More World-Beating Diplomacy

Only four and a half years into the arbitrary detention of a British national by Hindu fundamentalists, the National Johnson has condescended to interrupt his party games and take notice. After prompting by the UN, Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition and the victim's brother, Johnson even managed to comment without confirming the charges, which come under the ever-useful rubric of terrorism and could result in the death penalty. Johnson's laudable restraint was somewhat undercut by his admission that the matter had previously been left in the famously maladroit hands of his filly for wogs, Frogs and Huns, who doubtless proceeded with her usual hob-nailed subtlety when trilling at her Indian counterpart during a couple of visits to the former Imperial possession. It remains as yet unclear whether she followed her master's example by quoting Kipling at the unfortunate native, whose suffering may have been tempered by amusement at being lectured by such a paragon on the subject of legal proprietes and human rights.

Extinction Remuneration

For those fun-loving American citizens who are unwilling to take the risks involved in massacring ethnics or shooting schoolchildren, yet who retain a certain enthusiasm for pumping projectiles into live flesh, there is always the pleasure of the hunt. A group called Safari Club International, whose members can win prizes for increasing the danger to endangered species, has spent a million pounds propagandising to block a proposed law against importing hunting trophies into Britain. The National Johnson pledged to institute a ban on body parts of endangered species three years ago, though his eminently divertable determination may have been turned aside by squeals of moral indignation from native Huntin', Shootin' and Fishin' enthusiasts who argued that one must kill the species in order to preserve the species. Then again, given the seven-figure bung from a bunch of gun-toting foreigners, the legislation's failure to reach Parliament may simply be due to one of those benign fiscal coincidences so prevalent in Britain's world-beating democracy.

Flexible Response

Having already squabbled with the hotbeds of Communist subversion that are the CBI, the Church of England and the courts, Her Majesty's Government now seems on the verge of adding the best military services in the world to its ever-lengthening blacklist. The 2019 Conservative manifesto pledged an annual increase of half of one per cent above inflation for the war chest; but since the Chancellor has been content to sit back and let inflation leap joyously towards ten per cent, the National Johnson has once again been obliged to clarify the matter. On this occasion he did so by decreeing that annually did not mean year on year, but only the best out of five, and that ipso facto inflation must drop precipitately in the next two years or else risk the displeasure of the master race. Meanwhile the Minister for Wog-Bombing, evidently intoxicated by Press headlines crediting him with 0.5% more independence of mind than the mean Cabinet average, demanded a commitment of two and a half per cent of GDP by the beginning of the National Johnson's projected third term in office. An emollient Downing Street spokesbeing designated the year 2019 "a different age," which may be a bit of a shock to a party whose electoral base believes we're still living in the age of Winston Churchill and/or George IV. In any case, things have come to a pretty pass when the Conservative Party cannot even keep its promises to those who kill wogs for money.

Criminal Lawyers

Striking criminal law barristers have been demonstrating their commitment to an outmoded, dinosaurian concept of British justice: "We do this work because we are socially minded," self-incriminated one of them. As has been clear since the original assaults on legal aid by the Conservatives and their little yellow fags in the first Bullingdon Club administration, Her Majesty's Government envisages a smooth-running system whereby those who incur disapproval are arrested by a privatised police force and, should they survive the experience, are subsequently hustled through an efficient corporate trial, and thence into profitable incarceration by an enterprising human warehouse company. Such a system would run all the smoother, of course, if the police, the courts and the prisons were all managed by the same corporation; perhaps those efficient Serco people. By contrast, the enemy within is blatantly nostalgic for a return to the nineteen-seventies, whereby legal representation is available not only to hard-working families like the Maxwells and the Windors, but even to those guilty of that primal malfeasance which contains all genuine offences within itself: the crime of fiscal undeservingness.

World-Beating Diplomacy

Mere days after allegedly denouncing Her Majesty's Government's wog transportation policy, the Prince of Wales has once more demonstrated his imperfect understanding of British democracy. At a ribbon-snipping speech for the Commonwealth summit in Rwanda, the heir to the throne gave explicit permission for lesser breeds to depose the Queen, and then compounded the constitutional violation by implying that such treason might proceed, of all things, "calmly and without rancour." His remarks were all the more tactless in that Rwanda now has the honour of embodying British democracy's eternal bedrock of nationalist hysteria and racial hatred, and doubtless during their subsequent chin-wag the National Johnson and sometime Minister for Wogs, Frogs and Huns duly reminded His Royal Highness of the need for discretion and restraint when dealing with troublesome piccaninnies.

