Why Calliphoridae Vote Alt-Right
Things have changed for the worse.
Bring on Brexit! Penicillin shortages, insulin scarcity and vaccine lack. We want our old diseases back in action.
My great-great-great – keep great-ing for three-thousand wing-beats – grandmama founded our fecundity in rancid entrails on Flanders Fields. Her great-great-great grandson hitched a pupal ride to Portsmouth in a gangrenous thigh when the Spanish flu offered prospects.
Too many foreigners now – cleaners, hospital orderlies, bin persons-of-either-or-any-fucking-gender, medical research scientists, pest control erectors of ultra-violent blue death traps.
Keep calm and carrion, as my mam said. She had an air-Raid warning system; a scatter of ommatidia focussed on that under-sink bunker anytime she sucked gravy from a still-hot hob.
Health and safety be bug-ridden.
Plus plastics should be banned: wheelie bins, nappy sacks, poop-scoop doggy bags, body bags – all abhorrent to any right-thinking insect.
N’ere a smear of blood left at crime scenes. If only it was up to us – we’d clean-up this country, back to bare bones, true to our maggot heroes.
What do we want? More austerity!
Cut the council budget: let refuse overflow.
Slash environmental laws: fly-tip us toxic hospital waste on wastelands.
Scroungers should be allowed to die peacefully alone, as the geopolitical elite intend couldn’t give a rat’s arse, not allowed to limp along until buried under patronising bureaucracy.
Let’s hear it for climate change and refugees fleeing unnecessary conflicts; a buzz of news soon forgotten around corpses washed-up on our beaches.
Let’s foment some conflict here and now: blood or glory!
Guess what gets our blowfly antennae twitching.
