Sic Semper Tyrannis

Law-abiding citizens of the Christian state of Virginia will be reassured that the subversive activities of certain felonious elements have been contained in an appropriate spirit of penitential correctionalism. Inmates of a high-security state prison have been burning themselves in protest at the conditions; but although electrical outlets have undergone malicious tampering, the interference with the corrective process did not extend to self-immolation, which is certainly a comfort. Better yet, although prison abolitionists and opponents of law and order claimed there have been twelve such incidents, the department of corrections has acknowledged only six, thereby halving the problem at a stroke. The incarcerated journalist reporting on the protest has apparently been placed in solitary confinement, where doubtless he is thanking God, Baby Jesus and the Founding Slavers that he doesn't live in Russia.

Human Family Values

Archaeologists in Kenya have discovered fossil footprints suggesting that two different human species trod the ground within a matter of hours or days. It seems that one was Paranthropus boisei, which is not a direct ancestor of Homo sapiens ipsedixit, and the other was Homo erectus, which is. The researchers have noted that the two species would have been aware of each other and would have recognised each other as different; but although Homo erectus is credited with the use of fire there is no suggestion that the tracks may indicate a witch-hunt. Instead, the researchers hypothesize a "close and tolerant proximity in time and space," apparently on the grounds that no group of human beings would ever wish to extirpate an Other except in the event of competition over resources.

Baby Talk

When the Trumpster's rabid head-tribble splatters forth another radioactive defecation, the laws of political parasitism decree that a smaller but similar incident must gurgle within some cranium of our own Farage Falange. The protection of American women and the subsequent surge in the Trumpster vote among good Christian wives and mothers has led the strutting Caudillo to blather about making Britain's abortion laws more repressive. Apparently the latest rodentine evacuee from the Conservative ship, whose relationship with reality seems to be everything one would expect in such a context, has informed the CEO of Reform Incorporated that this is the sort of thing the woman in the street converses about when she gets home.

Oxford Blues

Those seeking to understand the present moral and intellectual stature of the British establishment need look no further than the country's oldest university, whose chancellorship has just been bestowed upon the risible William Hague. A former Conservative leader who postured as a one-nation unifier before moving hastily to the hard right, Hague defeated his fellow Tories Dominic Grieve and Lord Mandelbrot the Infinitely Recurring with a convincingly British mandate from a majority out of the seven per cent of eligible voters who took any interest in the proceedings. His predecessor, Chris Patten, is memorable mainly for having grudgingly handed Hong Kong back to the Heathen Chinee, so handing a largely ceremonial role over to William Hague must seem quite the career capstone.

Damped Down

In the wake of the flooding that has affected much of the country, some idiot drove a tractor down a waterlogged high street in Worcestershire, causing waves that pushed open doors, smashed windows and inflicted yet further damage. A suspect was quickly arrested, although it remains as yet unclear whether proof of his guilt will result in a sentence worthy of a Just Stop Oil protester. As to the possibilities of retribution against those directly responsible for the neglect of flood defences, the decay of drainage systems and the acceleration of the climate catastrophe, there are fortunately no such doubts.

Delivered From Sin

Restrictions on abortion rights have bagged two souls for Baby Jesus in the Christian state of Texas, where a woman was protected whether she liked it or not and became quite otherworldly as a result. Presumably as a test of her virtue by the Deity, she suffered a miscarriage in the tenth week of pregnancy, but was denied a routine procedure to clear dead tissue from her uterus in case the tissue in question should be judged an American citizen with all the rights and privileges of posthumous retribution appertaining thereunto. Apparently thanks to the drug that was administered instead, she was gathered unto the Lord along with whatever soul was in the foetus. Despite doubtless clear consciences all round, neither the medical personnel involved nor the piously-named Houston Methodist hospital concern have so far shown any inclination to thank God, the Supreme Court or the Trumpster for the happy ending.

But What of the Moral Dimension?

