A POTTY-mouthed anarcho-capitalist politician called The Madman has become President of Argentina and everyone is now running around, waving their arms in the air and wondering how on earth that happened.
Because why would anyone vote for a man who keeps a chainsaw above his bed and looks like the Mickey Rourke character in Iron Man 2?
Feeble-minded lefties say it’s due to a surge in support for the far Right.
They say Hitlerism has already come to Italy and half of Eastern Europe. And that soon it will have most of Scandinavia as well.
The Dutch have just voted in the far-Right Freedom party.
But I don’t think the people in these countries are voting for the far Right.
I think they’re voting for anyone who doesn’t sound like yet another run-of-the-mill politician.
This is the problem the Left has. Its politicians are so frightened about causing offence, they never say anything remotely interesting. And who wants to put a bore in charge?
Not the Argentineans, obviously. That’s why they’ve gone for The Madman.
He doesn’t go around endlessly telling people he sympathises with their plight because his dad was a hard-working toolmaker in the community.
And he doesn’t take his jacket and tie off to try to look like a man of the people when he visits a hospital or a factory.
If you asked him to wear a high-visibility vest when he was visiting a building site, he’d point out that he has a team of secret service agents on hand, so he doesn’t need to be luminous.
It’s the same story with Donald Trump of course. He’s popular because he talks like the guy at the sports bar.
A normal politician would say a terrorist’s body “has been taken into custody”.
Whereas Don says he “died like a dog”.
Over here, we got Boris Johnson because he ums and ahs and says that if you vote Tory, your wife will have bigger breasts and you’re more likely to have a BMW M3. He really did say that. And people loved him for it.
They certainly loved him a lot more than Mr Rishi, who subtly changes his accent when he’s “on the street”.
But we can tell, mate. It’s obvious what you’re doing. So stop it. And put your bloody jacket back on.
And stop using the word “community” like it’s something precious. It isn’t.
Everyone is in a community. Gays. Freemasons. Muslims. Taxi drivers. Double-glazing salesmen. Everyone. I’m in a community up here in Chipping Norton.
It’s a community of rich people with Range Rovers, and now one of us is in a new community of Lords and Ladies and Barons.
Very soon, we will be given a choice of voting for Mr Rishi or Sir Starmer.
And the truth of the matter is: We don’t really want either of them.
It’s the same story throughout the world, which is why people are voting for anyone who’s interesting and different.
Even if they do arrive for work looking like a Marvel comic bad guy.
THE jungle thing is back. Ant and Lard are in a treehouse a full 20 miles from the Gold Coast international airport and Nigel Farage is down below, eating penises.
Not like that. That would be extraordinary if he was doing that. No. I mean cooked animal penises.
Many people were amazed that he’d do this, but I can’t see why.
I’ve eaten grasshoppers, tarantulas and once, an egg that had some beak and an eye in it. So unless it was James May’s, I’d be fine with a penis, because it’s just meat.
Actually, wait, it’s not just meat. It’s meat that’s been through a television company’s health and safety department.
Which means it’s been inspected and tested and washed and cooked thoroughly to make absolutely sure no harm can come to anyone who puts it in their mouth.
It’d be more dangerous to drink a can of Pepsi frankly.
CHRIS PACKHAM was on television this week, deciding whether he should break the law to make a point about climate change.
He interviewed a lot of people with beards and a small Swedish girl who skipped school and decided he would.
We weren’t told which law he was going to break, but there was a lot of talk of blowing up a pipeline.
So that’s good. Because if a pipeline does blow up in the near future, it won’t take the police long to work out who did it.
Meanwhile, I’ve been wondering whether I should break the law every time I see a 20mph speed limit sign.
But I’m not going to say in public what decision I’ve made because that would be idiotic.
I’ll just quietly get on and do it.
LIKE everyone else, I was alarmed when I discovered that one of the Royal Navy’s submarines had been in an uncontrolled dive towards the abyss.
Then I found out the details, and it was even worse.
The sub – carrying nuclear weapons – was in a controlled dive. But no one on board knew it.
The depth gauge on the bridge was broken so they all thought they were going along in a safe and level fashion when, in fact, they weren’t.
And it wasn’t until an eagle-eyed sailor spotted a secondary depth gauge at the back of the boat that anyone realised they were rapidly approaching crush depth.
I find this odd, because how come no one noticed?
I’ve seen the movies, so I know that when a submarine is diving, everyone on board has to hold on to something or they’d fall over. Obviously, though, this isn’t true.
Still, I have worked out a system to make sure that this sort of thing can never happen again.
Just fit the sub with a spirit level. You can buy a good one from Amazon for about 11 quid.
BACK in the days when I appeared on Top Gear, we’d get a phone call most days to say Richard Hammond was being airlifted to hospital after yet another accident.
It got to the point he was spending most of his wages on trousers.
He’d buy a pair in the morning. A paramedic would cut them off that afternoon. And he’d have to buy another pair that night.
But he did save a fortune by never having to drive home after work.
He was always taken away in an air ambulance. And we’d kick our heels till he was better. And then the show would go on.
So why, people have been asking, has the BBC pulled the plug on Top Gear after Freddie Flintoff’s crash?
I think the main reason is that Richard Hammond was always keen to get back to work, whereas Freddie isn’t.
I don’t blame him. I know what happened on that awful day and it was horrific.
Sure, the producers could try to find a replacement. But would you want that gig? Really?
Because not only would you come across as a heartless tw*t, you’d be on a show that was written and produced every week by a newly invigorated and all-powerful health and safety department.
And you’d be working for a corporation which fundamentally likes cycle lanes.
