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“I’m afraid Mr Assole’s defence turned out to be full of holes,” crowed the puppet prosecuting counsel, after the travesty of a verdict was delivered at Belmarsh Magistrates’ Court amid scandalous scenes of tight security (PC49 sipping a coffee whilst on duty in the foyer). “A bit like his condoms, I suppose. Ho ho.”
Julian Assole’s life now hangs on the slender thread of lodging an appeal against his extradition to the fawning US client-state of Sweden – a chaotic land of murderous cannibals, where the basic rights of mankind are unrecognised and the light of civilisation is unknown.
“It is entirely possible that my poor client will be killed and eaten by hairy Swedish lesbians the moment he is dragged onto Viking soil, bound hand and foot and with a sock in his mouth to prevent the truth from leaking out,” warned Mr Assole’s sobbing lawyer, wearing a plastic Guy Fawkes mask to protect his identity.
It is now a foregone conclusion that, once excreted, the undigested remains of St Julian will be delivered in a bucket to the US Ambassador in Stockholm to be subjected to further horrific indignities.
However, the unspoken question which cowers behind the trembling lips of the beaten population of Britain remains to be answered: why, if the Americans are so bloody keen to extradite St Julian, are they waiting for him to toddle all the way to Sweden when they already have a unilateral extradition treaty with Britain?
Maybe one day we will know the awful, naked truth, probably in the form of a leaked memo spread all over the internet by Mr Assole’s outlawed Leakiwiks organisation. So far, however, the simmering powderkeg of British revolution smoulders unaccountably on… and on… and on.
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