Blessed Are The Troublemakers

My piece featured in Delingpod Live in London Booklet

Delingpod Live in London with Neil Oliver

The last three years has merely confirmed that the establishment is full of vain, bauble-chasing, conformist bootlickers, with spines like over-cooked tagliatelle, who wouldn’t stand up to tyranny if it was a rabid dog hanging off their bollocks.

There are exceptions to the rule, like the very naughty host of this *brilliant podcast who I first met on one of the freedom marches, but you can count them on the joints of your middle finger.

*Ed: That’s enough arse-licking, Abs. James, you owe Abi a tenner.

Anyway, as Edwina said to John: back to the thrust.

In January 2021, as the coerced, experimental injections started in earnest, I remember thinking: surely anyone who has witnessed, let alone voted for, ten months of this barbarity, will throw off their ermine, rip up their Carlton Club membership, and resign in disgust?

Not. One. Bastard.

There are those in the establishment who have been prepared to stand on principle. One example is Katharine Marjory Stewart-Murray, Duchess of Atholl, who entered parliament as Scotland’s first female MP in 1923. In 1938 she resigned from parliament in protest against her government’s decision to appease Adolf Hitler, staging a single-handed campaign to topple Neville Chamberlain’s premiership. 

She came achingly close to success, and, within the year, had been proved right, as the Second World War began. 

I don’t think Douglas Murray is any relation.

The willingness of those in positions of moral power to go along with, and endorse the propaganda, left me open-mouthed. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, said: ‘To love one another as Jesus said; Get vaccinated. Get boosted.’

I’m not a biblical scholar, but I’m pretty sure Christ never recommended that his flock get an experimental mRNA gene therapy. Love thy neighbour as thyself, unless that neighbour hath not been jabbed, in which case verily I say unto thee: report him to the authorities.

Henceforth, he shall be known as The Archbishop of Cunterbury.

It’s okay though, because if you’re worried about living in a one-party, fascist state, you can always sign a petition. The latest one is ‘formally’ asking the government to undertake an independent investigation into UK excess deaths.

That’s like asking Fred and Rose West to investigate under the patio, and report their findings to the Gloucestershire police.

‘Nothin’ ‘ere, guv’… swear on moy life… ooh arr.’

For the record, there are around three thousand excess deaths a week.

That’s a bloody big patio.

We’re living in a dystopian nightmare, but don’t fret because Fraser Nelson will write a wry article in The Spectator about the silly Tories, while Julia Hartley-Brewer tweets about how awful it is for everyone, from her villa in Lake Como; and Isabel Oakeshott will ghost-write for Matt ‘Midazolam’ Hancock, and carry on sucking Dick.

On an entirely unrelated note, I’ve just released a video called The Great Wall of Cunts. It’s twenty-four fluorescent yellow posters, featuring the faces of some of the worst collaborators, including: Edwina Currie, Andrew Neil, Anne McElvoy, Jeremy Vine, Piers Morgan, and Matt Hancock. There’s a little surprise at the end: a top cardiologist who, despite a self-declared, life-long mistrust of Big Pharma, claims not to have known the rushed, coerced experimental injections could be harmful.

If I make The Great Wall of Good Cunts, James Delingpole will certainly be on it, along with the millions of heroes who are trying to kick the snarling, bollock-grasping, rabid dog away.