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Cheers - AE

Wednesday, 30 December 2009

Boris Johnson has a 'zap gun'.

Sounds really good.
It was do or die. Kill or be killed. I remembered that it is better to squeeze off one thoughtful round than fire five frantic shots; so I aimed at what I took to be his chest.
My muzzle barked, and instantly there was an answering cry of pain from the shed. I charged in to finish the job, and realised – too late – my miscalculation. The light blazed from the barrel of my opponent's gun, once, twice, three times. My chest seemed to be on fire and a red light went on in my eyes and a sharp pain ran from my palm to my wrist and the gun dropped from fingers twitching like a trod-on crab.
It was game over. But not for long. Soon another kid had challenged my 10-year-old victor, and all night long the noise of battle rolled over the garden, with shouts and screams and shots, and I felt the pride of a parent who has finally fluked a popular present. I felt a surge of confidence in the technological prowess of the human race; and a violent sense of disagreement with all those who have been snootily writing off 2009.
Perhaps I will be attacked for promoting nasty rough games. My friends in the Green Party will probably condemn me for buying toy guns. I couldn't give a monkey's. I salute this laser zap gun because until 2009 you couldn't even find such a thing. There were laser guns. And then there were electric shock doodahs. Who first decided to see what would happen if you stuck these concepts together? Who first came up with the idea of a gun that gave you an electric shock if a laser struck your breastplate?
This zap gun beats previous laser guns because its pioneers have understood that you won't really run, you won't try, you won't hurl yourself that extra yard into the ditch unless you fear the tingling zap of retribution. You can't win, you can't hit your enemy, unless you are willing to expose your own breastplate. And isn't that the truth that every child needs to learn? That you can't win unless you are willing to risk the pain of rejection.
Some truth in all of that, Boris. But seeing as you're the authoritarian prick who banned alcohol on the Tube because it was easier than telling the fucking police to get off their arses and deal with the small number who overdo the grog I'd rather you stuck the electric shock breastplate bit down the front of your trousers so people could take aim at your love spuds.
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