Self-Solving Migrants

Even among those rare asylum seekers whom the Ministry for Wog Disposal condescends to regard as non-bogus, it appears that British decency is taking rather a toll. Eighty-two swarming hordes officially deemed vulnerable have died since January 2020 while being accommodated at Her Majesty's wog warehouses. Whether in cases of torture victims neglected until they physically fall to bits, or cases of suicide abetted by the bureaucracy-light ministrations of those charming Serco people, the hostile environment works just as well on genuine refugees as on job-stealing economic migrants, welfare terrorists and Russian spies. With characteristic modesty, Her Majesty's Government has sought to deflate the figures, utilising its usual combination of semantic flexibility and veridical insouciance to rule that safeguarding has nothing to do with safeguards.

Trouble in Embryo

Given the healthy ideological overlap between climate deniers and coathanger fans, it appears that something of a moral dilemma may be incubating in South Korea. Legal representatives of sixty-one children under eleven, as well as a twenty-week foetus, are challenging the state for failing to curtail emissions sufficiently to guarantee future generations their basic constitutional rights. Although the idea of granting rights to children under seventy and outside a certain income bracket may be alien to all that the sclerotic World Cop by the grace of Baby Jesus stands for, the Christian insistence on prioritising the rights of potential human beings over those of the merely sentient may yet yield some amusing twists, especially when brought up against the human rights of corporations.

Cream of the Crap

One of the country's biggest dairy firms has received a slap on the wrist for its Johnsonian attitude to environmental law. Dairy Crest was fined some small change because it repeatedly contaminated the River Inny in Cornwall with liquid waste, suspended solids and biological sludge. Expectably enough given a water supply that mirrored the British establishment, local people suffered bad smells and headaches while fish were massacred by the hundreds; and expectably enough for Britain's world-beating environmental standards, the company pleaded guilty and paid the fine and continues to break the law.

But the Wise Took Oil

True to the spirit of humility, the Church of England leads its communicants from behind: having pledged to divest from companies not aligned with the pathetically faith-based Paris agreement, it continues to abstain from the worldly pride of climate-based puritanism. Presumably the weightiest theological reasons are involved, but even some of the Church's own dupes are beginning to show signs of impatience. With the support of their bishop, Christians in the diocese of Oxford have elected to ignore their Saviour's explicit promise that a new Heaven and a new Earth await them once the rest of us have been burned. Infants having their heads washed in the name of the divine génocidaire and His faithful offspring are to be ceremonially ordered to safeguard the integrity of creation, subject no doubt to the usual Christian safeguards of fiscal self-preservation and sectarian hatred.

We Almost Never Make Mistakes

Incredibly unusually, a police error has apparently killed someone without melanin being a factor. A man arrested for stealing sausage rolls was identified as a paedophile on his release papers, and was subsequently driven to suicide by the righteous demonstrations of his virtuous neighbours. Incredibly unusually, police visits to the home of the victim do not appear to have pacified the lynch mob. Cleveland police pleaded "genuine human error," presumably as opposed to the fraudulent human error deployed by the genuinely negligent. An investigation by the Independent Office for Police Conduct concluded that it was incredibly unusual.

Law and Ordure

Presumably in an effort to dispel any impression that laws are just for the little people, Her Majesty's Government has been directing that some laws should not be enforced, only for the levelling-up to be thwarted by vexatious legalistic elements. All pettifogging rules and regulations are due to be gloriously overturned in a scramble to purge the statute book of legislation tainted by Europeanism, and as a preliminary the Department for Effluent, Fracking and Rees-Mogg Agriculture ordered the Environment Agency not to enforce the rules against farmers polluting rivers with manure. Blatantly defying patriotic standards of hygiene, a campaign group threatened a judicial review, on the archaic grounds that governments are legally bound to enforce their own laws. Having shrugged off the challenge as without merit, Defra then changed its guidance, since few things are more persuasive to Her Majesty's Government than a meritless case.

British Crops from Boney Parts

Seven years after Great Britain led a coalition of lesser breeds to victory in the war against Napoleon and his beastly metric system, the London Observer noted the "singular fact that Great Britain should have sent out multitudes of soldiers to fight the battles of this country upon the continent of Europe, and should then import the bones as an article of commerce to fatten her soil." It is true that remains are surprisingly scarce on the battlefield, and archaeologists are now investigating whether the master race was really so efficient in recycling its plucky little smithereens. One expert on the Napoleonic wars, who argues that use of the bones as commercial fertiliser is plausible, noted that the investigating charity is also involved with modern expendables; so now that Wellington's heirs have cleansed British farming of its Euro-wog taint, there seems every possibility that history may suggest a fertile solution for the un-economical leftovers of British military prowess.

