Something has just hit me and it has made the world, particularly the political climate, make a little more sense for the time being.
I've been frustrated by the niggling annoyance that Conservative Party leader David Cameron reminds me of someone and I've finally worked it out, its BNP leader Nick Griffin. He has that same flat-toned, grating public school accent and tone of voice, similar eyes and his Hitlerian side-parting wobbles in the same way when he gets enthusiastic about something, bikes or whatever. But he ISN'T a quivering, obese blob.
Then it occured to me, and I can't quite believe it has taken this long, David Cameron IS Nick Griffin, albeit an alternate-reality Nick Griffin, albeit an alternate-reality Nick Griffin where said alternate-reality hasn't quite panned out as desired.
Mr. Griffin, several years in the near-future, has finally resigned himself to the fact that his "purge all the blacks, deny the holocaust, England for the racist" attitude hasn't quite won over as many Britons as he had hoped. So, taking into account that this is a future in which faster-than-light travel has been developed and time travel is a reality, decides to take a trip into the past to change the course of his actions and ensure global domination. Mr. Griffin arrives at Cambridge University in the Eighties, where he gives his young, past self some important advice. His young, past self of course immediately accepts that he is talking to himself from the future, because he isn't exactly prone to believing sensible concepts and himself is the only person he will ever properly relate to who isn't in several pieces in a Russian filing cabinet.
Future Mr. Griffin tells past Mr. Griffin first to change his name, because 'Nick Griffin' just sounds evil. David is a nice name and its befitting a world leader. He then ensures the newly-christened David that it might be a good idea not to let on, in his future political career, that he's a gay-hating racist. Also, if you want people to like you, you should probably stay in shape. No more scrounging the bins round the back of abortion clinics or vet's surgeries. Get yourself to the gym.
Unfortunately, something goes terribly wrong. Authorities find and seize Mr. Griffin's time-travel device, considering it hostile, alien technology and leaving Mr. Griffin stranded in his own past. But making the most out of a bad situation, Mr. Griffin devises a plan. Throughout the ensuing years, and leading gracefully into what we perceive as the present day, Mr. Griffin acts as both a secret advisor to his new, David Cameron shaped self and an unbelievably OTT extremist with absurdly racist views that have no grounding in any functionable democracy, in order to make Cameron look a lot more desirable by comparison. He tells Cameron that the best course of action will be to act like a liberal; this way he may sway some lefties disillusioned by the tory-like running of Blairite New Labour and the horrendous descent of national pride driven by the sad face of policy-less Gordon Brown, while also maintaining the vote of confused Tories who will say "well, he, er, talks a bit like a lefty but he wears a blue tie, so he must still be all for over-taxing the working classes and discouraging immigration, right?". Cameron then gradually potters about TV channels, convincing people he's one of the kids because he sometimes rides a bike and listens to the Killers, and for some unknown reason he wants to hug people that wear hoodies (Despite his quote taken from the Daily Mail: "I wouldn't wear one, fuck that."), gathering support from impressionable non-voters and, in the privacy of his own home, rubbing his hands together with glee as he and his future self see the the sexy advance of world-domination upon the horizon.
Meanwhile, future Nick Griffin hatches a plan to go on Question Time, sit among a panel of very intelligent people, and reiterate to the nation that he is most definitely an idiot, slightly overcompensating said idiocy by implying that he hangs around with KKK members and making fun of another panelist's dead dad. Seeing this, Cameron looks like The Second Coming in comparison.
The 2010 general election looms. Griffin tells Cameron to smear the word 'Change' all over his campaign promotional material, "cos it worked for that black fella in the States". Cameron and Griffin smugly watch (from Cameron's makeup room as he is being applied with a concentration of makeup that makes him look startlingly similar to Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation) as Gordon Brown does little but frown and huff around party political broadcasts and the Lib Dems continue to try and figure out what they actually stand for, while the votes for Cameron flood in.
Then Cameron wins. Britain gets Nick Griffin, but sexier and pretending not to be a right-wing fascist (for now).