Anti-entrepreneurial elements from King's College London are seeking to subvert the national pluck and gumption with research into the heretical question of whether poverty can be mitigated by making people less poor. Selected scroungers and shirkers will receive cash transfers to relieve whatever financial difficulties have arisen during their holiday at the expense of Britain's famously lax and liberal welfare system, and their outcomes will be compared with those of people receiving handouts from charities. Even the customary fines by the Department of Workfare and Punishment will be evaded, under the pretext of forestalling purchases of tattoos or widescreen TVs, and in defiance of all British values. Should the scheme be expanded to include ex-prisoners, there is even a risk that rates of re-offending may fall and undermine profits in the offender warehousing industry. Reducing public spending is all very well; but it hardly seems likely that the great British public will be inclined to prioritise such crass materialistic concerns over the all-important patriotic tradition of kicking the underdog.

Une frite sur l'épaule

It seems that the robust British attitude to dwelling on the colonial past is beginning to filter down to the lesser breeds, not excluding even the beastly French. The famously moderate and sensible President of the Fifth Republic was filmed blaming the parlous state of Haiti on Haitians rather than on history, and calling its leaders "total morons" for removing the prime minister. Haiti, which became independent through a slave revolt, was used by the French empire and subsequently the World Cop as a perpetual proto-Cuban object lesson in the perils of not knowing one's place and failing to respect the property rights of one's betters. Macron's little indiscretion provoked the Haitian government to summon the French ambassador, who apparently pledged to keep under-funding a security mission in lieu of reparations.

It's a Beastly Greek Word Anyway

No matter how genuinely and sincerely held, no matter how deranged and incoherent, and no matter how voluminously shrieked forth on social media, a set of opinions does not constitute a philosophy, according to an employment tribunal which has signally failed to keep up with the intellectual times. An erstwhile squaddie for the Farage Falange in one of its former incarnations was sacked from a drug rehabilitation charity for sharing migrant-bashing posts, and the tribunal ruled that "no coherent belief or set of beliefs was forthcoming" despite her genuine and sincere belief in her own rights as opposed to the rights of the Other. Fortunately, this means that her philosophical objections to the European convention on human rights are unlikely to stand in the way of her ordering the European Court of Human Rights to overturn the judgement.

Roborabbi

Much to the surprise of some, it appears that Christians are occasionally capable of deriving religious feeling from mechanical ritual. A Catholic church in Lucerne installed an AI theologian which answered questions from behind a graven image, and about two-thirds of those who interacted with it reported a "spiritual experience." Others were less impressed, and a local journalist found some of the god-bot's prounouncements "trite, repetitive and exuding a wisdom reminiscent of calendar clichés," which suggests that AI theology may yet find its place in the Church of England.

Caudillo Cancelled

It's usually sensible to abstain from too much of a good thing, and the organisers of the farmers' protest against the Government's inheritance tax reforms have prudently refused an extra helping of natural fertiliser. Although they did not balk at inviting the likes of Kemi Badenoch, Jeremy Clarkson and Sir Edward Look At Me I'm A Carer Davey to regale the gathering with their farmyard impressions, the strutting Caudillo of the Farage Falange was weeded out of the dung-pile in case his presence should divert attention from the protestors' point. Having long brayed, bleated and cockadoodled in the interests of the strutting Caudillo, the owner of the commercial concern known as Reform doubtless took the snub with his usual squillionaire-on-the-street fortitude. For its own part, the Falange extruded a flunkey to claim that the organisers of the protest had been bullied by the Conservative Party and to whine that the British electoral system isn't good enough. It is to be hoped that those rural communities to whose present blessings the Falange has contributed so much will revise their gratitude levels accordingly.

Irredeemably Useful

Despite the best efforts of the major churches to protect and indulge the ones who really matter, public understanding of paedophiles has progressed very little over the last few decades, according to the Canadian Mennonite founder of a charity dedicated to social reintegration of convicted child sex offenders. Even in Britain, with its free and fearless media lynch mob and its legislature divided between the hang-and-flog moralists and the corporate empty suits of profitable penitentiarism, it seems there are few signs of a more rehabilitative attitude emerging. From the smallest to the largest, every social group needs its outcasts and scapegoats, who for best results should reflect the less praiseworthy aspects of the collective psyche and thereby deflect the rabble's wrath away from its lords and masters. Followers of a Palestinian magician hunted down witches; the first country in the world to declare itself a people's republic spent a century in paranoid terror of communism; and the first generation in many to leave its children worse off than itself has also found an appropriate pariah.

