No Good Breeder Goes Unpunished

As I was innocently & casually leafing through The Independent's Extra pages yesterday, I happened upon a couple of disturbing, yet juicy articles of faith & desire. Bypassing the first couple of stories, dedicated to Kate "can't design clothes for even the stickiest toffee, but boy can she look thin in a smock" Moss, and the newsworthy cat that spoons mice, I turned the page and found the story that would change my life forever (by 'change' I obviously mean 'keep exactly the same, but with an increased level of smugness at my consistent ability to be right').

Today, I bring you the message of The Voluntary Human Extinction Movement, or VHEMT for short, or Vehement if you like, or deranged weirdos to be more accurate. They seem to be a bunch of comedy, crackpot environmentalists who want to (save the cheerleader) save the world by ending the human race, hoorah. Not in some cultish murder-suicide pact, ah no, but by getting the chop, tying their tubes, spaying their loved ones, doing a eunuch, engaging in a riding "accident", wounding each other through the thigh, dancing the neuter, leaving nothing but a barren, plague-ridden and war-torn husk. In other words: no more breeding AND NO MORE BABIES!

Just wait for a minute, let me savour the flavour of that most delicious phrase for a touch longer. Let me imagine a world where grubby, little children will never again spill out onto the previously gleaming streets, tarnishing the golden paving with their green, sweating feet. Where their noxious fumes will not be smelt and their unearthly cries will have been silenced forever. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. Sign me up, please. As they say in their glossy, recruitment brochure "May we live long and die out".

The second article that caught my thinning attention was a piece on the godlike Martha Wainwright, currently appearing in Kurt Weil's ballet-chanté thingy, The Seven Deadly Sins at The Royal Opera House in London's London. As my eyes skimmed the page, lingering a little too long on the photos of her glorious visage, my optrex enhanced globes of perception suddenly convulsed in spasms of horridity as I spied the evil words of doom that conveyed the offensive information that the fair maiden Martha is to be wed in not more than six months.

I now forswear my hitherto breeder-baiting stance, let the babies come, let them march from the four, heavily laden wombs of the apocalypse and lay waste to this hideous world where such cruel things can happen. The end is nigh.


Currently listening: Make Another World by Idlewild