The Election Kool-Aid Fascist Test

Momentum’s election night bash was a riotous affair.


By Ben Pensant

They said he was incompetent. They said he couldn’t win an election. They said he’d shook hands with more terrorists than George Galloway’s butler. They said all this and more about PM-elect Jeremy Corbyn, blissfully unaware he’d make them eat their words by becoming the first opposition leader in British history to win a general election despite coming second.

Yes. This really happened. And now – finally – Jezza is poised to enter Number Ten. But his election victory won’t just go down in history as the day Labour demolished the Tories by winning 55 fewer seats than them. It will also be forever remembered as the day the Blairites finally fell in line, got their act together and downed the Corbyn Kool Aid like their careers depended on it.

As the rapturous applause Jezza received in the HOC demonstrated, there’s nothing sweeter than seeing people who’ve spent two years trying to destroy him brought to their knees by the realisation that he’s considerably more popular than them. And it was refreshing to learn that it wasn’t Corbyn’s politics that bothered the moderates: on the contrary, their disloyalty to the Dear Leader was down to the silly belief he was unelectable. You didn’t think they were principled enough to object to him on ideological grounds, did you? Behave.

No, the smears and attacks were entirely driven by self-interest, much like the swift U-turns performed by Chuka Umuna and Yvette Cooper, both of whom began the long journey to forgiveness by immediately offering to work in a shadow cabinet now they think Corbyn could win an election.

Much like many who voted for Corbyn were willing to overlook the fact that he’s spent his career supporting anti-Semites, dictators and terrorists, former plotters Chuka and Yvette are happy to hold their noses and bow to a man they’ve spent two years trying to get rid of. Because the founding principles of the Labour Party mean about as much to Umuna and Cooper as they do to that Max Momentum bloke who looks like a cross between Peter Kay and a burst settee.

Indeed, as Jezza’s breathless rise to the giddy heights of doing slightly better than Ed Miliband shows, principles are soooo last century. Thankfully, it appears Chuka and Yvette didn’t have any to begin with, which won’t be enough to spare them the gallows though it might just earn them a last meal that hasn’t been spat on by Brother McDonnell.

And it’s not just the PLP who’ve belatedly realised what’s good for them. Take Owen Jones, who’s flip-flopped between supporting Jezza and betraying him so often it’s hard to remember whether to send him a bunch of flowers or a letter bomb. But despite past transgressions OJ played a blinder this campaign, and I’m not just talking about his bold habit of dressing like an 8-year-old librarian. Because since election day he’s been on fire, celebrating Labour’s victory by staying up way past midnight and giving himself a sore tummy by eating twice as many Callipos as he did when Katie Hopkins got sacked. He hasn’t so much drunk the Kool-Aid as drowned in it.

The fact that Corbyn only did marginally better than Gordon Brown – whose 2010 showing the Dear Leader derided as ‘disastrous’ – is unimportant. What matters is that he won, and if he did so by finishing nearly 60 seats behind an inept, robotic Prime Minister who achieved the impossible and made Labour look professional then so be it. Because only brainwashed Sun-readers think elections are decided by votes and seats. No, it’s all about kissing ethnically diverse babies outside mosques; attracting huge crowds to rallies in Labour heartlands; inspiring young people by offering them free money in return for supporting the kind of economic policies that would ensure they spend their golden years queuing up for bread, water and enough out-of-date sleeping pills to spark out a herd of elephants.

Predictably, much of Owen’s anger was directed at the DUP, causing much frantic Googling from young Momentum members eager to find out who they are. Indeed, many were shocked to see Owen attacking homophobic religious bigots, having spent most of his career defending a homophobic and bigoted religion. Luckily, having briefly skim-read the DUP Wikipedia page they were relieved to learn that these particular homophobic religious bigots were pretty much exclusively white which gave Owen a free pass to criticise them. Phew!

Which, of course, Owen did with gusto, repeatedly blasting Theresa May for considering a deal with a party with such an appalling record on gay rights. Of course, in order to do this Owen had to conveniently forget that the man he voted for attended an event in 2014 celebrating the anniversary of a regime that hangs gays from cranes. Or that last November he called a dictator who oppressed, imprisoned and murdered homosexuals ‘a champion of social justice’. The same phrase, funnily enough, he used to describe an anti-Semitic terrorist group who as well as shooting protesters and firing rockets at civilians have also been known to execute the odd same-sexer. But forget it Owen did, with the same selective memory loss he now applies to Venezuela. Because the harmless customs listed above may sound harsh to Western ears but let me assure you: they’re a walk in the park compared to the horror of someone refusing to bake you a wedding cake.

Owen also found time to slam the right for their cruel treatment of Seamus Milne, smugly Tweeting that Corbyn’s breath-taking win had ‘vindicated’ him. Because as we know, the fact that Labour cruised to victory by being less shit than expected means Milne is no longer a Stalin apologist and he never actually wrote all those articles eulogising Islamist murderers.

