United Kingdom
Related: About this forumMy favorite minor party name in the 2015 UK elections: The "Al-Zebabist Nation of Ooog"
They are standing against, among others, UKIP leader Nigel Farage in the constituency of South Thanet. Their candidate there is their apparent "spiritual leader": Zebediah Al-Obediah
They have a Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/alzebabistnationofOOOG
Among other issues, they support "the eradication of Broadstairs(note: Broadstairs is a town of about 25, 000 people within the constituency) and the establishment of Thanet as a Zebabist state run by Boalia Law. OOOG AKBAR"
(The main teachings of "Boalia Law" include, apparently, an admonition for all who follow it to "not be a C--t", to "Renounce Your White Skin",and also to use heroin).
(NOTE: they have a "Party Political Broadcast" on You Tube-which is broadcast in an apparently non-existent language, with English subtitles-but I won't post a link to it because it's just too weird-even for me. You can find it if you want to see it).
So...who SAYS nobody in UK election is speaking about the real issues?
LeftishBrit
(41,208 posts)Ken Burch
(50,254 posts)
John Betjeman - Slough
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!
Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.
Mess up the mess they call a town
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.
And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:
And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.
But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.
It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead
And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.
In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.
Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.