Woke Vanity

Cosmetics which are made and marketed without reference to Health and Safety rouge tape are likely to contain lead and mercury: ingredients which were widely used during the formative period of the British Empire. In those great days a few chemical burns or a touch of neurological decay and organ failure were considered a price worth paying for the duty and privilege of having a white skin. Alas, in these dark and decadent times when independent facial enhancement entrepreneurs are denounced and persecuted for taking British beauty back to the good old days, this high moral standard has been sadly subsumed.

Commercial Bodies

Apocalyptic levels of corporate tact continue to prevail in South Korea. Mere months after Starbucks' little gaffe involving some lazy executives relying on an infoslop generator, the manufacturers of a combat video game have committed another by not bothering to fake their own footage. Instead the game uses clips from the Seoul crowd disaster of Halloween 2022, which cost the lives of a hundred and sixty non-Caucasians. The intention was to evoke the consequences of an unauthorised reunification of the peninsula by the Democratic People's Republic, whose record of inflicting civilian casualties outside its own borders lags somewhat behind that of the Freedomising Powers and was therefore evidently in need of a vérité boost to its credibility.

Il faut cultiver notre jardin

It seems the Heathen Chinee have ascended so far into Britishness as to raise a generation of young adults without troubling to provide them with a viable future; and it remains as yet unclear whether even a world war over plucky little Formosa would be a fiscally responsible way of using them up. Hence a new craze for raising bricks, or more accurately raising the mosses that accumulate on them, whose undemanding tenacity provides a sense of stability without imposing strenuous obligations. In keeping with their clashing civilisational values, the Heathen Chinee media have dispensed advice about how to avoid the health hazards associated with the spores, while Britain's leading liberal newspaper has decided to have a bit of a snigger.

Mysterious Ways

Besides being a byword for political unworldliness, the Church of Rome is of course noted for its aversion to putting sex pests in positions of power, and is also famously fastidious about cosying up to fascists. Doubtless this explains the shock with which some Catholic bishops have greeted the Trumpster administration's use of a supposedly private occasion to create a campaign photo-opportunity. As befits a national Saviour, the Trumpster had invited twelve disciples for a discussion of "fertility treatment incentives, abortion-inducing drugs and tax credits for private schools" and other elevated matters, followed by a low-key violation of Matthew 6 vi - only for his team to take photos and video of the sacred affair and upload them on social media. Having been invited for "private prayer" a few days before some major elections, the simple servants could not possibly anticipate that the betribbled one of all men might have been plotting anything so crass and self-serving.

Defensive Decency

Whether inducing the poor towards greater thrift or empowering the disabled to earn their bare existence, British generosity is usually a prudent, penny-pinching affair; and rarely more so than in the matter of international aid. Once an extravagant seven-tenths of one per cent of national income, the master race's contribution has been cut to a bountiful three-tenths of one per cent, which now appears on course to be delivered after the time-honoured Team Starmer fashion. Being morally above considerations of soft power and pragmatically committed to profitable procurement for a third world war within half a decade, His Majesty's Government can hardly be expected to concern itself with dispensing pocket money to a lot of wogs who will just need bombing into proper economic values anyway.

Even the Saucers Aren't What They Were

Given that its chief executive is controlled entirely by the diarrhoeic defecations of a rabid radioactive head-tribble, it should come as no surprise that the United States monarchy is seeking to distract credulous subjects with less well-substantiated rumours of alien incursion. In keeping with the Trumpster's promises of full disclosure, the Pentagon's revelations about unverifiably asserted phenomena have become more meagre and less tainted by evidence, and the latest tranche includes an assertion by some redacted persons about some speedy black triangles which appeared over a redacted location and then vanished without trace. The witnesses are two senior military observers, and thus hardly less reliable than the greased and tattooed Secretary of War himself; and they have considerately provided artists' impressions of black triangles over a landscape to show what the phenomenon was like. Nevertheless, at least one academic expert has been cynical enough to dismiss this documentation as "little more than a black triangle shape superimposed on a landscape background," which just goes to show how unconstructively critical some people can be.

Blaze Up

Someone has burned down Hitler's retreat in the mountains, hopefully with less unfortunate consequences than when a certain Dutch dimwit set fire to the Reichstag. Most of Hitler's architectural legacy long ago succumbed to Bomber Command and the denazification process; but the Eagle's Nest was preserved as a monument to the "insanity of the régime," which seems to have made about as much moral difference as one would expect. Presumably the site's inaccessibility amid the Bavarian heights prevented its becoming a shrine to anything beyond historical complacency and holy commerce; its destruction will serve as yet one more gratuitous reminder that there is no lesson so elevated that it can't eventually go up in smoke.

Beating Time

Encouraging signs of cultural Britishness have emerged from the disorder in Paris, where riot police tear-gassed an orchestra at Place de la République, under the eyes of Marianne herself. The orchestra describes itself as anti-racist, anti-capitalist, feminist, environmentalist and committed to de-growth, which is about as provocative towards the forces of centrist moderation as anyone could dare to get. Fortunately, orchestras in general are famously less perilous to assault than angry mobs and actual criminals, and it is only natural that the forces of centrist moderation should wish to avoid excessive risk of harm to their frères et semblables in the ever-sensitive fascist and looter communities.

Warm Welcome

Readers of H G Wells and listeners to Jeff Wayne will recall The War of the Worlds, in which the invading Martians deploy a Heat-Ray as their primary weapon. As the loyal servant of a still more alien overlord, America's greased and tattooed Secretary of State for War has apparently approved a similar weapon for use in the latest Mexican war. In fact, the American system is technically no more a heat ray than the greased and tattooed Secretary is technically a statesman: it emits waves of energy that penetrate about a sixty-fourth of an inch into the epidermis, presumably because the Department for Homeland Security doesn't care to get any deeper under the swarthy skins of the illegals. Initially developed by the Pentagon, the weapon was taken to Afghanistan and back without being used; but the current alien intervention may yet enable it to be tested in the battle to liberate the greatest country in the world from the marauding wetback empire, despite its capabilities falling considerably short of incinerating Woking. Tentacled crania dependent on mechanical exoskeletons, Wells' Martians represent a possible future human species; the hydrophobic head-tribble whose radioactive defecations control the Trumpster is an altogether less anthropomorphic entity, and its Heat-Ray accordingly less well adapted to the terrestrial environment.

Martyred Again

In broken Britain it's always the way: you wait ages for the real world to justify your self-pity and then three reasons come along at once. The Farage Falange has been faced with calumnies over the squillionaire bungs; with investigative journalists broadcasting things that people said; and now with a meta-fine for failing to pay a fine over illegal campaign material. Payment of the original amount was due a month ago; but either the strutting Caudillo's cheque-signing abilities match his cadres' capacity for proof-reading their own propaganda, or else his crypto-currency of choice somehow failed to substitute adequately for legitimate coin of the realm. Since the Farage Falange trades almost entirely on the self-pity of its strutting Caudillo and the presumption that this finds an echo in the grievances of the great unwashed, it is to be hoped that further vehicles will arrive in short order.