THEY have come for me at last. The stormtroopers of wokery in my home and firing me from my job. Surely it is only weeks before they give me the death I crave.
For since I began my ludicrous crusade for values I do not even pretend I understand – what is it this week, pro-car and pro-misogyny? – I have known my path led to the tomb.
The Woke would allow no other outcome. Was it coincidence that just two months after my truth-telling appearance on Question Time, Britain went into lockdown?
They shut down the world to silence me, but yet I spoke. I opposed lockdown, I opposed the vaccine, I opposed Black Lives Matter, I opposed Pride, I opposed anything they were for because therein lies true integrity.
And so yesterday they struck. GB News fired me and my flat was ransacked on the pretext of my being leader of the Blade Runners, those selfless warriors against ULEZ, appearing only on their wrist-screens wearing a metal mask. They found the mask.
I will be arrested, charged and, after a court hearing with a blue-haired non-binary capital-B Black judge, sentenced to crucifixion. They shall take me up the hill where the Metric Martyr’s stone still stands.
Proving me right once and for all, they will kill me. But my legend shall spread, and the old will rise up against the young, and the forces of wokery shall be defeated forever.
Make the monument you build to my passing large. Mention Lewis on it.