Mitigating Circumstances

Even now that Iran and Lebanon are chastened and the numbers of the Palestinian Untermenschen reduced by some seventy thousand, and even with more modest acts of slaughter still in progress, it seems the judiciary of the Righteous State has yet to take the hint. The Netanyahoo has been forced to follow up the Trumpster's recent affirmation of Israeli judicial independence by submitting a hundred-and-eleven-page demand for a presidential pardon, which would serve the public interest through leaving his record of meritorious genocide unsullied by charges of bribery, fraud and corruption. The president of Israel has promised to be responsible and sincere in considering the petition, the granting of which would be almost unprecedented even in cases of killing Palestinians; and should the Netanyahoo walk free without a stain upon his reputation, there might be interesting moral consequences for other cases. It would be edifying to see Al Capone posthumously exonerated of tax fraud on the grounds that he rid Chicago of seven low-lifes one St Valentine's Day; and still more so to see Hitler reconciled through all the gays and commies who were cleansed to balance out the Six Million.

White Noise

Another far-right activist has been active enough to say the quiet part out loud, prompting righteous indignation across the mainstream hard right from Conservative to Deputy Conservative. The "public policy expert" has appeared on pure-blooded patriot news channels proclaiming that the deputy speaker has no place in Parliament's House of Expenses Claimants because she was born in Pakistan, and has previously denounced the current Minister for Wog Control on similar grounds. Despite the best efforts of Team Starmer and its policy-makers in the Farage Falange, such viewpoints are still considered unacceptable in mainstream political discourse; not least because both the deputy speaker and the Minister for Wog Control were elected by the master race on a mainstream British platform of migrant-bashing, wog-bombing and profiteer-pampering, and have therefore legitimately and understandably earned their current if no doubt temporary status as more or less acceptable Muslims.

They're Just Being Mean Again

Even when confined to the issues Westminster most cares about, viz. wog-bombing and war profiteering, it seems that a reset of relations with the Strasbrussels dictatorship may come at too high a price. Negotiations to collaborate in facing down the beastly Russians have collapsed because, as has occasionally happened before where European relations are concerned, the master race thinks itself entitled to be in the club without paying the membership fee. The chair of the Make Brexit Work committee in the House of Donors whined that the amount supposedly proposed by the treacherous Euro-wogs "suggests some EU members don’t want the UK in the scheme," despite Team Starmer's ongoing legitimisation of the Farage Falange, and despite a senior commissar of the very same Falange having just been exposed as a paid stooge of Tsar Vladimir. With so much reliability on show, what can the problem be?

Native Intelligence

Following the gunshot wounding of two National Guard rookies in Washington DC, the CIA has predictably confirmed that the Biden administration is to blame. The suspected culprit is an immigrant from Afghanistan who received his visa four years ago in recognition of services rendered to various US agencies, including the CIA, before they fled the Taliban with their tails between their legs. Mindful of the perils inherent in failing to overreact, the US agency for the expulsion of huddled masses has halted processing of residency applications by Afghan nationals, although it remains as yet unclear whether all CIA assets will be subject to similar treatment.

Sounded Out

Poppy-wearing patriots will rejoice that the month of Remembrance rah-rah is going out with a double clatter of vintage military Britishness. Among the donkeys, the rattle of ready money - all intended for charity, of course - has caused a former head of the army to be caught offering ministerial access for cash. Lord Dannatt and another, equally dedicated public servant have been suspended from their ermined sinecures, despite Dannatt's transaction taking place in the future conditional tense and with purely theoretical willingness.

For the lions, meanwhile, there is the clatter of the Ajax armoured vehicle, a sonic weapon that the messiah of David Lynch's Dune would have envied had he possessed sufficient bulldog pragmatism to prefer deafening his own people over damaging the enemy's. The virtues of the Ajax were noised abroad some years ago, and it seems little has been done to suppress them. Fans of the Light Brigade, the Somme and Operation Market Garden will note with pleasure that the victory of rah-rah over realism in British military planning remains as decisive as ever.

