We've All Done It

At a time when many revered British traditions are being eroded by the forces of woke remoaner treason, patriots will rejoice to learn that the fine old sport of Paki-bashing is alive and well in the House of Donors. Baron Ranger of Mayfair, whose Hindu background was doubtless a considerable help in negotiating the British caste system, bought himself a peerage some time ago and has since spent a healthy amount of time and energy fostering what passes for goodwill in the Conservative Party, by verbally abusing younger women and racially insulting Pakistanis. "We are a very hard working community, we are not in prison as much as the Pakistani community, we do not do grooming of young girls, we do not do drug pedalling," Ranger burbled on India Today, in the course of defending the authoritarian god-botherer Narendra Modi against an unflattering depiction in a BBC documentary. Indian viewers will be spared the film's outrages, as Modi's government has considerately censored it; but his Lordship, evidently feeling that a further calming influence was required, dashed off a screed to the BBC asking whether the documentary was the work of a Pakistani conspiracy. When the complaints began to pile up and the Party enforcers were getting ready to thank him for being brought to their attention, Ranger drew himself up and, in the courageously principled spirit of the National Johnson, caved in. He issued a proclamation withdrawing his comments completely; it seems his words were merely an overreaction to his not seeing the British Pakistani community in the way his words implied. In the heat of the moment, with emotions running high, it is of course all too easy to state repeatedly, in speech and in writing, the diametric opposite of one's own true beliefs.

Suffer the Little Blastocysts to Come Unto Me

Those whose idea of moral responsibility is to trust in Providence can hardly be expected to be paragons of planning. A mentally disabled fourteen-year-old in a Catholic country was impregnated by her uncle, who was presumably aware of the Vatican's powers of forgiveness in such cases. An aunt tried to help her obtain an abortion, but the treatment was refused at several hospitals where medical staff evidently believed that a merciful Deity had already ensouled the foetus. Eventually a women's rights group had to step in and arrange an abortion in Warsaw; and the Polish minister of health has declared himself appalled that legislation designed to remove women's rights has resulted in the removal of women's rights.

Built on Sand

Two hypocrites and a eunuch are planning to enrich the Republic of South Sudan with their presence, amid signs that the local Christians are unlikely to welcome a bout of finger-wagging from their white and wealthy brothers: their elder brothers, in Dr Schweitzer's enlightening phrase. The head of the Anglican church in South Sudan has already been tactless enough to point out the lack of Biblical authority for tolerating homosexuality, even to the paltry extent now causing joy to gush forth from the Archbishop of Canterbury. Both Anglican and Roman churches are suffering decades of dupe-drain in Europe and the USA while retaining large memberships in Africa; so any prospect of schism would pose a serious moral and spiritual dilemma, given that African worshippers tend to have considerably less ready cash at their disposal.

Is Plucky Little England the Next Formosa?

A spectre is haunting Global Britain - the spectre of international property investment. With a cunning so subtle as to rouse the suspicions of Iain Duncan Smith, the Heathen Chinee are purchasing parts of our island home, under the convoluted yet transparent pretext that the said parts happened to be for sale. As chair of the Inter-Parliamentary Alliance against the Yellow Peril, Duncan Nayland Smith has discovered that the Heathen Chinee have not only been purchasing things that sound important to him, but have disguised their sinister plans with the use of offshore companies. It is of course inconceivable to the patriotic mind how anyone could indulge in such sinister and sneaky Chinanegans unless they had in mind some inscrutably insidious ulterior motive.

Colour Me Surprised

With the notorious want of tact which characteristically distinguishes the uncouth foreign from the more refined sensibilities of a Boris Johnson, a Suella Braverman or an Eric Pickles, a team of spies for the United Nations has chosen the week in which the Ministry for Wog Control dumped various recommended post-Windrush safeguards to criticise the Government's thirteen-year assault on black Britons. While disproportionately affected by investment in the welfare state for the rich, people of African descent also suffer from systematic disadvantage in policing, housing, healthcare, education and, of course, from such pragmatic British decencies as the principle of guilt by association and the de facto criminalisatoin of rap music. Even the timely squeals of an expenses claimant about the forthcoming Who Won the Holocaust Anyway memorial do not appear to have swayed the UN assets from their demoralising purpose; and naturally they refrained from taking into account what black Britons can achieve provided they are as brilliant as James Cleverly, as public-spirited as Shaun Bailey or as honest as Kemi Badenoch.

