you have to address this rage to a particular kid, aged 11, on a pristine sunday with his grandfather visiting, and the home office officers showing up... illegal... but i'm pretty ******* sure that the mothers of manchester are dead busy... explain to a kid what is illegal in the traffic of humans from what is illegal in the traffic of goods... explain to him leaving behind a language acquired, explain to him having to abandon school... explain to him why the Somalis get the social housing in west london and he can't get hold of a ladder... just because: **** has to look... pretty... explain that to him, and i'm sure... he'll understand... a ******* letter from Downing St. to his father means jack-**** at this point... the sort of English "sorry" you're accustomed to.

maybe the lack of mention
of Poland is
worthwhile when it comes
to western media,
their, unadulterated
aspirations!
           among lutheran, anglican,
and the huguenots!
*****, next time you ask
me to *****-please you i'll
recite the 302 "poznański" squadron
and 303 "kościuszko" squadron,
what, the ****, do you take me for?
some ******* ****?!
you english snout pressed mutt
worth of a nation?
            come next summer...
i'll give you the same ******* answer!
you start preaching *******
to your former colonial fiefdoms, ****...
oh, please, remind me,
about your "justice" system...
          i've learned about
as much justice as i am allowed
to purge by turning to bulimic
           squats...
yeah, you're so ******* special
i'm about to fold a daffodil for you!
       ******... choke....
        choke on your prize
that is the vain pride of your efforts...
there's nothing quiet alike the world
to be equal...
                     i once agreed on your terms...
now, you agree on my terms...
            your ****-**** tangle of
entertaining a kebab shop?
ask them if they'd allow sour-*****
to be added to their ******* serving
of cabbage...
                 pretty please!
                    no,
i had affairs in this country before
my use of language suddenly received
the twitch...
           and i started losing it...
              i once attempted to settle
on your terms, now?
    can't be bothered...
                      all i see is vermin's worth
of people, scuttling into their little
castles of sand thinking:
shopping next sunday is most assured...
puny, ******* quack-***** the world
has ever seen!
scuttling in bare daylight!
                 no!
take your little Somali half-wit party
of a dozen relentless leeches and tell me to
******* once and for all...
but by my account...
i'll leave this language, ******, before
i start desiring your women being
so undesirable...
                       you already had a chance...
i gave it, but instead you harboured
islamic terrorists...
      just go back to your little
mud holes and squirm some more...
     the next time an englishman
steps foot in poland...
  i'll cut his testicles off...
no, i'm not... 'ard...
                but i know how minions are
born... and someone else will...
      i am assured of the proper way
to write history...
                                  like pontius pilate!
i sleep so well, i answered her,
because i have a clean conscience...
               prior to the resurrection of j.c.,
comes the resurrection of p.p.,
and if there's any passion in believing
in the Hindustan theological engineering...
just tickling, nibbling at the idea...
"i am" the resurrection of pontoius pilate;
but, like i said... i'm tickling with the idea...
   i'm not that insane to entertain
a certainty of it being true...
      and no englishman ever stood ground
in my abode...
          i retain my: mowe matki;
at least i'll die knowing that my people
died a death among their own...
and not in some co-op
****-show of supposing compassion,
when it fact, merely showing contempt...
and my first lesson when moving
to england as a child:
two-faced *****-faced-wankers...
            and i heed you to believe
that i have integrated to the point
where i can make that observation...
the english thought themselves
the bellybuttons of the world,
give the Greenwich meridian...
they're not...
but they are, as all good actors:
willing to pretend;
yet i'm not jihadist in my enterprise...
why **** something so pathetic,
when it can die its own,
slow, sullen, death?