The Crime of the Congo

Politically correct historical revisionism continues to pollute the festering epicentre of the European Union. Unelected kings in Brussels are determined to deny the benefits of colonialism by handing back a gold tooth which was confiscated from the beastly Congolese populist Patrice Lumumba. A Belgian police commissioner stated that he dismembered Lumumba's body and dissolved it in acid, presumably in the interests of national security, after the conclusion of Lumumba's chastisement by allies of the free world. The commissioner's daughter subsequently enlivened a newspaper interview by brandishing a gold tooth, which the authorities repossessed and which will now be formally returned to Lumumba's family by unelected officials. In yet another demonstration that fiscal irresponsibility among the ghastly Euro-wogs remains just as rampant as moral delinquency, not a single question has been raised in the Belgian parliament about the effect on the continent's bullion reserves.

Unwavering Consistency

Courting privatisation as ever, the National Audit Office reports that the Johnson régime is neither meeting its own feeble targets on cutting air pollution nor sufficiently informing the public as to how they can best exercise their entrepreneurial pluck and gumption towards doing the Government's job. Clean air zones have been found contrary to the will of the people, and information campaigns have somehow failed to materialise in the face of such urgent national issues as the return of Imperial weights and measures and the transportation of refugees. Nevertheless, those patriots who proudly recall the breathless good cheer with which the National Johnson liberated London's lungs from the Euro-wog yoke will greet with all due gladness the news of his continuing adherence to the Bullingdon Club policy on green crap. As with every other stage in his career, the lesson learned from the National Johnson's law-breaking, child-killing stint as mayor of London was that he could get away with it.

Divine Mercy

Traditional Christian values are running rampant on Cyprus, where the trial of a Briton who killed his terminally ill wife of fifty years has been postponed until the autumn. Having conducted interrogations, without an interpreter or legal representation, shortly after the suspect's stomach was pumped following an overdose, the authorities have indicted him for premeditated murder. The defendant has apparently been fortunate enough thus far to escape the aid of the British Foreign Office in exacerbating the charge against him, and his legal team have argued that the lesser charge of assisting a suicide should be brought instead. The head of a British legal aid group observed that "it is difficult to see any public interest in prosecuting him for murder" - except, of course, the interest served by appeasing those who believe that leukaemia was deliberately conjured into being in order to facilitate the sufferers' moral improvement.

Policy in Exchange

It certainly is fortunate that corruption is as un-British a phenomenon as law-breaking, institutional racism and hypocrisy, otherwise this sort of thing might be cause for some concern. Policy Exchange, a think-tank which recommended branding as extremists those who dislike the idea of corporations committing deliberate genocide for a percentage, received a five-figure bung from ExxonMobil, whose ecological credentials have been fairly well known since 1989 and its little indiscretion at Prince William Sound. Policy Exchange's recommendations were incorporated into the Johnson régime's Prison for the Plebs Act, as the law-abiding Minister for Wog Disposal denounced Extinction Rebellion in her accumstomed sane and sensible terms. Though profoundly unsurprising in the circumstances, ExxonMobil's donation was of course unconnected with the report, which was compiled entirely in a spirit of disinterested pragmatism.

Pious Noises

On the fifth anniversary of the Grenfell disaster, the Church of England did what it does best and played host to an empty gesture. Tumbledown Tessie, whose substantial contribution to the nation's present plight has not provoked the Lords Spiritual to impose any noticeable penance, joined the leader of the cost-cutting local authority, the jabbering homunculus in charge of vapid sloganeering, and the appointed wielder of the whitewash brush to hear the names of the expendables read out at Westminster Abbey. Half a decade of assiduous concern on the part of Her Majesty's Government for the well-being of landlords and profiteers was not lost upon the families of the dead, whose legal representative assured the assembled crooks, parasites, fools and ghouls that, since nothing was likely to be done beyond protecting the guilty, they probably wouldn't have to sit through the whole tedious business again in a year's time. It is to be hoped, at least, that the presence of the bereaved served to mute and moderate the worst of the sniggering.

Still Not Getting It

Once more the sunlit uplands of Global Britain are shadowed by the pentacolumnar pessimism of treasonous trade fanatics. Despite all evidence to the contrary, the hotbed of woke remainerdom which is the Confabulation of Business Interests wantonly persists in regarding the master race's dealings with the beastly Euro-wogs as some sort of grubby commercial concern, rather than affirming the battle's true status as transcendental crusade for convenient party management and patriotic pretext for the empurplement of the National Johnson. The conspiracy's director general went so far as to imply that negotiation may occasionally get better results than grandstanding: a depressing indication of just how far the CBI has descended into the grey quasi-Soviet swamp of doctrinaire pragmatism.

