Ann Widdecombe had a very eventful death.
First she died from natural causes, then she was bludgeoned to death by a white man – let’s be very clear, a white man, we found a white man everyone – during a “bungled burglary” – then another white man, definitely a white man, was arrested who “wasn’t politically motivated” and had just randomly driven 300 miles from Rotherham to Ann’s house and back with a weapon.
Then it turned out that yes, it’s being investigated by counter terror police and the suspect is a man who was reading communist literature and has learning difficulties. To be honest, if he’s a communist, you don’t need to tell me he’s got learning difficulties, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be a communist.
Ace: The Lotus Eaters podcast pointed out the UK cops now routinely hide the race of a suspect — unless he’s white, in which case they repeat it endlessly, as they did here.
Anarcho Tyranny. Firmly in place pretty much everywhere in the UK. Churchill rolling over in his grave.
This is the part of the movie where the evil villains finally spark an uprising and then pull out all the tyrannical moves to squelch it. Like in Canada.
Rotherham! … really?
Well you know who else is from Rotherham?
Sorry … you just triggered my memory of The CAL Drinking song … which I had to memorize for admittance to the Phi Kapp fraternity.
Oh, they had a little party down in Newport;
There was Harry, there was Mary, there was Grace.
Oh, they had a little party down in Newport,
And they had to carry Harry from the place.
Oh, they had to carry Harry to the ferry,
And the ferry carried Harry to the shore;
And the reason that they had to carry Harry to the ferry
Was that Harry couldn’t carry any more.
For California, for California,
The hills send back the cry,
We’re out to do or die,
For California, for California,
We’ll win the game or know the reason why.
And when the game is over,
We will buy a keg of booze,
And drink to California
’till we wobble in our shoes.
So drink, tra la la,
Drink, tra la la,
Drink, drank, drunk last night,
Drunk the night before;
And I’m gonna get drunk tonight
Like I never got drunk before;
For when I’m blitzed, I’m as happy as can be
For I am member of the Souse family.
Now the Souse family is the best family
That ever came over from old Germany.
There’s the Highland Dutch, and the Lowland Dutch,
The Rotterdam Dutch, and the Irish.
Sing glorious, victorious,
One keg of beer for the four of us.
Sing glory be to God that there are no more of us,
For one of us could drink it all alone. Damn near.
Here’s to the Irish, dead drunk.
The lucky stiffs, they had 4 fifths
and a sixpack too, of Irish brew
and there was grandma swingin on the outhouse door
without her nightie and grandpa yellin
more more more, for she was nude.
Souse of the border? Drunk Mexican way?
I wonder if The Band Perry ever thought that this would one day be a perfect theme song for British cops.
You lie like a priceless Persian rug on a rich man’s floor
Well, you lie like a coon dog baskin’ in the sunshine on my porch
The way you lie like a penny in the parkin’ lot at the grocery store
It just comes way too natural to you
The way you lie
Talking of narratives, here’s an interesting review of the new Odysseus movie.
OK Off-topic, but it’s a good review.
I particularly enjoyed how the media claimed … “her family” … wouldn’t want her death used for “political purposes”.
It’s just one of the multiple go-to nonsensical leftist narratives that get trotted out when their violence gets exposed.