An Apology about the Apology from the Editor

Radical Splurge must warn you about this so called Editor who's started posting. Whatever it is it is posting meta-narratives well before the site has earned a base to merit one (i.e. one which consists of people I don't go to the pub with). Don't be fooled by the editor's crafty attempts to get Radical Splurge's head so far up it's own arse that no one notices as the head is so far up that it has gone through the body and neck going to whence it came but slightly shittier. 

Now The Editor may have a scanner and post content whilst sober but don't be tricked. He is excessively anal and once vomited out two lbs of ear-wax. He may write in a clever Lovecraftian manner that I don't understand and have better production values, better discipline and be all smart and shit, but I implore you to devour only the true splurge. "This is my body and this is my splurge". Yes I'm writing this crying, naked and drunk but it remains true.

When the bitterness of reality passes,

And the hurt upon your soul trespasses,

Don't look to me for I am lost,

Don't look to me at all costs.

The doom approaches steadily,

With certain steps and certain glee.

When we are gone what shall they say?

The fellow pilgrims on the way.

Hide away from dimming lights,

Don't let your heart fade during the darkest nights.

And therefore Carthage  Capitalism must be destroyed!

*Radical Splurge has suffered from a cut in funding from 'The Editor', we would like to reassure our readers that there will be no decline in quality as a result of these changes to the budget.

An Apology from The Editor

Though this tundra numbs my bones

it carries my words 

with the speed of falling angels

to the warmer climes

of your wee little ears

Hello, fellow traveller,

My name is not important. What is important is that I am the purveyor, and titilant of the web bucket known commonly by its maiden name of 'Radical Splurge'.

My parents were gods. They are dead now.

You may call me The Editor.

My various offshore accounts funnel guineas directly to various other offshore accounts which, eventually, fund the caretakers of the myriad rodents that toil in the hellish wheels of our server farm. It is not relevant where my money comes from, but I am very enthused about where it ends up. As a supporter of various doomed causes, I could not withhold my slender, withered digits from tip-tapping on the donate button for this devilishly obstinate publication. This haven of ejaculatory dissent is the pit from which the subtle tingle of laughter ruptures through my scabby throat, its meta-meta-satire teasing from me but the humblest of titters. It has been many centuries since such a thing has happened, and it scares me, but what industrial pioneer and renowned explorer could refuse such sybilatic succulence, such asinine assonance?

Sadly, however, I write here not to praise this babe, which suckles so hypocritically at my cryto-current teet, but to admonish it for its irresponsibility and moral destitution. In the last post to the scrolls of Radical Splurge, a callous invitation was sent about a summer school with places to be purchased for human dignity. The writer, of course, was foolish enough to not remember that, by their very nature, the polyps that peruse these pixelated pages are totally lacking in human dignity. What self-respecting beast or body would bash their eyes so ecstatically against their holo-screen for such petulant returns, lest they were lacking in all dignity? For this mistake, we, I, it, apologises.

The second more fundamental failure was a lack of organisation for this sunlit spectacle, evident in that the writer, as we have so deftly detectored, made up the school on the spot, as he scrawled those dellible words with but his bloodied knuckles. I have confirmed this, now, having written to him by bottle. The Pseudo Autonomist Pessimist Post-Marxist compound is many moons away by boat, and its shores ripple in the most unnatural of lights. My sailors dare not row me within earshot of that blasted rock. The bloodied note I hold in my hands is filled with admonishments of his own foolishness and impetuity, and I scrunch it now, wet and cold, in my skeletal, ring-borne fist. Having spoken to the leade writer of this journal, whose name I dare not speak nare utter for fear he may hear me, has apologised profusely. At least, from the garbled screams he sends to me on magnetic tapes, I detected notes of remorse. The other notes I cannot decipher, and dare not try, for my translator has still not returned from the sabbatical he demanded after the last tape. Those eldritch runes which line the front glow ever so gently in the lamp light. I fear them, as do we all, but as the soul financial supporter of this necronomic ulcer of a publication, my fear is bulwarked by coinage.

