We are now recruiting trainees for the Los Angeles Sherriff's Department. If you are big, strong, and stupid, we want you!
(Sic ‘em Pigs, by Canned Heat)
With a hey-nonny and a fol-de-rol!
What a joy it is to live in merrie olde Englande, where men are men and the women are grateful.
What a delight it is skip gaily along the spring-flowered greenswards.
How pleasant to hear the sound of leather on willow, or police baton on human bone and flesh.
How the heart lifts and sings as the birds nest and scores of people are arrested “on suspicion” that they are about to launch a political protest.
The smell of newly-mown grass lingers on the senses, assaulted only by the stench of something rotten in the state.
And how we laugh at the very thought that we once lived in a land of free speech and freedom of expression.
How we now applaud as those who dare to object are battered and bruised by our boys in blue.
What joy that dissent has been dissolved and intent resolved by those who promote the creeping paralysis that is slowly enveloping us.
How grateful we are that intentions can be read, thoughts analysed, dreams and aspirations firmly nipped in the bud, resistance crushed, democracy deflowered.
And are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Only if I can get through the armed roadblock, snarling Alsatians, barbed wire, ID checks, CCTV cameras, intimate body searches, metal detectors, police in full riot gear, pompous stewards, officious health and safety inspectors and that curmudgeonly old git on the gate.
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