Cleansing the Nation: Disandrewfication

Streets all across the realm are queueing up to be renamed after someone other than Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, Esq. Residents of Maidenhead have asked for their addresses to be changed, and a council in Northern Ireland is ready to begin the process of deleting a local commemoration of the prince's exemplary public service in marrying Sarah Ferguson. One councillor has suggested that the street's new name should commemorate the Old Queen, much as one might rename Slaver Drive as Commercial Road or Childbeater Close as Archbishop's Way. As long as one cannot call streets after an alleged perpetrator, the next best thing is to name them after someone who allegedly paid the bills and condoned the offences.

Affordable Accommodation

As one or two people may possibly have heard by now, there are few if any lengths to which His Majesty's Government will not go in order to purge and forestall the scourge of antisemitism, as defined by Team Starmer and by the heirs of Joshua who rule the Righteous State. It is therefore to be expected that sanctions against the Righteous State would be little more than a diplomatic fiction, on a par with such rubrics as peace process and viable Palestinian state; and so it has apparently proved. The head of corporate services and HR at the British embassy in Tel Aviv is the owner of a house in an illegal settlement, built by a company whose support, promotion and incitement of violence against the Palestinian Untermenschen have been sufficiently blatant that even the indulgence of His Majesty's Government was stretched. Residents pay a monthly fee to the company: a fact which was allowed to slip past a vetting system whose rigour seems to have been on a par with the recent selection of Lord Mandelbrot the Infinitely Recurring as ambassador to the Kingdom of Trumpsterland. Even so, the house was purchased before the sanctions were imposed, and not directly from the company; so the matter will presumably be shrugged off as yet another of those inadvertent mistakes which constitute the major qualification for the more exalted reaches of Government service.

Let's Just Spend it on Deporting Our NHS

Will the beastly Strasbrussels dictatorship never learn? Even as Team Starmer seeks to re-set relations while limiting actual co-operation to war and wog-bashing, it seems subversive mutterings are abroad. In defiance of natural justice, the laws of economics, and British common sense, the filthy foreigns are threatening to charge membership fees in return for club privileges: the very same intolerable iniquity which first provoked the mainland to cut the Continent off. It is to be hoped that more moderate and sensible voices will prevail, so that Team Starmer may lead a chastened yet rejuvenated alliance into the final war of liberation against the Russo-Chinese menace while retaining the all-important Farage Falange policy steerage on the home front.

Gilded Diplomacy

Respectable parliamentarians in Switzerland and elsewhere are shocked, shocked, shocked at a golden shower lavished upon the Trumpster and his head-tribble by a cabal of local squillionaires. The gifts seem to have been in suitably refined taste, including a gold bar helpfully engraved with the word PRESIDENT and a gold Rolex desk clock which the head of the company described as modest. A decision to lower the tariffs on Swiss imports was made by the Trumpster, his head-tribble and sheer coincidence shortly after the presentation. The Trumpster will have the option of retaining the gifts, but he may be forced to melt them down and use them to decorate the White House ballroom in order to avoid the tax burden.

Native Talent

Patriotism is not always a straightforward matter, and it appears that a sometime luminary of the Farage Falange has fallen prey to one of its more inconvenient paradoxes. The Falange's former leader in Wales has been found guilty of taking bribes from Tsar Vladimir in return for spouting pro-Russian rah-rah in the European parliament: a particularly heinous crime given that freebie-takers of a more moderate and sensible diposition often find themselves forced to rah-rah the Trumpster and the Righteous State for no immediate reward at all. Still, there are some consolations: the scent of Russian money will doubtless provide a useful salve for patriots who need to believe that the great British public would never vote racist except under some insidious foreign influence.

There Goes Dick

America's great and good have gathered for the funerary rites of the nation's least beloved chimpanzee wrangler; or rather, some of them have. Whether from political prudence or genuine fellow feeling, or just from the natural human urge to be sure the bastard really is dead at last, Demoblicans and Republicrats lined up to be seen at the exequies of Dick Cheney, whose talents as political thug, profiteer and war criminal contributed so much to the destruction of Iraq and Afghanistan and the creation of modern Islamic terrorism, while incidentally inspiring the fawning connivance of the British political class. There were a few absences: like has-been Thatcherites shaking their heads at the excesses of the Farage Falange, ex-presidents Clinton and Obama contrived to be having their hair done, and the Trumpster, his head-tribble and their greasy little henchbeing were not even invited. Presumably it was feared lest their presence undermine the solemnity of an occasion featuring a eulogy by the chimpanzee himself, whose first presidential election was stolen for him and who therefore never had to resort to the undignified tactics of the current monarch.

