It's all happening..

In the age of the Internet war is heavy on the eyes.

I've been on Twitter too much. My eyes are sore. It's a punishment to begin typing this blog post, but type I must.

It's all happening.

Farage has stepped down, to go back to the public to get a renewed mandate. The establishment have unified behind a plastic bin.

Count Binface, the annoying joke political candidate has been fully weaponised, and everyone from journalists at the Times to Restore Britain's Uniparty accounts find it hilarious.

It's just oh, so funny. He's dressed as a bin.

I should talk about the politics, but my mind is more alarmed at the general unintelligence. I actually used the word retarded yesterday. I hate this word. There's something unnecessarily crude about it. Like calling someone thick. It's ungraceful. I don't like. It's not me. Yet, I couldn't help but reach for the word. All these people just look retarded. I don't know how better to put it.

When I see the Count Binface character - and this is the thing, he's not even new, he's been around a while - I always see it as something that perhaps I would've been amused by as a very small child. In fact, I remember as a small child being amused by Dusty Bin. My parents would watch the game show 3-2-1. As a four year old the adult game show didn't interest me much, but when the cartoon-like bin appeared on the screen my attention was grabbed.

It was like a crude ITV Mr. Potato Head. "Yes, that's Dusty Bin," my mam would gently say as I pointed at the screen.

Even back then though I wasn't that amused. It didn't have me hooked to the screen like Thomas the Tank Engine.

Anyway, that's what I think when I see the uniparty bin candidate. I think, "This is something I might have found funny as a small child." Then a conflicted impulse kicks in. "These people are like children, I shouldn't be so mean to them." After all, I'd never be mean to a child for laughing at the bin. I was once that child. Yet, at the same time, they're adults. "They're f*ffing adults," I think, "Why am I surrounded by these people?!"

When you see the entire political class doubled over in stiches, clearly thinking this is all brilliantly funny, it's disturbing. I feel like Julien Barratt's character from Nathan Barley, watching some well-paid journalist trundle down the street on a tiny scooter.

It's tiring. If there was some other country I could escape to. Some jungle hut where these people wouldn't bother me.

And yes, all this sounds arrogant. I don't care. You're all retards.

I just hope the people of Clacton aren't as easily amused.