Nov 30th – out of the tree of life, I just picked me a plum.

There are certain mouths so busy that no matter how many Strepsils their owner sucks, they can never quite keep pace with the number of dicks to which they do the same. In this way, strep, despite best intentions, are accidentally transferred in large numbers into the cock’s eye. And, so, before you know it, there is a streptococci epidemic at large, striking down the clean living and filth mongers without distinction.*

Such was the news re: Iain Bon-Bon Collings, as soon as everyone realised he’d gone missing.

It has gone viral locally (as it were), and despite the fact that Collins has lived his life on a spectrum that has snake at one end, and irredeemable cunt at the other, he is now talked of in reverential tones —as if, somehow, his disappearance has rendered him chaste and good. Next, we’ll be eating intensively-farmed, hydroponically-nourished poultry; listening to Supertramp on loop; and exchanging delusional, fantastical anecdotes with each other in celebration of Bonbonmass.

When I first heard the story repeated back to me as gossip, I found it difficult not to laugh out loud —imagining him pondering how he, decent and honourable member of the community that he considers himself to be, could possibly have been made victim of such a capricious cruelty —like a baboon presiding over an enquiry into who took the spare banana.

But that’s how it’s always been, I suppose —pariahs elevated to the state of sainthood by the complacent gullibility of their peers in compliant harmony with their own willingness to acquiesce in unearned admiration. And though reformed arsehole, St Paul, showed us the way of truth and light for all that carry on, many moons ago, it still must give us pause, when someone so palpably lacking as Bon-Bon Macoute comes to occupy such a high status in the community’s sympathies. I mean, whereas once, a sort of assumed piety and a biddable congregation, would seal the deal for some unworthy or other —their upgrade justified by at least a notional sense of spirituality, none of that holds today.

The new breed of repugnant shyster, receive their absolution from a community incapable of remembering beyond the last fifteen minutes. People who could not be trusted to judge an IQ test between Joey Essex and Bobby Seagull; or so much as a beauty contest between Bella Hadid and Laura Loomer —their embracing of society’s rakes is worthless.

And we must say it. Out loud. We have arrived in an age when the minor editing of a video clip of a US president as he actively incited an insurrection, gives cause for legal action against the broadcaster, on the grounds that the president’s reputation had been damaged by it, and not against the demagogue who spoke the despicable words.

The defence to the charge that he had his feelings and reputation hurt by the clip should have been: that by openly reciting the policies of the Third Reich as his own; by siding with Russia in an unjustified act of brutal colonisation; by defaming anyone who dares not to praise him as senile, stupid, of low IQ, fat, ugly, treacherous and corrupt; by pardoning the funders of terrorism on payment of a $4B fee to his own family; by selling bibles, watches, baseball boots, and NFT cards to his marks; by making public speeches which lay bare his inability to comprehend facile concepts, and simple words and phrases —and were that not enough, that his carelessly applied orange face makeup, sat beneath the scalp reduction surgery into which he seems to have had grafted his own mother’s pubic skin, in an attempt to disguise the scar, then YOU HAVE NO REPUTATION LEFT TO DAMAGE.

Instead of doing that, the BBC’s response has been to prostrate itself, to seek to appease, and to apologise. Yes, the very grounds on which the new-right stands —that regulations, manners, and poor me, is over for good, are the very principles on which they sue. Whereas, it needs to be put into action against them, with the message, ‘If this isn’t what you want, why don’t you stick it up your arse for nothing, and fuck off, while you’re doing it?’

This is what Collings will get from me, if he ever dares stick his cuboid primate’s head above the parapet again. Let him, or his sympathisers try —I have only told the truth about him so far, and that was about one single, simple act of gratuitous mendacity. I haven’t even begun to traduce him as he should be…

YET.

*[editor’s note: Dickie White Enterprises is an inclusive enterprise: the same effect can be achieved by excessive licking of vaginas —but vag’ doesn’t work as well as cock, in the forced, contrived, juvenile, and unfunny, cock-eye pun. But it got the whole thing going, and we had to start with something.]