The revelation was made in an hour long interview
with Jeremy 'Rottweiler' Paxman on BBC2. Utterpants
were fortunate to secure the highlights of the programme in exchange
for supplying the names and addresses of those visitors to our website
who have been careless enough to express their disapproval of Mr Blair's
policies in public.
Jeremy Paxman's aristocratic upper lip was seen to stiffen into an
uncharacteristically patronising sneer as Mr Blair explained the chilling
chain of bizarre coincidences that had led to the untimely
death of the jobbing sparks from Brazil. "US religious intelligence
experts provided me with detailed and authoritative intelligence that
the seven-horned Goat of Mendes—"
"Um—a ruthless supernatural, Biblical terrorist—who
Mr Bush has personally assured me might well affect a South American
accent and be dressed in casual denim—had been seen leaving premises
known to be associated with demons."
"Are you telling us that a newsagents selling horror videos to
kids now poses a threat to national security?"
"Now, hang on a minute, the intelligence I received clearly showed—"
"And after the Butler Report you still believe American
"Well I do actually believe this intelligence—"
"—Because there are a lot of grieving relatives in Brazil
"Now come on, Jeremy. This intelligence was backed up by the Bible
and in any event, you know, we're not coming to this without any history.
I mean let's not be absurdly naïve about the very real threat supernatural
terror posed to the God-fearing citizens of Salem in 1692."
"The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police said Señor
de Menezes posed no threat at all to the citizens of this country."
"I'm sorry, Jeremy. But what Sir Ian Blair actually said was that
Mr de Menezes did not cooperate properly with the police."
"I should think not!" exclaimed Paxman. "You shot him!"
"No we didn't. The police shot a demon possessing the body of Mr
"Prime Minister, you must see the evidence you're presenting is
laughable. It's positively
Pythonesque—the demon electrician sketch."
"Well I don't think a monstrous, horned goat with supernatural
powers is laughable at all. Which is why Sir Ian Blair ordered his officers
to shoot Jean Charles de Menezes seven times aboard a tube
train on the 22nd day of the seventh month. Seven
horns and seven bullets. Menezes—Mendes; Coincidence?
I think not! Particularly when I tell you that another name for the
hideous Goat of Mendes is Baphomet—a form of the name
Mahomed used by mediæval Islamic clerics and recently revived
by Al Qaida."
"Don't you think that's a rather tenuous series of threadbare
coincidences with which to justify the murder of an unarmed civilian?"
"Look—the rules of the game are changing. The War
on Terror is moving into what Mr Bush has called the 'religiotory
phase' in which we will be wrestling with Supernatural Evil in human
form—if not Satan himself. In wartime we have to except some incidental,
"So you're not going to apologise to the relatives of Señor
"Well—um, if you want me to—um, apologise for—um,
shooting a demon I'm afraid I can't say I'm sorry we shot a demon."
"You mean Señor de Menezes?"
"I'm sorry, that is simply not right. It was a demon. The servants
of the Antichrist leave their victim's bodies the moment they have
no further use for them."
"So what was Señor de Menezes—"
"—I prefer the term 'demon."
"Fine..'demon.' So what was this—'demon'—hoping to
accomplish by possessing the body of an unarmed Brazilian electrician?
Fuse the lights in the carriage and then bludgeon the passengers to
death with an insulated screwdriver?"
"Well—hang on—this is the supernatural we're dealing
with here, Jeremy. We had extensive, detailed and authoritative intelligence
that Mr de Menezes was possessed by supernatural evil."
"With respect, that's nonsense, Prime Minister."
"No it isn't. Look there's no doubt—"
"—It wasn't extensive and it wasn't detailed and it wasn't
"I'm sorry, it was. The great thing about this regrettable incident—thanks
to the work of American
fundamentalist Christians—is that any member of the public
can go and look on the Internet and study the intelligence reports I
got and see the intelligence that was given to me."