We Know Our Place

Statesmanship is the art of the possible, and not all the moral compasses and international laws in the world have made it possible for His Majesty's Government to suspend more than a token few of Britain's arms exports to the Righteous State. Legal action on behalf of the Palestinian Untermenschen has revealed the Government's concern lest withdrawal of wog-bombing wherewithal should have a "profound impact on international peace and security" by causing irritation to the World Cop. In the face of such existential risk to all that is true, decent and democratic, the possibility that wog-bombing wherewithal might be used to bomb wogs indiscreetly was deemed a relatively minor consideration, because no sensible and moderate client state of Washington can afford to forget which of its fellow client states is the one nearest the oil.

Rich History

England is justifiably proud of its glorious history, which extends further back than almost anyone else's; certainly further back than those of the upstart Indians or the Heathen Chinee, whose histories had to wait for Robert Clive and the Opium Wars to get properly under way. Fortunately, history is also a commercially viable commodity, as witness the record amount paid at auction for a piece of memorabilia from the Titanic - an episode of maritime Britishness whose progression from world-beating boosterism to costly inconvenience arguably makes it as quintessential as Dunkirk or the Terra Nova fiasco. Items from the Titanic are growing rarer, and thus gaining greater market value, as private collectors buy them up and squirrel them away, thereby fuelling economic growth and protecting England's history from the grubby gaze of museum-goers. According to the auctioneer, this is because private collectors are interested in people, unlike silly old historians who tend to prioritise facts over big-budget soap opera. Obviously, people emerge much less vividly from mere facts than from items which they once owned and handled and which are subsequently owned and hoarded by rich idiots. If you ever get the chance, you should try it for yourself: just fondle a pocket-watch that has been auctioned for a million and a half, and then read any history book you like and see if you can find a person in it. The difference will almost certainly be palpable.

Daylight Raabery

Forty-nine days is a long time in politics, especially when there's money in it. Government ministers who lose their jobs - for any reason whatever and after any length of what is customarily referred to by the Newspeak term service - are entitled to a quarter of their annual salary in compensation. The money is repayable if and only if the crook, liar or incompetent in question receives the superior compensation of another ministry within three weeks. Hence the loutish Dominic Raab, whom La Truss ejected from the Ministry of Profitable Punishment, and who was subsequently restored to the position only to resign after bullying the sort of people who can fight back, has received a severance payment worth about seventy per cent of a nurse's annual starting salary, which he is entitled to keep because in forty-nine days not even La Truss managed to bungle the task of not awarding Dominic Raab another ministry. As the Fishy Rishi administration stumbled towards the coup de disgrâce, Raab joined other brave souls in opting for the rodentine maritime evacuation manoeuvre; his constituents voted in a Deputy Conservative, apparently under the impression that this would lead to change, and Raab himself is now presumably awaiting the call from Team Starmer offering him the Civility Tsardom.

Monolithic Judgement

Criminal charges have been brought in connection with the misuse of a Trumpster-coloured substance at Stonehenge. The stuff was thrown around the site during a Just Stop Oil protest last summer, and it is certainly debatable how kindly the Bible salesman and his head-tribble will take to their complexion being shared with a pagan monument. Although the substance was easily removed, two people have been charged with "destroying or damaging an ancient protected monument and intentionally or recklessly causing a public nuisance." In keeping with the best traditions of British justice, His Majesty's Government, in the persons of the thuggish Mark Harper and a pseudonym of Michael Green, had plans to bring about one or two slightly less reparable consequences by driving a road tunnel through the site, which the court of appeal happily endorsed some four months before the protest took place.

