The next few weeks were pitiful, as even Jordan’s youthful exuberance seemed to have been completely flattened while the silence of the flat screamed out its grief for their lost friend. Despite this, Terry continued to deliver fast food, to keep his mind off all the misery, while Jordan watched Netflix, and munched constantly on Sour Cream and Onion Pringles. It was grim to say the least, and made even more depressing when Terry picked up a copy of the Metro one evening to read of the recent death of Joshua Norton, 25, from causes unknown. He had begged him to keep it to himself, not only because it was the right thing to do, but also as he feared that the Vampire Authorities, would pick up on the story and in their usual paranoid manner, do something drastic. Ten to one, they had a hand in his demise, and although Terry was genuinely sorry for the fate of the young man, who’s life he had initially saved, he found that, in the circumstances, his sympathies were limited. As the man said, bullshit will get you every time, and the image of Joshua’s face beaming out from News Websites all over the country for the last few weeks, while he pressed on with his high profile search for his “Delivery Bike Samaritan” smacked more of a desire for approval and acceptance rather than anything more genuine. Of course Joshua’s conceitedness was hardly justification for his death, far from it, but to Terry, it presented further proof of a modern malaise, where a strain of Post Modernist thought developed in a French laboratory by those mad scientists, Derrida and Foucault, and then exacerbated by Social Media, was now out in the general population and causing devastation to everything it touched. My truth is the only truth. Words are more powerful than action. Morality should be based on consensus rather than objective judgment. Eventually, humans would develop an immunity to it’s ravages and, in time, return to a more authentic place, but until then, the bodies of young men like Joshua would continue to pile up. However, Terry, still considered it to be, an awful waste and just added to the general dolor in the flat, and therefore it came as somewhat of a relief, when one Friday night, Errol suddenly turned up to punch a hole in the on-going despair. “This is no good. Hector wouldn’t want this. The place is like a bloody morgue, why don’t you move in with me? I got to keep Oscar’s house and its way too big, just for me. Be like the old times, geezer,” declared his old friend clapping his hands together at the joyless Vampires slumped in front of him before busily going from room to room to pack their bags. Terry could think of a thousand reasons not to take this advice, but none for the moment came immediately to mind and so looking at Jordan, he shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, “Why the hell not,” before they locked everything up, and followed Errol to Fulham.
With five spacious cells, a Swimming Pool, plus it’s own Private Cinema in the basement, the house was still nothing short of amazing, and in an irony that even Oscar might have appreciated, Terry moved into his nemesis’ old room, to marvel at the interior of a Private Gym, Jacuzzi and a fridge full of the best Vintage Blood, that even a Vampire Veggy like himself, could hardly turn down in good faith. So, the three Vampires settled in quickly, and as the months rolled by, Terry continued to deliver at Fast Food 4 U and help out at the local Food Bank, which was now doing nights runs because of demand, while Errol gave up his job with EVC, now taken over by Jamaal, and returned to being an electrician on the London Underground, at same time mentoring ex prisoners at the weekend, leaving Jordan to devote all his time to his new Podcast, called Bloodsucker J, and producing “Ethical Drill” videos, which prohibited any messages of hate between rival gangs. It was all going swimmingly, and except for the odd visit from a representative of the Vampire Council, to check that everything was operating within accepted guidelines, for the most part the three housemates were left in peace, and so by the end of any normal night, they would usually find themselves on a sofa, watching random daytime TV.
“You ever noticed with all the ads these days, that they just show black guys, and middle class white women, but no-one from the white working class“ declared Terry staring at the TV screen with folded arms
“Oh no, not this again,” said Errol, leaning forward to take a mini samosa from a plate.
“I’m only saying,” said Terry with a grin.
“Anyway, that’s rubbish bruv. white people are everywhere?” countered Jordan, putting another pringle in his mouth.
“Really? Okay, let’s watch, then, shall we,” said Terry, leaning back into the sofa as they all sat in silence, watching the television for the next half an hour or so, paying particular attention to the adverts.
“Right, I counted two, and both of them were as fat as fuck, and in one ad about the People’s Lottery,” said Terry, finally turning around towards his two housemates.
“So?” snapped Jordan
“So, is that the white working class then? Overweight and addicted to gambling.”
“I don’t get your point.”
