Doc's Strike: Refuse to Work for Less

Today’s ‘Medical Emergency – Don't Call 9/11 – We'll Call You’ edition bring you the latest and greatest in scandal-mongering hot gossip from Tiny Tim Cratchit, gimping round the mortuary department of manky Manchester's Harold Shipman Centre for Medical Excellence and expediting a 'collateral damage' body count for Anarchy Central’s 24/7 Truth & Rumour Mill – with 'ring of the anvil' dispatches hand forged and crafted into bespoke satire to tempt the palates of all budding non-conformists, proto-nihilists and career radical revolutionaries who carry the immortal bloodline of the rebel sons of Belial.

Time might well be running out to agree a deal with junior doctors in the long-running pay dispute as doctors in England take part in their second 24-hour strike and issue a damning press statement that whoever sickens and croaks as a result of their justified industrial action, then the onus is on the Tory Health Minister, Jeremy Kunt.

However, in typical Nasty Party fashion, pursuing the fatally-flawed 'austerity or bust' economic system established by the Tory train fare dodging / coke-snorting Chancellor, George 'Spankies' Osborne, and his equally obnoxious – and despised – colleague - the DWP's Minister for Social Misery, Iain Dunkin-Shitt, - Health Secretary Jeremy 'Head Boy' Kunt, following this parsimonious example, now wants to employ the draconian health service model of the People's Utopia of China – and junior doctors to work for fuck all.

Formal talks between doctors and the government - hosted by the not fit for purpose conciliation service Knackas - went tits up in January when mediator Ron McScrote went from being mildly frustrated to terminally stressed out with the intransigence of both disputing parties then morphed into self harm mode and ripped his own head off.

Now matters have gone from bad - to worse – to 'even worse still' - amid mounting speculation the tax-dodging twat of a Health Secretary, Kunt, is harbouring plans to impose a new 24/7 National Ill-Health Service contract on quacks whether they like it or not - and if they dare strike again, then flood the NHS with Syrian refugees with an NVQ 1 Diploma in General Medical Practice - potentially inflaming the row into a Mexican stand-off that will see hospital services flounder on the rocks of socio-political despair - with NHS patients the losers and the only winners being the undertakers who have to clean up and bury the embarrassing mess of bodies.

One major key sticking point in this entire brouhaha relates to payments for working Saturday shifts, with the British Medical Association demanding the whole day is paid at the traditional unsociable hours premium, while Kunt has mandated the hours between 07:00 and 17:00 are to be paid at basic rate.
How the fuck would Kunt know – the House of Conmans has never worked a Saturday since World War Two.

The BMA proposed a compromise of accepting half of the 11% basic pay rise offered by the Nasty Party government - in return for retaining extra payments for working Saturdays, but Heath Sec' Kunt shit canned that proposal with extreme prejudice.

BMA junior doctor leader Sapphie Dildodo opined to one press hack from the Daily Shitraker that the government should put the National Ill-Health Service before politics and curb Jeremy Kunt's machismo and dogmatic 'I'm right and you are wrong' attitude.
Conversely, Health Secretary Kunt claims that the intransigence of England's 55,000-plus junior doctors – some of whom have ten years of practical hospital ward / surgical experience - and their refusal to accept lower pay - is the only reason a solution had not been found.

But what else can we expect from this smarmy tosser of a Health Minister, who, along with his boss, the Tory's pig-fucking Slime Minister, Posh Dave Scameron, is hell bent on selling off our once-iconic NHS and morphing it into a fully privatised 'for profit' National Ill-Health Service - to be bought up by corporate greedsters under the 'fuck you' provisions of the skewed – and secret – 'bilateral' (sic) TTIP charter that is being force fed by the NWO Neo-Cons to the Brussels' EUSSR bureaucrats – and will end up on a par with the Great Satan's ill-fated 'die n save money' ObamaCare system.

To wit, Jeremy 'PPE' Kunt – he of the annoying, habitual shit-eating smirk – is a class act intellectually challenged dog wanker who still has a Scouse hit contract hanging over his pointy little 'microcephalic' head for uttering unsolicited, disparaging comments viz the Hillsborough football calamity being down to Liverpool soccer hooligans – and has the popularity ratings of a leper at a christening.

Going by his past record, to put Kunt – a People's Republic of China double agent mole and Rupert Mudrock News Corp lickspittle - in charge of anything – export guru for the marmalade industry; the affairs of disabled persons; the UK's 'Culture' portfolio; or the National Ill-Health Service – is inviting fucking disaster – and guess what – it's arrived in the form of a national junior doctor's rebellion – at full gallop, mud-splattered, and high in oath.

Stop press: Tiny Tim Cratchit – himself a living, limping victim of medical negligence due protracted waiting times at a Bristol A & E following a skate board accident on the M5 - reports on the mobile hotline that junior doctors' leaders have rejected a 'final take-it-or-leave-it' offer made by the government to settle the bitter contract dispute in England.
While the offer included a concession on Saturday pay, the British Medical Association replied 'too little n too late' – telling Minister Kunt to shove his deal where the sun don't shine – and think twice before attempting to impose any contract on them.

Allergy warning: This article was composed in a known propaganda-infested area - and whilst purposely blending high octane irreverence, slanderous allegations and unbridled conjecture with wild rumour 'and' hard public interest factoids - may also contain traces of slight exaggeration, modest porkies, misaligned references and lashings of bush telegraph innuendo.

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