Editorial : Lorde! Justin Eats Poop!! Shock Horror Outrage Anagrams!!!

GUEST EDITOR PERRY "DUKE" PERUKE

Don't let the wig fool you. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more. Okay. A bit more. Not much though. I mean it. Well, when I say I'm not going to take it any more, I mean I'm not going to take much more of it. For much longer. I realise there has to be room for compromise. I'm prepared to negotiate, but enough is enough. And I've nearly had enough. I'm not happy with the government, yes you Mr Toby Bampott or whatever your name is, you and your horrid little chums. Not happy with you. I'm incensed at the price of duelling pistols. The weather is a constant disappointment.  And I'm not happy with the fourth season of "Downton Abbey".

Actually I wasn't totally thrilled by the third season, and even bits of the second series were daft, but we had Matthew's hair sweeping around in that gorgeous curve which makes up for a lot of crappy dialogue. Lady Mary - one scene she's a virgin, next it's Mummy Mummy there's a man in my bed and I think I fucked him to death. Take that Summer Bay. And how about Carson looking at one of those new-fangled telephone things as though Satan had offered him one of his penises to have a bit of a lick. Oh Downton, I used to love you,  I know you had you faults but now you've just got silly. I think it's time I saw other television programmes where men regularly wear dinner suits. It's an illness I know.

 And I'm sick of of media lies and distortion. If - yes you Channel Seven I'm talking to you you bastards - IF YOU TELL ME THAT DOWNTON ABBEY IS GOING TO START AT EIGHT-THIRTY AND THEN IT DOES NOT START UNTIL EIGHT-FORTY-SEVEN BECAUSE YOU ARE DELIBERATELY RUNNING LATE WITH SOME SHOW ABOUT GLUTEN-FREE RENOVATORS TAP-DANCING THEIR WAY OUT OF MORBID OBESITY THEN YOU ARE LYING TO ME YOU SCUMSUCKING LOWLIFE SPAWN OF SATAN AND A BLIND UGLY GOAT.... I'm sorry I didn't mean to shout ...

 Where was I. Ah, yes, things that really annoy me. Seriously, if I have to watch another film where cute but colourful curmudgeonly old people reignite their passion for life and each other over croissants and snappy dialogue I will kill. I will round up those responsible and lock them up with real old people who are neither cute nor colourful curmudgeons and will bore you to death. Don't fuck with me people. I once applied to the local council for permission to build a placebo in my front yard. And the next indie band I hear describe their music as "genre-defying" it's into the boring old people room of death for you too. Genre-defying is already a genre you pretentious dimwit twits.

Mr Abbott. You promised at the last election that you would not be a complete bastard. You have broken this promise. Into the room of boring old people of death for you. But wait. Perhaps it should be DEATH BY ANAGRAM for you and your confederacy of dullards. I don't know about the rest of you, but when I'm angry I look for anagrinds. Some of us believe that with the right anagram you can capture and destroy a man's soul. Of course many of us also took far too much acid in the seventies, but still.

 So far for Treasurer Joe Hockey and Prime Minister Tony Abbott the best I can manage is Echoey Joke and Baby Not Tot. I need help here. Send anagrams. Put them on the back of a cheque if you like.

 And to Mr Jett Fofbrew of West Ringwood, thank you for your submission: strictly speaking 'lying piece-of-shit darkhearted dimwitted bottom feeding monster' is not an anagram of Tony Abbott, but I think there's room for flexibility here.