“Jordan, all my life I listened to black people say to me, that they needed to be seen and heard, yeah? Like if you can’t see it, you can’t be it. Which I totally agree with by the way. So don’t the white working class have the same right, then?”
“They are seen,” said the Young Vampire.
“Where? I don’t see ‘em.”
“Nah, they’re everywhere bruv?” said Jordan laughing
“Exactly, but not on the box, apparently. Okay, here’s a question. What percentage of the UK population is black?”
“What’s that gotta do with anything. That’s racist.”
“Is it fuck. What percentage, Jordan?” repeated Terry.
“I dunno 20 percent.”
“You see? Everyone thinks that. I did as well. Actually, the number is closer to 5%? So that means, there are over 80% of white people in the UK, most of whom are skint, by the way, but we don’t see ‘em, do we? Unless, of course, they’re doing something racist or suffering from bad mental health.”
“Yeah, but what about all the white people at the top, in Politics, the Media and the Boardroom,” replied the younger Vamp after a moment of contemplation.
“That ain’t most white people Jordan, use your loaf son. Most of the guys you’re talking about, had really posh backgrounds.”
“What about Midsomer Murders then?” interrupted Errol, leaning forward to grab another mini samosa and joining the conversation once again. “Don’t see no black geezers in corduroy pants knocking off the local Vicar, in that one, do ya? In fact, I remember, back in the day, the only black face you would ever see on an advert was on a jam jar, or fucking Uncle Ben’s Rice, so suck it up white boy. Anyway what does it matter who’s face is selling car insurance or soap.”
“Oh right McKenzie, but when it was all white faces, you never shut the fuck up about it, did ya? Oh, look Terry, another advert wiv no black bloke in it! I remember pal,” said Terry smiling at his old friend, before grabbing the remote control and increasing the volume as another advert came on the television.
“Oh right, here we go, here’s another one. Let’s watch, shall we? Black guy, check, nice white middle class girl check, horrible spoilt privileged kid telling everyone what to do, double check, but err white working class bloke, err… No. Oh and I bet, if you ever do see one, he’ll be doing something fucking ridiculous. But you know, only saying”, said Terry, while for the next five minutes of adverts, the three Vampires stared blankly at the huge plasma screen, until Errol broke the silence again.
“Yeah, yeah okay, you’ve a point,” he said, scratching his nose.
“Nah he don’t. That’s just bullshit.”
“No it’s not, Jordan, and so the question you gotta ask yourself is, who decides who gets seen?” replied Terry, now turning off the TV, and turning to face the younger Vampire.
“I don’t get you?”
“Why are there so many people of color on the box today?” repeated Terry.
“Because it’s right.”
“It is. But it wouldn’t be happening if Carswell, or the Elites, didn’t decide it, would it?”
“Well maybe they’re right then.”
“Or maybe they’re just fucking with us. You hate cultural appropriation right?”
“Yeah bruv.”
“Cool, so you remember that film we saw recently about those English gangsters from the 1960’s?”
“Yeah, it was sick,” said Jordan, with a big grin.
“Now those gangsters came from the East End, which was dirt poor at the time, not like today when it’s all gentrified and shit, but the guy who played the main character in the film went to Public School and is really posh, so my question is. Why is it okay for someone to say you can’t steal from black culture, but it’s okay to take from white working class culture? And while we’re on the subject of the cultural appropriation. Have a guess where black American street talk comes from?” interrupted Terry, folding his arms again.
“Oh fuck, not this again?” said Errol shaking his head.
“Yes this again. It actually comes from white blokes from England, who went to settle in the Deep South of America in the 17th century and were skint and looked down on by everyone else and they used to say things like “You be” and “Axe” instead of ask. So who’s culturally appropriating who now, then?”
“No way, is that true?” said Jordan looking at Errol.
“Actually, it is. Thomas Sowell wrote a book on it.”
“Well I don’t care. They’re white and it don’t matter how broke they are, they still got privilege.”
“I can’t buy that mate. Okay suppose you got 50 black guys and 50 white guys in a room and you walk in and you don’t know any of them. Which side you gonna walk over to first? You know instinctively?” said Terry, folding his arms.
“Err, well, probably the black side,” said the younger Vampire, after thinking for a second.