Azrael

E L Katz 2024

Years after the Rapture, a shanty-township of the pious courts belated redemption by tattooing crosses on their throats and adding the sin of speech to the list of Christian prohibitions. Nevertheless, not even the end of the world as we know it justifies measures so extreme as an end to witch-hunts; and the plot is essentially that of The Hitcher with the wannabe-chosen in the Rutger Hauer role, relentlessly pursuing the protagonist for reasons never communicated. Although the pious have firearms as well as the time-blessed flame and rope, their essential mercy consists in feeding their enemies to the flesh-devouring victims of the holy fire who roam the countryside.

An Edenic woodland tryst at the beginning may indicate that the persecution of the heroine and her lover results from sexual misconduct; but since her inquisitors never commit the sin of explaining themselves it's impossible to be sure. The pattern of chase, entrapment and escape is repeated with sufficient variation and invention to keep from becoming tedious, and without relying on implausible levels of character stupidity to keep things moving along. Led by the superb Samara Weaving, the dialogue-deprived cast all play their roles convincingly.

Part-way through the heroine's trials there's an intriguing revelation that the residents of the shanty-town are not the only people left behind: at least one other commmunity exists where they not only speak but speak in Esperanto, the best-known among various efforts to undermine God's assault on human brotherhood at Babel. Meanwhile, the presence in the church of a white-robed pregnant woman hints that the shanty-town may be a site of wider consequence than a mere cultic retreat; and this promise is charmingly fulfilled at the finale, completing the heroine's revenge for her tribulations while confirming that the advent of the Rapture has neither diluted nor improved the Deity's taste in practical jokes.

Substitutionary Atonement

If there's one thing the Church of Rome protects more zealously than child abusers, it is worldly wealth; so naturally when sued at the law the archdiocese of New Orleans has been in no particular hurry to give up coat or cloak. After five and a half years of fighting to avoid compensating its victims, the archdiocese now awaits the possibility of a final settlement at the hands of a bankruptcy judge; but painful as the process is likely to be, there is at least little chance of the Church being forced into the ungodly position of covering its own costs. In accordance with Christian ideas of truth, the archbishop proclaimed for three years that parishioners would not have to pay, before sending them the bill; and in accordance with Christian ideas of charity, the archdiocese was making ready to raid the local food bank before an anonymous donor came to the rescue.

No Price Too High

Dark forces are trying to disunite our island of strangers by stirring up rage about asylum seekers, so naturally the Ministry for Wog Control is going to take yet further decisively noisy measures to drown out any rage about squillionaires. The ministerial expenses claimant for locking 'em up and kicking 'em out has proclaimed that the swarming hordes could be made to pay for the privilege of detention and processing via seizure of whatever jewellery, cars and money in the bank they may have sneaked into the country. Dispensations might possibly be made for jewellery with sentimental value, assuming some reliable method could be developed for gauging the sincerity of the alien and primitive sentiments in question. Even so, despite the British tolerance inherent in such measures, it seems unlikely they will prove adequate to the all-important task of securing the Farage Falange vote. With a cold snap already upon us and winter drawing near, patriots will surely wonder why Britons should have to struggle with their heating bills while asylum seekers get to keep their gold teeth, their hair and the clothes they stand up in.

How Dare They Dump on the Real People

Free enterprisers in Oxfordshire have created a buccaneering open-cast landfill with waste stacked ten metres high. The cost of clearing up could be exceed the council's entire annual budget, and the local House of Commons expenses claimant for the Deputy Conservatives is spluttering with righteous indignation at the injustice of it all. Although environmental catastrophes are excusable and indeed meritorious when caused by the right sort of people and in the right parts of the world, it seems that the perpetrators of this particular rollback of the green crap have been unduly stingy with their directorships.

