So, some of those scroungers in Calais, hoping to sponge of our ever-ready benefits system, have gone on hunger strike and say they won't eat again until they can come to Britain.
Let them starve--or maybe Marie Antoinette will pop her head back on and feed them cake. There are also a lot of dandelions growing around their camp. If it's good enough for the rabbits, it'll do for them. Or an even better idea. Let them swap places with Sun journalists, who I equate with homophobes, racists, and other human debris. We don't want their scrounging, we don't want their dirty habits. These Roma people will plunge a knife into your ribs as soon as look at you. My wife has been attacked twice by this scum.
But, someone says, one of these families have eight children. So what--if Mr Roma had thought about feeding his family before sticking it inside Mrs Roma without protection, he wouldn't have been in the pickle he's in today. Normal people in Britain don't pop a sprog on a yearly basis until they dry up.
And while I'm on a rant and yapping about the Sun, I had some shit shoved through the letterbox today--a free copy of their trash-rag. Perfect for the cat-tray.