They're Coming For Your Statues

As every schoolchild worthy of their Britishness knows, this December will mark the centenary of the treaty whereby Winston Boris de Pfeffel Churchill, with a wave of his hand and some help from the Black and Tans, ensured that the Orangemen of Ulster could in perpetuity keep the British monarch's head on their stamps. Naturally this arrangement involved certain sacrifices, not least of which was the creation of the Irish Free State and subsequently the beastly Nazi-neutral Euro-wog Republic. The perils of such plucky but misplaced diplomacy have been graphically illustrated in a malevolent diatribe by the ungrateful colony's president. His role is largely ceremonial, much like the role of Parliament in relation to Rupert Murdoch; but he is nevertheless a leftist, a poet and a former lecturer in sociology and therefore the exact antithesis of any mainstream British politician. Even more dangerously, he appears capable of communicating in sentences rather than rah-rah, and has gratuitously urged his cult followers not to engage in nationalistic stereotyping, thereby placing a nuclear nail-bomb beneath the royal coach of British politics.