Oppressed and Afflicted

Repentance and atonement are to priests what laws and taxes are to politicians; which is to say, strictly for the little people. With its failure to protect the young from abuse and its protection of itself at the cost of the victims embarrassingly exposed, the Church of England has learned the expectable moral lesson: an official document by its national director of safeguarding accuses the Church's victims of abuse and bullying. It is no doubt un-Christian in a survivor of priestly fun and games to deny forgiveness to the institution that facilitated the frolics; and it remains as yet unclear whether staff on the receiving end of the allaged bullying will be inclined to follow the precepts of the Sermon on the Mount and hand over cloak as well as coat to the litigious enemy. Certainly the heavenly indifference recommended by the Saviour is conspicuous by its absence in the ongoing and interminable debate over how far non-heterosexuals shall continue in their status as second-class Anglicans. The gays have not pledged themselves to celibacy and self-loathing unto death, and the gay-baiters have not offered up their churches as homosexual dating clubs; although doubtless each side's prayers for the other's redemption will be just as effectual as ever.

Matt Deserves More

I am sure we all condemn in the strongest terms the illegal and ineffective alleged assault on Matt Hancock. The well-known crook, hypocrite, profiteer and sniggering incompetent is not thought to have been hurt, which is only one of the incident's many regrettable aspects. Although there are at least a hundred and seventy thousand legitimate and understandable reasons for assaulting Matt Hancock, no reasonable person with any kind of moral compass would consider an assault which is merely alleged, and which takes place on public transport rather than in a cellar full of handy household implements, to be a workable solution. We trust that the British Transport Police and the enemies of the people will clear the matter up with appropriate promptitude, and we must hope that lessons will have been learned when the time comes for Matt Hancock to be assaulted again.

Runaway Migration

Four hundred and forty insidiously small asylum seekers have gone missing from hotels which the Home Office has requisitioned as wog warehousing until the enemies of the people become more co-operative about transportation to Central Africa. According to a whistleblower, who can presumably expect the Assange treatment should Britain's leading liberal newspaper suffer any undue inconvenience, some of the children were snatched off the street and hustled into cars. Forty-five per cent of the missing are still missing, and it has apparently begun to dawn on one or two expenses claimants that hoteliers have votes. On the other hand, child trafficking is a business too; hence, when asked why the buck doesn't seem to stop anywhere as regards the supervision of juvenile invaders the Minister for Richard Desmond and Wog Control prudently pledged to have a bit of a think about it all, and suggested that any further questions might best be addressed to some people who were not him.

True Humility

As anyone properly schooled in the ways of Britishness will be aware, a rah-rah without a bit of sanctimonious hypocrisy is hardly a rah-rah at all. A national leadership which treats Remembrance Sunday as a jingo jamboree can hardly be expected to let the Ruritanian idiocy of a Coronation proceed unleavened by nagging and finger-wagging. Accordingly, the Palace has made a suggestion as to how the plebs might best celebrate the ceremonial plonking of some stolen jewellery on the head of a superannuated tax-dodger; and naturally, the suggestion is that everyone should go out and spend the bank holiday working for nothing. Of course, the idea that bank holidays should be an occasion for leisure is merely the flipside of the extremist doctrine that workers should be properly treated and the rich properly taxed. Even so, the aristocratic delicacy of the Palace's proclamation is worthy of His Majesty's late father; not least because it went on to remind the serfs that the Coronation would be a time for "solemn religious service," rather than anything having to do with the nation as a whole.

Old Pretender

Our Boris is over the water,
Our Johnson's spaffed over the sea;
O Euro-wog, lock up your daughter
And give him no credit for free.

