Mask of Sorrow

 

 

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A brave key-worker carefully navigates the contagion buffet at her local Budgens.

By Ben Pensant

Nazis come in all shapes and sizes: Nazi Tories, Nazi Republicans, Nazi Blairites, Nazi Gays, Nazi Blacks, Nazi Muslims. Hell, you even get Nazi Jews these days, though they tend to just call themselves ‘Jews’. Like most Nazis, they’re all united by a hatred of progressivism, a desire to murder leftists, and the fact that none of them are actually Nazis.

But the worst modern Nazis are those ‘FREEDOM!’-screeching whoremasters who pride themselves on doing whatever the hell they like. Yes, I’m talking about Libertarians, who’ve spent the last month losing their shit over the government finally doing the right thing and making face-masks compulsory in shops in order to contain Covid-18, protect the public, and curry favour with journalists who hate them.

For the unininitiated, Libertarians are basically Nazis who don’t like crowds. Their goal is the destruction of the nanny state, which they hope to achieve via democracy, debate, and shaking their fists at Stop signs. As a result they despise rules and regulations and think health and safety legislation should be scrapped, believing hairy-arsed brickies should be made to read the collected works of Ayn Randy instead.

Predictably, being denied a pint for four months left them whining endlessly about their ‘civil rights’ being under threat (yawn), reaching its crescendo with last month’s announcement that if they want to pop to Tesco’s to steal a can of pop and thumb through Fox-Hunting For Dummies they’ll have to debase themselves by covering their faces for a whole two-and-a-half minutes. (Three if the pushy technocrat behind the counter infringes their liberty by demanding they pay for the plastic knives they shoved down their trousers.)

Because nothing gets a Libertarian Nazi’s goat like being told what to do, despite the fact that Libertarian Nazis are exactly the type of people who need to be told what to do. Indeed, it demonstrates the left’s enduring tolerance that even when we’re told what to do by a government we loathe we suck it up, follow their orders, and make sure every fucker in earshot knows about it. And people have the nerve to call us partisan dipshits. Ha.

No such principled kowtowing from Libertarians, whose fierce sense of entitlement is matched only by their burning desire to play on train-tracks and sell fireworks to six-year-olds. Led by the crypto-fascist fake leftists of Spike magazine, they sneakily conceal their Nazism by obsessing over personal freedoms and not being remotely like Nazis. Indeed, if you actually research Libertarianism instead of waiting for OJ Jones to tell you what it is, it’s clear that it’s pretty much the polar opposite of Nazism. Which is why research is inherently problematic and probably makes you a Nazi too. So stop it.

All we need to know is that they think seatbelts are the work of the devil and consider being asked to wear a piece of cloth an act of violence on par with being called ‘pet’ by a northern misogynist or forced to share a bus with a fleet of coffin-dodging Leave voters. These privileged morons should step outside of their alt-right bubble and spend five minutes on Twitter listening to real liberals. Then they’d know what suffering’s all about.

Because believe it or not, there are people who have to cover their faces for a lot longer than the 60 seconds it takes to swagger into a paper-shop, steal a packet of Ringos and spraypaint ‘Pakis out!’ on the counter, like Shaun and Convoy in Made In Britain. So without further ado, here are my Top Five Marginalised Groups Who’ve Been Wearing Masks For Years And Don’t Whinge Half As Much As Bloody Libertarians.

5. Perverts

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Not actual perverts, like Harvey Wankstain, people who sleep with Tories, or transphobic ‘lesbians’ who refuse to have sex with burly plumbers with their knackers cut off. No, I’m talking about the non-binary counter-culture progressives bravely reclaiming the word ‘pervert’ from dead Tories with oranges in their gobs by dressing up as cats and turning themselves into six-foot Barby Dolls.

 

Heroes such as child rentboy sensation Desmond Does Dallas or that NSPCCC bloke who got caught wanking at work in fetish gear have been covering their faces in all manner of pantalones and gimp masks for years, yet do they twist their faces about it? Do they ball(gag)s. That they do it all while fizzed-up to the eyeballs on poppers only adds to their bravery.

4. The Antifas

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My dear, dear Antifas. Day in day out they hit the streets to face off against Nazis in the boiling cauldron of Portland, Oregano: wielding bike locks, harassing old ladies, and swaggering around town dressed as non-binary ninjas. Yet I’m struggling to remember hearing one of these balaclava-clad soldiers whine that they feel ‘silly’ or complain about a nasty case of chin-chafe. Funny that.

They also put the public first when fighting fascism by observing social distancing as while they assault college lecturers who disagrees with them. Which is doubly impressive when you consider that the group’s entire raison d’etroit is to hang out in large groups and get in people’s faces, as anyone who saw the recent video of a brave Antifa throwing paint at an evil octogenarian while his brave colleague screamed “Put a mask on!” at her knows. It speaks volumes about the Antifas’ open mindedness that they’ll happily follow rules set by a fascist government they hate if it gifts them a chance to pick on a pensioner.

Still, while they’re careful not to get too close to the journalists and pretend-feminists they try to educate by kicking in the head, they won’t think twice about ramming 12″ corona-sodden nightsticks up their enemies’ anuses. Because nothing screams ‘modern left’ like a spot of socially distanced assault and battery. Be warned.

3. Muslim Men

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Not all Muslim men, obvs. Those awful ‘moderate’ Muslims who just want a quiet life, have zero interest in the Kaliphate, and wouldn’t be seen dead in a face-covering can get knotted. Never mind masks, these sell-outs don’t even have beards.

