And if you are of a delicate disposition, or you are the misbegotten issue of two mouth-foaming Lefties, or you are so thick you can only get a 'job' with a race relations racket, then read no further! This blog does not accept responsibilities for strokes, burst guts, non-stop swivelling eyeballs or any other medical condition ensuing after you have read the following words printed in every variation I can manage:
Nigger, nigger, NIGGER, NIGGER and, er, NIGGER!
And at this point may I implore Mr. Jeremy Clarkson to get up off his pathetic scrawny knees and to cease instantly with his wailing mea culpas! Yes, Jeremy, you did say 'nigger' even though you tried to disguise it, and we know that because we, by which I mean elderly gentlemen of, er, my vintage, learned the word decades ago in the old nursery rhyme:
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Catch a nigger by the toe.
If he hollers, let him go,
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
I learned that during the war when I was about 4 or 5 years old, and in fact, the family I was evacuated to had a lovely old dog called Nigger.
So, I refuse - and you should join me, Jeremy - to bow and scrape to those unelected word commissars with their bad breath and addled brains who believe with absolutely no legal justification to pick and choose, on my behalf, which words I may use and which not.
Just tell them, Jeremy, in your immaculate Public School drawl, to FUCK OFF!
