Smug Rightwing Fucktards

One of life's innocent little pleasures in which I indulge myself periodically is posting abusive messages on Comment is Free (CiF), the interactive commentary section of spellingly-challenged broadsheet 'The Grauniad'.

One thing I will not miss, however, now that New Labour have buggered off and we are ruled by the Cleggeronic Libservative Hegemony, is the immensely tedious habit of rightwing would-be wits using the term 'ZaNuLabour' (or even more predictably, 'ZaNuLiebour' or, the apotheosis of the sclerotic mentality, 'ZaNuLieBore'), because they think it's oh-so-fucking-clever, oh-so-pants-wettingly novel after thirteen (thirteen, damnit!) shitting years of New Labour to join the other nine million original-thought-challenged cuntish rightwing dullard smegma-for-brains wanktards to compare New Labour with ZANU-PF, Bobby Mugabe's squalid and brutal Zimbabwe African National Union Patriotic Front.

But oh-how-wrong I was. New Labour are History (albeit very recent history), and yet these smug arsebrains are still at it:

Gamebird
12 May 2010, 5:27PM
...Trident is not being replaced, what is being replaced are the submarines to mount the weapons system in... ZANULabour wanted to replace four SSBN’s with three which means there would be gaps. You want to make significant cuts then you cut the money going to the NHS, you cut the money we are spending on welfare benefits, you cut or eliminate the money given in foreign aid. We junk the non-jobs that ZANULAbour created.

Can't they let it go? Are they so unimaginitive that their tiny minds trap them into repeating it over and over again like some lobotomised monk mechanistically chanting the same invocations to his non-existent cunt of a God? Like some miniscule asteroid of thought endlessly orbiting a dying sun of unoriginality? No, don't answer that.

Every time I read it, I can just picture some four-eyed greasy-haired rightwing policy-wank fucktard hunched over his keyboard smirking and chuckling at how ingenious, at how razor-sharp and original he is as he types it (and it's not even a proper chuckle, but that loathesome snorting noise made by spotty sixth-form charisma-voids who think they're witty that sounds like a pig being rimmed) and I just want to reach through the screen of his monitor, grab him by the throat and scream into each ear in turn, “Your self-satisfied smuggery makes me want to vomit down your throat!” at which point I would do just that, ramming my puke down his gullet with a meat tenderiser until he chokes and splutters on it and coughs up blood and mucus and bits of his own teeth that I'd chipped off with the tenderiser and his own vomit mixed with bits of my spew fighting its way back up, before administering the coup-de-grace by emerging fully from the screen and kicking him slowly to death on the dried-semen-encrusted tissue strewn floor of his fetid den.

Or something like that.