Comment | Hammer and Fickle

In the first of his caustic columns, the self anointed moral guardian of the country, known only as ‘Hammer & Fickle’, recounts a delightful afternoon spent enforcing his views on others on one of his triumphant crusades. 

A blanket of darkness is descending upon this troubled isle and I don’t just mean the fascist expansion of corporations such as JD Wetherspoon. The evil empire of the Tory party are refusing to

debate the atrocious injustice that is the string of oppressive anti-drug laws. When I found out about this pitiful example of classist injustice, I was enjoying a simple worker’s meal. My soup was coloured as though it was the blood of the disenfranchised masses and my crackers seemed to embody the crumbling, fragile state of our feeble, capitalist infrastructure. My eyes filled with tears for the oppressed poor as I read that the anti-leftist bigots of our government refuse to acknowledge that their policies

demonise the proletariat yet allow the affluent and bloated bourgeois pigs to snort up all the Columbian cocaine their swollen banker’s bonuses will allow.

Upon hearing the news, I fashioned a placard out of my own honestly crafted sweat and tears and resolved to march to Downing Street. I would tackle the Prince of Darkness himself, the fascist pig that is David Cameron. I marched for the single parent addicts demonised by the laws pitted against them. I marched for the depressed students on narcotics, laid low by the fascists, sorry, Tories. I marched for myself, who enjoyed the odd common man’s joint now and again, and did not wish to surrender my liberty for what I consider a basic human right.

Upon reaching Whitehall after an arduous march, I rallied all those who would follow me. I found a kindly and slightly inebriated man enjoying a common beverage in The Red Lion on Parliament Street and a hysterical woman protesting topless outside the Savage Club. The only ones who would speak out against injustice, they will go down in history as heroes of our small but powerful uprising. When we reached the gates, we realised they were impregnable. Upon attempting to ram them down, a stab of shock struck me. At first I thought it was the spirit of Lenin giving me strength to fight on, but alas, it was simply a taser fired by one of the capitalist dogs at the gate.  I was victimised for my political beliefs, and I know that I now have evidence to take the system down. It seems as though the upper-crust, toffee-nosed patriarchal scum of the government won’t listen to its oppressed minorities. The people must rise against this heteronormative, elitist, bureaucratic  society, and one day, they will follow me!

Next time I will return to Whitehall with a vengeance.

Rise with me, brother and sisters.

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