Shocked and Stunned and Seriously Consternated

Some little time ago, many of the serious Britons who inhabit the serious professions of sensible journalism and moderate politics were seriously surprised when the National Johnson, after a mere half-century career of loutish priapic mendacity, turned out unexpectedly to be a lying sex-crazed lout despite his elevation to the highest and most solemn office in the land that isn't overtly occupied by Supreme Leader Rupert Murdoch. With similar profundity of insight, several serious Murcans are seriously shocked that the Trumpster and his head-tribble have chosen a far-right loudmouth as their attorney general. At least one serious Republican complained that the appointment had failed to do justice to the seriousness of her bingo card, while the serious wog-bomber John Bolton raised the serious possibility that a "person of moral turpitude" might lack the necessary skills to serve under a known liar and convicted felon. Another serious Republican, who took the matter so seriously that they would only comment anonymously, said that they were "stunned and disgusted;" while a serious Democrat noted that the great American voter, having only the Trumpster's entire previous record to go on, didn't necessarily expect this sort of thing when voting him in again. If only, if only there had been some sort of clue.

Bah Reign Humbug

Patriots will rejoice at the persistence of British values in Bahrain, which gained independence half a century ago and yet has somehow managed to hold onto the bedrock decency that goes with a royal family, a no-nonsense attitude to human rights and a willingness to abet the master race's wog-bombing. King Charles has paid tribute to his royal counterpart's pluck and gumption by bestowing upon him the snappy title Honorary Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order: an appointment which combines mediaeval grandiosity with imperial pomposity in a fashion wholly befitting the highest-ranking gong in the Windsor firm's gift. News of the honour made headlines in Bahrain, but tidings on the mainland have been inexplicably muted; indeed, the award might never have gained any media attention at all in Britain if not for some malcontents agitating for its immediate removal. Clearly the master race still has much to learn from Bahrain about the suppression of dissent; in exchange for which the rulers of Bahrain might do worse than to emulate the Windsors in their modesty before the Press.

One of Those Paradoxical Little Things

Like many another fortunate lexical item, the preposition despite tends to loosen up a little when translated from English into Modern Standard Journalese. Demotically a rather surly and contradictory sort of word, connoting events that occur in defiance of other events, in the paws of the press despite is transformed into a far more accommodating character. In many Modern Standard Journalese contexts its literal meaning can signify an entirely predictable and widely anticipated result, as when the Righteous State continues its ethnic cleansing despite the pious noises emitted by those selling the Righteous State the wherewithal to do exactly that. Similarly, His Majesty's Government has been granting licenses to care profiteers despite their no-nonsense attitude to workers' rights; the British Home Office has been condoning exploitation and maltreatment of immigrant workers despite being the British Home Office; and Team Starmer has shown no particular concern over the situation despite having been elected on a manifesto of change. Despite their professional fluency as thinkers in Modern Standard Journalese, there are some at Britain's leading liberal newspaper who seem to view this as some sort of failure.

Tough Love

If anything can rival the intellectual dynamism of the Anglican Church, that thing must surely be its moral authority, whose latest manifestation is an outcry over the Archbishop of Canterbury's excessively Christian behaviour towards a now deceased barrister with some convenient ready cash and a penchant for turned cheeks. By allowing the abuser to continue his little hobby, and by subsequently refusing to resign, the Archbishop has of course shown strict adherence to the teachings of Christ, which specify that within the Church the onus is upon victims to forgive their persecutors even unto the seventy-times-seventh dereliction, and that a single grovelling apology is worth more than a lifetime of righteousness. As a result, one bishop has expressed the fear that the Church may lose that staunch moral voice which has done so much for the life of the nation with its eternal displays of spiritual strength over the status of women and non-heterosexuals, and suchlike second-order human beings.

Our Sacrifice

Once more we stand in stillness and in silence,
All sober in our smartest mourning togs,
In tribute to those dead of foreign violence
And those who gave their lives to kill some wogs.