“Exactly, so would most people. But suppose those 50 black blokes had gone to a Private School and lived a privileged life, while those 50 white guys went to a rubbish comprehensive and lived on an Estate. Cos of your upbringing, you’d probably have more in common with the white guys, but 9 times out of ten, you’d still go towards your own color, yeah?”
“Yeah, but, Terry, that’s where your argument breaks down, innit?, because you wouldn’t be able to find 50 black blokes who went to Public School, cos we’re all broke, bruv,” said Jordan, laughing out loud and clapping his hands, while Errol started giggling too, and even Terry had to crack a smile.
“Well there’s a lot richer than you think, especially these days. Look, you know me, Jordan, I ain’t some white guy who wants things just to stay the same as they used to be, am I? But all I’m saying is, once upon a time, there used to be loads of the white working class on the box and now there’s none and that can’t be healthy, especially if half the people in the country are still white and skint. I mean that’s how you get Trump and idiots like him.”
“Nah Terry, that’s because they are racist, bruv.”
“What all of them? You know he got over 70 million votes in the last election. That’s a lot of racists Jordan, and also over ten percent of people who voted for Trump in 2016, voted for Obama in 2012, and the time before that as well, so maybe it’s not racism and it’s about something else.”
“Like what?” asked Jordan, still unconvinced.
“Like Class. Like a great big giant scream from poor people saying what about our jobs? What about our pay? Why has our lives been so shit for the last 40 years? I mean they talk all the time about Diversity, Equity and Inclusion, right? Well aren’t poor white people included too? Isn’t diversity about including their voices too? Or is it, sorry, poor white boy, you’ve had your bit, now it’s time for the poor black guys to take over, so fuck off and keep watching the Oasis docs?” said Terry, sitting back in the sofa, in a justified huff, until Errol broke the ensuing silence again.
“Too right, as well. What did working class white boys, ever do for us anyway? Except chase us down the street, calling us names or nicking all of our reggae rhythms to make million selling albums, and not giving us any credit for it. Lee Scratch Perry was twice as good as Phil Spector, and he didn’t shoot no bird in his house either. But no-one knows about him, do they? And did we get paid? Did we fuck. Just a pat on the head now and again, like Peter Tosh with the Rolling Stones that time. Nah Terry, let the poor little white boy feel some pain for a change, might do him some good. But you know, only saying” said Errol, leaning forward for another snack, before the two older Vampires looked sideways at each other and began to laugh.
“Yeah, well, fuck it, anyway. I’ve got a lot of Brit Pop videos to get through haven’t I?, so maybe we can take a little time off,” said Terry, as he happily turned the television back on again, and for the next hour or so, the three Vampires watched and munched in relative peace, until Jordan suddenly reached forward and pressed the remote control.
“Oi, I was watching that,” said Terry and Errol in unison.
“No look. I’ve been thinking about what you been saying. Maybe you got a point and we are fighting each other for no reason, yeah? So why don’t we do something about it then?” offered Jordan looking optimistically towards his house-mates.
“Like what Jordan? We tried everything. Doesn’t work. You can’t beat Carswell and the System, they’ll do anything to divide ordinary people. Look at what happened to Lucius Noble,” said Errol nodding over to Terry with sad resignation, before he took the remote control off the younger Vampire to turn the TV back on again. However, Jordan was not deterred by their fatalist response and quickly exiting the front room, he grabbed his lap-top from the kitchen and began to type.
Within a week a new website had been set up by the young Vampire to encourage working class people of all colors to start interacting with each to change the national conversation, while he also persuaded Errol and Terry to start a new podcast, called Friends not Allies, to promote the new initiative. The channel proved to be an immediate success, as the personalities of the two Vampires blended perfectly, merging the old school bluntness of Terry’s Northern delivery with Errol’s slightly more Southern optimistic take on events. Suddenly class not color became the new zeitgeist, as young men and women, from similar economic backgrounds, started to swap ideas and compare the stories of their lives. Now white, brown and black faces beamed back over Tik Tok, You Tube and Instagram, about how much they had in common, rather than what set them apart. Even Onlyfans joined in with the new movement, with models from working class communities, offering discounts to those who had been on free school meals in their youth, whilst wearing various types of lingerie with the new tag-line Friends Not Allies emblazoned on the front.
