Cheese Dreams and Backwards Jigsaws

I haven’t been paying much attention to what’s going on lately. I think the last globally significant event I heard about was some kind of shooting at the seaside. About six people took some shaky footage of it on their phones and threw it up on ‘X’, so we should be in doubt about what actually took place. But if you missed it, this is what we know definitely definitely happened and if you don’t believe this you’re an antisemitic ghoul:

Charlie Kirk was on a beach in Australia selling ice creams when the shots started. Unusually for a Trump supporter, he realised the shots were killing people and that they weren’t going to stop. Charlie managed to save the lives of 33 Jewish babies that day. Every single one of those babies had also been at the Nova music festival on October 7th, in the North Tower on 9/11 and seen action in the Boer War. After risking his life to rescue those infants, Charlie was praising God in a pentagram he’d drawn in the sand, when a transgender great white shark leapt out of the sea and shot him with an air rifle from 33 miles away. Tragically, Charlie was killed. Again. Moments later, Erika Kirk parachuted in dressed as Elsa from Frozen, and landed on a stage that had been built nine years previously, for the special memorial concert. She introduced the shark that had killed her husband, and they started singing a steamy duet of Monty Python’s ‘Alway’s Look on the Bright Side of Life’. At the end of the number, they announced their engagement. All the Muslims in Australia were so moved by this that they instantly set fire to their Qurans and donated their life savings to Turning Point USA.

Well, it was something like that. I’ve left out some of the more far-fetched details but you get the gist.

I realise that opening ‘X’ nowadays in the hope of being informed about world events is like taking LSD, and gouging out both your eyes, in the hope of passing your driving test. So, I spent the whole Christmas period resisting the urge to look into the Palantir of Bollocks. If I really wanted a nonsensical psychedelic fever dream, I could just eat all the cheese.

That’s not completely true. The occasional slip-of-the-thumb did occur. And I was momentarily captivated by Elon Musk’s plans to overthrow the British government with sexy robots and Candace Owens’ urgent sharing of text messages from people who she thinks might have known that the transgender shark had purchased the air rifle illegally or something. Then it was just hundreds of idiots getting cross or excited about AI videos they had accepted as real. So I got off the loo and went back to the Cave-Aged Cheddar.

I’m just not that interested in this stuff anymore. Which is a bit of a problem, because my whole career has thus far been heavily dependent on my being interested in this stuff.

However, recently I’ve had a couple of surprising conversations with people that reignited my curiosity. Slightly. These are characters we might describe as ‘British Normies who say they’re on the right’. Basically, they still trust The Telegraph and think Reform might be a solution. Up until now, these types have been talking about Donald Trump as one might talk about a favourite no-nonsense detective character on an ITV drama show.

Just a week or so earlier they had told me, like giggling schoolgirls recounting a boy-band concert, how Donnie had flown to Venezuela in the middle of night and kidnapped the despotic leader and his bikini model wife. She instantly fell in love with Don, and he shagged her on bags of seized cocaine in the helicopter as Caracas exploded behind them in slow motion. Or whatever, I don’t know. I’d had some Stilton.

But what was this? All of a sudden, in a Starmeresque U-turn, these people were describing Trump as ‘unhinged’ and ‘dangerous’. I couldn’t really get a straight answer out of them as to why they’d torn his poster off their bedroom wall. Clearly, it was something they’d read in The Telegraph, so I could theoretically just read the newspaper to find out. But I refuse to purchase The Telegraph because I’m petty like that.

With no other option, I pinched my nose and plunged back into the algorithm to investigate. I soon deduced that it was all to do with Greenland. Apparently, the Trump character has declared his intention to steal Greenland. That’s what’s put these people off him.

Funding genocide in Gaza was great. Continuing to jab Americans with poison everyday was no big deal. But annexing Greenland? Woah woah woah. Slow down, Genghis Khan.

Mind you, a lot of the key support actors in the Trump movie are extremely enthusiastic about the Greenland idea. It’s all “Wake up pray up, Christ is King, Let’s go to war with Denmark.”

Trump is at the epicentre of a concept I call the Anti-jigsaw. It came to me during a particularly wild Roquefort trip. It’s a jigsaw puzzle that works in reverse. The pieces scattered across the table all make sense on their own. The puzzler is able to look at the pieces, one at a time, and feel reassured about a particular part of the narrative. Vindicated in a certain position they’ve taken. Optimistic about the direction of travel. Justifiably furious with a character they desperately want to be their enemy, or justifiably gushing about a character they desperately want to be their saviour.

Gazing at these pieces disconnected from each other feels comfortable, it feels easy. It doesn’t require a total shift in perspective. It doesn’t require any massive sacrifices or genuine struggles. There’s no real work to be done.

However, as soon as one begins to put the pieces together, a picture begins to emerge that doesn’t make any sense at all. The further you progress, the less coherent it becomes. The pieces fit, but the images don’t match. There’s no consistency. If a person ever managed to finish it, they would see a supermassive blackhole of contradiction.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of their dwindling sanity, they understand this to be true. So, they never, ever put any of the pieces together. And if somebody else comes along and does so, in an attempt to demonstrate the nature of the puzzle, they get extremely upset.

Take this puzzle piece for example; It shows Trump banning men from women’s sports. Clutch it in your hands and feel good. This is positive. We are SO back. Magamagamaga.

Now here’s the piece that fits next to it. Uh Oh. It’s the piece that shows Trump continuing to roll out the most harmful pharmaceutical product in history, to everyone in America.

“Yeah but that doesn’t change the fact that protecting female athletes is a good thing, Bob.”

No. but it does render it nothing more than a sick joke.

