The Equality Act (2010) demands people make reasonable adjustments to meet the needs of those with disabilities and long-term illnesses. What I’m saying is, Long Covid’s still giving me a doing so you’re legally obliged to pretend this post-election hot take was published about three weeks ago.
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The Scottish Parliament elections are coming up on the 6th May, and even those of us still slobbing around with Long Covid can do something actually useful: We can vote to make a ton of progress on a whole bunch of things, and take steps towards ending Tory cruelty forever.
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And so to the distasteful business of saying something halfway nice about a Tory policy. This week saw incompetent Head Boy Boris Johnson announce his 10-point plan to take back control from the climate apocalypse. And while I’ll be back to slagging the vicious prick by the fourth paragraph, there were a couple of half-decent things in it that deserve a mention.
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In the wide world of general do-goodery there is, at present, an opportunity to right an absolute shit-ton of wrongs and restore a small bit of order and decency to a smaller bit of the universe: Voting Donald Trump the fuck out of office.
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When last we met, back in mid-lockdown May, I was banging on about Covid knackering my attempts to do a bit of the old ultra-activism. As I said back then, if ever there was a time for some proper solid do-gooding it’s in the middle of a deadly pandemic. What I didn’t anticipate about this particular deadly pandemic is that I would be personally attacked by the motherfucker.
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Well… We lost the fuck out of that one, didn’t we? After Christine Blasey Ford’s heroic testimony, after Jeff Flake’s ego-driven dithering, after a week of two Republicans pretending to struggle with the ethics of the thing, we had Trump mocking Dr Ford while his disciples laughed uproariously.
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There are so many reasons to hate Donald Trump they can be overwhelming, hard to narrow down to a more manageable level of hating the prick. There’s the misogyny, the sexual harassment, the sexual assault, the covert racism, the overt racism, the overt white supremacism, the Islamophobia, the transphobia, the bullying, the cruelty, the lies, the hypocrisy, the crushing vanity, the pathetic fragile ego, the ugliness of his heart, the actual ugliness of his fat fucking face, the stupid hair piled on top of the very obvious balding above the actual ugliness of his fat fucking face, the stupid round hole he makes with his mouth when he talks…
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Whoosh! That was the sound of a Lost-style flashback there. We’re cutting back to a key moment in my retirement, one that will initially seem unrelated to present events but will gradually connect to my A story to a point where you go, “Huh. Okay”.
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So we’re Brexiting, and at least two of the horsemen of the apocalypse are saddling up. We’re now so deep in shit Nick Clegg is the voice of electoral reason, Neil Kinnock and Ed Miliband are slagging a Labour leader for not being up to the job and we’re actually relieved Theresa May’s pitching in as our unelected prime minister.
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As you’re no doubt aware I mothballed the grand Zero project a couple of years ago, having solved every available problem facing us and other species. I kept myself busy, securing Scottish independence, writing a spectacularly unsuccessful screenplay to be read by no one, and ending a spectacularly unsuccessful relationship to devote more time to dying alone. All was going swimmingly. Until Thursday.
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