Firstly, I think it’s wholly inappropriate that these dole-queue louts are calling themselves “delegates of culture”. They clearly know nothing about Byzantine architecture, Cicero’s letters or Virgil’s poems, so for them to appoint themselves as representatives of refinement and erudition and good taste is utterly ridiculous. What do these dolts know about class? In fact what does anyone from Cambridge know about class? Nothing, that’s what. I think a far more fitting name for this gaggle of plebs would be “Three Podgy Lumpenproletariat Oiks”. Moreover, the trio of chaps on the cover of this offensive artefact parading as a popular music disc are uglier than the three heads of Cerberus. Look at them, smoking their cheap cigars and looking like bulbous gerbils. I bet if someone shoved a Cohiba Behike under their flaccid nostrils they would slice it open with a kitchen knife and replace its sweet intestines with pungent hemp.
I noticed one of the numbers on this compact disc is called “Hip-Hop Side Effect” – but it fails to mention many of the side effects that I associate with this filth. Crime, teenage pregnancy, hoodies, chewing gum stuck to the pavement, jewellery on men – all direct effects of “hip-hop”.
I’ll tell you something else: these morons aren’t “Bad Guys”. Their tales of cannabis-induced stupor in the slums of Cambridge are nothing compared to the shenanigans I was a part of in my days at Balliol. My nights on the town with the Bullingdon Club are now part of local folklore (let’s just say I was more than happy to debag anyone who would get in our path!). Further, if any of these louts would like to challenge me to a linguistics battle, I would gladly crush them. It would be like Odysseus’s righteous yet brutal slaying of the repugnant suitors of his sweet Penelope. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to expel these insolent pups and their kind from this land, just like the Lapiths cast out the filthy sub-human Centaurs from Thessaly.