Whenever he got into trouble
He'd bugger off back to Ukraine,
And posture away in the rubble;
And now he has done it again.

He vanquished the woke and remainer;
A great British statesman was he.
In literal truth, a no-brainer
His re-coronation would be.

Perhaps the pandemic infection
Killed Britons in excess amounts;
But Boris can win an election,
And that is what jolly well counts.

Our Boris lies over the water,
Our Johnson lies limp over sea;
And though we're no Putin supporter
That's not where his lies ought to be.

Algy Notts CBE

More Brexit Benefits

Having voted enthusiastically for British independence from the beastly Euro-wogs, residents of Kent are experiencing a degree of mug's remorse. In the first flush of rah-rah at being liberated from the Nazi-Soviet yoke of Strasbrussels, a processing complex was erected to enforce the new deregulated régime and throw back any imports from Europe that were insufficiently debased. However, the Government's gradual retreat from its initial ambitions of North Korean autarky supported by British Virgin Islands standards of fiscal probity has meant that the 230-acre complex is now serving as a quarantine centre for Ukrainian pets and lacks even the patriotic dignity of a Home Office child depository for the convenience of local business. Indignant locals have gone so far as to label it a white elephant and to complain of wasted money; which may be a little hasty, since it remains as yet unclear to what extent the funds for its construction and maintenance have benefited contractors linked to the Conservative Party.

Fair is Fair

There are few greater pleasures than receiving news of old enemies, so it is satisfying to observe that the Trumpster and his rabid orange head-tribble have been fined the price of a few days' rations of Diet Coke™ for bringing a frivolous and vexatious lawsuit against Hillary Clinton. Noting that the accusations were intended essentially as a political stunt in the service of the tiny-handed one's personal Dolchstoßlegende, the judge sanctioned the Trumpster and his lawyer to the catchy little tune of nine hundred and thirty-seven thousand, nine hundred and eighty-nine dollars and thirty-nine cents. It seems entirely possible that this crime against rounding-up has itself been perpetrated for the purposes of political malice, since the enemy-of-the-people in question was appointed by Clinton's husband. Indeed, the head-tribble had emanated orders for the Trumpster to drop the lawsuit on those very grounds, but their lawyer advised them to persist, and she has therefore been informed that the Trumpster considers her liable for the full amount.

Levelling Up the Playing Field

It's well known by now that laws are for the little people, while the magnificent British sense of fair play continues to balance the scales by ensuring that the penalties of the law are applied except when they aren't. Fishy Rishi, who showed his mettle as the National Johnson's houseboy by breaking his government's own pandemic restrictions, has further demonstrated his concern for public safety by having himself filmed in a moving car with no seat-belt. A police escort was present at the time, but it appears that no arrests were made, and Fishy Rishi is doubtless justified in his belief that extruding a spokesbeing to wheedle about a "brief error of judgement" constitutes an acceptable substitute for paying the fine in mere money.

Update Lancashire constabulary have now fined Fishy Rishi, thereby marking him as something of a recidivist when it comes to breaking his own government's laws. Fortunately, the chair of his party is himself a penalty-notice veteran of some considerable standing, so the Sunak agenda for integrity, professionalism and accountability remains just as convincing as ever.

A Spender, Not a Payer

It appears that Nadhim Zahawi, the horse-warming party chair and former stopgap chancellor, may have taken premature advantage of the low-tax, deregulated paradise which awaits us on the sunlit uplands. The Murdoch Scumbag on Sunday proclaimed that Zahawi paid a few million in back taxes after HMRC had a rare attack of zeal and raised, as they say, questions. While there is no reason at all for the Murdoch press to call a man a crook just because he happens to be one, Zahawi has not denied the report and, with exemplary Conservative moral courage, chose to absent himself from the House of Claimants today while Fishy Rishi dodged questions on his behalf. Since it remains as yet unclear whether Zahawi paid up before or after having his collar felt, or whether any formal investigation took place, or whether penalties were imposed, the state of his tax affairs is good enough for all the right sort of people.