I've been frustrated by the niggling annoyance that Conservative Party leader David Cameron reminds me of someone and I've finally worked it out, its BNP leader Nick Griffin. He has that same flat-toned, grating public school accent and tone of voice, similar eyes and his Hitlerian side-parting wobbles in the same way when he gets enthusiastic about something, bikes or whatever. But he ISN'T a quivering, obese blob.
Then it occured to me, and I can't quite believe it has taken this long, David Cameron IS Nick Griffin, albeit an alternate-reality Nick Griffin, albeit an alternate-reality Nick Griffin where said alternate-reality hasn't quite panned out as desired.
Mr. Griffin, several years in the near-future, has finally resigned himself to the fact that his "purge all the blacks, deny the holocaust, England for the racist" attitude hasn't quite won over as many Britons as he had hoped. So, taking into account that this is a future in which faster-than-light travel has been developed and time travel is a reality, decides to take a trip into the past to change the course of his actions and ensure global domination. Mr. Griffin arrives at Cambridge University in the Eighties, where he gives his young, past self some important advice. His young, past self of course immediately accepts that he is talking to himself from the future, because he isn't exactly prone to believing sensible concepts and himself is the only person he will ever properly relate to who isn't in several pieces in a Russian filing cabinet.
Future Mr. Griffin tells past Mr. Griffin first to change his name, because 'Nick Griffin' just sounds evil. David is a nice name and its befitting a world leader. He then ensures the newly-christened David that it might be a good idea not to let on, in his future political career, that he's a gay-hating racist. Also, if you want people to like you, you should probably stay in shape. No more scrounging the bins round the back of abortion clinics or vet's surgeries. Get yourself to the gym.
Unfortunately, something goes terribly wrong. Authorities find and seize Mr. Griffin's time-travel device, considering it hostile, alien technology and leaving Mr. Griffin stranded in his own past. But making the most out of a bad situation, Mr. Griffin devises a plan. Throughout the ensuing years, and leading gracefully into what we perceive as the present day, Mr. Griffin acts as both a secret advisor to his new, David Cameron shaped self and an unbelievably OTT extremist with absurdly racist views that have no grounding in any functionable democracy, in order to make Cameron look a lot more desirable by comparison. He tells Cameron that the best course of action will be to act like a liberal; this way he may sway some lefties disillusioned by the tory-like running of Blairite New Labour and the horrendous descent of national pride driven by the sad face of policy-less Gordon Brown, while also maintaining the vote of confused Tories who will say "well, he, er, talks a bit like a lefty but he wears a blue tie, so he must still be all for over-taxing the working classes and discouraging immigration, right?". Cameron then gradually potters about TV channels, convincing people he's one of the kids because he sometimes rides a bike and listens to the Killers, and for some unknown reason he wants to hug people that wear hoodies (Despite his quote taken from the Daily Mail: "I wouldn't wear one, fuck that."), gathering support from impressionable non-voters and, in the privacy of his own home, rubbing his hands together with glee as he and his future self see the the sexy advance of world-domination upon the horizon.
Meanwhile, future Nick Griffin hatches a plan to go on Question Time, sit among a panel of very intelligent people, and reiterate to the nation that he is most definitely an idiot, slightly overcompensating said idiocy by implying that he hangs around with KKK members and making fun of another panelist's dead dad. Seeing this, Cameron looks like The Second Coming in comparison.
The 2010 general election looms. Griffin tells Cameron to smear the word 'Change' all over his campaign promotional material, "cos it worked for that black fella in the States". Cameron and Griffin smugly watch (from Cameron's makeup room as he is being applied with a concentration of makeup that makes him look startlingly similar to Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation) as Gordon Brown does little but frown and huff around party political broadcasts and the Lib Dems continue to try and figure out what they actually stand for, while the votes for Cameron flood in.
Then Cameron wins. Britain gets Nick Griffin, but sexier and pretending not to be a right-wing fascist (for now).
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