They were fast becoming a brand, and so it made sense for the three Vampires, to set up an official organization to support their ideas. They called it the Hampton Institute, obviously after Fred Hampton, the Black Panther activist, who had spent most of his young life, trying to bring poor people of all colors together, and after garnering some early success, inevitably, they soon attracted the attention of Beverley Di Franco and others of her ilk. “White Ruse”, “False Consciousness” and “Misguided Class Reductionism” were all leveled at the Institute and although, initially, the Mainstream Media, were generally positive, as soon as it became increasingly obvious that the new voices had very little in common with their own social class and values, predictably they started to push back, as well. Now Errol and Terry were accused of stoking a class war and promoting pointless division, while Jamaal, publicly denounced his Spirit Son, as being nothing more than a “House Slave”, happy to undermine the real mission of destroying racism, with a color blind rhetoric, that only plays straight into the hands of the white supremacists. “Why can’t you be proud you’re a black man, brother?” his tweet screamed across internet as the inevitable online pile on quickly followed. Surprisingly, the normally pugnacious Errol, didn’t seem particularly affected by these attacks, and instead laughed them off as old hat, while he tweeted back “Of course I see color, Jamaal, but the difference with me is, I do my best not to let it affect how I treat other people”, before proceeding to co- host an event on the South Bank with the conservative, Calvin Sewell, called Black People are Not a Monolith, drawing huge crowds, and proving to be a big success. However, despite this support, rather predictably, Jordan, took this new line of criticism very badly and although he had been the real catalyst to the new way of the thinking, initially setting up all the Podcasts and Websites, in common with most of his generation, he did not want to be seen as anti-progressive or worse still, a racial gatekeeper.
It was to be expected.
Social Media had bent the minds of Gen Z, addicting them to approval and group think and so as a result, Errol and Terry advised Jordan to take more of a back seat, as abuse from the Social Justice Warriors and the Left-wing press, continued without mercy for the next few months. However, despite this pressure, the Hampton Institute, and especially Friends not Allies only increased in size, registering over 30 million subscribers by the year’s end. There was even an appearance on the Billy Morgan Experience, the world’s biggest Podcaster, who flew the two Vampires over to America for an interview, which drew the biggest audience in online history, and even had the effect of making a convert of the host, who, on air, committed himself to the ideals of the Institute.
Furthermore this new movement, also presented Terry with an ideal opportunity to promote something that he had been thinking about for most of his extended life; that being the idea of Muscular Socialism. For decades now, the Vampire had watched with increasing despair, as the conservative side of the argument in politics, almost always captured the idea of self- discipline and greater personal responsibility. Get your life in order, stop blaming others for your circumstances, the buck stops with you, were all well known tropes of of the Right, with the result, that the Left had nothing left to offer except “Extreme Empathy” or even worse an endless ridicule of vital qualities, such as self sufficiency, resilience and societal accountability. He had even read recently in a Socialist publication which he regularly subscribed to, that “going to the gym” was part of the Patriarchy and possibly even racist. However, as far as Terry was concerned, this attitude was a million miles away from the truth. Why should we expect less of the 80%? Why shouldn’t we expect people, even in the most challenging economic circumstances, to seek out a system which makes their lives better? In short, why shouldn’t the Left start to tell people to sort themselves out? In fact, all of his experience of working class culture, both lived and observed, had told him this was true, and that those, usually at the bottom of the social hierarchy, valued structure and self reliance, way more than the critics on the Left did, who regularly shouted down such instincts, as “Unnecessarily Cruel” or “Bootstrap Politics”.
For as long as he could remember, Terry had always been confused by this opposition from his side of the debate and in his darkest moments, suspected, that these well fed activists only did this, because they knew a disabled Proletariat would be much easier to control. This was no way for a dynamic ideology to proceed, thought the Vampire and so over the course of a few weeks, he sketched out his own blue-print for change. A Code for yourself and a Code for your community was Terry’s new mantra and using, in particular, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell and Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, as his main guides, while, at the same time ignoring the stark intellectualism of Marx and writers from the Frankfurt School, Terry, drew on the rich history of the English Working Class, from the Peasant Revolt through to the present day Labour Party, to compile twelve aims or guidelines, for a better way ahead.
