Burning for Justice

The Christian state of Texas is suffering persecution because of its eminently godly practice of broiling those who displease it. Presumably thanks to divine judgement (Texas of all places must be immune to the Heathen Chinee hoax that is global heating), correctional beneficiaries are being exposed to the purifying fire of fatally high temperatures; while the state has at its disposal only twenty times the amount of spare cash required to fit the institutions with air conditioning. One campaigner has even been so unfair as to claim that the Christian state of Texas tolerates unconstitutional and brutal conditions, as opposed to revelling in them, wallowing in them, and gloating over them.

In Line With Expectations

Vanishingly unlikely and shockingly unprecedented as the prospect may seem, it is just possible that the CEO of Team Starmer may be about to renege on a pledge. Having criticised Fishy Rishi for letting La Truss and the National Johnson bestow Ruritanian sinecures on their accomplices when they got thrown out, the martyr to moderation straightforwardly proclaimed that he himself would not indulge in an ejection honours list. However, that was when he was expecting a decade or two in office and the undying gratitude of several million adoring defectors from the Farage Falange. In the present altered circumstances, the statesman of the sensibles has declined to reveal whether he intends elevating such luminaries as the previous prime minister, Morgan McSweeney, to the ermine-clad empyrean that is the House of Cronies and Catamites. He has said that the matter will be looked into "in the usual course of things," which presumably means he has not yet received instructions from on high as to who is most deserving and whether the Trumpster and his head-tribble will be satisfied with a single honorary knighthood between them.

One Does Not Drive the Best Carriage to Visit the Servants' Lodge

Having flown to Turkey in a four-hundred-million-dollar bung from the Qatari royal family, the Trumpster and his head-tribble will travel from Turkey to the UK in the vice-Air Force One. The newer aircraft will apparently be along as a tourist attraction, since the Trumpster and his head-tribble seem to be under the impression that it constitutes a stately home. Suggestions that security concerns might have led to the change, perhaps owing to suspected Iranian sympathies in the Qatari bung's systems, were waved away with a tiny hand; doubtless the aircraft's racial loyalties are considered assured thanks to the high-visibility orange coating on its flight recorder. How the Special Relationship will be affected remains as yet remarkably unexplored.

Black Lungs Matter

A firework display celebrating the overthrow of hereditary lunacy in favour of elective idiocy has bestowed upon Washington DC the worst air quality of any major city in the world. Thanks to some well-timed thunderstorms and an uncharacteristic dearth of emissions from the Trumpster's upper sphincter, the conditions lasted only a few hours; yet the Heathen Chinee will nevertheless have been satisfactorily discombobulated. Given their perpetration of the global warming hoax, and the cunning and insidious manner in which they have sought to compound their malign oriental jest by systematically cleaning up their own environment, it is fitting that the realm of the Trumpster and his head-tribble should utilise the fiends' most famous invention against them.

Another Price Worth Paying

Just as moisture provision privatisers promised greater efficiency and lower bills, and delivered rivers of sewage and poisoned tap-water; just as successive NHS "reformers" promised better care and delivered increased bureaucracy and a demoralised workforce; so the great infoslop boom appears to be promising, mirabile dictu, rather better than it intends to deliver. The companies in charge of building a water consumption emporium in Scotland trumpeted their intention to power their blanched cyberpachyderm entirely from renewables, while being well aware that no realistic prospect exists of their doing any such thing. Naturally, His Majesty's Government waved the project through with a moderate and sensible snigger of complaisance: when set against the potential for sackings, surveillance and pocket-picking, the environmental consequences of the infoslop boom are a metter of small concern.

Britishness Imperilled Yet Again

Our United Kingdom is a voluntary association of four nations: Wales (voluntarily conquered and annexed in the thirteenth century), Scotland (voluntarily yoked by royal arrangement in the seventeenth century and fused by élite stitch-up in the eighteenth), Ireland (voluntarily conquered in the seventeenth century, exploited and brutalised through the eighteenth, depopulated by starvation in the nineteenth, partitioned in the twentieth, patronised in the twenty-first), and England, voluntary benefactor and resources manager to all the aforementioned. Patriots will therefore be disturbed to observe that elements among the provinces are actively and deliberately undertaking the treasonous and un-British business of plotting to vitiate their voluntariousness. In the event of a Farage Falange success at the next general election, and the assorted final solutions to the nation's problems which would most likely follow, there seems a very real prospect that the provinces will seek to secede from the mainland in premeditated acts of crypto-Caribbean ingratitude. It is therefore to be hoped that a suitable portion of the planned welfare bonanza for the Ministry of Wog-Bombing will be spared for the Farage Falange and its strutting Caudillo to maintain stability on the Home Front, even at the cost of slightly delaying Westminster's forthcoming invasion of Russia and concomitant rescue of Western civilisation.

Flagging Enthusiasm

Another local cadre of the Farage Falange seems to be sorting things out in fine British fashion. Since the county of Nottinghamshire has no more pressing needs at the moment, the Falange-run council has spent seventy-five thousand pounds on a flag-hanging scheme to enhance civic pride. The Falange's shadow Minister for Gruel and Gristle, the thuggish Lee Anderson, proclaimed that the taxpayer wouldn't have to pay a penny because local businesses would, if they knew what was good for them, rush joyously to sponsor the enterprise out of their proceeds from our great Nation's booming post-Brexit economy. Alas, it appears that business in Nottinghamshire has been entirely taken over by traitors, foreigns, and other adherents of the Protocols of the Elders of Mecca; so the scheme is costing the taxpayer some seven and a half million pennies, or eighteen million in the genuine British money that prevailed before the beastly Euro-wogs instituted the curse of decimalisation. How far the enhancement of Nottinghamshire's civic pride has proceeded as a result remains as yet unclear.

Sunshine for Business

Good tidings about the climate calamity have emerged from the Continent, where the recent heatwaves caused a significant spike in excess deaths among the perfidious French, the beastly Belgians and the dreadful Dutch. Most of those who died were over forty-five, and the worst affected were those over sixty-five; so moderate and sensible economic planners in Britain will rejoice at the prospect of future heatwaves dispensing with those among the master race who are perilously close to collecting what remains of their pensions. The largest increase was in domestic demisements: another good sign for the mainland, where homes designed to withstand colder and wetter weather will turn into ever more efficient death-traps as infrastructure profitability becomes ever more sustainable and power cuts deprive the surplus population of what little cooling ability they currently possess. Casualties among the wealthy, the air-conditioned, and those with significant financial interests in perpetuating and exacerbating the climate calamity appear, as usual, to have been negligible.

Deeply, Sincerely and Economically

We can concede today
Our predecessors' shame:
They're decades dead, so they
Can rest content with blame.

We'll barely spend a bean
In fiscal recompense:
Our nation's conscience clean
At minimal expense.

We've made the moral leap,
Said sorry for their crime;
For talk is always cheap
And gets more so with time.

Layton Doolittle

Blasphemous Bishoprics

Members of the Society of Saint Pius X have been getting themselves up in fancy dress and indulging in a ritual-filled ceremony, which sounds nearly as redundant as being strong in the Lord and the power of His might. Since the ceremony included the unlicensed ordination of bishops, the participants are automatically excommunicated despite the Society's extensive and friendly associations with fascists and Holocaust deniers. It has long been known that the Christian clergy have trouble keeping their hands to themselves; but while the Church of Rome's attitude to picking the taxpayer's pocket or sexually abusing a dupe has generally been tolerant, using hands alongside the magic words is a very different matter.