Seneca III wrote this piece in anticipation that Prime Minister Theresa May would survive today’s no-confidence vote in Parliament, which she did.
The Mills of the Gods Grind Slowly, But They Do Grind Exceeding Fine
by Seneca III
RIP the Conservative Party. Born in its modern form out of the 1832 Reform Act under the guiding hand of Robert Peel it, in a fit of collective madness, suicided on the 12th of December 2018.
Having produced two of the greatest Prime Ministers of the modern era it became oblivious to the necessities of good governance, put its hand on its heart, felt its wallet then voted to sustain in office what is arguably the most treacherous, asinine Prime Minister of our time and long before.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust it will be, because that is all it became fit for in the end.
Concurrently, the whole of this present (and recent) Parliament(s) is the most wretched collection of self-serving traitors, liars, unconvicted criminals, freeloaders, sexual deviants, washing machine salesmen and morally destitute poseurs assembled in the Palace of Westminster since 1653, and it is immaterial which way or how they vote, abstain, waffle, equivocate, delay and butt-cover hereafter. The United Kingdom will be neither united, a Kingdom nor sovereign and free any longer.
For over two years, month after month, day after day they have stood and pontificated, wallowing righteously in a sea of vacuous platitudes and imagined threats whilst dragging the House and this nation deeper into a Slough of Despond than even Bunyan could have imagined. Most of them cannot deliver a coherent speech without the use of copious notes, and even then their verbal incontinence (in the main, nothing more than rancid vomitus) is painful to the eye and ear of those who have steeled themselves to watch and listen.
History will record this collection of political dwarves as unfit for any purpose other than their own enrichment and the survival of themselves and their comrades in the Globalist International; they are totally without virtue and ridden with vice. My dog has more integrity and sense of patriotism than they; he would not refuse to address the grievances of his pack nor their will as expressed through a referendum, and would not sell them to the Euro-Globalists for thirty pieces of euros (or tins of dog food) and a seat at High Table in a canine Brussels or Socialist International.
Barely any of this two-legged “All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others” parliamentary rabble could lie straight on the rack, never mind present as anything resembling pillars of rectitude. Betrayal is their watchword, and the adulation of their acolytes and (EU) paymasters their bread of life. However, bear in mind that if May & Co sign us up to the UN Immigration Pact, as is looking more and more likely, then the whole Brexit debacle, however it turns out, will be of no long-term importance as Muslim psychopaths from all over the world together with feral sub-Saharan primitives will soon flood in to finish us off once and for all.
In the final analysis it is now glaringly obvious that we the people are of no consequence to those we have elected to govern us, simply irritants to be ignored after each election day, and thus they who govern are no longer of consequence to us, either. So let us be done with the lot of them and start again, no matter how difficult and painful that will be, and it will be, because there is no solution left to us via the ballot box. The final resolution will have to be found in the fog and turmoil of violent insurrection.
— Seneca III, sinking into a Slough of Despond, this 13th day of December, 2018.
For links to previous essays by Seneca III, see the Seneca III Archives.