Vile spots and substances

I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but I detest Theresa May even more than I did yesterday. Her every utterance makes my mouth twist into a sneer which feels foreign to my face and can’t be very pretty at all, and anyway there are so many better things to do with a mouth. Theresa May brings out the worst in me. I’m not a violent fellow, really I’m not, but I confess to a visceral desire to drive my fist into that lady’s teeth. Or to grab her by the hair and smash her face into a thin layer of shit upon a very hard surface. Or to poke a finger in her chest very hard again and again till she backs up against the wall, and then spit in her face. But the best thing would be to sew up her mouth and shove her into a room full of starving, smelly would-be immigrants, straight off the boat, where she might – just might – learn something about a strange and powerful substance: the milk of human kindness. Failing that, she could end up covered with vile spots.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be
What thou art promis’d. Yet do I fear thy nature,
It is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way.

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