Soft on Crime

Though quick enough to recognise the moral imperatives of arming plucky little Ukraine or removing the right of workers to withdraw their labour, on the matter of pandering to the Metropolitan Violence and Silence Club matters are a little less clear-cut. As a brown female in a viciously sexist and racist working environment, the Home Secretary must perforce be stupider and nastier than her colleagues even were that not her natural inclination. Faced with the remarkable career of David Carrick and the Met's crypto-Westminsteroid culture of promotion by unsuitability, the Minister for Wog Control and Forcible Enforcement stated that "bureaucracy and process appear to have prevailed over ethics and common sense." As usual, the problem is that there are too many rules. Fortunately, another serving police officer was recently considerate enough to kidnap, rape and murder someone, thereby precipitating an inquiry onto which the Carrick affair can be shunted without excessive inconvenience. Additionally, there will be another review of dismissal processes, on the off-chance that previous reviews of those same dismissal processes may have missed something that might serve as an excuse for continuing not to improve them. On the positive side, the Minister does seem to have got through an entire Commons session without blaming immigrants or their legal representatives; although it remains as yet unclear whether she did so deliberately.

Let Us Reason Together

Since the Conservative Party prefers to inflict pain and trauma on an income-related basis, a failed candidate for the leadership has written to her local bishop urging him to support equality of marriage rights within the Church of England. Although the Church has already defied the Bible's teaching by collaborating at the abolition of slavery and permitting the wearing of tattoos and mixed fabrics, it remains all of a tizzy about people having the wrong sort of sex; by contrast, the former party of Section 28 and Hang Mandela will happily sell its tolerance to any minority with appropriate means of payment. With an access of moral and intellectual honesty worthy of Lambeth Palace, the leader of the House of Commons dispatched her episcopal epistle the day before her patron made clear his own opposition to making life any easier for trans people.

Crabby Old Experts

Government investigations into a recent ecological disaster are being kept to an appropriately rigorous degree of optimism, thanks to the exclusion of mere scientists and their inconvenient pedantry over fripperies such as facts. A massive die-off among crustaceans along the north-east coast of England was found to be the result of a natural process, and the Department for Environmental Fouling, Racketeering and Abuse found no evidence of human activity being responsible. Scientists and other trouble-makers blamed dredging in the River Tees, whereupon ministers closed their eyes tight, stuck their fingers in their ears, belched the National Anthem at full volume, and declared that they could find no evidence. Coincidentally, if the dredging is found to be a factor the Government's plans for a post-Brexit boondoggle in the area might suffer complications, thereby clouding the limpid simplicity of life on the sunlit uplands.

Proper Charlies

Relations between the expenses claimants at Westminster and the parasites at Buckingham Palace continue to display encouragingly consistent levels of democratic accountability. Before passing its world-beating greenwashing bill, the Government wrote to the then Prince of Wales begging his royal permission, in case any of the new conservation measures should encroach upon his profits. As it turned out, although the measures were pitiful enough to secure assent from both the royal heir and the back-bench baboons, once the bill passed the Government missed its own deadline for setting targets and then set targets that wouldn't work. It is difficult to imagine any of the lesser breeds, let alone the beastly Euro-wogs, attaining such paroxysms of Britishness.

Such Magnanimity

Rumours are abroad that Fishy Rishi may attempt to appease the beastly Euro-wogs by discarding what Britain's leading liberal newspaper calls, with perhaps excessive diplomacy, a brainchild of Liz Truss. During her stint as Minister for Wogs, Frogs and Huns, Truss extruded a bill which would formalise the right of the British Government to break treaty obligations whenever the relevant minister felt like it. Such a meta-law would certainly provide additional flexibility in bowing and kow-towing to the whims of the Conservative Party's back-bench baboons; but despite the efforts of Minister for Misnomer James Cleverly, the beastly Euro-wogs have pedantically persisted in their vexatious legalism. Whether they will be sufficiently mollified by the master race condescending to keep its own word now and then remains as yet unclear.

