Nobody ever lost money betting in favor of human folly.
As Boris Johnson intimated in his resignation speech on Thursday, never underestimate the primitive power of the herd.
With the daggers still dangling from Boris Johnson’s midriff, Brexiteers who willed his end now fear the end of Brexit itself.
Bless their cotton socks. Perhaps ultra-Remainers such as Michael Heseltine, and Andrew Adonis, gave the Brexiteers too little to chew on.
For the last nine months, a loathsome period in which the broadcast media and Remainer establishment churned daily a ceaseless campaign to remove the most popular Tory prime minister since Thatcher, Heseltine and Adonis have repeated with Aspergic indulgence their little ditty: “If Boris goes, Brexit goes.”
No doubt Tony Blair and his platoon of Euro fanatics thought the same thing, though they weren’t quite brazen enough to say it aloud. These loathsome creatures, remember, backed a second referendum to overturn the original referendum. You know what they called that little caper? “The People’s Vote.”
Such a mantra isn’t exactly the Rosetta Stone, but let’s enlighten those who’ve not yet grasped what they’ve aided and abetted, and unpack for them that enigmatic little ditty, shall we?
The first proposition, “If Boris goes,” predicates the second proposition, “Brexit goes.” Now, my parents didn’t spend three times the average annual salary to educate me at Eton, unlike those wailing as I type, but one doesn’t require a Ph.D. in applied linguistics to decipher the code. Now, Boris has gone. What, according to the logical direction of that slogan, follows next?
Give them time, they’re probably busy “leaning in” or “networking”—the chief occupations of insufferable dullards who peaked in high school.
I’m sure they’ll work it out sooner rather than later.
After nine months of relentless media hounding, a period in which one faux scandal—from Partygate (Boris ate some cake!) to Pinchergate (a lawmaker got handsy)—morphed into another faux scandal, Boris, the man who got Brexit done, is done.
(Excuse the suffix of “-gate.” Our media class of failed celebrities, writers manqué, and gossipmongers dignify their high-school renditions with vainglorious addendums, as if every scandal of the past half-century rises to the level of Watergate.)
If you wish to understand British politics, imagine Lord of The Flies populated with lackluster narcissists whose inherent talent falls far short of their ambitions and abilities. The result? A biannual bloodbath.
No doubt, the meejah experts who, since 2015, have missed two Tory majorities, the rise of Jeremy Corbyn, Brexit, Trump, the Boris landslide, and a total realignment of British politics—all while enbubbled in the heart of the action—have some insight to deploy.
They’ve no idea what they’re talking about. But they keep talking. Last week, their daily prognostications of “Boris is finished” finally came true.
Like clockwork, the predictability of these loathsome creatures leaves behind them a familiar slime.
This morning, I turned on the news, and like a demented bingo player, shouted “House!” As I predicted the night previous, Sir Keir Starmer, leader of the Labour Party, now demands an early election. Wow. It’s as if this entire scatological shower had one obsessive aim: to remove a democratically elected prime minister, militate (with the dutiful help of the Remainer media) for a general election, and then to elect EU-fanatic Keir Starmer to Number 10.
The same Starmer recently announced he’d never go back on Brexit. Call me cynical, but if a lawyer tells me it’s sunny outside, I pack a halogen lamp and a spare pair of mittens. After all, Starmer voted 48 times in various guises to overturn or hamper Brexit. He must think we’re thick as mince.
For those minded to look beyond their own nose, the Remainer plan has been obvious from the moment Boris, back in December 2019, won the largest Tory majority since Margaret Thatcher. Not so long ago, it was accepted Boris would, with the votes of ex-Labour voters, govern for a decade or more. “Them’s the breaks,” as he put it.
Guided by Tony Blair and his ilk, a Prime Minister Starmer will sleepwalk us back into their obsession—the European Union.
Tony Blair, a syphilitic canker on the worn-out cock of Great Britain, left office in 2007. He’s remained in power ever since.
Oh, the irony: Brexit is Blair’s baby. That magical vote is a symphony of the democratic will of ordinary people against their betters’ End of History delusions.
Sooner or later, those 17 million Brits who dared vote against the Clever Ones will be back in the EU where the Clever Ones insist they belong.
Because that was always the problem. Democracy, as the Clever Ones see it, is much too precious for any input from those people. That those people failed—for once—to flatter their betters was enough for their betters to launch a six-year campaign to right that slight.
The Twitter obsessives, and the mediocrities of the media-politico set, are in a celebratory mood. Give them a week, they’ll find some other crotch to sniff.
Nobody I know in real life shares their indulgence. For once, the ordinary ones were taken seriously. Their very British revolution meant something to the most unlikely of champions—Boris Johnson.
Yes, he made his mistakes, but he did what he promised to do. For three years, at least, democracy still worked. Someone, an unapologetic posh boy with a penchant for quoting Homer in the original Greek, gave a toss. That’s what mattered.
And now it’s over.
Soon, those millions who voted Leave will find out what they suspected all along: it’s a big club, and they ain’t in it.