The Vicious Lady

by Adam Acidophilus

There was once a vicious lady who wrote the most acidic column – for her pen was dipped in vitriol, and venom coursed through her arteries.

“Why oh why oh why … ” she would write, “should I pay for the education of somebody else’s children? I didn’t have them! I didn’t want them! And yet I must part with millions to send them to school! And who need schools anyway? They only exist as part of a teacher-led gay-marxist conspiracy. Fruit pickers wages cost our farmers a fortune: why not use children? They could pick fruit all the year round!”

And nobody complained or objected or protested, they just put money in her bank account, and put her on the radio, and treated her as though she were some kind of intellectual – which she were not.

“Why oh why oh why … she would write, “are we still arguing about public transport? There’s only one place the public needs transporting – and it isn’t Victoria Station! If these people really want to visit their friends and relatives, or go on holiday, or go to the theatre, or shopping, then they need to get some cars! I wonder how much they really want to do those things if they can’t be bothered to get some cars. I’ve got dozens – and I never go anywhere. And yet, once again, I find I am expected to dip into my own personal fortune to subsidise some scrounger’s day out getting pie-eyed at his old mother’s funeral – which is always suspiciously at the other end of the country – when tickets at a fraction of the price are available three months in advance. It only takes a little planning. I’m sick of it!”

And still, nobody said anything; and the vicious lady columnist continued to spill venom and vitriol – while money pumped like boiling sewage into her steaming bank accounts.

“Why oh why oh why … she would write, “do people think they need all this housing? Cavemen slept in the open air for millennia. When I was a girl I remember singing round a camp fire all night – and I enjoyed it. Nothing like a garden bonfire to cheer you up! And yet, hard-working tax-paying members of contemporary society are expected to give up precious time buying property, preparing contracts, engaging rent collectors, initiating court proceedings and sending round the bailiffs – when simply telling people to sleep – as they always used to – in the hedgerows next to the crops would save them the trouble of a home, or travelling to work by discredited public transport, before commencing the next day’s harvesting. If your home is not a site of special historical interest, with landscaped gardens and antique furniture and paintings, it’s a blot on the landscape. They all are! Who needs housing?”

And still not a voice was raised in objection, not a word was spoken against her: and the ghastly, nasty, hate-mongering old witch continued to scratch her miserable sub-thoughts ­– which hissed and smoked like sulphur upon the page.

“Why oh why oh why … she hissed and smoked, “do we need all these hospitals? None of these people are even ill! The whole ‘health industry’ is a poorly-disguised attempt by a homosexual-environmentalist elite to bleed the patriotic citizens of this great land to death. If you’re ill, you’re ill! Statistics prove that no doctor has ever made anybody better in human history – and the best course of action in such cases is to put up your hands, confess your weakness, and do the decent thing. Yet year after year, million after million is squandered on the absurdity of modern medicine merely to send people back to the houses they claim they don’t have in order to breed yet further tax-sucking parasites, who will doubtless require feeding and transporting to some sort of budget-breaking school.”

“Speaking of which, why oh why oh why do we need all this food? What is the point of having supermarkets – or kitchens? Nobody in their right mind eats any more! Not unless they’re in a very good restaurant. Eating is a Hindu superstition contrived by the grant-and-subsidy-hungry farming industry, merely in order to provide bogus employment to the sexual bi-product of the mis-named working classes!”

“You know?” her boss told her after that one, “I think you’ve written enough. I think that you have said all you have to say.“

“There’s plenty more,” she assured him. “I must keep my thousands of readers satisfied!”

“Thousands of readers?” her boss repeated. “You think you have thousands of readers?”

“Who agree with me!” she added. “Witness the millions in my bank accounts, and the complete lack of any complaints.”

“Hmm. I’m afraid not,” her boss gently answered. “For I am not really an editor – I’m a scientist – and none of your columns have actually been published …

“The reason why nobody has complained or objected, is that we have merely pretended to be publishing a newspaper, and pretended to put you on the radio, and pretended to put money in your bank account, and to treat you as though you are some kind of intellectual – which you are not. The experiment is now over. We have all the data we need. Tomorrow, you will be processed into cat food.”

Moral: Why oh why oh why do we have so many pets? Most of them eating meat – the least ecologically-sustainable foodstuff on the planet!

© Adam Acidophilus 2023