Monday, 15 April 2013

Enter the infantile left and Fred McGlade

Say what you like about Joe Stalin, but he knew how to deal with the infantile idiot that was Leon Trotsky as this ice pick testifies. Like many people on the left I tend to view the largely overpaid public sector "workers" who make up the bulk of St Leon the Loser's followers as being either members of a middle class wankfest or suffering from a mental disorder.

It was therefore with great pleasure that I saw the way in which a coven of  female trots was put very nicely in their place by an ad-hoc group of UKIP supporters over the Easter weekend. The full story need not concern us now, and if you must know all the details you can read the story at the website that broke the news to a wider audience, including me. What is important is that the leader of the feral pack decided that I was the man in charge of her tormentors, when in fact I had only wandered along at the end of the dispute just to add a taunt or two to the mix. Why she came to that conclusion is anyone's guess. We are talking about a Trotette here, and they all seem to have a bra size larger than the IQ. Anyway, she began to write semi-literate diatribes to me, all of which gave me an entertaining day or so until I got bored with her on Easter Monday.

By Thursday 4th April I had pretty much forgotten about the girl, but she obviously still had a thing about me because on that day I received a phone call from Fred McGlade, the UKIP Northwest organiser, who told me that he was frankly sick of the e-mails that she was sending him. He went on to say that as far as he was concerned the whole thing was a distraction from the election, and could we please ignore Trot females until after it was over?

I replied that I had already forgotten about her and on that happy note the brief conversation ended. McGlade then sent the girl a note just to get rid of her and it looked at if all was now quiet on the silly little girl front.

The problem was the by the weekend the little darling was writing to me again, and decent cove that I am, I was happily replying. Although I was technically keeping to the agreement that I had with McGlade and was not making any public comments about the girl, it occurred to me that that maybe McGlade would be happier if I did not answer her drivel. I dropped him a line and at 1.07pm on Monday the 8th April he replied to say:


So everything was fine at lunchtime, then a little later I learned that Thatcher had cashed in her chips and I felt a great sympathy wash over me:



By five o'clock, Fred McGlade had exceeded his authority and I had fallen for his bluff and became an ex-candidate.

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