I know we have entered a world of "feelings", of "trigger warnings", of an infected and cleansed discourse, but I feel there is still a place for speaking the Plain Honest Truth unflinchingly and with a decorous amount of spittle and it isn't only the Society Religion and Politics board or News Limited publications. I know freedom of speech isn't fashionable in these PC or "Pony Correct" days, but if we do not defend our freedoms we deserve to lose them, and so I stand, somewhat unsteadily and smelling of gin, and proclaim, with albeit a rather shouty voice, my magnum octopus. Or something like that.
Yes, I am anti-pony. But what true citizen could fail to stand against this menace, which capers in false-cute likeness of childlike succour, and yet would rend your abdomen and garotte you with your own intestines and laugh , yes laugh, all the while. The pony. It hungers. It always hungers.
Well may we spout our call to freedom, and the benefits of free speech even when it comes to the menace that capers about in human viscera in a fashion more horrific than our Taylor Adams kicking. Well may we talk about the "Marketplace of ideas", and point out that if I am free to speak Truth on the pony menace, so those who might, howsoever mistakenly, advocate for pony inclusion or "safe stables" should be given their turn. Let the market decide.
I am normally a libertarian, and believe in the marketplace of ideas. But here the market has failed. I'm not just talking about the local market on the corner near the BP station that refuses to carry Lemon and Paeora in spite of my tersely worded notes and has frankly totalitarian viewpoints regarding pants. I'm talking about the national market, the great unconscious 2 dollar store of the Australian soul. That marketplace has not defied ponies. That market has put ponies on special, and has displayed them prominently on the checkout rack next to the gum of our besieged humanity and our weighty consciences in the form of magazine stories about Brad Pitt killing a Girl Scout with his bare hands and whoever is ******* the person who finished seventh in the latest Masterchef.
And so I say, this is no time for such niceties. In order to save freedom, I have to destroy it. Market failure calls for government intervention. I ask you all, beseech you, to join with me to beg our elected so-called leaders to help us rise up against this scourge and all those who would support this fifth column of vile horror in our midst. The threat is manifest. The time for action is now. You are with us or against us - and if you are against us, you are with THEM, and their keening neighs, and the hooves, and the horror, always the horror, a horror no sugarcubes will wash away.
And then we can start on the ******* Belgians...
Hang on, was that mic still on? ****...
What is the end game, do we have them wear hooves on their blankets
First they came for the Ponies, and I did not speak out — Because I was not a Pony.
Then they came for the Mules, and I did not speak out — Because I was not a Mule.
Then they came for the Donkeys , and I did not speak out — Because I was not a Donkey.
Then they came for the horses —and there was no one left to speak.
Careful you don’t usher in an equine pogrom.





