Ueber Comrade Dawn Primarolo has decided that people who drink are a problem that the Government must solve. Via Pravda, the proletariat are instructed to pack it up. If only it were that simple. I could just simply tell her to ram a broken bottle up her arse, sideways. But no, money (our money) needs to be spent to tell us what TYPE of drinker we are.
Yep, full blown psychoanalysis has been performed and drinkers fall into 9 categories. Badges will be issued in due course no doubt.
For those who have the slightest interest in what the Politburo thinks of you, results are:
Depressed drinker
Life in a state of crisis eg recently bereaved, divorced or in financial crisis
Alcohol is a comforter and a form of self-medication used to help them cope
Pressurised job or stressful home life leads to feelings of being out of control and burdened with responsibility
Alcohol is used to relax, unwind and calm down and to gain a sense of control when switching between work and personal life. Partners often support or reinforce behaviour by preparing drinks for them
Relevant to those with a very busy social calendar
Alcohol is the ‘shared connector’ that unifies and gets them on the same level. They often forget the time and the amount they are consuming
Traditional guys who believe that going to the pub every night is ‘what men do’
Justify it as ‘me time’. The pub is their second home and they feel a strong sense of belonging and acceptance within this environment
Drink in fairly large social friendship groups
The sense of community forged through the pub-group. Drinking provides a sense of safety and security and gives their lives meaning. It also acts a social network
Typically single mums or recent divorcees with restricted social life
Drinking is company, making up for an absence of people. Drinking marks the end of the day, perhaps following the completion of chores
Often feeling under-valued, disempowered and frustrated in important areas of their life
Have actively cultivated a strong ‘alpha male’ that revolves around their drinking ‘prowess’. Drinking is driven by a constant need to assert their masculinity and status to themselves and others
Single, divorced and/or with grown up children
Drinking excessively is a way of visibly expressing their independence, freedom and ‘youthfulness’ to themselves. Alcohol used to release inhibitions
Men who effectively live in the pub which, for them, is very much a home from home
A combination of motives, including boredom, the need to conform, and a general sense of malaise in their lives
You stupid cunts.
Now, what was the point of all that then? Obvious really. Dawn would rather that you didn’t drink. Or smoke. Or do anything that might cost the government any money, money sorely needed to fund their bizarre agenda. Tesco’s recently gave INGSOC all the loyalty card data, so they KNOW what you drink and frankly, they are shocked!
What they have forgotten are that most people drink because they like getting pissed and forgetting that the State just sees them as a resource to be harvested. And getting pissed is a laugh.
Now, I like my drink. I like a bottle of wine with a meal. I like a pint or three of good ale in a pub with a wheezy Labrador hovering up crisps from beneath my feet and a pert arsed barmaid and I like a glass of port with good cheese. I like a crisp sancerre or muscadet with my oysters and a cold Pils on a hot summers day. Yet I don’t seem to fall into any of the new “categories” that INGSOC have decided we must belong to.
Over 900,000 households will receive leaflets through the post highlighting the link between drinking and conditions such as cancer and liver disease.
I know drinking is not good for me. You don’t need to stuff a fucking leaflet through my door, you fucktards. Leave me alone. I am not harming anybody other than my own liver and I pay medical insurance in case I need a new one.
Meanwhile, Pravda are reporting that the reason your average wife beating, heroin addled, Buckfast for breakfast psychotic porridge wog has a life expectancy of 36 years is because…wait for it…..the sun doesn’t shine very much in Scotland.
Just fuck off. All of you. Get your slithering tentacles out of my daily life. I will drink, smoke and rape the cat as much as I fucking like.