No, I’m talking about REAL Muslim men: the crusading masked warriors who do all the work while their spineless Islamic ‘brothers’ sit at home twiddling their turbans. And they don’t just wear masks when popping to Wilko for a new hacksaw: they wear them in the scorching desert heat of theocratic utopias like Ragga, while also grappling with systemic Islamophobia and the knowledge that Julien Clary is still alive.

Yet do they complain? Did John Jihadi ever say “Sorry Mo, I’d love to slice off this infidel marine’s bonce but I’m afraid it’s a bit sticky under this mask”? Did the Saudi’s infamous top executioner Muhammad Saad al-Bishbosh ever tell the crown prince “I hate to be awkward, Bin, but is there any chance I could sit this one out? This cowl has been chafing my nose all day”? Did they heck. These Libertarian pussies should try walking a mile in a jihadist’s sandals. Except they can’t because they probably think footwear is another example of bureaucracy gone mad. Silly me.

2. Muslim Women

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Let’s be clear: these girls rock. Not only do they never leave the house without face coverings, the hardcore sisters never leave the house at all unless they’ve got a man in tow to ensure they don’t flash an ankle bracelet and incite a posse of bus-driver into gang-raping them.

Like all truly observant Muslims they wear masks in baking heat, safe in the knowledge that if they remove them for some fresh air they run the risk of a compassionate beating from their husband or that posse of bus-drivers. Consequently it’s common for women in Muslim countries to contend with uncomfortable facial scars sustained the last time they disrespected Alla (PBHU), yet I don’t recall ever hearing any of them moaning about their ‘agency’ being eroded.

They even keep their faces covered when they’re getting executed. If Christopher Hitchens and Brendan O’Bollocks think wearing a mask for five minutes is such a huge imposition I’d love to hear them whining about ‘paternalism’ while getting pelted with rocks.

Sadly, most Muslim ladies don’t wear masks, defying the Kerrang daily by applying lipstick, flaunting their cheekbones, and promoting the imperialist notion that freedom and equality are more important than flying horses and paedo-warlords. Frankly, it’s high time someone told those Iranian hussies throwing their headscarves off with queer abandon that only middle-class Muslims in Islington are allowed to do that.

1. NHS Workers

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Is there anything they can’t do? Day after day they’re saving lives, keeping the country safe, and performing hilarious dance routines on Tik-Tak. And thanks to that callous penny-pincher Boris the Beast, they do it while wearing the same sweat-drenched PPPE underpaid hospital cleaners use to scrub cancer-shit off the toilet walls. (Thank fuck all the hospitals are empty.)

And do they complain? Do they knackers. They simply get on with it, fighting the virus with all their might, ignoring such trivial concerns as heart transplants and hip replacements to spend every second crushing a virus that most people won’t contract. And still they remain unsung heroes, despite the fact that they’re constantly being told how awesome they are and until recently had the whole country banging saucepans in a weekly nationwide circle-jerk. That they do all this while the PM whose fat arse they’re saving plots to murder them is impressive enough, but to do it while wearing a mask for a lot longer than it takes James Delingpool to smugly wander around Waitrose like a posh, four-eyed Rosie Parks takes balls of steel.

Angels, in a word: truly the best of Britain. Unless they vote Tory, treated Boris when he pretended to have Covid, or appeared on telly claiming their hospitals had plenty of PPPE and the shortage was massively exaggerated. They’re all cunts.

All of which begs the question: How do the rest of us become allies to these latter day saints? Well, for me it was simple. I decided the only way to fully empathise with these modern martyrs was to walk a mile in their shoes. Which I did by taking a week off from calling JK Rowland a ‘slag’ on Twitter and spending that valuable free time adopting the various identities of these wonderfully brave groups.

But I didn’t merely experience the myriad hardships they each endure: I did it while kneeling in solidarity with BLM, permanently, 24/7, just in case any concerned leftist saw me not kneeling and reported me to Pierce Morgan. (Whose transformation from right-wing bigot to fearless SJW has been one of the unexpected joys of this glorious period of mass unemployment and old people dying.)

It was painful, tore the skin from my knees, and earnt me days of suspicious looks from stuffy Tories at bus-stops, but if the marginalised can put up with a bit of discomfort in the name of saving lives than a white man like me can handle a spot of chronic backache and bloodstained jeans. So, like a intersectional Craig Davids, I set off:

On Monday I put on stockings, suspenders and my favourite speccy-kid-from-Gerry-Maguire mask and masturbated furiously over a video of James O’Brian shouting at a Brexity plumber from Swinton.

On Tuesday I donned a ski mask and firebombed the local church hall’s parent and toddler group after a stray Gollywog was spotted lurking in the Wendy House.

On Wednesday I cut eye-holes in my mam’s best tablecloth, placed it over my head, threw a camp-looking Ken Doll off a garage roof then beheaded a chicken.

On Thursday I went to Asda, walked two paces behind a man, then removed my veil and slapped myself gently on the cheek after accidentally flashing my bare arms.

On Friday I wore a sweat-and-toil-drenched mask, filmed myself doing the YMCA dance on my lunch break, before driving through various red lights while harassing a trauma surgeon on Twitter for not hating the Tories as much as I do. Then stitched that chicken’s head back on.

And on Saturday I told everyone about it on Facebook, cried about the second wave of Covid-18 about to decimate the north, cried again thinking about all the new infections caused by selfish idiots drinking in pubs, then dried my eyes and cheered up immediately after reminding myself that they probably all deserved to get it anyway for voting Leave and eating kebabs.

I then took my mask off, had a coughing fit, called an ambulance, and threw up all over the paramedic. It’s the least they deserve.

PUT. IT. ON.

 

 

 

 

 

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