Moral Health

The ministerial expenses claimant in charge of running down the National Health Service has decided to offer personnel a slightly smaller real-terms wage cut than hitherto planned, according to various anonymoids. However, since comparatively few NHS personnel are Conservative Party donors, the chances of a raid on the magic money tree are remote. Instead, since better uses have evidently been found for the £350 million a week saved by leaving the EU, and since collecting taxes is against the national religion, the Government will fund its new offer by cutting the budget for services to patients. Thus the ungrateful health industry customers who supported money-grabbing strikers over hard-working ministers will soon find themselves fitly punished.

Doing Well By Doing Good

Whitehall's favourite Islamic fundamentalists have been flying the flag for British business. According to Oxfam, over the thirteen months to last February the head-chopping House of Saud bagged eighty-seven civilians and wounded a hundred and thirty-six more using weapons supplied by the Atlantic special relationship. Thirteen airstrikes on hospitals and clinics were heroically carried out by the Saudi royal air force using British and American jets, thereby relegating any civilian casualties to the status of human shields; this cleansing and chivalrous practice remains suspended, apparently because of pressure from the Corbynite in the White House. Naturally enough in the circumstances, the Department for International Trade considers its duty done.

Cleanliness is for Little People

Mere weeks after his jabbering homunculus sanctioned the opening of a new coal mine, Fishy Rishi has further burnished Britain's environmental rectitude by travelling two hundred miles on a private jet. The idea was to publicise a pledge to fund extra care home beds to the tune of £200 million, although it remains as yet unclear how many beds the Party donor who eventually gets the contract will consider themselves morally obliged to supply. Instead of a healthy rah-and-blah, Fishy Rishi's choice of transport has brought loud and righteous censure from opposition parties and from Labour, who all seem to think the railway a safe place to play for an organism barly worldly enough to navigate a contactless card payment. Surprisingly enough considering the gratuitous use of an RAF jet which might be better occupied fending off the Russian Bear or protecting plucky little Formosa from the Heathen Chinee, none of the Conservative Party's more forthright inmates has yet registered their indignation.

Quadragesimo Anno

By one of those blessed coincidences which serve to assure the faithful that the hand of God is afoot, the Vatican has decided to re-mark its own homework in the case of a vanished teenage girl, mere days before the personal secretary of the sixteenth Daddy Goodspeak publishes a memoir in which he claims to address the very same case. The victim, whose father was a papal employee, disappeared in 1983, a few weeks after the disappearance of another girl of about the same age, prompting expectable quantities of unholy speculation. In a recent documentary, a friend of one of the girls said that she had been molested by "someone close to the pope" - at that time John Paul II, whose penchant for bestowing upon child abusers both Christian forgiveness and the chance to sin again apparently makes the claim a "startling" one for the laser-eyed liberal press.

Launchy McLaunchface

Even before it leaves the ground, unpatriotic and backsliding persons are seeking to label Global Britain's first orbital rocket launch a European enterprise. In fact the Virgin Orbit mission, which bears the magnificently sub-Blairite title Start Me Up, is so British that its first-stage flight vehicle will be American, and thus named Cosmic Girl. Since Virgin Orbit is based in Long Beach, California with a former Boeing executive at its head, the nascent Cornwall space industry certainly looks at least as British as the independent nuclear deterrent. Accordingly the spacecraft itself, being Virgin Orbit's first launcher, has been imaginatively christened Launcher One, with the customary champagne ceremony presumably improved with a flask of watery tea.

For Children of All Ages

It is heartening to observe the Second Amendment continuing to extend its blessings through ever more enthusiastic sections of American society. In a natural progression from the selling of automatic weapons to raging hormones, the Christian state of Virginia has contrived not only to get a firearm into the hands of a six-year-old, but to get the armed infant into an elementary school where he contributed a uniquely American addition to the varieties of classroom disruptiveness. Patriotic citizens will no doubt rejoice to see tools of freedom in the hands of people who are six-year-olds in the physical as well as the libertarian sense of the term.