It's really just two minutes, but seems longer
To hang about in chilly autumn damps;
But pluck and valour made our nation stronger,
And so we soldier on despite the cramps.

We pray ongoing wars to happy ending
And, though it's always tedious to wait,
Let profits from wars current, new and pending
Console and comfort while we contemplate.

Hardy Faceman

You Have the Right to Remain Violent

From the Land of Lincoln comes an encouraging sign that at least part of the United States Constitution is still as robust as ever. An Illinois federal judge who was installed by the Trumpster and his head-tribble during their primary sequence has ruled that a state ban on assault weapons is so egregious a danger to property as to warrant invoking the anti-Christian nuclear option of equal protection under the law. Since there is no evidence that property crimes are linked to gun control measures, the judge was careful to suggest such a link and thereby give it legal validity, while asserting the constitutional right not only to bear arms but to bear the arms of one's own personal choice, presumably in a well-regulated militia of one. Americans may have voted away their rights to medical care, bodily autonomy, freedom of religion and protection from the climate catastrophe; but their rights of school massacre, assassination and civil war look set to stay gloriously uninfringed.

It's an Easy Mistake to Make

Although numerous members of our Mother of Parliaments have been at a loose end since July, there is apparently no truth to the plausible rumours that they had all toddled off to Newfoundland. Contrary to first impressions and despite their rubbery consistency, their lack of sense organs and their obvious intellectual advantages, the white doughy blobs and pale gooey masses crowding the Canadian province's beaches are not ejectees from Westminster's House of Expenses Claimants. Regrettably, this also applies to the majority of doughy blobs and gooey masses which are presumably at rest on the ocean floor; which may lead to some unfortunate nutritional consequences for the higher life forms. Hard as it is to distinguish well-fattened British public servants from globs of industrial waste, it is arguably even harder to distinguish them from fish food.

They Go Tiddly Up Up

As one would naturally expect from the global élite given the current vigorous progress of the Anthropocene extinction event, the use of private jets is on the increase. Since private jets are the most pollutive form of transport on the planet, they are used almost half the time for journeys of less than three hundred miles; and almost a million journeys in the last four years have been no more than thirty miles, presumably because a trip in the limousine would have meant sharing road-space with the rabble. The total emissions from the Unwashed Republic of Tanzania very nearly equalled that of private jet flights in 2023, so one can quite easily see why our lords and masters would wish to rise above such inefficiency. In our own virtuous realm a private jet takes off every six minutes, and there remains some doubt as to whether the plebs are prepared to clean up their filthy habits to the extent necessary for balancing out the environmental consequences. Doubtless pluck, gumption and competitive landing fees will continue to muddle us through.

Vice Precedents

The last US president to hold office (the verb serve seems hardly apt in the present context) for two non-consecutive terms was Grover Cleveland in the late nineteenth century. A biographer said that Cleveland "had no endowments that thousands of men do not have. He possessed honesty, courage, firmness, independence, and common sense. But he possessed them to a degree other men do not." It is fitting that the first president to duplicate Cleveland's electoral achievement should not only possess none of those qualities, but should lack them to a degree other men do not. Cleveland's personal reputation remained high despite an unsuccessful second term; the Trumpster has gained a second term with a personal reputation that is high in a more fly-blown and olfactory fashion. Cleveland was a conservative in the antiquated sense of one who aspires to conserve; the Trumpster is a conservative in the modern sense of one who aspires to fascism. After his second presidency, Cleveland joined a law firm; after the Trumpster's second presidency, the law is likely to be more infirm than for quite some time.

The last US president to be black turned out to be a bland technocrat whose tenure precipitated a Trumpster term of office. The last US vice-president to be black has contrived to duplicate that achievement.

