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We’re mad as hell, &c., &c.
I think it’s all so utterly disgusting that it’s time to stand up and be counted.
At my public meeting last night in the Old Town Hall (closed 1992, all items of value have been removed) I fearlessly addressed such topics as:
* that whistling noise
* illegal convoys of New Age wind turbines with dreadlocks
* that guy who’s always in the cash & carry, levitating
* cross-pollination of the rainforest by depleted ozone grenades
* Viscount Thurso and his absurd moustache
* Turkey Twizzlers, who should all be sent back to Turkey if you ask me
* old people afraid to leave their homes in case they’re shot with an ‘Asbo’
* some fellow called General Galtieri who I’m told has invaded the Falkland Islands, though there was toss all about it in the press, as usual
* my sister (just look at these photos)
* paperclips with a metallic finish that corrodes and leaves nasty marks on your documents after only thirty years
* so-called ‘genuine’ asylum seekers – they’re so desperate to get their hands on my Supplementary Coq-Au-Vin Benefit that they’re not even lying! I ask you!
* Fay Weldon, Janet Street-Porter and everyone who is even remotely like them (that should cover it).
After a hard-hitting discussion I was just getting down to the nitty gritty when two young men with goatee beards, beanie hats and ill-fitting jeans sauntered in, switched on the only light that worked (revealing I was the sole person present) and inexplicably began striking each other with surfboards.
I was most upset.
It was one of those moments when it dawns on you that the rest of the world has moved on and you don’t understand anything anymore, least of all how to heat up temazepam tablets so they liquefy properly and you can inject them into your groin, which is what I was trying to do until 3 a.m. as I thought it might cheer me up.
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