The March To Victory

Following the successful launch of my Bearded Manifesto on Saturday I have considered the submissions of those concerned. Even though Mr J Winters thinks my plan for Paparazzi bashing doesn't go too far enough, I'm going to reject his call to have them hunted to extension by members of the general populous.

Instead I'm going to save that fate for those so-called 'street performers' who stand about pretending to be statues, or even worse, the bastards that pretend to be trapped inside invisible boxes, or walk into pretend wind, or do that bloody awful one-man tug of war thing! Aaaaargh! A scurge on our society, and not one that we will let continue. Come the glorious day of my electoral ascension (following the obligatory party and hangovers) I vow that all mime 'artists' will be locked in genuine glass cages. Which will then be slowly filled with rabid weasels. Angry rabid weasels. Angry rabid weasels who've been driven mad by repeated exposure to that bloody awful 'So here it is, Merry Christmas' song by Slade.

And any anyone who gives these bastards money (the Marcel Marceau wannabees, not the rabid weasels of insanity -- you can give them money with impunity if you want to, but you'd have to be pretty daft. It's not like they can spend it.) will have really sticky packing tape wrapped round their personal hairy bits and yanked off. Then they'll be covered in creosote.

Together we can erase this blight from our high streets and byways!

So on May the third
Tough on mime, tough on the causes of mime.

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