Signing Slightly Off

Even the most rabid and radioactive head-tribble has to sleep some time, and the suspicious similarity of several signatures on official documents has prompted concerns that the Trumpster's controller may occasionally be dozing at the dashboard. While blaming the anomaly on subordinates, technical errors and (inevitably) the Democratic Party, spokesbeings proclaimed that the Trumpster's hand did in fact sign each of the papers, but cunningly refrained from specifying the source of the muscle movements. The documents in question include pardons for a sex pest, a tax-dodger and a political thug, so it seems most likely that the head-tribble assumed the Trumpster was pardoning himself and therefore excreted identical signatorial impulses into the cranial cavity several times over. In any case, patriotic Britons will be gratified to see the uppity colony reverting to a rubber-stamp monarchy on the good old mainland model.

Yellow Press Peril

Although immigrant taxpayers are notoriously unwelcome in our precious NHS and other public services, there has never been much difficulty with an occasional utility or media outlet being taken over by corporate tax-dodgers. Team Starmer has relaxed the restrictions on foreign governments owning British newspapers; but with the everlasting sale of the Maily Toryguff matters have finally gone too far, as the only buyer willing to pay the asking price has been forced to withdraw from the bidding process in the face of calls for investigation into its links with certain beastly foreigns. Part-ownership by a sheikh in Abu Dhabi and a Ukrainian-born oligarch may be just about acceptable; but the consortium in question also consorts with the Heathen Chinee, whose slant on free speech and human rights the denizens of the Toryguff rah-and-blah room clearly found intolerably lax and liberal.

Toxic Reactions

Not content with hesitating to support the Venezuela vendetta, Team Starmer has further offended the Trumpster administration by handing the contract for a new generation of blanched radioactive pachyderms to a British manufacturer. Team Starmer plans, if plans is the word I want, to reduce carbon emissions by putting two and a half billion or so into new uses for the nation's copious reserves of sustainable uranium, and the head-tribble's local mouthpiece proclaimed the Trumpster administration extremely disappointed that the money is not being utilised for the benefit of a US company in which the Trumpster administration may soon have a stake. Instead the money will go to Rolls-Royce, which Lord Mandelbrot the Infinitely Recurring evidently did not have time to hand over to the Trumpster during his brief ambassadorial stint.

Sacred Heart

As long ago as 2023 the Vicar of Christ was bold enough to caution his flock that apparitions of an immaculately conceived miracle-working pregnant Iron Age virgin are not always real; indeed, it even appears that some may be contrived merely in order to separate fools from their money without any resulting communion between the money and the Vatican. An alleged mystic with a cardiac surname has foretold the Church's taking over by communism; which would be heartily unpleasant for an institution accommodated by Mussolini, indulged by General Franco and ruled by the Venerable Pacelli. Blood on a supposedly weeping statue of the Virgin was claimed by a private investigator to have come from a pig, although why God could not have made it appear that way in order to test the faithful remains as yet a holy mystery. Fortunately the Church, whose Saviour promised two thousand years ago that His second coming would occur within the lifetime of His contemporaries, has lately tightened its rules against the blandishments of false prophets.

Poodle Whines

While His Majesty's Government has no objection to abetting the occasional genocide, it seems there are limits. British intelligence, for whatever that may be worth, has paused its sharing relationship with the World Cop in the Caribbean, apparently because the Trumpster administration's policy of replacing due process with extrajudicial assassination in alleged drug-smuggling cases might one day prove a source of embarrassment. Further qualms may arise should the Trumpster and his head-tribble decide upon a pre-emptive strike to forestall a Venezuelan invasion of the United States, as a Royal Navy officer is serving as navigator aboard one of the ships in the Trumpster armada. There are even rumours that the head of the FBI recently kept a pledge in Team Starmer fashion by promising to protect the job of a particular spook and then promptly abolishing it, causing incredulity among British intelligence officials who hadn't yet caught up with the idea that the chap in charge of a national political police, let alone a Trumpster appointee, might tell an occasional fib.