In My Father's House Are Many Plantations

In an increasingly fragmented and divided world, it's encouraging to see a new unity emerging in Christian values. Originally set up with the Biblically-sanctioned purpose of protecting the institution of slavery, the USA's Southern Baptist Convention has been the subject of an independent investigation which found that almost four hundred leaders and volunteers have been publicly accused of sexual abuse, and that the abusers have been afforded a degree of protection eminently worthy of Mussolini's toy city-state for eunuchs and paedophiles. Despite the usual thoughts and prayers, at least one senior member remains "terrified" at the prospect of churches being obliged to "do this or do that to protect children or women." Fortunately, this ecumenical stance on sexual propriety is unlikely to erode the Convention's own individuality, as it has preserved its original mission to the extent of throwing the Deity's weight behind the Trumpster and his hydrophobic head-tribble, causing several pastors from the race of Ham to finally take the hint.

There Are Limits

Britain's filly for Wogs, Frogs and Huns has been telling the Ukrainians what's what in the case of two Britons who were captured and sentenced to execution for fighting against Russian forces. The men's non-ministerial status means that the provisions of international law apply, as they self-evidently do not apply to Her Majesty's Government; so one of the men's MPs, Robert Jenrick, did some huffing and puffing about egregious breaches of international law and the obligations of the lesser breeds. How severely the Kremlin's moral foundations have been shaken by the fulminations of the former Minister for Richard Desmond remains as yet unclear. On the bright side, those who recall the National Johnson's own efforts on behalf of Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe, whereby he casually confirmed the charges against her and presented the mad mullahs with a gift-wrapped pretext for lengthening her prison sentence, will no doubt be reassured that not even British assistance can do much to help the beastly Russians and their allies toughen up the death penalty.

They Hate Our Control

With typical bureaucratic duplicity, the ghastly Council of Euro-wogs has expressed regret and concern over the National Johnson's world-beating wheeze for winning the Troubles. Instead of those inconvenient Good Friday agreements, there is to be a legacy and reconciliation thingy with immunity from prosecution for anyone who co-operates with a Commission for Reconciliation and Information Retrieval, which will presumably be just about as independent as any commission ever has been when set up by Her Majesty's Government on the subject of Northern Ireland or the Troubles. Naturally, since Northern Ireland is not a colony in the least, but a constituent country of the United Kingdom with all the rights and privileges accruing thereunto, the idea of consulting victims or local political parties, let alone the breakaway government of the Fenian Republic, never occurred to anyone; although the master race did condescend to revise its initial plan involving unconditional amnesty for the nice people. Doubtless the complaints of the beastly Euro-wogs merely express the bitterness of the Strasbrussels dictatorship at the unconditional surrender that will be the enemy's only choice once Her Majesty's Government legislates away the infamously oven-ready Northern Ireland protocol.

Sparking Dissent

Even in the United States, it would be unfair to think of school massacres merely as a reason to double down on thoughts, prayers and the God-given right to sell automatic weapons to teenagers. Axon, the artists formerly known as Taser, announced plans last week for a remote-control drone, potentialised for electrificational restrainment activity, that could hover around classrooms and disable troublemakers less than a minute after the shooting started. Besides their profit potential for Axon, such devices would indubitably motivate the gun market to ensure that troubled teenagers were equipped with ever more rapid rates of fire, after the best dynamic traditions of competitive capitalism. However, the project has now been put on hold after Axon's entire internal ethics board walked out. They had objected to a preliminary proposal to sell the drone to police departments, and for some reason failed to see the advantage in expanding the sales campaign to the juvenile training and socialisaion industry. Oozing injured feelings (he had co-written a graphic novel), the company's chief executive hastily denied that anything of the sort was being considered, at least for a year or two.

Take a Large Hoe and a Shovel Also

When it comes to mental health in Britain, it's very much OK not to be OK, especially if you happen to be a refugee awaiting transportation. At least one wog warehouse has become infected with what the sainted Thatcher memorably denounced as moaning minnies who whinge and whine. Beneficiaries of the kind of interrogation techniques which British Intelligence doesn't mind observing have been given notice that they will be transported to Rwanda; and from long experience of being good with coloureds Her Majesty's Government has anticipated the consequent ingratitude. Like the more expendable classes among the master race, the lesser breeds have been issued with halpful advice on the more inexpensive methods for feeling better; but it remains as yet unclear how many upper lips will be stiffened as a result.

