Hi again. I think it’s safe to blog because everyone has stopped following me. I know why. It’s those
Have you seen this?
It’s happening and I warned you. Not that you’ve listened. Or you’ve been brainwashed. THEY are running a campaign to discredit me. But I won’t be silenced.
Look, someone has had to take the lead for those committed to
You remember? Back Off Our Blogs? Someone left a comment. I think they wanted me to lead BOOB. It was coded, of course, to stop them being persecuted too. But pretty clear.
‘You’re a complete tit’
That’s a compliment, right? Wanting me to point the way?
Anyway, I wanted to warn you the Gang of Four have finalised their egregious blog-domination plans. Yeah PLANS.
Take those awards thingies, above, for which you can vote, right? I thought we might bring them down by overwhelming their software but they coped. Geez, I don’t know how. I heard people have voted in their thousands. Yeah thousands and still they managed to keep their dastardly scheme afloat. They must have some awesome IT.
I think it’s that Irish one – you know, freckles and an orange beard? Short, wears green? She’s put a hex on the web. I heard she’s into myths and stuff. Bog dives at the weekends, hunting for leprechaun gold and the rare Geoffle that lives deep beneath the peat, eating toasted cheese hamsters and dreaming up awful jokes.
What do you call a man with a seagull on his head?
Apparently all Irish rainbows are now adrift because of all the gold she’s taken from the pots at the ends of the rainbows. Only last week, in Dublin the press was full of the first ever Monster Gay Pride Eyebrow Festival. The Irish Prime Minister, The TeeShirt, has declared a national emergency and when last seen the Rainbows were making steady progress across the Irish Sea. Wales is on standby. If you doubt me, take a dander at her blog. Here. She’s had it webbed to keep it afloat. Cunning.
It’s no surprise, given the direction of the now rampant airborne EyeBrows, that the Welsh one has also been causing problems for BOOB. I admit, he had me fooled for a while. You know, all chummy and cosy-like? All that stuff about Mildred and the dog. But I found out his secret. It’s in those oh-so-innocent short stories, he posts. They are message-boards for aliens. The Truth App? Come on. Everyone can see it is really a Jupiter based invasion trigger sequence. When it’s been read 150 times the invasion can’t be stopped. Simples. I’ve put a link here to stop you reading it by accident.
And given the direction of travel you just plot a straight line and what do you find? You reach the Lair of the Black Queen; the power behind this scam. You see she’s not content with a little blog-subversion. Not that one. She pretends to be a twenty-something, wannabe novelist who posts about inspiring other writers, but in fact she is a two hundred and twenty seven year old inter-planetary despot. Because of the coded messages from the Hwyl (he calls himself Hugh but really he’s neat undiluted Hwyl – it’s a kind of Welsh paraffin you rub in your chest and it sets you all aflame) and the gold funding from the Irish One, the Black Queen has found her way to
That’s right. That’s what this is all about. It’s the start of
First you’re seduced by their lizard writing and snake-like charm. Then it’s this meeting, all free hugs and big smiles.
IST AUGUST AT 11 AM AT THE BRITISH LIBRARY
But the truth is – and I got this from Hwyl’s Truth Appity thingy – they are after your interior worlds. Because they know you are the Ultimate Creators. You have all these people running around inside you, desperate to get out.
If they tap into your
feeble febrile minds and find the source they’ll have an army of characters. And we all know these sort of characters are utterly biddable. They can make them do anything.
But I have found their weakness. They hate loud noise. Really loathe it. So this is what we do.
We keep voting, right? We want them to believe they have deceived us. The more votes by
Thursday 30th not later than 12.00 noon
Then we all turn up on the day. Remember
1st August at 11am at the British Library.
That’s one of them, sitting on the toilet and eating some misbegotten blogger.
You see all of them have to eat. They are
They have to eat. Often. So they’ll be refuelling at
Pizza Express from 12.30.
That’s when they are at their weakest. See, at some point one of them will stand up to ‘say a few words’. That’s the cue. You applaud. Hard. And long. And cheer ‘Hooray’ and ‘Well done’ and ‘Cod fillets’. And let your characters go. Release the Hordes. They will trounce them. You will see them for what they are.
We will win.
But if you see a rainbow, duck.
PS some one has asked about the fourth one, the one they use to wear their secret weapons-grade T shirt in their photos, the one with no eyes. He’s a stooge, what with his upside down head and ears like a wing-nut it clear he is a puppet. He’ll be there, for sure but just watch him. He’ll always be holding onto something, always with a rucksack on. It’s a weight. If he takes it off or lets go he floats like a barrage balloon. Full of gas, that’s why and if he hits one of those rainbows, London will be drowned in sequins and glitter. Imagine the fun!