FIGHT!

Via their marvellous writings Gary and Chris have been telling me about the latest argument in the steamy world of 'weblogging', whereby lots of silly men stroke their beards and wipe their hands over keyboards a bit.

Basically there's some daft thing at Oxford University tonight, probably attended by a heap of people who're more worried about their tyre pressures and fridge temperatures and remembering their PIN codes and buying a nice real-life christmas tree than they are some sort of UK-wide insurrection as rogue BNP militias graffiti badly-drawn St. George flags on mosques.

These things don't happen. Are we really so ridiculous as to think a fully-formed human cannot sit quietly and thoughtfully at a discussion, probably between about thirty people anyway - at a debate, where things are put on the table and argued about - and make their own fucking decisions? Without some wet clodge spilling their dismay and Voltaire quotes all over the internets?

And who actually who gives a toss really? Who but the protesters going to argue against precisely the thing they're arguing for? Tonight I'm going to punch myself in the face and film it for youtube, but does that mean the moral decay of Great Britain is stopping you from drinking Calpol and watching Eastenders? No it does not. And if you don't like it, don't look at it.

I'm almost given to asking David Irving to share a cup of tea because I'm quite sure he's not actually a troll and I'm quite sure he's capable of a terribly interesting conversation besides. I'd take photos of him and put fingers up behind his head, sure, and maybe make sure there was no toilet roll in the bathroom, but leastways I wouldn't expect him to eat my legs or stab me.

Questionable and wrong and slightly batty, sure. Inherently EVIL? No! He's an old man for pity's sake! He probably can't even see the people he's shouting at! Or have the wherewithall to 'accidentally' wee on their toilet seats!

And poor Nick Griffin, with his chins there. He just needs a good salad and a wash.

And though as it goes I think they're both tremendously wrong, they'd possibly afford me the chance to say so. And they'd think I was wrong, and I wouldn't care because I've nearly finished Guitar Hero 3, and we'd all fetch a taxi home. I'd put an Arnie film on, they might do the crosswords, we'd all go to bed and the first thing we'd think on waking wouldn't be, 'Oh, my word, I can't believe that guy, what an unendingly disgusting man he was.'

It'd be, 'What's for breakfast?'

Shit off the lot of you - I sometimes wonder if you're only doing it because you're bored of your marriages.