The Aims of Muscular Socialism were:
1.Join a Trade Union. If you’re not at the table, you’re on the menu.
2.Defend Free Speech with your life. It is as important as the air you breathe. If it is attacked, drop everything and walk to the front line in your flip flops.
3.Employers should only ever be paid ten times the rate of their average Employee. This will be the ultimate incentive to pay their workers more, so bosses end up with a better return.
4.Have a Code for yourself and a Code for your community. Read The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell and Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. Let them be your guides.
5.Bring back the 1970’s. Obviously, without all the racism, sexism and homophobia. Aim for a Star Trek socialism, where all the basic needs of the 80% are met.
6.Embrace Wisdom, Temperance, Justice and Courage in your life – the four tenets of a Stoic Life.
7.Wages up, Assets down – Nuff said.
8.Reject victimhood at all costs. It should have no social currency at all. The World is indifferent to your fate.
9.Get better heroes. Boycott all modern celebrities. They are the storm-troopers of Neo-Liberalism, who help the establishment control the majority.
10.Reject compelled speech. Ignore pronouns when demanded. Remember it’s your choice to use them or not use them. You do not have to sing the National Anthem, so why do this?
11.Remember the obstacle is the way. Without hardship we are nothing and live very diminished lives.
And the Twelfth and most important commandment.
12.Friends not Allies. Melanin is just skin deep, Race is basically a social construct, and an oppressor/oppressed narrative will damage us all in the end.
Terry, also intended to include some other rules, in particular, never referring to George Orwell’s 1984 or the Emperor’s New Clothes by Hans Christian Anderson, in any critique of Woke behavior, which every Political Commentator seemed to be doing these days, under pain of a heavy fine; but, in the end, the Vampire decided to just stick with the original twelve. Soon, the phrase, I’m a Muscular Socialist, was appearing everywhere, on Shoulder Bags, Coffee Mugs, and Mouse-mats, and even infiltrated the inner sanctum of the Vampire Council, when a Palace Guard was caught on Social Media in his local gym wearing a T Shirt emblazoned with the new catch-phrase, and, as a result, was confined to barracks on horse’s blood for a week. Inevitably the establishment pushed back, especially regarding the point in the new Manifesto that encouraged “Bringing back the 1970’s” which Carswell declared in a very rare interview with Vanity Fair, “would only make the poor, poorer” while Bane Vulpine, who had previously given qualified support to the new movement, now viciously attacked them on his podcast, The Bane Event, as “Nothing more than Communists” and “Much worse than the Woke”. This anger only intensified, a few months later, when thousands of members of the Hampton Institute, joined the Labour Party specifically to propose a motion at the Autumn Conference banning anyone who had attended Public School or Grammar School or indeed sent their children to said schools from being members of the party. The vote, despite being very close, was eventually rejected by Conference, but sent shock waves through an increasingly detached Commentariat, who now recognized that the battle was finally coming to their front door. Not even the continual vitriol from comedians like Tudor Dee, who had tried to ridicule Errol and Terry at every turn, could land a decent punch and therefore it was, of no surprise, that late one evening, the two Vampires received a visit from Bane and Jamaal at their home in Fulham.
“You have to stop Terry. Remember who the enemy is” and “Errol, you can’t keep helping White Supremacy” quickly fell on deaf ears, until a phone was placed on a kitchen table and a video of their attempted assassination of Oscar began to play.
“A Familiar had been in the room all the time, satisfying Oscar’s various urges, but after you made your attack, he was able to hide in the wardrobe and film the whole thing. Everyone thinks it was Hector alone who did for Oscar, but the reality was, it was you. Trying to kill a First Tier Vampire, tut tut. Probably death for Vamps so young. Now, it’s simple. Stop this nonsense and go back to where we were, or Carswell gets it in the post” declared Bane, holding up the phone, as the video ended with a knife being thrust into Oscar’s chest, and a clear shot of Errol and Terry standing smiling in the background.
*
“Hi Tudor.”
“Oh, err, hi. Look you can’t be in here, I’m on soon and …” replied the Comedian, spinning around from admiring himself in the make up mirror before staring anxiously at the Vampire who had just appeared in his dressing room.
“You sure? It’s only just after 6pm. You have at least a couple of hours before you go on, don’t you?” interrupted Terry, quickly grabbing the nearest chair and sitting down.
