Just added - pictures of the Phoenix Marabou Nighty Brigade in action!
I am proud to announce the formation of an International Coalition against the appalling
Thomas James Pitts of Leeds. I am touched and moved by the offers of psychotic violence against his person that I have been receiving from all over the world.
First to offer their services were the Phoenix, Arizona chapter of my fan club, who propose to cross the Atlantic to 'kick some poncey ass, like in World War II.' They have threatened if necessary to lay waste to Leeds - 'whatever they are.'
Their spokesman, Colonel Verte, writes:
'As an American, I would like to offer our services. We are, after all, known for our need to butt into international affairs whenever we sense injustice (or profit). Some poncey bedwetting ass needs kicking over there and we're just the people to do it.
'While pitchforks and torches seem appropriate here and make for a nice angry villager type ambiance, we Americans are entirely too lazy and impatient for that. Who wants to find the pitchfork, make a torch, risk falling embers or accidentally catching one's hair on fire, and go lugging all of that around when you can grab your personal hand cannon, hop in your lowrider and get it all done more efficiently?
'We'll show up with our army of tan busty women clad in marabou nighties, armed with tea, cakes, and .357 Magnums. Plane tickets are cheap right now and we're not doing anything better with our time.'
The Arizona posse are not people to trifle with. This is the kind of thing Pitts is facing:
I don't know about Pitts, but that scares the hell out of me.
Let us not rush into anything without evolving a grand strategy, however. Remember the military principle of concentrating your forces. Are there enough tan busty women in marabou nighties? It has been my experience that one can never have too many in this kind of situation, or indeed, any kind of situation.
Meanwhile Mike M. from Liverpool, who modestly claims not to be a computer expert, has nevertheless come up with an ingenious technical suggestion that should hamper Pitts' abilities to copy and paste from my site, namely to 'break his f***ing fingers one by one with a lump-hammer'. He offers to perform this operation himself 'as I fancy a day out'.
Many others from all corners of the globe have joined the outcry against Pitts, including some prominent international figures.
Harold Pinter writes: 'This is an outrage. I shall be writing to President Bush to demand he cluster-bombs Leeds immediately.'
The Dalai Lama mails from Tibet to say:
'This Pitts dude is storing up some seriously bad karma. He's gonna come back as blowfish shit. Besides, I'm coming over there and ripping him a new asshole.'
And an O.B. Laden from parts unknown writes: 'I do not get out of my cave much these days and your page provides me with some badly-needed chuckles. I think this Pitts is the lowest person on earth. I will be flying into Leeds to deal with him personally.'
I offered to meet him at the airport, but he said that would not be necessary.
Miss Elizabeth Bruce, a plucky young lady from Bonnie Scotland, Glasgae to be precise, stoutly declares:
'I will kick his cunt in.'
Meanwhile I am delighted to announce that another heavily-armed American unit has rallied to the colours - already displaying signs of a healthy rivalry with their compatriots.
Snakeboy from Texas says, 'Those Arizona queers not gonna have all the fun, me and my buds are coming too and we're bringing f***ing beer, not tea. We'll have a weenie-roast with little Pittsy.'
He has pledged both reinforcements for the vital marabou nighty-woman battalion and 'a platoon of bikini gun-girls with big bazookas.'
This is heartening news. He goes on:
'I don't know where f***ing Leeds is, but then who knew where f***ing Hiroshima was before we put that on the map?'
Indeed.
(Stop press: the Phoenix Phalanx have already written to clarify that it is their 'brigade of armed busty marabou chippies' who would be providing the tea and cakes, and that in fact it would be more likely to be coffee and pie. I can live with pie. They also reassure me 'we have more than enough tan, marabou-clad warrior-ettes'. But how many is enough? How deep is the ocean?)
Jack writes from Sunderland to say that he and his lieutenants Si and Bev are willing to perform sundry acts of demolition on the body of Pitts. He declares:
'If this is serious, and it should be, we're really up for it.'
Soldier, it doesn't get any more serious than this. The Marabou Nighty Women have been mobilised.
I am sad note that so far the coalition is an exclusively Anglosphere effort, apart from the Glaswegian contingent. Come on, rest of the world, show us what you're made of. I may be able to call in a favour with Karl August Schultz to get the Prussians on board - and maybe even dragoon in Ulrich Haarburste.
But I cannot help noticing that there are as yet no volunteers from France.
Contact me if you would like to volunteer your support for the coalition against Pitts.
Please mark your mails 'Offers of psychotic violence' and indicate clearly
how many Marabou Nighty-Women and/or Bikini Gun Girls you can provide.
