If You Liked This...

... you might want to check out the new thing I started. It's easier to write. I might even post regularly.

Yawn

Chuckles finally rose to prominence yesterday as the subject of this letter to the Independent. Unfortunately, it wasn't printed. I have, however, acquired a copy and reproduce it here for your perusal.

Sir,

It was with great satisfaction that I received news this morning that the widely unread weblog Chuckles is to finish, and not before time. I mean, it was just getting worse and worse, wasn't it? And it was never terribly good to begin with. The posts were too long, the humour (if you can call it that) increasingly puerile, and the ridiculous stylistic conceit which the author insisted on - well, he was always going to paint himself into a corner with that, wasn't he?

But what went wrong? Anyone would've thought that our new government, Tory in all but name, would breathe fresh life into this bloated corpse of a blog. Maybe, but allow me to put forward my own theory.

Let's look at the blog's main thrust in its supposed 'heyday'. Started proper in the final, dying years of the Labour government, its apparent aim was to draw attention to the doublespeak and duplicities of a party that was supposed to be the 'good guy' in the old Westminster duopoly. Where bad things were done in the name of good, Chuckles was there to suggest less noble motives.

But then control was seized by a party which is not only quite self-evidently callous and dishonourable, perhaps even psychopathic, but which appears to revel in the fact. Well, then, what was there for Chuckles to do? Of course, there were a few weak, half-hearted posts saying things like: "ooh, cuts! Bad!" But who needed to be made aware of that? What, frankly, was the point?

So, after watching it limp heartbreakingly through its final few months, the author decided it was time to let go. And I doubt it was an easy decision to make, but I can assure him that it was the kindest thing to do.

I expect he wishes to thank you, you few who actually made the effort to read his drivel. And how very indulgent you all are. You must be saints.

For those of you seeking further punishment - perhaps you're trying to atone for some terrible doing in a former life: a drowned childhood pet, a drunken dalliance with a sibling - he continues to post, under the name of Gainsbourg, at the otherwise excellent spEak You're bRanes, and he's also recently embarked on what will doubtless prove to be another ill-starred attempt at a blog of his own: Scurferens.


Yours sincerely,

Buzz's Dad

Bye.

Chuckles Review Of 2009, Part 4b

And then a bunch of other shit happened. The end.

One Eye Open. Coated In A Thick, Slimy Membrane

Hello, cunt oik bastards.

A lot of people say to me, "George, millions are going to lose their jobs. Families, lives will be torn apart as a direct consequence of your actions. How do you sleep at night?"

And I laugh. I laugh in their faces, their poor, ugly faces, smeared in chicken grease, I laugh in them and I say, "you are very stupid."

Look, you sort of voted for us. Us, the Conservative Party, you voted for us. We bring misery to millions, that's what we do, we're the Conservative Party. What did you expect? I promised fairness. I didn't say to whom that fairness would apply. You assumed I meant the poor. My conscience, such as it is, remains clear.

But listen: it's not all bad. The pain will only be temporary, I assure you, in the wider view of things. Let's say, for example, that I were to cut off your legs. That would make you sad, wouldn't it? You would be sad boys and girls, sad, legless boys and girls, hahaha, kick them in their faces and run away, they'll never catch you!

But you mustn't be sad! Because other people will still have legs. And other people will continue to be born with legs. And in fact, the empty space where once your legs stood, now there is room for one more legged person, albeit a small one. And that is what economists call growth, and that is what we have set out to achieve.

It's time to face facts, and what better time for me to demonise whole swathes of society than when you're all clinging, desperate and cowardly, to the crumbling remains of the lives you once knew, prepared to cut loose anyone you believe will drag you down further? Let's face those facts, once and for all smash the manacles of political correctness with which the last government enslaved us, and grasp the glorious truth: the poor are useless. They are disgusting. They smell. They constantly expel wind from various orifices. They spend the vast majority of their lives on the toilet. They are mean, grasping and lazy, growing fat on the fruits of your labours. They sacrifice children.

A privatised nation! A corporatocracy! Our social inferiors, who once held us so ruthlessly to ransom, sat masturbating and hooting by the roadsides, beating each other to death with bloody thigh bones! Upturned cars! Derelict estates ruled by barking packs of feral children! Human meat! Miles and miles of burning wasteland, punctuated by gleaming pockets of wealth and commerce! High-end consumerism! Fine dining! Urban streets free of all but the highest achievers! This is your future! This is our vision! You will flourish or you will die!

Necessity is the mother of getting to do things the way we like.

Junt

Jeremy Hunt, Secretary of State for Culture, Olympics, Media and Sport...

... done a massive shit in the doorway of the Tate Modern!
... poked a hole in the mouth of the woman in Lucien Freud's Girl With A White Dog and shagged it!
... done big trumps and burps into a loudhailer all the way through a performance of fucking Stockhausen's Licht cycle!
... dressed an Antony Gormley figure as a slag!
... stuck the pages of Ballard's Wind From Nowhere together with cum!
... set fire to a load of community arts centres with a burning cross!
... melted down Louise Bourgeois' Maman to make a giant bronze cock to punch a big hole in the British Library! Then he shagged the hole!
... got crabs then shagged all the birds at an 'urban' music event!
... shagged culture to impress his boss! But he didn't shag sport, because that, apparently, has been great, recession-busting value for money!

Haha! Of course, none of this happened. You see, Jeremy Hunt isn't actually a real person, but a cartoonish Tory stereotype.