“Look I know who you are Terry, but like I said, I’m preparing for a show. Can’t we talk afterwards? It’s not the right time.”
“Not even for a Brother in Blood? I only wanted an autograph, I’m a big fan.”
“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Anyway, Carswell is coming tonight? I’m protected you know.”
“Oh, I know you are, but I think I could still get away with breaking the odd nose or maybe crushing a few ribs. Could blame the ADHD. It’s all the rage at the moment. HR would understand” said Terry with a pleasant smile.
“Err, okay then. What do you want?” said Tudor, now looking unnerved and losing most of his initial cockiness.
“Just wanna talk.”
“Well, it’s still not very convenient, and like I said, I need to prepare, you know get in the right place.”
“Oh right? So it won’t it be the same old crap then? Slagging off some low hanging fruit like Boris Johnson and Donald Trump, then throw in a bit of existential thought quoting Heidegger or Sartre just to show everyone how clever you are, before laying into a fellow comedian who happens to be doing better than you. Surely, that doesn’t require much preparation anymore, does it?”
“Look if you just want to insult me, I…”
“My apologies, only teasing. Look, I just wanted a chat, you know, man to man, or Vampire to Familiar, if you will.”
“Well…”
“I mean, I could make you. You are aware of my powers?”
“Well, okay then. What is it you wanna to talk about, then?” said the Comedian, irritably, and very unused to being boxed in a corner.
“Cancel Culture,” said Terry.
“Oh for fucks sake, not that again! Look, how many times! There is no Cancel Culture…” replied Tudor dismissively, as he reached across to pick up a piece of paper with some jokes written on it, before Terry moved forward in his seat and slapped the Comedian hard across the face.
“Arghh! Christ! What was that for?”
“Gaslighting.”
“Err?”
“Like a cheating husband, who tells his suspicious wife, you’re just imagining things, its all in your mind. I’m not banging my secretary baby, just like when you say, there is no Cancel Culture.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to hurt me.”
“Only if you lie, Tudor. Helen Joyce, Kellie Jay Keen, Gillian Phillips, Leo Kearse, Tabia Lee, James Dreyfus, Alison Bailey, Maya Forstater, Suzanne Moore, the list is flipping endless. Oh and before you say it’s just accountability and no-one is being arrested by the Government for anything they say, you and I know perfectly well, that’s not the point and every day, ordinary people are losing their jobs or having their lives completely ruined for saying very little. So lets start again, shall we? Cancel Culture? It exists, yes?
“Erm, okay,” replied the Comedian sulkily rubbing the side of his face.
“Lovely, now we have common ground”
“So, I suppose you’ll slap me again, if I say something else you disagree with? Yeah, very free speech,” protested Tudor, shaking his head at the sudden unfairness.
“No, that’s the Woke way, pal. Heckler’s veto, bang some pots and pans together, shut down debate, scream racist! Free speech is a right wing trope! Is the juice worth the squeeze? I’ve heard it all, but fear not brother familiar, I’m a much more open minded than the pricks on your side of the argument, and so now we’ve established the parameters, that will be your last slap. Say what you want.”
“Look I can’t see the point of all this? We don’t agree do we? Your podcast and your Hampton Institute, whatever it’s called, says it all doesn’t it?”
“Well there’s a start. Why don’t you like the Hampton Institute? We bring working class black, brown and white people together. Challenge the system of crony capitalism, try to create real change, gotta be a good thing, yeah?”
“Well not if you’re working for the Establishment and doing their bidding, it isn’t?”
“Oh right. We’re the establishment? Funny thing is, I thought, you were.”
“Oh right, ‘course we are,” said Tudor, shaking his head again.
“Now is that misinformation or disinformation, I can never tell? Of course you’re the Establishment and do you know how I know? The way you always know. It’s always the ones, the best jokes are about, and today, that’s your side. Jesus, I remember when your side, used to be my side. That’s ironic innit? Spitting Image, Ben Elton, Mark Thomas, but now the Left just aren’t funny.”
“Yes they are, you just have to look”
“Oh I have and as far as I can see, it’s laughing at people who “just don’t get it”. It’s boring dude.”
“You say.”
“Okay, So you can say what you want then?”
