Enema of the People

'Tis Election Day across the pond, and you know what that means. It means that the huddled masses yearning to breathe free of their poorly ventilated, bank-owned domiciles will hike up their ill-fitting trousers or housecoats and shuffle off to their local polling place to pull the lever for the promise maker least likely to work on their behalf. Such is the way of the wretched refuse—the dimwitted electorate—who gleefully vote for the Carhart®-jacketed Cheshire cat whose invented story of good works and bionic vision has been assaulting their tellies, news feeds and senses for many moons. Bloody hell, 'twould appear to Yours Truly Dooley™, after a months-long station house review of the online campaign sites dotting the Arnold "Al" Gore Memorial Misinformation Superhighway™, that the American citizenry hasn't had this much smoke blown up their arseholes—and out their nostrils—since the introduction of the tobacco enema. Surely mum and dad—or your primary school nuns—explained the workings of said enema, did they not? 'Twas a controversial mid-18th century treatment—akin to modern era boofing—employed by physicians and adventurous drug addicts for a range of ailments. According to the medical and/or fetishist websites we’ve referenced, a tobacco enema involved inserting a jellied rectal tube of reasonable circumference into a patient's—or early masochist's—ahnus, whilst a chain-smoking fumigator mouthed the opposite end, forcing plumes of smoke towards the rectum. The warmth of the emission was thought to quiet quaking bowels, easing gastrointestinal distress and possibly hernia, with the unintended benefit of alleviating the pressure of swelled—blue—balls or pulsing labia, prior to the invention of masturbation. 'Twas doubts over the credibility of the procedure that led to the phrase, "blow smoke up one's arse.” That being well said, voting is one's civic duty—much as it is a dog's duty to do its business on the neighbour's lawn—so 'tis my advice to make your way over to the village hall, let your voice be heard and be bloody well done with it. As for the gauntlet of flag wavers, sign holders, party line babblers and costumed jump-up-and-downers you'll face on your way into the building, tell it to them properly: Up yours. With a tobacco enema.