The Sun's moral triumph looks set to change society for the latter, and I for one think it's about time. For any American visitors, I had better.
The British-English former boxiter Frank Bruno was recently sectioned under the mental health act after a serious breakdown. A tragic circumstance, you may stupidly think. Not so the super soaraway Sun! The fearless funrag laid into the man with all guns blazing, calling him a "mentler", a "flid", and alleging that he "needs to get teacher to help wipe his arse". Needless to say, such courageous journalism was misunderstood by many intellectual paperweights as an ugly slur, and complaints teetered in at a rate of four every second. The Sun's riposte? A steadfast defence of their position? A craven apology? Neither! They gave him some money, and everyone forgot all about it.
Today's charity initiative, "Aww, here's some coins, you old flid", backed by a raft of celebrities including BVSMP and Huey Lewis from the Fun Loving Criminals, marks a turning point in Ingerlish Law. With this precedent set, a moral maze has been chainsawed away at a stroke. Citizens may now call anyone any damn thing they like, as long as it is followed up by a monetary payment. To demonstrate -
Thom Yorke goes to a sweet shop for his daily half-pound of midget gems. In the queue in front of him, large as life, is the writer and broadcaster Rachel Stevens. Dear Rachel, swift of foot but slow of uptake, is taking ages to decide whether flying saucers represent a greater contravention of the Atkins Diet than the less satisfying, yet pound-for-pound cheaper, Spanish Gold. It doesn't look like she's going to make a breakthrough in this field any time soon, and Yorke, who needs to be in Luton by bedtime, is fuming. Eventually, unable to contain himself any longer, he voids a vocal observation that Ms. Stevens has "girly hair". Naturally, our learned friend is most offended at this, and reaches for her lawyer. Suddenly realising the enormity of his action, Yorke swiftly offers to buy her a quarter of Callard and Bowser top cream toffees and a Lion bar as monetary recompense. Being famously toffee intolerant, Rachel refuses, storming out and setting fire to the door behind her. Yorke, the blameless sweet shop keeper, and 200 nearby children on a field trip, perish instantly. OK, that's a terrible example. But you get the idea.
The flipside to this could prove just as interesting. It follows that any proffered monetary gift, be it birthday-related or no, must now be accompanied by a defamatory insult if the New Moral Balance is to be maintained. This should make Clinton's Cards, previously a swaddling, loathsome den of grinning sheep and pastoral milkmaids, a far more exciting place to be. I can't wait for Christmas.