“Of course. As long as you don’t punch down.”
“Oh right, so not like when you used to take the piss out of disabled children, then?” said Terry, folding his arms.
“Well that was another time.”
“Oh just admit it Tudor. You can’t say what you want. I mean I don’t have to look in your eyes and read your mind to see that, do I? Do you know how many emails me and Errol get from Actors, Singers, Creatives, all saying that they secretly agree with us but can’t say it in public? In fact, the next one who does it, I might bloody bite them for having no balls. Bet you’re the same? Absolutely shitting yourself in case you place one toe over the line, and then when some poor bastard does, you all pile in to ruin his career. Another competitor out of the way. Another space on Taskmaster or Dave freed up. And don’t make me laugh about “Punch down”. What does that even mean? Humor punches anywhere it want’s Tudor. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. Up, down, around. That’s what it does. A joke is always targeting someone isn’t it? Someone is always getting done and that’s fine, because at the end of the day the audience decides, don’t they?”
“Well, times have changed.”
“That’s a crap excuse. What about Graham Sadowitz then?”
“Well…”
“Well what? He’s just got banned from the Edinburgh Fringe, and then they canceled his tour for doing the same act he’s been doing for the last twenty years. Thought he was supposed to be greatest inspiration to British Comedy since Monty Python or Billy Connelly? Thought he was a genius you couldn’t categorize? In fact, didn’t he give you your first break on Channel Four?”
“Well that was a long time ago and anyway he goes too far, doesn’t he?”
“That’s his job! He’s a comedian for God’s sake. He’s supposed to find the edge. Christ, no wonder Dave Chappelle and Babylon Bee take the piss out of you lot.”
“Babylon Bee? Really? They’re a bunch of religious freaks for a start and Dave Chappelle isn’t funny, he just says fuck a lot. You know, I hear this crap all the time, that the Left are the establishment. Really? Well, correct me if I’m wrong but haven’t we had the Tories in for the last decade or more? And like aren’t ninety percent of the media, far right? Err, the Daily Mail? Doh! Need I go on?” said Tudor, sitting up in his seat and desperately trying to re-claim the high ground again.
“There you go again, Tudor. Pointless hyperbole. You forget, I was born in 1918, so I know what the Far Right actually looks like and so do you for that matter. I mean the Daily Mail might be annoying but it’s hardly Far Right is it?”
“Yes they are. They’re really far right.”
“Really? How? They believe in the NHS, no guns for the Police, Abortion Rights, Women’s Rights, Gay Marriage. You think, Heinrich Himmler or the Grand Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan were up for all that? Behave yourself, son. You’ll be telling me words are violence next.”
“Well that’s your opinion.”
“Just my opinion? So, what about the BBC? Right wing? The Universities? The Arts? All right wing, yeah?”
“Well some of them are, more than you think.”
“Who? Where? Survey after survey shows the complete opposite. 1 in 12 lecturers are Conservatives, 90% of all Humanity departments are Left leaning, and now the little brats, who have been brainwashed by these Apparatchiks are all over the Civil Service and big Corporations, eagerly spreading their bullshit creed about and canceling anyone who gets in their way. Hardly viewpoint diversity, Tudor? I mean I’m a Lefty, but it hardly seems fair, know what I mean?
“Well, what about the Royal Family then? We still have them, don’t we? If that’s not proof of the right wing running everything I don’t know what is.”
“What century are you living in son? It’s not 1630. The Royal Family have no power, they are puppets of the past, and in fifty years they’ll be gone, any dick knows that. But I tell who does have the power. Corporations and people like you.”
“Oh of course, I’m in control, I’m the problem. I mean, what was it you said in your little Jordan Petersen, Muscular Socialist, 12 rules for making the bed or whatever it was. Get rid of Celebrities. Of course Ant and Dec rule the world, don’t they? I mean, once they’re overthrown, it will all be dreamy. Give me a break” said Tudor, shaking his head, and pretending to look at his page of jokes again.
“Then why do you defend the status quo then?”
“I don’t.”
“Of course you do! praising big Corporations, Quangos who spread Identity Politics and getting people thrown off Twitter for saying nothing.”
“Well it’s a Private Company, they can do what they want.”
