Publisher’s note: The shire’s leader Mr. E. Thorn is under physical restraint after losing his marbles (again). We visit with him in his hospital bed surrounded by his devoted followers.
Breakfast
I always think that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. As I sit munching on my delicious infidel chockypops (drenched in milk stolen from the mouths of thirty starving baby street kittens) I am watching the unexpurgated highlights of the shire’s last 24 hours. You see, everything went like clockwork. I gave a public speech to a massive crowd of paid supporters (thank you International Jewish Banking Conspiracy for footing that bill) and seriously annoyed just about everyone. My psychiatrist and my wife say that I have a talent for this. Alas none of my TV stations showed much of the mayhem that followed my brilliant speech last night due to self censorship. Which left me a bit high and dry for my morning entertainment. Thank God for YouTube which I recently unbanned for this purpose.
Let me tell you the story. It’s such a good one! The driver of one of my water cannon vehicles called me last night for permission to drench an infidel hospital located in the shire and I gave the go-ahead by direct telephone link. He pointed his water cannon through the doors and ejaculated it on the nurses and the doctors inside the building. After years of frustration I finally feel sexually fulfilled.
My speech to the party’s unwashed earlier that day as always centered on the gang rape of some old dears in a church by beer-swilling rebellious riff-raff. Such stories are always good for a laugh and are guaranteed to press a few religious buttons. I never let the truth get in the way of a good story and so in spite of the vicar’s denial of any of this taking place (the doomed idiot!) I am sticking to my guns. It’s a juicy story worthy of the Old Testament and somehow I had to justify the police actions that I had ordered should follow that very evening.
I AM A GOD! I am God incarnate! I am the God of the Old Testament! Last night I smited my enemies with my iron fists and cleansed the village streets. And the gay men posing as doctors treating the allegedly injured have been arrested for their perverted activities.
Publisher: I think you mean ‘smote my enemies’, sir.
Thorn: Then I smoted my enemies!
Publisher: Ok, smoted, whatever. Mr. Thorn suddenly screamed hideously and then fell into a deep and peaceful sleep that lasted until…
Lunch.
My powers now know no bounds. The chicken shit BeeBeeSee from Ingerlanshire are so in awe of me that they described last night’s carnage on the streets across the shire as a ‘night of unrest’. When I am made sultan of all the shires I will have harem eunuchs to surround me and they will all be foreign correspondents harvested from the BeeBeeSee. Think about it. No medical bills. They already come castrated and lacking in their manly parts. And they already know how to take it up chuff.
Dinner.
I am about to ban those twittering birds. They are a social menace and I can’t take those voices in my head anymore. (Pause for more meds to be administered). Twitter is a social menace and will be blocked forthwith. It will be replaced by my new service, TurkTwat. I am its first member and all the populace along with my secret police will be signed up compulsorily to TurkTwat. It’s a great feeling to be cool. I will now be a twat!
Publisher: Sir, even better, since you are its great leader, your tag should be @GreatTwat because you are a great twat..
Thorn: Yes, I am a great twat!
On a more serious note, take care if you are in Istanshire tonight. The bullets flying won’t be rubber and the poo is about to hit the propeller. If you are outside Istanshire then you can do a google search for ‘live feed dha’ or ‘live feed reuter’ or tune to the channel DHA FEED on that satellite at 42 degrees East.
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