'either that or I'll sing Irish folk songs to him until he can't take any more and he goes completely mad (it has been known to happen)'
There may be Geneva Convention problems with that, but thanks anyway.
More armed and dangerous support from across the Atlantic! Chuck from San Bernardino promises his help and is bringing a chapter of Hell's Angels with him.
He adds: 'As far as marabou women goes, with all due respect you're living in a fool's paradise if you think there's an unlimited supply, they are not that easy to come by, especially armed busty tan ones. I may be able to rustle up a couple but my main contribution will be a column of topless biker babes.'
Topless biker babes are fine, if that's all you can manage. But the Arizonans don't seem to have any problem getting hold of marabou women. If there is a shortage in California...no wonder there was a recall, that's all I can say.
On a similar head Miss Elizabeth Bruce of Glasgow writes back to make clear:
'I will not be wearing any of that marabou shit when I kick Pitts's cunt in.' As a concession, she will be attired in 'a pair of sensible flannel pyjamas. Those other girls will catch their death of cold.'
She has a point. It's quite nippy in Leeds this time of year. Please ensure all your Marabou Nighty Women and Bikini Gun Girls have scarves and mittens. Although the marabou should protect the Marabou Nighty Women from the elements to some degree.
Colm Herrick offers no help whatsoever:
'I would join your coalition, and I actually live in Yorkshire, but I'm not bothering because you never update any more. At least Pitts makes an effort.'
Watch it, sonny. You can easily be next. I have an army now.
Colonel Verte of the Phoenix Phalanx is nettled by the insinuations of Snakeboy of Texas and responds by disparaging the forces the latter has at his command:
'As for our Texan brothers and sisters, bikini-clad babes with bazookas are so passé... we're trying to maintain a modicum of class here. They should instead offer to send a brigade of their big-haired killer cheerleader moms.'
Meanwhile Kris and Matt from Nottingham volunteer their support but add:
'We will not be armed we only need our bare hands for this job. Guns are for sissies and those American people really are lazy, they can't be bothered getting off their arses to kill people. When we want to shoot someone we don't bother with guns, we insert the bullets manually. We are not bringing any birds either except our friend Becky who is hard. We will beat the shit out of Pitts and then take the Americans birds whether they like it or not. Love and peace, Kris.'
Please, please, enough of this bickering. This sort of thing only helps one person, and he is hunkered down in a bunker in Leeds working on his magnum opus, Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell.
I must also chide Kris because I happen to know that the bit about inserting bullets manually is a Lee Evans joke. We may have to raze a large municipality to the ground to achieve victory, but we will not stoop to Pitts' level.
Speaking of this, Jane, who sounds like some sort of bleeding-heart type and is probably from Leeds, writes to 'query the status of innocent citizens of Leeds in the coming conflict as some of the threatened actions seem a tad extreme.'
I hope the following will clarify the situation.
---
You harboured the beast in your midst.
You did not rise up against him.
You will now pay the price.
As an act of mercy, I am giving you two days to evacuate your homes.
That is all.
---
There are no innocent citizens of Leeds.
'I am happy to announce I am scheduled to speak at a Clingfilm Pride march in London this weekend and afterwards will be delighted to attend your annihilation of Leeds. Regrettably I cannot fight but I will remonstrate severely with Pitts and perhaps wrap the wounded in clingfilm, particularly those who are wearing black.'
That is good enough for me. They also serve who only stand and wrap.
In other good news, Colonel Verte assures me there will be tea and cakes as well as coffee and pie and marabou harlots with Magnums. In fact, he says, 'I'm all about tea and cake.'
He is a Great Man.
K. McFall writes from Chicago 'to declare my support for the coalition against Mr. Pitts of Leeds. I especially applaud Ms. Bruce's intentions with regard to Mr. Pitts's cunt. Unfortunately my countrymen from Arizona and Texas are amateurs who cannot be relied upon to properly crater Mr. Pitts, as they are too drunk and stupid. However, all is not lost. With my help, the American contingent ought to be able to cripple Mr. Pitts, at least, so that Ms. Bruce can have a go at his cunt.'
I am delighted to have an ally from the home of Al Capone and Velma Kelly. I must, though, insist that in future people refrain from comments on other contingents likely to damage the esprit de corps of our army. Besides, drunkenness and stupidity may well be keynote qualities in this enterprise. I also have to note that this is the first offer of American help from outside the sort of sandy states at the bottom left. Colonel Verte of the Phoenix Militia has already explained it thus:
'We US westerners are all about forming posses. I believe it's a requirement of home ownership here that your entry hall display the Ten Commandments and an oil on velvet portrait of John Wayne. Otherwise they ship you off to Massachusetts.'
