Head hurts bad.
Three hours. Hand aches from “pen”.
Paper had picture of George Clooney. Terrible.
Nice venue. Didn’t open the bar. Bastards.
* Donkey – “Haaaaaw!”
* Zombie Dave – “Braaaains!”
* The Breakfast Club – “Eggggg!”
* Bad Dog II – “Woooof!”
Let someone else write something.
Oh Lordy, the Colonel’s back…
Letter to General HQ, somewhere up the Khyber, British Waziristan
Pardon me for speakin' out of line, but I fear that somethin' really has to be done about one of our former officers of Her Britannic Majesty's Armed Forces, rulers of the modern world, defenders of the FAITH, and executors of Her Majesty’s will viz finishing off troublesome colonials with the administering of BRITSH STEEL.
I refer, of course, to Captain James Blunt of the Queen's Own Fuzzywuzzy Stranglers, who has resigned his commission to take up a career as a long haired, whinin' folk singer of some description. Unheard of – what is the man thinking?
This is the kind of thing that we shouldn’t be showin’ our enemies unless they get the wrong idea about the pearl of the Empire’s youth, but I give you Exhibit A, sah. Not very good, is it?
Fer starters, an’ my immediate concern, is that he’s not wearing the regulation haircut, as per Queen’s Regs. An’ I suspect that he’s also let the shine on his boots go ter hell and his bayonet hasn’t tasted the flesh of the enemy for many a long month. An’ I fear that his pathetic guitar-based whinin’s may be givin’ succour an’ encouragement to the enemy. What’s wrong with a good military band? The boy’s gone soft, he needs the discipline of a spell on the parade ground if yer askin’.
“You’re Beautiful”? “You’re a Traitor” more like. In my day, we’d tie fifth columnists like him over the mouths of cannons an’ BOOM! I’ll give him “Back to Bedlam”, eh what?
A good short back an’ sides, an’ a morning with me good self on the drill square at Nanjkapour will do him the power of good, an’ we’ll have this pathetic example back to what the flower of British youth does best: Showin’ the unwashed colonials the error of their ways at the sharp end of good old British Steel.
This is one case, I fear, that will call for EXTREME UNCTION in the face of THE LORD before Blunt sees the error of his ways.
I propose we send him to the front line in British Waziristan with only his guitar as company, an' see how well he fares. Either the LORD will protect him, or see his body torn from arse to tit an' fed to the wolves, as is HIS WILL.
Dare I say that standards are slippin'? The Sandhurst I knew as a feared drill and personal hygiene instructor would have weeded this pansy out years ago, an' turned him into the kind of frenzied killin' machine that the heathens in these mountains dread.
I hope they succeed with the C-in-C's youngest, wossname Harry Windsor. I fear he's going to go the same way as his uncle Edward.
I am not mad.
I remain, as ever, your constant servant,
Colonel Albert. St.J. “Mad Dog” O’Balsam, DSC and Bar
PS Yer couldn’t see a way of securing access to the regimental goat, sah? As I said at those strictly off-the-record hearings, it was all a huge misunderstanding due to the doubling up of billets, and I gather Flossie is missing me. Meh!