Lizard Droppings

As the hurricane season draws to its end, the loving God of the United States must needs have recourse to other means of chastising His chosen people. Despite the Trumpster's tariffs, Canada has somehow managed to export an Arctic blast of record low temperatures which, besides refuting yet further the Heathen Chinee hoax of global warming, is likely to cause a polar plunge across two-thirds of the Free World. Not even the sacred realm of Ronald of the Saints is to be spared: residents of the Christian state of Florida have been warned to beware of falling iguanas, and weather experts have emphasised that the threat should be taken seriously. Indeed, less three years ago God chastised a man for practising yoga by allowing him to be injured by a plummeting iguana; so it would be imprudent to doubt that He means business.

The Cause

Because in our great game they were the pawns with which we scored,
We'll wait around a while and try to keep from looking bored;
If volunteer, if conscript, when they joined us in our fight,
They truly earned their pittance if they died for what is Right.
In their remembrance we'll invest a minute - make it two -
Because they gave it all for us, not for themselves or you.
We'll stand here looking sombre in our poppy-pimping suits
And tolerate the breaking-off from filling of our boots,
In memory of those who served their Government and Crown
By helping keep the profits up and hold the rabble down.

Gloria Stead

Political Football

It may safely be assumed that Team Starmer is preparing to purge the Football Association of Ireland from the international sporting community, given that organisation's passing of a resolution against the Righteous State. The resolution approves submitting a formal motion to ban Israel from European club and international competitions, on the grounds of failure to implement a proper anti-racism policy and of usurping the footballing prerogatives of the Palestinian Untermenschen. Such self-evidently absurd and antisemitic objections cannot help but inflame the indignation of the Trumpster and his head-tribble, whose kingdom will be co-hosting next year's World Cup and who have doubtless already supplied the Israeli team with the weapons and body armour necessary to sweep aside all opposition until the final against the team from Trumpsterland.

Pragmatic Peacekeeping, Affordable Atrocity

British decency is always most touching when most inexpensive; and His Majesty's Government seems to have come through splendidly when faced with the prospect of a non-profitable genocide in Sudan, where paramilitary groups generally lack the US-bankrolled weapons-purchasing wherewithal of the Righteous State. Given four possible options for protecting civilians and preventing war crimes, the Ministry for Wogs, Beads and Trinkets plumped for the least ambitious; though its parsimony was no doubt more than adequately compensated for in the volume of tutting noises that emerged once the ethnic cleansing was properly under way.

Prevention Creep

British extremists are very selfishly becoming less Islamic and more like the political mainstream. Initially set up by the Blairites as a convenient vehicle for official Islamophobia, the Prevent programme now risks subversion through referrals of people barely distinguishable from Team Starmer's policy-makers in the Farage Falange. More than a third of beneficiaries in the past year also had at least one mental health or neurodiversity condition, which presumably is not quite what Wideboy Wesley Streeting meant when he implied that disabled people are just in it for the free BMWs and luxury accommodation. It is to be hoped that the programme can somehow be restored to its original sensible and moderate remit, perhaps by encouraging more referrals of those displaying insufficient enthusiasm for virtuous genocide or profitable ecocide.

We Won't Remember Them

Even now that Remembrance Sunday has been more or less officially re-branded as a rah-rah for the troops, the poppy-wearing patriotic consciousness remains in need of protection from certain British soldiers. During the Spanish civil war about 2500 British and Irish citizens joined up to fight against Franco's coup, and the current Spanish government is commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of Franco's death by bestowing citizenship on some of the volunteers' descendants. Among them is the son of a Latvian immigrant who had the temerity to study medicine at Edinburgh and then try to infiltrate the territorial army; whereupon, with unimpeachable British decency, the authorities responded first by threatening him with deportation and later by conscripting him. Along with that of the other International Brigades volunteers, his memory is unlikely to be welcome behind any of the well-fed would-be-solemn faces at the Cenotaph next week.

Ideologically Confined

Democracy among the lesser breeds is often still a primitive affair, and the Chilean government has strayed so far from the path of virtue as to impose inferior housing conditions upon some friends of the sainted Thatcher. In order to relieve overcrowding elsewhere, the authorities plan to re-purpose the luxury retirement home where the doddering accomplices of the delightful Augusto Pinochet have been housed at the public's expense. It's bad enough to believe that prisons can ever be too overcrowded; but attempting to remedy the situation by inconveniencing moderate and sensible patriots demonstrates just how far from British values the Latin American consciousness remains.

