Imagine, if you can, being not only unemployed, but unemployable, reduced to skulking around Westminster dodging the Metropolitan Police, shouting in vain at people in employment, and with your only means of support being to leverage your shouting at them in order to scrounge a few quid from badly shot and edited YouTube videos.
This is the sad fate that has befallen one unkempt and bedraggled soul, who we will refer to simply as James. James has learnt a range of very basic insults, but his skill set does not, sadly, extend to being able to hold down a full-time job like giving away copies of the Evening Standard or City AM. His inability to stop shouting abusively at anyone who looks important has prevented him from undertaking any kind of customer facing role.
It is people like James that left-wing campaigner Owen Jones has decided, in a true act of kindness, to help, in order to try and drag his pointless existence out of its rut, and enable him to enter into the kind of intellectual process that would mark him out as a member of polite society. Jones has reached out to James to have a discussion with him.
Many passers-by, on seeing James, decline his offer of conversation, put off by his inability to control his aggression, or indeed his language. Others are repelled by James’ presence merely because he is a brainless gobshite. But Jones has refused to be put off by James’ naturally repulsive excuse for a personality, and has taken pity on him.
Sadly, James has been unable to see that a hand of friendship has been offered to him. So as Jones accepts his invitation to converse with him, James takes fright and becomes even more abusive, telling Jones that he is a “Tampon”. Perhaps he is unaware what a tampon actually is. Perhaps he has misheard an old Prince Charles story.
This is James. Don't be like James
James’ difficulty with the English language continues as he pursues Jones, shouting into his face and becoming increasingly agitated as Jones continues to smile and offer him the conversation that he had demanded in the first place. After shouting at Jones and pursuing him for several minutes, he concludes that Jones was a bully. It’s a truly sad case.
Still James cannot stop Jones being happy to accept his invitation to have a chat. Such is his difficulty in communication, though, that he somehow thinks that repeatedly shouting “traitor” and “terrorism supporter” will serve as a better introduction. He wants to talk. Jones accepts. He becomes unsettled and abusive once more.
James’ story is tragic. Unless he gets help, or a few months down the Scrubs, he will be condemned to wander around Westminster shouting at anyone he recognises, making an enormous pain in the jacksy of himself, and otherwise failing to correctly recognise those at whom he shouts abuse. For instance, his parting shot at Owen Jones is to call him a “toad”. He must have mistaken him for the loathsome Toby Young.
Next time you see James skulking around Westminster looking for a well-known face to shout at, take pity on him. You can help his well-being and keep him quiet for at least five minutes by getting him a vegan sausage roll from Greggs and telling him it comes with Piers Morgan’s compliments. That should confuse him long enough for you to make your escape. He might even be able, with some training, to eat it. Remember James in your thoughts. But please don’t laugh at the sad bastard too much.
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