Sonne, take a tot...  
 
Live long enough (won't take long) and you'll see people like this on the telly all the time. Just like here in the States.
It's a job, it's a living.
They figured they could make enough noise, get enough media exposure to send their counter-message across.
It's not a message, understand.
It's a reply. You got BNP, you got BICRE or whatever. You got Labor and you got Tories.
But all they're vying up for is cash.
They make noise, they 'agitate', they cash the donations. In exchange for what? Nada.
It's an industry here. Maybe you're beginning over there, I don't know.
Hey BICRE, this one's for you:
The Wind Beneath My Shorts 
By Frank S.
It must have been cold there in my shitter, 
to never have sunlight on your face. 
You were content to let me shine, that's your way, 
you always sunk a fart below. 
So I was the one with all the glory, 
while you were the one with all the stench. 
A revolting smell without a name -- for so long, 
a powerful odor to hide the pain. 
Did you ever know that you're my piles, 
and everything I would like to squeeze? 
I can fart higher than where my arse is, 
'cause you are the wind beneath my shorts. 
It might have appeared to go unnoticed, 
but I've got it all here in my heart. 
I want you to know I know the truth, of course I know it, 
I would be lighter with out you. 
Did you ever know that you're my piles, 
and everything I would like to scratch? 
I can fart louder than a diesel, 
'cause you are the wind beneath my shorts. 
Fall, fall, fall away, 
you let me fart so loud. 
Oh, fart, fart, 
so loud against the head, so loud I almost split a seam. 
Thank you, thank you, thank God for you, 
the fart beneath my shorts. 
CLEAR?