“Yeah, until they do it to your side of the argument and then it’s “stifling free speech”. You see Tudor, this is why most people hate celebrities like you, because you have no utility anymore. You used to cheer us up but now you just depress us with all your hypocrisy. It’s making us feel unwell and that’s why there’s a change coming, but not the one that you were hoping for. Gay men, like Andrew Doyle and Glen Greenwald, Trans men and women like Blair White and Buck Angel, Black men like John McWhorter and Coleman Hughes, Women like Inaya Folarin Iman and Batya Ungar Sargon, Matt Taibbi, Douglas Murray. Lefties, Tories, Independents, Free thinkers. This is the real progressive Nirvana, you idiot. You wanted to divide us, with all your bullshit, but the fact is you’ve achieved the complete opposite. The push back against the Wokeocracy will prove to be the greatest Anti Racist, Pro- LGBT, pro Women, pro Class project in History. You know, it’s funny, but I used to think that the only way humans could ever truly band together was if the Aliens invaded, but now the Woke has turned up, there’s no need. You’re the fucking Martians”
“Oh, so you’re othering us, then,” said Tudor, now completely outraged.
“Without a shadow of a doubt.”
“So you want to kill us.”
“Not any more Tudor. I used to bite cunts like you all the time, thinking I was making a difference, but that’s before I realized, that I was just turning myself into the very person I was claiming to hate. What was it Nietzsche said? Beware hunting monsters lest you become one yourself. Jesus, I was so bitter, an absolute joke. But then I woke up. It was my great awokening, if you will; and now I don’t want to bite the white progressive bell-ends anymore. In fact I want them to live forever. Longer than Vampires in fact, so we can see what bullshit really looks like. So keep calling everyone you don’t agree with, Far Right, or Racist or Transfuckingphobic. I don’t care. Keep doing it, son, it only make us stronger. That’s why I don’t agree with toppling statues. The dickheads of the past need to be in plain sight so we can see them for what they really were” said Terry, suddenly reaching forward to clasp Tudor’s face into his hands and then stare deeply into the Comedian’s eyes.
“Be at peace my brother, I can see your pain. So, you’re not as successful as you think you should be. It’s a damn shame. Why can’t the stupid masses not understand the genius of your innovative deconstructionism? Why did both of your BBC series fail, while Ross Label, with his working class bombast and ever so predictable drug habit, conquer America? But you know this is wrong my friend. There’s a reason no-one wants to interview you, and all you have to show for 30 years in comedy is a room filled with 500 social justice warriors, who think you’re the Comedian’s Comedian. If the audience think you hate them, they’re not going to laugh are they? It’s as simple as that. So stop being such a snob, stop pissing on the poor and try and be honest with yourself for a change. Forget all the hate Tudor, and be at peace, and I assure you, all that anger in your soul, will disappear. That’s right, breathe deeply my friend, let the tension go, and so tonight, when you perform, shelve the Woke shit, and just go for the comedy, yeah? Say anything, it’s only jokes, after all, and be a Comedian again. Be brave, you used to be good at it, and I guarantee it will make you happy.”
“Oh, err, hi. It’s Terry from the Hampton Institute isn’t it?” said Tudor now blinking his eyes and slowly coming out of the Vampire’s mind weave, before producing an uncharacteristically warm smile, which slightly disturbed his guest.
“Yes, that’s right,” replied Terry, now standing up.
“Oh wow, I love your Podcast, Friends not Allies, listen to it all the time. Errol is fucking hilarious, isn’t he? Always going on about footballers diving and paying too much for Jamaican food. Totally brilliant. In fact, entre nous, I agree with more or less everything you say, but I have to keep it to myself, you know the fucking woke mob and all that? Drive’s you nuts sometimes, doesn’t it, but you gotta make a living, haven’t you? So, anyway Terry, what are you doing here, did someone let you in?”
“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, it’s fantastic, glad to see you.”
“Oh good. Just wanted to wish you luck before the show.”
“Oh that’s really nice, thank you. Well grab a seat then and lets have a chat, I’m not due on for another few hours.”
“Would love to, but I’ve gotta go I’m afraid. But, like I said, good luck for tonight. I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”
“Shame. Err, maybe, we could do a Podcast together, you know in the future?”
“Oh definitely,” replied Terry with a smile, before turning around and exiting the dressing room.