I was reflecting upon one of my latest articles - the one about the dreadful state of the opposition - and I realised that, in fact, I hadn't been very fair on Friedmanite and his esteemed band of b(r)others. I haven't done him or his clique much justice, and I am deeply sorry for that. In this article I will try and rectify my mistakes.



It is said that Friedmanite has only ever attempted to read two books in his entire life. Due to the hard times imposed by government austerity in his youth, education was out of the question and poor young Friedmanite was left without learning to properly read. Insofar as he could read, he bravely attempted to slough through The Prince by Machiavelli, and Capitalism and Freedom by Milton Friedman. His actions and conduct in his later years have proven that he, sadly - or luckily, depending on how you look - comprehended much more of the latter than of the former.



Friedmanite is easy to please, but hard to satisfy. Give him any cherished, effective and vital British public institution, and armed with some serious political dogma and a meat-cleaver, he'll be as happy as a child. That is until his knife has gone blunt and has been stained by the blood and guts of yet another public service he has savaged. A quick break allows for his tool to be sharpened, his suit to be cleaned and for another victim to be placed before him. But do not for one moment be deceived by this! Friedmanite is not only a man of many faces, but also a man of many trades and hobbies besides. Aside from being a crude butcher, he is a charlatan, a fraud and a quack doctor , a clown, a sadomasochistic comedian, and finally a hustler and pimp. Indeed, the two-faced bungler has resorted to roaming the streets, late at night, looking for innocent young politicians to make his own. Furthermore, it is rumoured that recently he has been active as a cult leader, supposedly gathering with his unsavoury followers in smelly, unlit rooms to sacrifice Britain at the altars of Thatcher and Friedman. At least, that would have happened if Friedmanite was anything but an incompetent, inept and unlikable buffoon with disgustingly worm-like qualities. The only praiseworthy aspect of his character is his imagination, for he indulges in the fantasy that he will one-day be in a position of actual power ever again.



Now, about his recent hustling activities - they're not only for the shits and giggles, or so I have been told. Rumour has it that Friedmanite is busily engaged in setting up his very own political party, that will be so much more radical and better than the tired old and sensible Conservative party. The scoundrel who could hardly lead a backbench rebellion to success is now trying his luck with gather like-minded knife-happy fools in a slimy, loathsome circlejerk of cannibalistic austerity.



Why then, don't he and his posse simply join the Classical Liberals? Is it because they have a shred of sensibility left? Is it because the putrid stench of slime, treachery and arrogance coming from the little Austrian butcher is too much for anyone remotely sane to bear? Does the mountebank pimp fancy himself a leader? There are many questions left unanswered.



What is clear then, is that Friedmanite loves Britain little, and that Britain loves Friedmanite even less. His saving grace was that his noxious aura was contained within the sanity of the Tory party. With that last great barrier gone, there is simply no hope left. His political career has, quite possibly, reached as high as it will ever go. From here on out, watching Friedmanite's further career will be like watching a sped-up sunset. Thus I dedicate this epitaph to Friedmanite. May he rest in peace.