With all this good will in the bank there’s even a chance once Jezza takes office Owen could be spared execution altogether and instead be rewarded with a much-deserved life sentence and cushy job in the library. No-one could say he hasn’t earned it and if he keeps his nose clean we may even grant him the right to appeal by the time he’s 50, provided he doesn’t do anything silly like steal a tin of pineapple chunks or befriend Peter Mendelson in the shower.

Of course, there’ll be no such retribution meted out to Kevin McGuire of The Mirror. The gruff northern socialist has been shit-faced on a cocktail of Kool Aid and blue pop since the beginning, his devotion to Corbyn so strong he not only believes Jezza single-handedly brokered peace in Northern Ireland by inviting the IRA to Parliament weeks after they tried to kill the cabinet, he also casually overlooks the Dear Leader’s habit of supporting regimes and people who imprison and murder trade unionists.

Of course, like a true sunderland fan, all that matters to Kev is seeing his rivals do badly, even if his own team does worse. Hence his delight at the Tories’ disastrous campaign and loss of their huge majority dwarfing his joy at Corbyn’s impressive feat of winning an election with less seats than his opponent.

And like Owen he reserved particular scorn for the Tories’ decision to hold talks with the DUP, even Tweeting a cleverly photo-shopped picture of Theresa May flanked by two cabinet members in balaclavas. Which as well as giving us a reet good laugh also handed Kev – a staunch defender of the Dear Leader’s support for the IRA – another reason to celebrate as he beat off stiff competition from Paul Mason to be crowned Fleets Street’s Biggest Hypocrite.

Which is no less than he deserves for spreading the Corbynite creed and ensuring that now the revolution is here the moderates have no choice but to kneel before Jezza. Or at the very least start saying nice stuff about him on Twitter. So while previously Corbyn-phobic hacks like Jonathan Freedland and Polly Toynbee threw their objections to Jezza’s love of terrorists under the bus to lavish praise on him for ‘energising’ British politics, so the likes of Harriet Harman and David Lammy have joined Yvette and Chuka in abandoning their hostility now there’s a very real chance they could end their days tied to a tree and riddled with bullets.

Indeed, as well as going from accusing the Dear Leader of ‘trying to take the party down’ to calling him ‘the heir to Blair’, Harman, like Lammy, has spent the last few days currying favour by repeating Corbyn’s call for empty properties to be requisitioned to house homeless Grenfell Tower survivors. Understandably, she declined to offer up her own second home, preferring the classic Labour manoeuvre of telling other people what to do without lifting a fucking finger herself. But spicing up her opportunistic virtue-signalling with a dash of crowd-pleasing communism is like downing a whole pint of Kool Aid. And rest assured, such a craven attempt to impress the boss won’t be forgotten when the time comes to shave her head and mutilate her twat.

As for Lammy, where do I begin? From demanding the government seize private property to crying his eyes out on telly without actually shedding any tears, he’s arguably been more on fire than the tower. So much so that his principled reaction to the blaze – and indeed the response of Labour and the left in general – is too important to document in a measly paragraph. Which is why I’ve written 2,000 words about it which you can read tomorrow.

But such mass scale death provides the perfect backdrop for advanced Kool Aid glugging. And along with the predictably measured, reasonable way the left will process last night’s attack on Finsbury Park Mosque in the coming days, the snowball effect from Corbyn becoming Prime Minister is gaining traction everywhere.

Take political satirists, arch-enemies of the Corbynite left due to their vile habit of holding Jezza to the same standard as Tory politicians (and our outright refusal to see anything amusing about his beard and sandals). It’s safe to say we don’t get on. But since the election even they’ve suckled greedily on the Momentum mammary, in particular fictional news reporter Jonathan Pie, who has thrown his hitherto healthy cynicism out of the window to embrace the joy of socialism.

Which has been a surprising delight to leftists who were wary of Pie due to his shameful videos mocking brave liberals who say Brexit and Trump-voters are thick racists. Not cool. Happily, he’s undone all that right-wing nonsense and submitted unconditionally to the Cult Of Corbyn, even breaking character on Twitter to tell his followers what a down-to-earth guy the privileged career politician who’s spent decades indulging fascists truly is. And last week he forever cemented his place in the hearts of die-hard leftists by re-tweeting a Jezza-worshipping anti-Zionist who harbours doubts about whether the London Bridge attack really happened and thinks The Jews killed Kennedy, faked the moon-landings and orchestrated 9/11. You’re one of us now, Pie.

But before getting too carried away, it’s important to be aware of the cancerous wretches who haven’t succumbed to Corbynology. And with Jezza now Prime Minister the thorny issue of what’s to be done about these conniving parasites – as well as the millions of traitors who didn’t vote Labour – won’t go away.

My suggestion is to treat them with compassion. Sure, I’d rather banish, enslave or immolate them but one thing I’ve learnt since joining the regressive left is that if you treat stupid people with kid gloves it’s much easier to get them to do what you want. A little sweetness mixed in with the electric-shock conversion therapy goes a long way and if the odd one gets lippy and ends up buried alive then tough titty. It may be one less pair of hands on the production line but that’s a small price to pay. With Jezza, John, Len, Diane, Shami and Seumas calling the shots we stand as one, even when we’re killing each other.

I’ll drink to that.


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