I was wandering around the house trying to make up my mind if I should go for a run or not.
That’s how bad things are now. I’m sick of the fat-bastardness that swept over me after I stopped smoking and started eating like a starving crocodile-pig. Sick of it. I want my old chisel-featured self back, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you about.
No. That’s just context.
I was trying to make my mind up: run or no run, and I didn’t know what to do, so I went outside to kick the dog savagely while I mulled it over. I find it very calming to beat the dog mercilessly for a few minutes each day while he tries to bite my scrotum off and I spray him in the eyes with Cillit Bang.
It’s good, aerobic exercise, but today I thought a run would help me to clear up the last details of the new political party I’m going to form. It will be based on a new model, replacing the tired old formula of Right and Left, which are now utterly obsolete, since the world’s economic systems have evaporated. From now on, the parties of the world will be either Right or Wrong.
I’m going to start the Wrong Party. It will be a party of the Hard Wrong. I’ll be a Wrong-Wing demagogue, shouting Wrongist slogans at anyone who comes within 17.3 meters of me, and leadership of the party will be open to two classes of people: myself, and anyone who can divide Avogadro’s Number by the square root of Pi in under three seconds.
Come here, you bastard, I snarled at the hound. Come here so I can kick you.
Did I mention that Satan’s Hound fouled the fucking stairs last night, and earned a high-velocity steel toecap in the anus for his trouble? No? Well he did, the bastard.
But as the cowed hound slunk towards me for his daily sadistic kicking at my hands, or feet, I noticed something a little odd. A trifle unusual for this part of Ireland.
What the fuck? I asked the dog, who cowered with his arse in the air, awaiting the first brutal kick of the day.
Oh fuck off, I barked at him. It’s fuckin snowing.
This was great news, because it meant I shouldn’t go for a run, which was the result I hoped for all along. Snow. I took it as a sign that the new party would prosper.
The Wrong Party: Snowing you under with bullshit.
Will you sign up?
Applications are flooding in. I hereby appoint the following cabinet members.
|Mr G Ink||Minister for Arts and Free Helicopter Rides|
|Ms S Problemchildbride||Secretary of War and Home Baking|
|Mr S Andcry||Deputy Secretary of Baking with special responsibility for Rugby|
|Ms D Eviatrix||Minister for Skobe Control|
|Dr O Rgasm||Minister for Good Lovin’|
|Ms S Weary||Under-minister for Good Lovin’|
|Mr B Ackhander||Minister for Brown Envelopes|
|Mr TG Zucchini||Minister for Weather Control and Spin-Nursing|