Dead Dictators, Pointless Protests, and Awful Alliteration

Great hollering badgers! It's about time for another prosaic piece of pointless prose.

Funny thing is I wrote this title weeks ago and can't remember for the life of me what I was actually going to comment on. Presumably something about Muammar "Meltymeltyface" Gadaffi and his new hobby of being a corpse.

NHS treatment finally killed him

I also appear to have had the intention (I hate second guessing my past-self) to make some cutting comment on the Starbucks sipping camping fad which has kicked off in the middle of London. In case you're living under a rock, or you only watch news about things that are making some tiny iota of difference, a bunch of very keen Millets enthusiasts have been trying to break the record for World's Most Protracted Tent Show outside Jesus's London residence. They've been at this game for some weeks now since the trend spread from america like a particularly virulent form of flu, and; in a demonstration of the efficiency of self governing anarchy; have decided after several months that they do actually have a few demands which all centre around looking at the City of London's finances.

Given that the majority of these people seem to be self proclaimed anti-capitalists, I'm imagining a financial report will be to them as silver is to a werewolf, and there will shortly be a neat pile of communist corpses littering the grounds of St Pauls. At any rate, that's what they're demanding and since we've long seen the efficacy of protests, I'm sure the powers-that-be (sorry Jesus, I meant the ones in the City) will acquiesce.

Small groups of committed people, and asteroids.

Right- now that I've given a pithy summary of literally everything important going on in the entire country, you can continue about your evening safe in the knowledge that you've become a little more educated. I do perform a service, you see. Society as a whole has had some kind of collective seizure and decided that anyone with enough money to afford Tesco's Finest needs to be immediately shaken upside-down until relieved of all their change. Better put back that black forest gateau you hedonistic piece of human sputum. 

In an entirely un-planned link which ignores the adjective in the blog title preceding the word 'Alliteration', I enclose the below, since the happy campers seem intent on re-enacting the film from which it is taken. Enjoy!

-Neo "Ideas are bulletproof" phlegm

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villian by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengence; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Blimey! Those bankers are bloody buggering bastards.