I hate the poor. The uncouth uneducated unsophisticated smelly poor. In fact, I’d go so far as to say the only people I hate more than those people with less money than me are those with more, and especially those with the same (current account = £1226.23). I will deal with the latter two groups some other day but here and now I wish discuss a scheme I have devised to eliminate the world’s poor. The mechanism I propose is to declassify the world’s poorest as animal life and therefore open up the very real possibility of firing them into the sun. This will achieve three main objectives: 1) Entertainment value 2) A sustaining meal for the sun king and 3 )the extinction of the poor and the end of poverty. This section of the plan is easily achieved. The hard part is in stopping those not quite poor from slipping down and becoming the new poor. It is in this theoretical direction that I shall invest the most energy here.

I have always done my bit for social mobility. Being born the greatest aristocrat in the land this could mean only one thing: sliding downward and fast. The silver spoon that I had in my mouth at birth was so big (serving) that I could not remove it from my lips manually but instead had to swallow it and then hope for the best. Unfortunately it is still there in my stomach. However, the good news is that I once swallowed a family of middle class children who now use that spoon to serve up Sunday roast in there. Sometimes I find it irritating having to swallow a roasting joint every Sunday and especially so when a new gas canister must be swallowed for the four ring cooker I sent them a few years back. The little notes they send me (I wont be so rude as to explain how they send these) are humorous though and I find them to be quite charming in a parochial sort of way.

This is the way I see myself: as a beneficent father to the little adorable family residing within me. And they themselves see themselves as looking after the men and women who now live in my lower intestinal cavities and process the stomach people’s waste. The unmarried couples who live in my anus however are very lazy, and hardly ever contribute anything to the whole scheme of things. I often swallow some especially trivial books such as Orwell’s novels just for them and they show no gratitude. To punish them I refused to swallow any batteries for their torches for a month. I must say, sitting here in the sun with my whisky sour I sometimes find it a rather quaint little set up I have here.

Moving swiftly on, like a family with no time to look around Calais in the rush to Paris, I come to the central thrust of argument. Where were we? We have extinguished the poor. Let us define the poor as the lowest 10% by earning potential. That is done. Where they are gone to we know not. Did they make it to the sun? Did the improvised cannon merely burn them into a smoldering heap at the bottom of my garden? Who can say? They key thing is they no longer exist. Now to the very pressing issue of stopping the next lowest 10% from becoming the lowest 10%. To use a personally relevant metaphor; can I remove my anal canal without generally pissing with the good operation of the digestive system? Who will wipe my arse? It is most certainly not going to be me.

The solution I propose is the following: any especially pretty arse dweller may swim upward if they please me. After they have all been given the chance to better themselves in this way I will have my body up to my belly button removed. This will allow me to eat well for a week. But if I used these legs to fashion the means to walk to the supermarket, I will eat well for a year or so. Eventually, I can have the legs added to the top of my head. I will be the first to celebrate this. True, I may here and their begrudge a little their new lofty position. If they mock me and my petty ways I may show a little ill humor. But fundamentally I will say ‘well done’. Let me tell you, this is what I did, but my feet and legs were so useless and lazy that they just lay on the floor bleeding and providing no useful service to anyone, least of all me. So you see the difficulty?

The arsedwellers are so crude in their world view that they have never bothered to better themselves. So I gave everyone a pat on the back, swallowed a load of batteries for each layer of human garbage, and settled down to another rereading of Animal Farm. My father who rests in my mind disapproves but let him! Let him read what he wants but I love a good old fashioned yarn. I decide what to read by asking all the lovely little people what they want and they know Dostoevsky gives me a stomach ache.

The reason I write all this down for your perusal is that it sets the stage for a most remarkable change. Last, Friday I passed around a hundred seeds through my vaginal opening. I quickly reached for the magnifying glass and found these seeds to be little men. Most of them were utterly grotesque little gloop covered things but one of them reminded me a little of my father.

Over the coming weeks, I began to fall in love with that little man. I fed him up on a meal of milk and bread and, while somewhat uncouth, he has a certain gritty charm. He is now just three quarters my size and getting bigger all the time. His soft caresses and gentle suckling at my breast make my body shimmer with sexual energy. He is my pride encapsulated in the form of a sweet little darling x

A great surprise

I have come to dislike those around me. The little seeds I passed from my nethers were all collected by these horrid neighbors and taken as lovers and darlings and friends. I find this most unsporting and wish they would all go hang with their red and blue scarfs and their cheep little sofas.

I looked up at the great cathedral of gut in which I reside. Foie Gras was raining down through David Cameron’s throat and we basked in it. Eating and laughing and enjoying the merriment. My little love looked sad and cried. I have never been so upset in my life. I lay down in the champagne and liver, hugged my husband and sobbed. We made sweet love in the mixture of acid and wine. For the first time in my life I reached climax. I could hear through the walls of Cameron’s side he was listening to ‘I Had the Time of my Life’ at full volume. We embraced and my peasant boy looked almost my size. His face, now drooping in the final stages looked more like my father’s ghost than ever. ‘Let me look upon you with my own eyes’ he whispered and for the first time his eyelids parted and he looked at his first sight. My glowing post-orgasm flushed cheeks his first and final view. He died in my arms and shriveled to the size of a bean. I put him in my vagina and lived a fulfilled life and flew a plane or something. In a hundred years divers will enter Cameron’s throat and find my valuable furniture. My body on a bit of wood, floating in the icy sea.