No, not my polling card (although I have one of those as well) but this, my 'Bugger Off Bingo' card:
In an ideal world, come the end of the evening's entertainment on Thursday, I'll be able to shout 'HOUSE!'. In reality, it ain't going to happen, but I can dream. I'll settle for a third of the people on here losing their seats, even less if Bercow, Smith and Balls are amongst them.
I was going to blog about Labour's increasing desperation as the big day draws near and the cracks really begin to show, but it's so fucking obvious, isn't it? What's Gordon going to do tomorrow? Threaten to hold his breath until he goes blue, or to scweam and scweam and scweam until he's sick if we don't vote Labour?
He's run out of threats now, all he has is pathetic pleading. Well, that and good old fraud.Tough shit, Gordon, if people in your party can't stand you, how do you think the rest of us feel?
Anyhow, I have a selection of fine Kentish and Normandie cider in stock, and a carton of smokes lovingly purchased in Calais this afternoon and I'm ready. I'll be spending the night wearing khaki drill and a pith helmet, setting off my blunderbuss every time one of them falls in what will hopefully descend into an elephant hunt.
And critics reckon that Libertarians are nihilistic. Nihilistic? Moi? Not a bit of it.
Coming on May 7th. . . how the hell do we get rid of this arseclown Cameron?