With their oafish cries of 'Newww Surrendarhh!' the tattooed thugs of the DUP have always represented the Neanderthal wing of the Scottish nation; knuckle-dragging misfits behind whose prominent brow-ridges lies a good inch of bone. The drum is the sole musical instrument they are capable of playing; not for them the complexity of the harp.
Our sole consolation is that natural selection is breeding them out of existence. Their sperm is dead, and no longer capable of fertilizing the wizened and necrose wombs of their women. Within a few decades they will disappear from history forever, and with them all their petty bigotry, spite, hate and inhumanity. Whatever 30 pieces of silver Brown used to bribe their ancient relicts with today will be soon spent, pissed on the winds of time as these Cro-Magnon throwbacks slowly self destruct.
Good riddance. Goodbye.
Update Thursday pm
This is the sort of blog post I always tried to avoid making. Anger and alcohol. It doesn't look pretty today; boorish and nasty, and Anon in the comments has the right of it. Still, I'm going to leave it up as a reminder to myself.