The BNP has been hit by its biggest crisis yet.
An even bigger crisis than the shortage of dead badger carrion in Wigton…
Or the malicious efforts of the fictive Andorran Gay Illuminati and Pan-Serbian Metrosexual Skull ‘n’ Bones Club to overthrow the sound, British, commonsensical way of life.
Yes. It turns out that as BNP candidates reach a certain point in their life, their values and attitudes towards others undergo radical changes, to the great distress of their relatives and fascist comrades.
One tinpot Tyndall wept:
I just don’t know what’s come over our great-uncle.
I mean, he used to be a real wag, the life and soul of the party, always cracking witty jokes at the least provocation.
Yeah, we would just be going about our everyday lives, and all of a sudden he would throw something in about ‘bloody wogs and poofters,’ and the whole room would explode with laughter.
But now, he’s just so flaming miserable. And depressed.
Whenever we see him in the street, he just scowls at us and mutters under his breath about ‘racist bigots bringing shame on this family.’
Hmph! I mean, technically, it’s not like me and my BNP comrades are genuinely racist…
You know, like UKIP or all those types.
He’s so petulant and irritable, I think he must be unwell.
I mean, I even saw him raving wildly and irrationally at some fanatical extremist protest recently, claiming:
‘The UK belongs to all of us, and not to a few people who just happen to tick the right identity boxes.’
I think he must have dementia or something.
‘Please, Hermann, you’re not well,’ I pleaded with him.
But he just stared right through me, as if I didn’t exist, as though somehow, he longer recognised me.
I blame New Labour.
Oh and all the other ones too.
Especially the Jews, the blacks, the Muslims, the queers, the disabled, the foreigners, the immigrants, the…
I don’t think it’s a problem for me to end the transcript here. The rest of the quote doesn’t really add anything to the discussion.
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