So I repent to you, flagellant and prostrate on the floor, handing you the already sodden whip, to forgive me, I, it, for the lies we have divulged uponce you, and for the lies we have so slanderously plopped into the toilet bowl of your mind: as with all such plopping, the cold and dirty water has flicked back up to our testicles and made us flinch in icy shock.

The summer school was but the pipe dream of one of our poets/writers/diviners (the titles are but always in flux!) who, in scrying the words that dribble through the ether, injected his own nonsense unto the pure rationality he had, till that point, been grouting from the tiles of the universe' bathroom floor. And in that brief moment of masturbatory elation, I failed you, dear, sweet, beautiful reader.

These days of wealth and plenty are gone. The crops shall fail this year, and the lord's boot shall crash down, steel-toed and phallic, round the necks of those who transgress once more. The jesters shall be kept on chains, my beloved reader, and their bells cut off like dogs' balls. Their castrated moans shall be punctured by but the new jingle of the chains round their necks, at once molesting their minds with what was and what is, as they continue to write for me and for you, my brightest, my starlight, what the future will hold for us. I shall stand here with great sang-froid as these cretins seek to nudge so insolently past me with their lies and filth, and purify like some forsaken ethereal filter the piss water that they call 'content'.

Though the crops may fail this year, dear reader, we shall feast nonetheless.

Yours in damp eternity,

  

The Editor

Ode to Clegg

Nick Clegg
with an oboe between his legs
approaches from a cavalcade of dominating dregs.

“You cannot betray those who do not wish to be betrayed,” he says,
waylaid with gold and fake tan sprays.

His mouth stuffed,

his mind chuff,

his soul, neoliberal dandruff

engenders at first a state disbelief.

But as righteous urges subside
you notice,
Clegg has only half lied.

The dominant can only sell out the supplicant...

Inspired by this verse? Why not buy your ticket to Radical Splurge's 'not so horizontal league of didactic missionaries' summer school where you could develop such techniques as:

Fourteen hour Castroist vomit oratory,

Masked protest intimidation – featuring both “WAKE UP!” and “Sheeple...” styles,

Mansplaning (GNVQ levels 1-3),

Thousand yard stare conspiracy rambling,
And much much more!

At all at the bargain price of your basic human dignity.

Why wait?
Order Today!

Written by Pseudo autonomist pessimist Post-Marxist

An Interview with Richard Dawkins

Radical Splurge managed to get exclusive access to a no holds barred interview with the world's most famous atheist. He was once one of the most respected and influential figures in the atheist community after the publication of 2006's The God Delusion but in recent years he has fallen out of favour with many after been let lose on Twitter. Even before the honey terrorism incident and his irrepressible need to make ill-judged comments on rape Dawkins has remained a controversial figure dividing believers and secular humanists alike. In this interview I was sent by the Radical Splurge editorial team to see what Dawkins thought about his recent controversial tweets as well his often criticised blunt approach to all of the world's eclectic religions.

I approached Dawkins' house on a cold January day, the theistic spirit of Christmas now dead under the weight of work and secular puritanism. I walked towards an isolated house that sat under the grey winter sky, it looked strangely dilapidated for a house owned by an wealthy best selling author. I approached the door and knocked to hear a scurrying sound within the house, the door creaked open and an agitated Richard Dawkins peeped his head around the corner to beckon me in. His eyes flitted about erratically, bloodshot and surround by dark bags; it was clear this man had not slept in some time. Dawkins led me to his "living room", a sparse room with no furniture, only a damp floor and cracked plaster walls. The only decoration to be found was a shelf of his books and a disturbingly liberal scattering of honey pots placed around the room, some discarded empty ones simply lay on the damp floor as ants crawled into them to devour the sweet residue. The only other features in the room were pictures of Priests and clergymen in some form of fear or distress dotted around the room.