It is true that Massachusetts and the rest of New England are not yet pulling their weight. I don't expect offers of weaponry, but surely you could contribute a few waspy young men who could wound Pitts with snooty remarks about the quality of his prep school? And send some haughty imperious Vassar girls for if I get tired of the Marabou Nighty Women.
Stop press:
This just in: more American support from one C. Perez. He will only be able to supply one armed busty woman - but she will be wearing a Marabou Bikini. Who knew, or dared to dream, that there was such a thing?
He signs himself 'from Arkansas, home of "Deliverance".'
Uh oh. Squeal like a pig, Pitts.
'Herr Kelly!
'I am most enraged to hear of the inexcusable theft of your texts!
'Rest assured that we Prussians have no love for Thomas James Pitts of Leeds! I informed my friends in Potsdam of the situation last Sunday during "Stratego night" and quite a few monocles were thus dislodged. In fact, with regard things the average Prussian now hates, here are items 2,234 through 2,248 (as of this date):
2,234 - Belgian military aggression,
2,235 - When the chin strap on one's pickelhaube breaks,
2,236 - Thomas James Pitts,
2,237 - Bavarian sausage,
2,238 - Failed attempts at proper heel-clicking procedure.
'As you can see, even foul Bavarian Weisswurst has lost its position to Thomas James Pitts.
'However, with the strength of vitality behind your campaign, I am certain victory is firmly within your grasp. As a wise man once said, "Work makes free."
'Sincerely,
Karl August Schultz'
I am alarmed to note that no-one apart from the Arizonans appears to be bringing cakes or pie. There may not be enough to go around, and I'm not going without.
In view of the inclement weather I am attempting to charter a bus to convey the Marabou Nighty Women from the airport to the Trinity and All Saints campus. However, if that falls through, I don't suppose they will have much trouble hitch-hiking.
'He is a hollow man, a vacuum, foraging fragments of borrowed identity where he may. His own self, like the old lady in Hitchcock's The Lady Vanishes is, how you say, disparue - vanished. It is my pronouncement that he has failed to achieve a state of Authentic Existence, or being-there, Dasein, Being-in-the-World, or to embark on an Authentic Project-of-Being.'
That's gotta hurt.
'I agree with your proclamation. There must be no quarter given to the citizens of Leeds. Those who survive the initial bombardment must be bayoneted in the streets.'
The Dalai Lama concurs:
'Fuck 'em. Exterminate all the brutes. They're gonna come back as halitotic stoats.'
Verte writes to correct me:
'Thank you but actually, SHE is a great WOMAN. And busty as well. And a fine baker .'
There may be a winner for my Marriage Competition.
I am speechless. Not since Joan of Arc has there been a woman of such martial ardour and tactical genius. And I doubt the Maid of Orleans could bake, or wore marabou.
This paragon of womanhood continues:
'As for the Nottingham Two, we are actually quite enticed by the rivalry. They're welcome to their hand to hand combat but we've got our marabou nighties to think of.'
I think of little else.
'Since you are recruiting the likes of Ulrich Haarburste and Colonel Belmondo, I seem to recall that the robot Anne Bronte, last of the dreaded Bionic Bronte Sisters, is still at large on the Yorkshire Moors. I think that's near Leeds? It strikes me she could be an invaluable ally against Pitts if you could track her down - perhaps by luring her into the open with a large bottle of cough syrup - and reprogram her.'
An excellent idea! A berserk robotic 19th Century writer may be the one thing that's been missing from our enterprise. We won't even need to reprogram her. I'll just tell her Pitts has been plagiarising The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
Similarly Sarah from Kent suggests drafting in the Archbishop of Canterbury. I am not keen to have that mad bastard anywhere near me, however. He must remain a weapon of last resort.
Sarah also offers to torture Pitts by doing her 'special' rendition of Tony Hadley singing 'Gold' at him, which will apparently turn him into a drooling imbecile, assuming that isn't redundant. She further offers a friend's house in Leeds as a base of operations:
'She has a big fridge, ample room for storing the celebratory cakes. I shall make my speciality cake - it's like fruit cake, but made out of tea.'
A cake made out of tea! Again I say, who knew or dared to dream? In view of its strategic importance, this house will be spared the holocaust shortly to engulf the rest of Leeds. In fact, any citizen of Leeds who wishes to avoid having their rude dwelling razed to the ground will be spared if they leave a cake on their doorstep.