"With respect, Prime Minister, that's poppycock. A mediæval
grimoire which no one outside the Vatican librarian and Mr Bush's special
religious advisers have seen, is hardly 'extensive', is it? Nor, by
even the wildest stretch of your colourful imagination, can a three
minute transatlantic telephone call from an individual who has publicly
expressed his belief in the physical resurrection of a jobbing carpenter
who died 2,000 years ago, be described as 'detailed and authoritative,'
"Yes it can, Jeremy—"
"—I'd call that extremely limited intelligence, Prime Minister."
"Now hang on a minute. Of course intelligence always is limited,
particularly where President Bush is concerned. I'm not an expert on
the occult—I—um rely on—um—reliable intelligence
from intelligent US religious intelligence agents—and the stack
of books on Black Magic Cherie got from Father Chasuble. You must understand
that we're dealing with the supernatural
where the normal rules of intelligence simply don't apply."
"So you don't accept any responsibility for—"
"Now look, it's not a question of accepting responsibility. I acted
on the intelligence given to me. I had Mr Bush's advice. And Mr Bush
made it abundantly clear that there was a serious and immediate threat
from supernatural forces. The decision I had to take was whether to
allow a demon to run amok through the streets of London or to ask the
police to remove him—um, it. I decided to remove him."
"An unarmed Brazilian electrician?"
"No, a demon. Look, you can go on and on about this, but at the
end of the day someone had to make a decision and I made it."
"So you don't deny that the police shot an innocent man in cold
"Look, I want to make this point to you. Mr de Menezes may be innocent
now, but he wasn't when the police shot him. That's the trouble with
demons. They can pop in and out of their victim's bodies in the blink
of an eye—or in this case, the time it took the brave police officer
to pump seven bullets into him in rapid succession."
"Aesss...Prime Minister," drawled Paxman. "That all seems
very convenient. So what's to stop the police shooting anyone your American
chums have identified as hosting a—"
"—Demon." supplied the Prime Minister.
"Trust and Faith."
"Trust...faith?" repeated Paxman dubiously. "In what,
"Well—the omnipotence of Mr Bush—the Lord's annointed
on earth, obviously. Carrying a rosary, a national
identity card and being a member of the Labour Party wouldn't hurt,
"None of which Mr de Menezes possessed?"
"Exactly!" affirmed the Prime Minister, reinforcing his conclusion
by rubbing his hands together triumphantly. "The servants of the
Antichrist flee from such manifestations of holiness, just as vampires
flee from garlic and crucifixes."
"Vampires, Prime Minister?"
"They have them in America, you know."
"Absolutely! So it's only a matter of time before they commence
a reign of terror here—unless we act decisively and promptly to
neutralise the demons."
“What do you have in mind, Prime Minister?”
“Well—you see, I think we all know that in every generation
there is an – um – chosen one…”
“—Prime Minister,” interrupted Paxman. “Buffy
the Vampire Slayer is a television programme…”
“Maybe so but— um—the stakes are simply too high for
us to rule anything in or—as it were—out, at this stage.”
"Aesss, fascinating. Tell me, Prime Minister, do you really expect
the British Public to swallow this ridiculous cock-and-bull story of
"Well," smirked Blair, "They swallowed the story about
that microbiologist chappie, didn't they?"
"I take it you mean the 'microbiologist chappie' who committed
suicide by slashing both his wrists and then attaching two electrodes
to his chest, Prime Minister?"
"That's the chap; Dr David Kelly. Serve the bugger right for telling
tales out of school and then rambling naked in a wood in the middle
of the night and falling on a bloody razor blade!"
"Aesss," drawled Paxman. "We're fortunate that an able
and impartial judge like Lord Hutton was available to chair the Public
"Lord Hutton?" ejaculated Blair excitedly. "Of course!
Why didn't I think of that? He's the very man for this job. Thank you
"Don't mention it, Prime Minister."
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Story © 2005 Miranda S Givings
and utterpants.co.uk / 141005