everyone and their mums is packing 'round 'ere
Brit/pol/: Sharia Cup Edition
Lucas Watson
Easton Young
Queen Ann is fucking back lads
Jace Clark
Like who?
Blake Lewis
farmers
Brandon Nelson
And their mums.
Matthew Baker
You mean you're with the British on this issue user. Our bill of rights refers to the right of the people to be armed. Not that this was ever in question, indeed it was considered a man's duty to be armed and ready to defend his country.
I think we should bring back militias as another tier of reserves. Voluntary, and unpaid, clubs where soldiers teach shooting, camping etc. skills to the general population. Thus the civilian population resume their role of being a deterrent to invasion.
Christian Gutierrez
That's Nottingham in the pic!!! That pink pavilion was hosting the lady boys of Bangkok
Samuel Rivera
Colton Phillips
In its second minute the Envy rose to a frenzy. People were leaping up and down in their places and shouting at the tops of their voices in an effort to drown the envy-provoking post that came from the screen. The little sandy-haired woman had turned bright pink, and her mouth was opening and shutting like that of a landed fish. Even O’Brien’s heavy face was flushed. He was sitting very crooked in his Lay-Z-Boy, his pidgeon chest swelling and quivering as though he were standing up to the assault of an asthma attack. The dark-haired girl behind Winston had begun crying out ‘LARPer! LARPer! LARPer!’ and suddenly she picked up a Keane CD case and flung it at the screen. It struck Cokeposter’s nose and bounced off; the sesh continued inexorably. In a lucid moment Winston found that he was shouting with the others and slamming his Horlick's mug violently against his Alienware mousepad. The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Envy was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretense was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of jealousy and covetousness, a desire to REE, to drink Horlick's, to be in bed before 8pm, seemed to flow through the whole of brit/pol/ like an electric current, turning one even against one’s will into a pitiful, seething LARPcel.
Grayson Brown
Article by Brexit Mummy:
brexitcentral.com
>Life is unpredictable. A year ago, with a newborn baby, returning to politics could not have been further from my mind. Even six months ago, I still held hope that Theresa May would deliver her promise of us leaving the European Union on 29th March. She had repeatedly said no deal was better than a bad deal and foolishly I still believed she would act accordingly. One by one the straws fell. Her deal was appalling; we didn’t leave in March; she opened talks with Jeremy Corbyn and considered keeping us in the Customs Union; hundreds of MPs voted to take no deal off the table. This is not Brexit. It is betrayal.