Unworthy Tribute

Among the casualties of the London Bridge ram-and-stab attack five years ago was a Spanish immigrant who was fatally injured while using his skateboard to protect others. With superb British hypocrisy, he was posthumously decorated by the government which, had he survived, would have denounced him as a swarming health tourist and which, months before his death, was seriously considering naming and shaming his employer for employing him. Now the church of Bojaxhiu, Pacelli and Ratzinger is considering him for canonisation, presumably in hopes that some of the glamour will rub off. It's to be hoped that the skate parks and plazas which bear his name will help counter the unfortunate association.

Inky Blots and Rotten Parchment

Rah rah! we have rescued Big Dog
And cut through the Partygate fog!
At last we have time
To focus on crime
And kicking of cripple and wog!

Rah rah! let's get back to our goals
Abetting superior souls
Whose plucky endurance
Requires the assurance
That keeping the law is for proles!

Rah rah for the sixty per cent
Whose votes were so properly spent!
That principled crew,
So loyal, so true,
Courageous, and not at all bent!

Sir Winston de Pfeffel Shakespeare

Another Brexit Plus

Like the notoriously international sun providing cover for a sneak attack by the Bloody Red Baron, it appears that the bright light of freedom has blinded airline operators to the world-beating benefits of independence from the beastly Euro-wogs. Liberation from Stakhanovite suffocation by the Nazi-Soviet Strasbrussels bureaucracy has brought a radical increase in workforce flexibility; yet instead of rejoicing in its freedom to replace human reources summarily sacked during the pandemic, the industry rushes to the Government for a handout. Union representatives even took it upon themselves to inform the Minister for Flapping and Squawking that a reduction in the quantity of something tends to result in less of that something being disposed to show up for work; which seems to have met with the reception generally accorded such disruptive and unpatriotic interventions.

Britannia Uncorseted

Attempts to bring the legal system in line with the moral superiority of the master race have elicited the usual unpatriotic grumbles, though naturally not from Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition. The Ministry of Britishness proposes to remove criminal liability from those who break the law in a righteous cause, especially where those killed, injured or tortured are careless enough to have their origins among the lesser breeds. Although the right-wing self-publicist, intellectual firebucket and sometime minister without paperwork David Davis has made some discontented noises, the official heirs of Blair seem so far to be holding their peace; and this despite the possibility that the new license to kill might tarnish the UK's mild reproaches next time someone dies at the petroleum-perfumed hands of our head-chopping chums in the House of Saud.

Worthy Partners

As Her Britannic Majesty's Ministry for Wog Disposal gears up for the first transportation flights to Rwanda, an American government organisation has compiled a heartening report into the prevalence of British values among the Government's little brown chums. Patriots will be jubilant at the entrepreneurial zeal of our new wog warehouse custodians in extending the hostile environment for migrants so far beyond their own borders. Indeed, such is the efficiency of Rwanda's government that its threatening and harassing of exiles in the USA has extended to kidnapping, wrongful imprisonment and possible assassination, thereby attaining levels comparable with the achievements of Iran, Russia, Egypt and the Heathen Chinee. The presence of the Metropolitan Police upon this roll of honour was doubtless precluded only by the great British tradition of racism by consent.

Seventy Glorious Years

Let every patriot from pleb to peer
Turn out to give Her Majesty a cheer!
Steadfast at duty in the nation's name,
Despite the paltry billions she can claim,
Among the nation's workers she's the best
At breeding corgis and the odd sex-pest.

Let's jubilate and make the bunting sway,
And fly the flag on this Bank Holiday!
Let Britishness blare forth its jolly side
Because a moneyed bag has not yet died:
Three thousand, forty and six hundred weeks
Of grinning, waving, and emitting squeaks.

Numpty Platt

Water Sports

Barely six months after the event, Her Majesty's Government has condescended to launch an investigation into the saving of twenty-seven British jobs in the Channel. Although the stakes are considerably lower - the future of the National Johnson set against the fate of a bunch of migrants - Grant Shapps has faithfully imitated his master by using a current inquiry as the excuse for postponing a future one. Even so, the present internal investigation possesses such effectiveness and scope that its inadequacies are apparent even to the grinning wideboy at the Ministry for Motoring. Authorities on both sides of the Channel are being sued for manslaughter, and Shapps no doubt calculates that an "independent" inquiry in the British tradition will be a convenient opportunity to splash a bit of the blame onto lefty lawyers, Channel Four, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution and so forth.