Tag: Munich Olympics

No, I’m serious. Just what must I do to get kicked out of Labour?

No I’m serious. Just what do I have to do to get kicked out of Labour?By Jeremy Corbyn, MP

May 30, 2017

Finsbury Park: So far 2017 has been a rather trying year for me. The Islington People’s-Socialist-Fair-Trade-Third-World-Food Co-Op has been quite simply in an uproar since last month’s “Venezuelan Quinoa Incident“. The Food Co-Op’s whatsapp group has become veritable torture for me. To be honest, I am quite the Luddite, so I only took an iPhone under duress because Party Leadership said I needed to be “more accessible” when I go on my morning walkabouts in the Heath. And it is not only the Quinoa Incident that they debate endlessly in the chat group. Of course there is the NGO “Palestinian Lesbian Anarchists against the Wall” that wants to sell their wares in our shop. So far so good, but what is their position on Climate Change?  And the NHS? And manspreading?

Then there is my bicycle, which continues to break at the most inopportune moments, like when I was on my way to the Marwan Barghouti Benefit Concert in Tower Hamlets last week. Of course, one would be remiss without mentioning my garden allotment. Ms. Bannister insists that it was my kale crop that introduced the weevils that seem poised to make quite a snack of her corn crop. Incidentally, a certain Mr. Goldstein continues to illegally occupy encroach upon my radishes with his rather arcane crop of chick peas and red peppers. So you can see, Mr. Corbyn’s  (very vegan) plate is rather full. I am burning the (vegetable oil) candle at both ends. Jezz needs a break.

With all of my responsibilities, I simply do not have time for all of the nonsense in Parliament. “Votes“.  “NATO”. “Protecting the citizens of the United Kingdom“. Therefore, for the past several months I have done everything in my power to get myself removed from office so that I may return to focusing on the important things, like the problematic gear shift on my Schwinn. And the sorry state of my lettuce crop. And improving my attendance for the Yoga Classes at the Leisure Centre. But it appears to be all for naught. I have tried everything.

So visiting Syria as the guest of Bashar Assad was not enough? How about if my travel-mate was Jenny Tonge? How about that I attended a wreath laying ceremony for the lead architect of the 1972 Munich Olympics….misunderstanding? Then I refused to apologize for inviting the Irish Republican Army for tea at the height of their 1980’s bombing campaign. For goodness sake, I blamed the Manchester attack on British Foreign Policy

Now it appears that even if Labour loses next month’s election, I still won’t be allowed to step down. I am simply at my wit’s end. Once again…. Just what must I do to get kicked out of Labour?

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Linda Sarsour: Time Traveler. The Golda Meir episode

(Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons)

SCENE: Somewhere beneath the Knesset. Late Summer, 1972. A woman with graying black hair put up in a bun and wearing a string of pearls is speaking to 7 men sitting around a table. One of them has an eye patch. None of the men are speaking. Suddenly, a woman wearing a mustard hijab over a charcoal-grey jacket materializes, Star Trek Style. She’s been doing that a lot lately.

Woman in hijab: Are you Golda Meir, the Zionist?

Woman with hair in bun: I’m also Golda Meir the Prime Minister, Gold Meir the grandmother, and sometimes just Golda. But yes, you found me. And who are you, may I ask?

Woman in hijab: My name is Linda Sarsour, and I have traveled from the future to inform you that you are not a feminist.

Golda: Well, you might be right. All I do is keep this roomful of egomaniacs silent while I tell them what to do. I guess teaching school in Milwaukee helped prepare me for this work. All of the arguments, all of the screaming, all of the tantrums I witnessed.  And let me tell you, teaching school was no picnic either.

Cabinet member: Excuse me, can I go to the bathroom?

Golda (shoots him an angry look): Regaa!

Cabinet member (sheepishly): Sorry.

Golda: But enough about me. I heard you’re a Big Macher in the Democratic Party now. Mazel Tov!

Linda: Thanks. So like what do you even do down here?

Golda: Well, Linda…. Last month some of our….’cousins’…. decided that the best way to get the world to listen to them is to sneak into the Olympic Village at night and murder my boys. So now I’m about to go medieval on their asses.

Linda: OMG I just can’t even.

Golda (soothingly): Linda, my dear. I’m only setting these guys up on the World’s Greatest Speed Dating Event. Each of them gets 72 partners. And they’re good girls. Good, good girls.

Linda: I just can’t believe this crime is being inflicted on a Community of Color.

Golda (looks at her tanned olive-hued arms. Looks at Linda’s decidedly pale face. Looks at her arms. Looks at Linda): Tell me more about this Community of Color, Bubbele.

Linda: I refuse to sit silently while you marginalize me and discount my struggle.

Golda: You’re right. I have a better idea. Get the hell out of my Situation Room.

Linda: Fine. I’m leaving for now. But I’ll be back. I have the Right of Return!

Golda: Actually you don’t. But we hope you enjoyed your visit to Israel!

(Linda dematerializes, Star Trek style. Fade to Black)