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1 Those liberal politicos, they make a lot of noise, but do they actually achieve anything?



2 Student politics? No one cares.



3 Bourgeoisie talk about politics is the slack scrotum of conversation. As a man of action, I like to keep things tight.



4 Student politicians are like sheep in a barn. Little do they realise the farmer is waiting outside with a shiv until they are ripe. Who the fuck knows what kind?



5 From the beautiful soul of the sometime political-intellectual to the bent soul of the potential career-politician, and all of those lonely souls in between these infamous points, begging for their share of the limelight, from this rabble I have never heard one sensible muttering. My conclusion is that the possession of a soul is of no importance.



6 Italian ruling politicians? They chase girls. Real men invade.



7 Italian politics has at least grasped the two most simple concepts. The politician is there to empty the purses of the peasants, even as he empties his own purse [smirks] into their daughters. The Belgians have misunderstood the weighting of this equation.



8 What does it mean 'in Rome do as the Romans?' Kick a few crumbly stones, then go eat Mother's meatballs in tomata sauce.



9 When I hear the word discourse I reach for my rophenol; usually as self-medication.



10 In moments of boredom I am tempted to doodle, and I often found myself doing during tiresome political diatribes throughout in my short career in Cambridge. Here is a little classic: connect Kiev to Minsk, to Warsaw, Posen, Berlin, Amsterdam, Brussels, Luxembourg City, Vienna, Budapest, Bucharest and finally Odessa. The resultant shape is not only a crude indicator of the core of Mitteleuropa, but a rather fat-shafted cock and balls.



11 In respect of the Societal Secretariat, in the case of 10 connect Budapest to Odessa direct.



12 A friend gave me an Italian suit once. It was shiny as the last baboon's ass I shot.



13 Elections, they are the veneer of the unchanging status quo.



14 No cliché is more ridiculous than panem et circenses (bread and circuses). The average peasant is not, has not been, and never will be a threat to privilege. No, the real slight of hand of my kind is in the coupling of the half-bright to the machine of politics, an endeavour so rooted in sclerosis and stasis that nothing will ever come of their misguided expressions of purity or virtue. The gulf between their cherished ideals and the change they could possibly enact is as far apart as the poles. In this matter, they may as well be fisting an iceberg: their ardour will rapidly cool.