Dear Auntie Beeb...

Yestermorn, I had the misfortune to 'tune in', as the young would have it, to Radio 4, a British 'wireless station', to use the patois of the street, whence my ears and brain were assaulted by the witless yapping of the so-called Today programme. At the time I was happily breakfasting on devilled kidneys whilst reading the latest issue of White Wolves of Whitstable Awaken (Weekly)!, an inestimable periodical to which I subscribe, and which, incidentally, has been traduced by the 'politically correct' with the label 'repellent neo-Nazi rag' (I would classify it more as PostNietzchean White Supremacist, but there you go).

Anyhoo, a learned professor of some ghastly third-rate metropolitan university was debating the merits, or otherwise, of incorporating Creationism or Intelligent Design or Colonic Palmistry or some such bilge into the school curriculum as a topic of argument. All well and good, with more or less characteristically insipid comments being made by both sides.

Gratingly, however, the BBC chose to invite the comments of ordinary members of the public via the medium of 'email'! Quite frankly, this despicable development must be stopped. I do not spend hours every year forging medical notes from my doctor to send to the BBC in order to excuse myself from paying their extortionate license fee, only for that bloated and over-funded organisation to abdicate its responsibility to provide a professional journalistic service by inviting pig-ignorant cretins off the street to 'email' their ill-formed bastardised opinions to fill what I understand is referred to by those in the profession as 'air time'!

As it is, the useless turds who float upon the BBC's journalistic pool can scarcely be trusted to report their way out of a brown paper bag, without further diluting their already pitifully inadequate and foetal abilities by inviting kneejerk claptrap from drivelling housebound morons.

A quite disgusting case in point was presented to me with all the aplomb of a cup of cold sick being plonked on the table before me in Quo Vadis on Dean Street on the aforementioned Today programme. As I say, some academic oaf had been discussing Creationism, and the mooning female presenter, whose name quite escapes me but she really isn't on a par with the MacGregor woman, read out 'on air' an 'email', as follows (so shocked was I by this blatant display of inadequacy that I had to thrash my houseboy into transcribing the piece for me, a difficult task for a 16-year old fresh off the banana boat from Thailand, but there you go):

"An email from Simon Bradbury on Creationism - what your guest conveniently failed to mention is that the Theory of Evolution is just a Theory, it is not fact."

And no-one in the studio pointed out that this is wrong, wrong, wrong! That Bradbury is an unsuccessfully-aborted durr-brain who doesn't understand what the term Theory means in science! I wanted to scream (in fact I did, as I hurled the wireless set across the room) and hunt down Simon Bradbury and bellow into his fat moronic dribbling face, "You disgusting fuckwit, you sicken me!!! The Theory of Evolution is a Theory in the same way that E = m c-squared is part of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, but would you deny the hideous concrete reality of the consequences of that Theory to someone who was in Hiroshima on 6 August 1945?" before vomiting copiously down his throat. Except that Simon Bradbury, who is demonstrably a mentalist, probably wouldn't understand the reference.

But more than that I was revolted to the very core of my being by the utter absence of editorial comment on such dickwittery, though this is hardly surprising in an organisation stuffed with scientifically illiterate humanities-educated mediocrities who wouldn't know a hadron from a hardon. Has no-one in the Media the guts to stand up to the stunted intellectual pygmies of the Public and tell them that they are hideously ignorant stinking ugly bastards whose sole role in relation to the news is to passively consume and do what they are damn well told? Hhhm? Eh?

Spineless mental cripples.

Into Futility!

By way of an introduction, I caution you, dear reader, not to accept anything written here as the unvarnished, unpolished, even, dare I say it, unsandpapered truth. What clues I inadvertantly let slip as to my nature and identity will have been finely calculated to a minimum of three decimal places to mislead. My life story is unimportant and of even less interest to you - but my opinions are of the most supreme significance. Hanging upon them lies the very future of the sordid cosmic experiment we call the Human Race!

So sit back, dearest reader, crack open a cheap bottle of four-for-a-tenner wine, and embark upon the whitewater whiteknuckle whitebread intellectual adventure ride that is the frequently profane but never sacred To Futility & Beyond!