Unworthy Foes

One of the major difficulties with being the master race, especially when uttering oracular threats to stir up a bit of rah-rah for World War III, is that official enemies are necessarily contradictory. They are existential threats, like the Palestinian civilians confronting the Middle East's sole nuclear power; but they are also bungling clowns, like the mad mullahs whose measured and proportionate responses to the Netanyahoo's efforts at starting a regional conflagration have recently made Iran such an international laughing-stock. Similarly, the deployment of North Korean troops in the Ukraine war has been characterised as both a sign of desperate weakness and a grave escalation; the latter primarily because the World Cop reserves the right to inflict apocalyptic punishment upon the Heathen Chinee should their ally misbehave unduly. Mere days later, Britain's leading liberal newspaper has felt obliged to balance out the stern pronouncements of the Secretary of State by rounding up a defector or two and producing an analysis which proclaims the North Korean contingent to be inexperienced, parasite-ridden, trained for the wrong terrain, farcically killable and, in stark contrast to the average NATO squaddie, quite possibly somewhat deceived as to the nature of the cause for which they fight. Clearly, a master race that feels threatened by so pitiful a rabble must be very masterful indeed.

Yet More Conspirators Unmasked

Not even the most raunchily radioactive head-tribble can hope to control every movement of its minions every moment of the day, and it appears that the board of directors at Trumpster Media has committed a slight indiscretion. The company, which owns the amusingly double-misnomered Truth Social globberware platform, has provoked squeals of rage from its more patriotic staff by outsourcing jobs to the drug-dealing, cheerleader-ravishing Latino Untermenschen. Given the Trumpster's famously rigid consistency in principle, word and action, this can only mean that the saviour of the nation and protector of womenfolk whether they like it or not may soon be forced into slapping punitive tariffs on his own produce. Were it not for the Trumpsterite base voter's virtuous aversion to hormonal re-orientation in the face of mere reality, there might even be reason to anticipate the exquisitely poetic outcome of an election loss through insufficient racism.

Love is Blind

In the eternal hierarchy of ways in which people make fools of themselves, the position of sex is at least as illustrious as those of religion and politics, and therefore no rational intelligence would be surprised that sex is at least as amenable as the others to entrepreneurial exploitation. Hence Britain's leading liberal newspaper, which holds the powerful to account while owing its existence to their advertising, is amazed, aghast and shocked to discover that the capitalist affair of online dating is geared primarily to profit. Procuring via mobile phone has ceased to be the innocent, romantic business of days past and has become a mere means of extracting revenue, for all the world as if making money rather than churning out happy couples were the whole point of the enterprise. Indeed, given that all three elements in the trinity of human idiocy are transcendently enshrined in family values, the fact that the proper functioning of the enterprise results in fewer and not more happy couples may well come as the greatest shock of all.

Season's Brexit Blessings

Midway between All Hallows' Eve and the rah-rah over the torture and execution of a failed parliamentary reformer means, of course, that the corporate calendar is at least half-way through the annual Christmas season. Like many other aspects of British life, the Saccharine Solstice has been affected by independence from the beastly Euro-scrooges. Owing to the Strasbrussels dictatorship's refusal to treat the UK as a member of the club just because the UK happens to have flounced out of the club, the great British Christmas tree is now subject to expensive border checks whenever it is sufficiently British to be imported. Although shortages are unlikely this year, price rises may drive many to accept artificial substitutes and deprive themselves of the innocent seasonal pleasure of picking pine needles out of the carpet until midway through the chocolate egg sales. A few entrepreneurs on the mainland have started growing their own trees, which may spruce up the market should enough of them survive the floods, droughts, invasive species and moral panics which will inevitably enliven future festivities. Given that the tradition of exterminating trees for Christmas was introduced to the master race by the Euro-wog royal house of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, patriots will no doubt rejoice at this latest poetic victory.

Pop Queens

Art thieves, loosely speaking, have blasted their way into a Dutch gallery and stolen some Andy Warhol manufactures. The pieces belong to a series of garishly retouched official photographs of female monarchs who were on the throne at the time of production, imaginatively titled Reigning Queens. Two items were damaged and left behind as the miscreants made their getaway, having apparently found themselves unable to fit the booty into their vehicle. The damage might be a more serious matter were it not for the fact that the pieces had already been signed and numbered by the artist, loosely speaking, thereby rendering them already less mass-produced and more individual.