A Self-effacing Proposal

Operation to geld a horse

It seems that the ConDem top brass are now openly voicing more and more of the vile notions they swap when drinking together. The latest wizard wheeze to be noised abroad is that children be starved for the offence of having the wrong parents.

I am an armchair pacifist. My chief wish and pleasure is that all-round niceness and geniality be promoted. These qualities, and the gaiety of nations, would be greatly enhanced by having the ConDem top brass gelded (under local anaesthetic, of course) live over the Internet. They would be interviewed throughout by Ms. Kay Burley, deploying her customary professionalism and sensitivity, to the accompaniment of a medley of Mahler and Britten tunes (well, you know what I mean) rendered by the surviving Monkees under the direction of Baron Lloyd-Webber, of Sydmonton in the County of Hampshire. The whole episode would be reduced to deathless prose by Mr. Julian Ruck, who would incorporate it in his next best-seller.

There is my little contribution to raising the standard of public discourse. Will you write in and endorse my sediments? I’m sure you will.

3 thoughts on “A Self-effacing Proposal”

  1. Because he’s far too noisy. This, it occurred to me, might be helpful if the effect of the local anaesthetic began to wear off.

  2. Before I down the last of my dram, I’d like to add that these dreary people should also be subjected to readings from T. S. Eliot by a relay of My Lords Touhig, Prescot, and Ashcroft.

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