Gather ‘round all you moonbats and genuflect before the site of your Messiah. Sarah Dacre of North London will free you from the repression of sanity and rational thought. She will lead you to the promised land of where milk and honey flow.
After Non-monkey is done ducking black helicopters perhaps he can adjust his tinfoil hat and give Sarah a call. She should be worth at least one or two fawning columns.
I’ll sum up Sarah’s story this way: The chick is f%$&ing nuts:
But beneath the coats of magnolia paint, she points out, the walls are lined with a special paper that contains a layer of tin-foil; and upstairs, the windows are hung with a fine, silvery gauze.
"I have to restrict the amount of time I spend on the computer or watching television, and make sure I don't have too many household appliances on at once, because that sets me off as well."
This may sound bizarre, but there is no doubt that Sarah's symptoms are real.
To date, they include hair loss, sickness, high blood-pressure, digestive and memory problems, severe headaches and dizziness.
They strike with such ferocity that, since diagnosing herself as "electrically sensitive" in May 2005, she has been marooned at home.
And she can venture into built-up areas only if she is swathed in a net-and-hat ensemble made from a special "shielding fabric" that makes her look like a bee-keeper.
Move over Al Gore, there a new moonbat Messiah in town and you can't hold a candle to her.