Brexiter talking bollocks in a pub
As the realisation that Brexit was an even worse idea than subscribing to Amazon over Netflix slowly dawns on even the most half-witted amongst us, this tiny-faced todger is still visiting his charmless booze pits, attempting to spread false hope to the hopeless.
Miffed, minimum-waged staff look on helplessly as he preaches complete bollocks to his congregation of awe-struck, piss heads, even though he looks like Jim Robinson from Neighbours and Harry from Harry and the Hendersons love child.
“We love you Mr. Wetherspoons, out means out!” they slur over him whilst drinking the finest vino Bradford has to offer, because anything remotely foreign sounding has long since been banished like civility in a parliamentary debate.
In the corner you’ll see some placard wielding, hyper remainer cunts shouting over him like angry toddlers who’ve just been told it’s nap time.
In fact, when Tim’s on tour it results in an accurate microcosm of the UK right now.
A rabble rousing, millionaire, shite talker trying his best to be heard over two competing tribes representing the extremes of a complex argument by shouting ‘gammon’ and ‘remoaner’ at each.
Whilst we, the mostly silent, yet increasingly agitated majority, are represented by Barry, a regular who’s nipped in for a pint after work and is looking on despairingly.
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