The loonies are taking over the asylum!
Okay I accept that 95% of people reading this will not believe that the House of Lords deserves to make it onto **** Towns, but that’s only because they’ve never spent much time there. Since 1997 Tony Blair has abolished the hereditary peers and replaced them with several hundred elderly provincial *****, plucked from every scroaty Labour club in Britain. During the day you can see them pottering about in their burtons suits, tj hughes shirts and cheap floral printed ties. Greeting each other with grunts of “or reet”, these polyester glad peasants have done what ***** always do, head for the bar and get on the claim.
In fact these guys have claimed so much it’s unbelievable, gone are the days when our noble gentry worked for up to £50 train fare a day, in a few short years they’ve upped the taxpayers contribution to £1250 a week each. What do we get for our money? the peers bar filled with burberry baseball capped **** grandchildren, stinking the place out and finding public flatulence amusing. Palma Ham off the menu in the members dining room, replaced with pie, chips, mushy peas and salmonella. Chavy peers wives infecting the Pugin Room with the sort of 1980’s perms that one would go out trick or treating in. Worst of all the House of Lords shop is now always full up with down market old bags buying the cheapest old **** on display.
The longer serving members look on in disbelief as the regal ***** turn up smelling like a pit of sewerage, unwashed for several months, with grey hairs sprouting from their noses and ears. In the evening they head down to the Houses of Parliament Sports and Social club to get tanked on cheap bitter, whilst chatting to the trouty old bags who seem to hang round there all day and night (Who are they? Where do they work? Do they ever go home?). Some even wonder into the House of Commons Strangers Bar (affectionately known as the Kremlin due to the fact that it is always filled with down market no hoper Socialist MP’s downing pints and singing poor quality songs), to reminisce about the old days “down t’pit”.
So next time you hear mention of Lord Bagshaw of Wigan or Lord Smith of Sunderland I beg you do not think of them as your social betters! They were born **** and ermine robes will never change that.