Political Predators
Grouse, n. A flying creature bred at vast expense on very private land purely for the pleasure of having it shot down. Distinct from the fighter aircraft in that the grouse has greater nutritional value.
The Satanic Supplement
Despite its deplorable tendency towards non-English nationalism and Euro-wog fifth-columnitude, Scotland does occasionally have its uses. During the good old days, under the blessed régime of the sainted Thatcher, the province served as a testing ground for weapons later to be unleashed upon the rest of the country, such as the poll tax; and even now, after decades of one-party rule by the fiendish SNP, it retains an important function as the home of Britain's independent random-directional American nuclear deterrent. Arguably even more vital to the nation is Scotland's status as a playground for the financially virtuous, such as golf-playing orange toddlers under the control of head-dwelling hydrophobic tribbles, and also the more refined and noble breed who find the epitome of civilised pastimes shooting lumps of metal into artificially fattened birds. Naturally, given the uppity political atmosphere provoked by the recent referendum, mere experts are doing what they can to undermine this glorious tradition, by grousing that the management of moors for aristocratic blast-and-blather is endangering golden eagles, hen harriers and other rivals to more enterprising species such as the great Anglo-American dodo and the lesser Ruritanian peacock. Although industry representatives have denied the findings, which would certainly be the end of the matter for the jabbering homunculus that is Westminster's environment secretary, his counterpart in the fiendish SNP has had the temerity to take actual action, and has even threatened to employ more experts and thereby stir up yet more trouble. How such a laughably inefficient government can hope to attain independence from the world-bestriding Protestant Imperium of Westminster, Gibraltar and the Falkland Islands must qualify as one of the more occult mysteries of present-day politics.
The Satanic Supplement
Despite its deplorable tendency towards non-English nationalism and Euro-wog fifth-columnitude, Scotland does occasionally have its uses. During the good old days, under the blessed régime of the sainted Thatcher, the province served as a testing ground for weapons later to be unleashed upon the rest of the country, such as the poll tax; and even now, after decades of one-party rule by the fiendish SNP, it retains an important function as the home of Britain's independent random-directional American nuclear deterrent. Arguably even more vital to the nation is Scotland's status as a playground for the financially virtuous, such as golf-playing orange toddlers under the control of head-dwelling hydrophobic tribbles, and also the more refined and noble breed who find the epitome of civilised pastimes shooting lumps of metal into artificially fattened birds. Naturally, given the uppity political atmosphere provoked by the recent referendum, mere experts are doing what they can to undermine this glorious tradition, by grousing that the management of moors for aristocratic blast-and-blather is endangering golden eagles, hen harriers and other rivals to more enterprising species such as the great Anglo-American dodo and the lesser Ruritanian peacock. Although industry representatives have denied the findings, which would certainly be the end of the matter for the jabbering homunculus that is Westminster's environment secretary, his counterpart in the fiendish SNP has had the temerity to take actual action, and has even threatened to employ more experts and thereby stir up yet more trouble. How such a laughably inefficient government can hope to attain independence from the world-bestriding Protestant Imperium of Westminster, Gibraltar and the Falkland Islands must qualify as one of the more occult mysteries of present-day politics.
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