Their Cross to Bear

We live in a complicated world, and occasionally a moral problem will arise which even a bit of wog-bashing cannot readily resolve. One such is causing a dilemma for the clean-limbed cadres of the Kent Farage Falange, whose county council is being forced to choose between that great Englishman, Saint George, and that other great Englishman, Baby Jesus. Local patriots have put up flags along the road through one of the villages, and now that Christmas has been with us for a week or two the county council has come over all Health and Safety about the prospect of putting up the festive lights. There seems to be some disagreement as to who is or is not legally permitted to remove the flags but, doubtless mindful of the moral risks involved in offending the stormtroopers' delicate sensibilities, the parish council has meekly requested that they carry out the act themselves. It is to be hoped that Baby Jesus will remember His English heritage sufficiently to show an appropriate degree of gratitude.

That's an American Holiday, Walt

Bob Newhart has caused me much cultural confusion. When the TV show bearing his name appeared in the schedules, it occupied the slot formerly filled by 9 to 5, which featured a villain named Hart; so I naturally assumed that Newhart must be a spinoff. On first seeing it, I was further discombobulated by the American habit of naming some shows after their stars even when the stars play fictitious characters: Newhart was not a Newhart sketch show but a sitcom about a travel writer living among some comical country cousins.

A little later I encountered his monologue "Introducing Tobacco to Civilisation", in which he plays a business associate of Sir Walter "Nutty Walt" Raleigh, reacting sceptically to various novelties from the New World. It's an ingenious piece in which the performer can elicit considerable hilarity just from stating bare facts and then cackling at their manifest absurdity; but even so, one early line puzzled me. Walt has sent over a boatload of turkeys, which have not been used according to instructions: "as a matter of fact they're still here, Walt ... they're flapping all over London as a matter of fact. See, uh, that's an American holiday, Walt." Cue one of the largest laughs on the recording and a round of applause.

It's probable that even at my then-tender age I was aware of the Pavlovian reaction that afflicts many US citizens upon mention of the divine demonym; but I was still surprised that even these poor insular creatures should imagine Christmas as their own exclusive burden. Fortunately it was explained to me that Americans have some holidays of their own and don't associate turkey with Christmas in the way we do here on the mainland, and my horizons were duly broadened.

However, as with so many aspects of globalisation and multiculturalism, it appears that the process has now gone too far. Strange foods and alien practices are encroaching upon our native calendar; and to add insult to injury, they are doing so right in the middle of the Christmas season and blatantly clashing with the Remembrance Day rah-rah. Britain is a tolerant and inclusive nation which has effortlessly assimilated Indian caste-consciousness, Chinese authoritarianism and Nigerian corruption; but it can hardly be expected to yield to the values of a country with a written constitution, an official separation of church and state, and a fully elected parliament. Surely a decisive intervention by the protectors of our cultural coherence can only be a matter of time.

Prisoners of Efficiency

In the wake of the accidental release of a child sex offender and (yet worse) brown asylum seeker, trade union officials and other criminals have very treacherously, ungratefully, antisemitically and un-Britishly presumed to warn prison authorities and His Majesty's Government about the state of the national punishment system. At least one convict due for release made an official complaint about the lack of any information as to where he was meant to live or how to contact his probation officer, while the prison officers' union even seems to think that individual staff members should not be blamed for systemic problems; and this despite someone conveniently low in the pecking order having already been suspended, quite possibly by those responsible for the paperwork in which the suspendee's error originated. Meanwhile, the Minister for Profitable Incarceration has put the blame on human error, rather than on the general running down of public services which the Conservatives and their little yellow chums accelerated past breaking point and which Team Starmer has no particular interest in reversing. The advantage of blaming human error is, of course, that it is soon to be eliminated along with immigrants and all other Bad Things by the introduction of the BlairCard™ digital panopticon and by the replacement of everyone on a fallible salary grade by AI bots powered from a Musk plagiarism hub.