Yes, my friends.
Margaret Thatcher is dead.
UK alternative comedians everywhere weep.
Rik Mayall is borderline mute. Ben Elton has no words. Bar, of course, "good riddance, you mad old cow".
But fuck her.
Because last week, Margaret Thatcher died. A different Margaret Thatcher. A better one. One who changed her name to Maggie Van Overdijk because, hell, would YOU want that constant confusion with the Iron Bitch? No, Miss Van Overdijk was a lovely woman, a friend to all, and she was royally screwed by life at every turn but kept up both her morality and optimism to an extent I can only be in awe of. She chose not to have treatment for the seething caldera of tumors abruptly discovered in her body, preferring to live fast and bequeath us all a beautiful... if now bald... corpse. She didn't hang around, and she made our lives better.
So not at all like Margaret Thatcher, really.
I miss her. A lot.
And the fact the ex-Prime Minister will get a hundred times more attention than my friend, mostly from hypocritical suck-ups who have PR-spun their own opinions so many times I doubt even they know what they really feel about her, grinds my gears. And the fact she would have found this twistedly amusing and she isn't here for us to share a joke about it, pisses me off even more.
Life sucks, because a world with that insane peroxide bint is preferable to one without my friend.
I miss you, Maggie, and I never got a chance to say goodbye.
I HOPE YOU'RE SATISFIED, THATCHER!!!