'Consider the soverign nation of Fuckin' Brooklyn NY onboard for the final assault of the evil Pitt. Nothing shall stand in the way of our final fuckin' victory. We'll see what's REALLY stronger: the pen or a sword through his fuckin' neck.'
Testosterone-crazed maniac though he be, he does not neglect the importance of adequate provisioning and 'will be glad to supplement our meagre fighting rations with fuckin' strawberry toaster cakes.'
Russell Carter of Retford is lending his support and may be able to rally several rural rowdy types to the cause. He makes no mention of cakes but does have some military training, having spent 6 weeks in the RAF before leaving because he didn't like the uniform. Mr. Carter may be a bit of a fop, but, as he points out, and as Wellington knew, 'it's all about numbers, isn't it?' Moreover, if he gained any flight experience at all, no matter how brief or inadequate, he may be eligible to join the air wing currently being co-ordinated by Mr. O.B. Laden.
Mr. P___ H_____ (who wishes anonymity) has also pledged himself to the cause. He has never read my website before but was doing a Google search for 'marabou nighty' and this page was top. (He's right. Check it out.) He says, 'Leeds here I come. If the women in marabou nighties are there, I'm there.'
'They are a unique state with lots of large, loud, bossy women. this naturally produces men with real gender identity issues, men who feel the need to constantly prove their manhood. this explains the mania for drilling oil wells. something about the satisfaction of drilling deep, deep, down into mother (eww) earth using their (obviously phallic) oil derricks and feeling the earth tremble (mom?) beneath their tiny snakeskin boots as they await the orgasmic thrill of being rewarded with a "gusher". hallo? doktor freud?'
Kris from Nottingham also writes again, a brief mail which I will have to suppress entirely. Only I am allowed to do that to the Marabou Nighty Women.
The initial bombardment
A tactical deployment worthy of Alexander
1. Computer Suite - likely location of Pitts' Weapons of Mass Duplication
2. Commando team to crawl along roof, drop down through ceiling, garrotte technicians and disable copy-and-paste on computers
3,4,10,11 Student Accomodation - Pitts may be in hiding here. Will have to be searched floor by floor. The endgame may be tricky as in his final extremity Pitts is likely to take hostages and use them as human shields. They will have to die too
17. Sports hall. Can be used for trials and mass executions of sympathizers in the aftermath, then maybe we could have a game of badminton
18. Marabou Nighty Brigade. Also cake dump. I will be directing operations from here
22. Reception Centre. Likely to contain security staff. Robot Anne Bronte will destroy it and pull their heads off
33. Suspicious pointy building. Either a state-of-the-art communications facility for disseminating Pitts' plagiarisms or a multi-faith chapel. Will be taken out with bunker-buster
According to Giles Brody he has been located 'six feet below the surface of the earth in a coffin like bunker with only a well stocked micro fridge, an air vent, a DVD player, an underground spring and a bean bag to keep him alive.' Bert Ross of the Brookyln contingent corroborates this - his sources say Pitts is 'hunkered down in a fuckin' bunker, his manic inbred smile lit only by the glow of his fuckin' computer monitor'.
Karl says he is in a peat-lined pit armed with a pistol. Mark Wade hears he has been found in a 6' x 8' 'spider hole' and has been there some time, although 'he didn't have enough testosterone to grow a full beard, just one of those wispy moustaches that appear on members of Menudo right before they are kicked out of the band.'
I am attempting to gain confirmation and exact wherabouts. Is the battle over before it has begun? Watch this space.
'Acting on the intelligence gathered, the Marabou Nightie Brigade of Phoenix was mobilized last night. Upon patrolling the Trinity and All Saints campus, they ran across a sewer grate, from which emanated the sounds of furious copying and pasting. In an attempt to flush out the source of the noise, Private First Class Bambi Malone leaned in and whispered, "Oops, my bra's come undone again." A pale, myopic troglodyte of a man emerged to find himself staring at a barrage of cleavage and firepower.
'The suspect was subdued quite easily and transportation was arranged to take the prisoner to headquarters for questioning. Once in the interrogation room, it became obvious to the MNBP that they had indeed captured the infamous Thomas James Pitts as all of the answers to their inquiries were reportedly given in the form of movie quotes, the most obvious being Jack Nicholson's courtroom diatribe from A Few Good Men. Once Colonel Verte was confident in the suspect's identity, she contacted Mr. Kelly for further orders...'
Pitts has been sentenced to copy, by hand, the entire works of Jeffrey Archer. He was crying and begging for death even before I added that he would have to put them on his website and claim to have written them himself.
An informal victory celebration was held in the Cake Dump by myself and the members of the Marabou Nighty Brigade. I would like to thank them all for serving under me.
