chubb.
This dude has already got a name that sounds like a slang term for a pitiful erection and the look on his face suggests he would have trouble achieving that. If there’s one thing I don't want in a leader it’s an inability to grow a larger “lob on”than I. I like to think of our leaders being able to beat other European members of parliament into the ground in penis like lightsabre duels. Hence why I’m so disappointed in the current government; they all look like they would be taken in a fight by a poorly trained team of eunuch.This guy has a hell of a lot work to do to get our vote. At the moment the pepper spraying lady is in front of him.
A face only a fist could love
We opened the door with all the of the care and attention we would normally afford to petting a cat. We used our boots. Lord Chubb fell over backwards and screamed at our sudden appearance. As we struggled to get free of the newly wrecked door Lord Chubb got to his feet and bolted for the street.
“Oh no Chubb; you aint escaping from this inquisition!” I screamed as I used my partners body to lever myself away from the door. He turned wide eyed in fear as I began my pursuit of him, my legs pounding like ancient pistons of a grand old war machine gearing up for the fight. He rounded out onto the street and throw all his campaign literature at me in a feeble attempt to slow me down. I expertly leapt over the false promises and narrowly dodged an old lady. I realised at this point I had being shouting “Chubb” between each footfall and it had become almost a ritualistic soundtrack to my chase.
He rounded a corner with surprising agility for one so terrified (and portly). I could see his target, a stationary bus idling at a stop as some old dear fumbles through her purse. My hands flex like I have claws...do I have claws? No.
As Chubb pushed his way onto the bus I leapt.....and completely missed the bus by several feet. What the hell was I thinking? I picked myself off the floor with blood streaming down from my nose, and although I’m quite sure I had more teeth in my mouth at the beginning of this chase than I do now I stand and scream.
“Chuuuuuuuuuuuuubbbbbbbbbbb!!!”I rip my shirt a little more for effect and smear the blood over my nipples. Due to one man’s cowardice the Tories have lost a vote.
The night has drawn in cold now and we both drink deeply from the unknown bottle of booze somebody (I’m not pointing any fingers Henry) swiped from the off licence. We talk about our findings at length and how our political opinions have changed in the wake of today’s events.
In politics, battle lines are drawn, promises are made and outrageous lies are told. Normal everyday people are prepared to sell their soul in a effort to become slightly more important than somebody else. Power hungry delegates strive desperately to....oh fuck, that fat dudes still washing dishes!
“Oh no Chubb; you aint escaping from this inquisition!” I screamed as I used my partners body to lever myself away from the door. He turned wide eyed in fear as I began my pursuit of him, my legs pounding like ancient pistons of a grand old war machine gearing up for the fight. He rounded out onto the street and throw all his campaign literature at me in a feeble attempt to slow me down. I expertly leapt over the false promises and narrowly dodged an old lady. I realised at this point I had being shouting “Chubb” between each footfall and it had become almost a ritualistic soundtrack to my chase.
He rounded a corner with surprising agility for one so terrified (and portly). I could see his target, a stationary bus idling at a stop as some old dear fumbles through her purse. My hands flex like I have claws...do I have claws? No.
As Chubb pushed his way onto the bus I leapt.....and completely missed the bus by several feet. What the hell was I thinking? I picked myself off the floor with blood streaming down from my nose, and although I’m quite sure I had more teeth in my mouth at the beginning of this chase than I do now I stand and scream.
“Chuuuuuuuuuuuuubbbbbbbbbbb!!!”I rip my shirt a little more for effect and smear the blood over my nipples. Due to one man’s cowardice the Tories have lost a vote.
The night has drawn in cold now and we both drink deeply from the unknown bottle of booze somebody (I’m not pointing any fingers Henry) swiped from the off licence. We talk about our findings at length and how our political opinions have changed in the wake of today’s events.
In politics, battle lines are drawn, promises are made and outrageous lies are told. Normal everyday people are prepared to sell their soul in a effort to become slightly more important than somebody else. Power hungry delegates strive desperately to....oh fuck, that fat dudes still washing dishes!
"Do you want to get fucked in the ass by whoevers in power?" Tip: The NO button doesn't work
All photos courtesy of www.FreeDigitalPhotos.net. They are ace!