Toxicity, But Not As We Know It

As a major maritime nation whose seafaring entrepreneurialism stretches back at least as far as the Atlantic slave trade, it is only natural that Global Britain should cower in bladder-trembling fright at the prospect of refugees in small boats. Hence, thanks to the present Minister for Wog Control and her scrupulous attitude to national security, some non-refugees who were indiscreet enough to arrive on a slightly bigger boat are to lose some of the token compensations they were promised after neither Tin-Pot Tessie nor Race-baiter Pursuivant Rudd suffered more than a passing inconvenience over their part in the Windrush persecutions. In addition to the routine delays and denials of payment, the Ministry for Wog Control has "discontinued" its doubtless sincere commitments to strengthening the defence of the swarming locusts' interests and to the independent inspection of borders, and has also decided not to stir itself towards any show of interest in reconciling true Britishness with the beastly lazy job-stealing darkie hordes. An anonymous Ministry source said that the Windrush affair was felt to be "a bit toxic;" though evidently not in the sense meant by citizens of nowhere and enemies of the people, whose concern over the swoons of the Britain First and Farage Falange community remains notoriously lax.

Small Strivers

If there's anything to be relied on in British life, it is consistency. One need only compare the country's present position with the glories of 2010 to see how stable and predictable are the likely prospects for those infantine resources now entering into their heritage as customers of the youth training industry. Accordingly, the Government will soon be doling out careers advice to five-year-olds, introducing them to employers and thereby ensuring, from an early and impressionable age, an appropriate degree of resignation to whatever peril and pittance their benefactors may see fit to impose. It remains as yet unclear whether the Government intends to match its other achievements in Regency living standards by reducing or abolishing arbitrary Euro-wog prohibitions on child labour; certainly, while not every child can aspire to domestic service with the Duke of York, new opportunities beckon in such green industries as coal mining, chimney sweeping, agricultural labour and sewage processing.

Deus Caritas Est

Joseph has gone to his reward,
Stands as a child before his Lord,
Who has, we trust, prepared a feast
Of rampant paedophilic priest.

A mighty regiment in black,
Crusading knights primed for attack,
Each lusting ever for the chance
For God and Church to wield his lance.

In loving kindness draw they nigh
With lowered heads and cassocks high,
To probe, with glad and humble hearts,
The depths of Joseph's holy parts.

Penny Tenser

Our Eternal Virtues

Half a dozen years after the Windrush scandal, with victims still uncompensated, the perpetrators still unpunished and the hostile environment still very much in force, plans are afoot for a grateful nation to clap itself on the back yet again over its traditions of acceptance and tolerance. Similarly, with the National Health Service well into the terminal phase of the three-decade war waged upon it by the neoliberals and their far-right allies, there is already talk of "75 years of pride" in those whom the country refuses to pay, equip or keep safe. With the Coronation set to make this year a record-setter in Ruritanian rah-rah, it is only fitting that the celebrations should extend to such equally inalienable aspects of Britishness as blithering self-righteousness and rank hypocrisy.

Cosmic Peril

Such is the sinister cunning of the Heathen Chinee that they may not even scruple at militarising space or stealing the Great American Moon. A fundraising effort to that effect has been delivered by the administrator of the US space programme, who warned that the Heathen Chinee might discover resources and claim them for their own, rather than merely planting flags and taking giant leaps for all mankind. Besides appropriating for their own twisted purposes John F Kennedy's goal of putting people on the moon within the decade, the Heathen Chinee have behaved in a most un-American manner with regard to the South China Sea, establishing military bases with hardly even a hint of the democratising and peacekeeping intent shown by the World Cop from Cuba to Cambodia. Should so enigmatic and treacherous a culture be permitted to spread from the Spratly Islands into space, the consequences might indeed be disastrous.

A New Start

Another new year - what a pain,
This long chronological chain!
Leave one year behind -
Good riddance - to find
The whole thing just starting again.

Another new year - such a bore,
On top of millennia more -
Which, as it occurs,
May yet turn out worse
Than those which went plodding before.

Samuel Grimsnipe