Richard Dawkins insisted that the interview was carried out standing up as he very casually stripped down to his pants and socks. Rather than offer me a cup of tea he scooped out a handful of honey from a near by pot and extended his hand as a gift. I declined. At this point the interview was ready to commence.

Radical Splurge: Hello Mr Dawkins, I'll start off with my first question. Do you feel that your approach to religion that bundles the worst violent extremists with moderate religious people is an oversimplification.

Dawkins: No! No I don't! *Dawkins preceded to rub honey on his bare chest* Religion is evil in all it's forms, it's what all war is. We must crush the moderate believers or they will become extremists themselves! Religion took my fucking honey! I want my fucking honey! *He ate a handful which seemed to sooth his nerves*.

Radical Splurge: But surely there is a difference between different types of belief and different commitments to faith?

Dawkins: *He contemplated then gave a stern glare looking like a strict Cambridge don who had just watched a student set fire to his dog* No. Everyone is ISIS! Religion is bad, religious people are stupid honey snatchers. In a world without religion there would be no wars or disease and the cream egg wouldn't have had it's chocolate shell messed with.

Radical Splurge: It's undeniable that religion has caused or at least justified many horrors from the crusades and modern day terrorist atrocities to restrictions on women's rights with Ireland, even to this day seeing women struggle for basic abortion rights against the Catholic Church. However, surely you must have to factor in some other root causes. Some examples off the top of my head would be the the system of capitalism that leads to misery in the name of profit or the crimes committed in the name of secular ideologies under Pol Pot's regime or even the Nazis.

Dawkins: No, you're wrong mate!

Radical Splurge: Many of your recent tweets and comments have caused uproars in the media. Even humanists who once respected you are seeing you as an increasingly problematic figure. How would you justify your recent comments on what you see as an inherent evil of Islam claiming not all religions are equally violent? Doesn't this suggest your form of atheism could be seen as bigoted or Islamophobic?

Dawkins: I am no bigot! Those Muslims are coming over here bombing our bee hives. You know where these bee disappearances are coming from? Fucking Muslims take the bees and use them for bombs to arm the wasps. The wasps will prevail! We must stop the wasp agents of God! They are his minions who attack me, they've single me out!

Radical Splurge: Do you think a more rational explanation for the wasp attacks would be that you cover you body in sweet honey?

Dawkins: NO! It's because I am the God of the atheists! They have read my truths. My bee forces must march with me and utterly destroy the enemy!

Radical Splurge: Many have also criticised your tweets on other issues, for instance you suggested that it was immoral not to abort fetuses with signs of Down's syndrome and that date rape was somehow less serious than stranger rape. What do you say in your defence? These a not the comments a once well renowned and influential rational atheist would be expected to make.

Dawkins: I can do what I like! I don't need to justify myself! I am infallible, I am the law! There is no morality. Abortion! Abortion! Abortion! Look what I can do, just watch me!

At this point Dawkins continued to scream "abortion" at the top of his voice whilst pumping his fist. He pulled a gun out and then left the room coming back with a baby seal, he grinned, his eyes twitching in rage. His expression was manic but it was also one of perverse epiphany. He placed the baby seal on the ground and pointed the gun at it.

Dawkins: Before Me you are a slug in the sun. You are privy to a great Becoming and you recognize nothing. You are an ant in the after-birth.

It is in your nature to do one thing correctly: before Me you rightly tremble. Fear is not what you owe Me, you and the soon to be vanquished God ants. You owe Me awe.

He fired several shots into the seal then stood splattered with blood and honey. He breathed heavily muttering something about his plan to send "loving, gentle, woman-respecting erotic videos" to the Middle East to combat ISIS and save the land of Milk and Honey.

Radical Splurge: Right, thank you for your time Mr Dawkins. I think we'll call it a day there.