Thursday, August 28, 2008


We made it. Everything had been stacked against us: physics, gravity, reality, Switzerland, and most of all ourselves. But here we are, present for duty and ready to comment.

I assembled a crack squad of Guardian commentators to lead the assault on Mrs Boyo's bank vault via the west face of Lake Geneva:

  • Francis Wheen - my captain, the calm voice of measured liberalism and informed Marxisant critique, equipped with the patrician ability to cow the trolls.
  • Charlie Brooker - the acerbic sergeant-major, with his thumb pressed firmly on the jugular of the Zeitgeist.
  • Neil Clark - well, he had a compass in the heel of his shoe and a torch that lit up Wheen's dome like Venus rising. Plus he said he could speak Swiss.

The trolls divided into two main groups.

  • The first lot wanted to know why we were "keeping silent about aparthied Isreal's role" in our kidnapping. They deployed sarcasm and texting acronyms.
  • The second crew insisted that our escape plan was a false flag operation by the "Bush junta to justefy its genecidal war ag. Iran".

Fringe groups claimed we'd not been kidnapped at all, and produced photographs that allegedly showed missiles attached to Brooker's undercarriage.

Some simply called for our escape committee to declare solidarity with Venezuela and wear orange Gitmo jump suits. Three followers of David Icke said I was a lizard but tagged along anyway, casually offering me insects from time to time.

Everyone felt we ought to understand Russia's position more.

It took a while, but Queen's Regulations, invocation of "Che!" and Clark's recital of his favourite parts of Dad's Army licked this rabble into the finest body of fighting men ever to have littered the website of a left-liberal newspaper with misspelled anti-Semitic rants and random comments about "AmeriKKKa".

Years of monomania, pathetic delusions and crouching over their computers in darkened rooms had adapted many of the trolls to burrowing work - their moleish tunnel vision, incisors enlarged by tearing open packs of durritos, and ample supplies of self-belief and body fat had them gnawing through the subterranean walls of Creditgewalt Ruthenien AG in no time.

They were helped along by Capt Wheen's stirring speech, in which he mentioned that Mrs Boyo had backstage passes to the Geneva 2009 UN World Conference against Racism stacked in the vault.

What we saw when we finally broke through was almost more than human sanity can bear. Squatting on a throne of miners' helmets was the bejewelled, henna'ed, deranged majesty of Seamus Milne.

He rose slowly, and we fell back in horror against a tide of cowering trolls. He raised his bangled glove and all fell silent. Then he spoke.

"Howl ye, mortals, for the day of the Milne is at hand! First, we shall ask Osama in as guest editor again, and all you trolls shall dance and laugh and comment and agree with one another! Vorwärts!"

At this he rushed towards the hole in the floor of the Earth, the trolls swarming around his habit.

But then, as he was about to launch himself into the inky ether, the three Ickeans seized his wings:

"O Dark Hero, it's a trap! Bush, the Queen and the Rothschilds will make you their scaly minion. We shan't let you go!"

They dragged Milne down into the depths of the lake. The last light of Wheen's pate glanced off his cheekbones as he sank back into the murk from which he had never fully emerged. His last cry was "Curse you, Blair!" It's what he would have wanted.

We survivors parted in the bank lobby, where an understanding under-manager said he would be speaking to Mrs Boyo about keeping "vilde chayos" in their vaults.

I will always remember
these brave men - Wheen, Brooker, Clark, Benjy, LaRoucher, zionhater18, 911truthgrrl, cocoen, usslibertyfacts67, gummiknabe - all of them played their part.

We know we can never tell our story, but rest content that he saved both sides of the Earth from a loathsomeness that would have put every teachers' staff room in the land at its decayed command.


Gorilla Bananas said...

I did notice you taunting, or possibly flirting with, these dark forces from Mordor, but I didn't expect a full-blown collaboration. If they end up invading the Shire we'll know who to blame (not Mrs Boyo).

Francis Sedgemore said...

Switzerland can seriously fuck you up. This much I know.

Mrs Pouncer said...

Dear old Boyo I remember a television programme once, many years ago, that featured a vault pumped full of nerve gas by some bad-shave ruffians, and it was fastened with a left-handed chromosympathetic ratchet-valve time-lock. And we asked our father "what is a left-handed chromosympathetic ratchet-valve time-lock?", and he gave us a look that said I Wish I Had Had Sons.
How gung-ho you are! The Thames Valley salutes you.

No Good Boyo said...

GB, a man has to stand up, even if his geographical location means he's standing on his head. The Eloi are safe for the time being.

Francis, you're not wrong. What sort of a country is it? "Am I France, am I Germany, ooh, I'm a bit confused, and curious." Now at least we know what it's there for, to keep the portal to the dark side firmly shut.

Mrs P, delighted to see you're back. Our victory over the Milneinerians was due to the pluck of Wheen and the spunk of Brooker, plus the sheer bulk and musk of the trolls. Clark kept our spirits up with his jaunty defence of Balkan beastliness. I, being a father but not yet a Dad, simply recorded our feats.

Francis Sedgemore said...

The portal to the dark side is not firmly shut. It leaks, otherwise we would would hear nothing of the creature that is "der Schwiiz". Occasionally, "der Schwiiz" sends out siren tentacles to ensnare Welshes and other Europeans of good faith. A decade later and I have yet to make a full recovery.

Gadjo Dilo said...

Didn't Polly Toynbee get a bit part in the action (or am I hopelessly behind the times)? Julie Birchill is the antidote to Switzerland, oh surely.

Nice penguin, Mr Sedgemore.

Francis Sedgemore said...

Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Dilo.

Gyppo Byard said...

Switzerland is merely a cold, lumpy version of Singapore. I trust you planted explosives under it while the chance was there.

No Good Boyo said...

Polly Toynbee is a pillar of The Guardian proper, Gadjo, and I imagine maintains a patrician distance from the CiF smellysocks. Julie Burchill has left The Guardian for the oxygen-starved heights of The Mail. She is to be found on the other side of the Moon these days.

Gyppo, Switzerland is safe while Madame Boyo keeps her gold karbovantsy there.

Francis, is the penguin a reference to Wales's historic claim to Lundy Island? Puffins to me are just a sort of pokemon penguin.

Francis Sedgemore said...

Puffins to me are just a sort of pokemon penguin.

What vile calumny is this?

As for the penguin, this is to remember the wonderful time I had working in the Arctic.

No Good Boyo said...

Ha! I remember that post. Crule but fare, Sedgemore.

Life can't be easy with a private education.

Francis Sedgemore said...

I can't help reading Volavérunt as Vol-au-vent. You can tell that I grew up in the sixties and seventies, can't you? Terribly sad.