Sunday, July 13, 2003

(as channelled to the Deputy Editor)

Vine Weevils!
Filthy, lying, fat, brown speckled bastards! They saunter across my hostas and through my honeysuckle in their stupid Bermuda shorts and open-toed sandals, dragging their overweight grub children behind them in pushchairs! They feast on my petunias and make toasted marmalade sandwiches from my periwinkle! Then they stuff their kids into the soil and encourage them to chomp their way through any roots, corms or bulbs within a forty mile radius.
I hate the ignorant council-estate cunts!
I've tried hitting them with a hammer. They just dust themselves off and continue spray-painting American-style graffiti on my lavander!
I've thrown them over the garden wall, propelled into the air from the end of a plastic ruler, but they just shout "Whee" and come back for another go.
I've poured boiling water on their heads, but they just pull a bar of soap out of their pockets and stick a showercap on.
I've used Agent Orange, Cionide and Cellery on them but they just look at me and go "Yum yum" and pat their tummys and then shit on my azalia!
So I wrote to the Ministry of Horticulture and asked them to nuke the evil mother fuckers. This morning I was awoken by the sounds of tornado jets scorching my roof with napalm, detonating my chimney stack and burning three innocent families to death down the street.
And the vine weevils? They just sat there in the garden toasting slugs on forks in the furious glow of the dawn.

(In the spirit of presenting evidence to justify any megalomaniacal whim, the Deputy Editor has been forced, in the national interest, to plagiarise this entry originally posted by the Editor in 1945. Forgive me for I know exactly what I do and as a consequence of this transgression, for which I take full responsibility, the head of the Director of M15, Sir Guy Philby-Blount, will be on the Editor's desk at sparrow's fart.)