Listen, I’m obviously in favour of women being free to run in a 400 metre race, without having a lycra-clad butcher’s shop window swinging away beside them. And yes, I’m strongly in favour of those women not being followed back to their changing room by the chap who just thrashed them, and then having to watch him vigorously towel off his clammy lunchmeat.

However, I can’t see how any of that matters very much if the next time these ladies run a race, their hearts will swell to three times their normal size and then explode. The man you claim is protecting those women is also the man making sure they have strokes and miscarriages.

Oh look, here’s another piece. Only just found this one. This shows Trump announcing that America will no longer be a member of the World Health Organisation.

What a lovely idea that is on its own. But as you wave it about triumphantly, I’m afraid I’m going to have to yank it from your hand and show you that it also connects to the ‘It’s been a year and he still hasn’t stopped the clot-shots’ piece.

It’s as though a man is standing in front of you murdering your children with an assault rifle, and then he pauses to let you know that he’s just cancelled his membership of the NRA. And as he resumes firing, your only response is to give him a round of applause and get furious with the person who suggests that his NRA membership may not be terribly relevant to the situation at hand.

How much cheese are you people eating, exactly?

Here’s a piece that a lot of very lost souls cling to, unironically, as though their life depended on it. It asserts that Trump has been working towards stopping the clown-juice jabs since the very beginning. But, you see, it’s just way more complicated than most people understand. As President of the United States, he can’t just snap his fingers and stop it from happening. He has to play a very drawn out and incredibly clever game of multi-dimensional chess.

What connects to that bit of the puzzle, then? Here we are, look, it’s the piece that shows his adventure to South America to kidnap another head of state with complete impunity. He can do that, because he’s the mother flippin’ POTUS, bitch! FAAFO!

But what he cannot do, what only a complete nincompoop would ever dream he might be able to do, is prevent his own administration from murdering its own people.

If he can’t stop the jabs, he can’t fly to Venezuela and abduct its leader on a whim.

If he can kidnap foreign politicians just for shits and giggles, then he could have stopped the jabs on minute one of day one.

None of it adds up. none of it makes any sense. Unless you understand that it isn’t meant to. That’s the point. To make you entertain one contradictory idea after another until your brain is such a useless puddle of double-think that you may as well have slapped on a mask and got twelve boosters.

“The fact that Starmer has cancelled plans for mandatory Digital ID shows that People Power really does work.”

It’s 2026 and British children are still being given mRNA injections.

“Look at this Arabic paedophile, this is why we should bring back the death penalty!”

The people you’re asking to reinstate the death penalty want you dead.

“Antisemitism is on the rise, that’s why we should support the Israeli government.”

The Israeli government labelled seven million Jews as filthy disease carriers, took away their rights and then injected them with poison.

“These horrible MUSLIMS want to destroy our way of life.”

A Conservative government closed your schools and churches, made women cover their faces in public, and murdered your grandmother. It was aided in doing so by the other major political parties, the NHS, the British media, the judiciary, the police, the armed forces and the Royal Family.

You’ve got to start putting these pieces together. I know it’s difficult. I know it means you have to be smarter in the way you react to everything. I know that it means discarding a lot of your reasons to be optimistic. And I know that every time you hold two bits up next to each other, Konstantin Kissin bursts in and puts you back into a trance with a crap interview. Or David Atherton slaps you across the face with an AI video of a black guy kicking a dog. But you can’t keep living in the fantasy world they’re building for you just because acknowledging reality seems too much like hard work.

To start your journey out of Ga-Ga Land, and to end this over-long article, Let us together try to make sense of this paragraph, without the aid of cheese.

There is no free speech in the UK. You’ve seen what happened to Lucy Connolly. Just a normal mum, who wrote an angry Facebook post about immigrants to about eight of her friends, and then got sent to prison. You’ve read all about this Orwellian War on Free Speech™️ in The Telegraph, and you know you can trust the story because The Telegraph fired its cartoonist over a social media post that attacked tyranny. So they hate free speech. No, they love it. They can’t decide. Anyway, Allison Pearson, The Telegraph journalist who covered the Lucy Connolly story, definitely loves free speech. That’s why she Tweeted that young American college girls, peacefully protesting genocide, should be raped by terrorists. The Telegraph didn’t fire her for that. They paid her to write an article about the horror of rape gangs in the UK. It all makes sense. It’s all so consistent and authentic. I’ve spent nearly six years doing nothing but oppose and insult the establishment, gaining a huge international audience in the process. A lot of what I’ve produced could be, and has been, construed as incitement to violence or abuse. Some of my pictures and comments have been labelled antisemitic, misogynistic, hateful, racist, transphobic - I think I’ve collected all the badges. And I know that my social media posts have been reported to the police multiple times by multiple people (including some of Allison Pearson’s close mates), who demanded I should be arrested immediately. I have never been kicked off a single social media platform, nor have I ever been contacted by the police. We’re told that hundreds of British people have been sent to prison for social media posts but pretty much all of them appear to be complete nobodies with an audience of about eight other nobodies. The tiny number of characters with significant reach, who have been contacted by the police regarding social media posts, are all weirdly, ‘coincidentally’ linked. I don’t mean through the experience in question, I mean they were already friends or associates before it happened. And many of the social media accounts that argue with anybody who questions the narrative I’ve just laid out, seem to be fake, or run by characters with fake businesses. Or both. Then beyond this cascade of absolute horseshit, we have the prevailing idea that we should judge how free we are to express ourselves purely on the basis of what is, or is not, allowed to be posted on one of three specific websites. Websites that are deliberately designed to generate a completely false impression of reality, promote division, punish authenticity and invite spontaneous outrage. Websites run by billionaires who, we’re told, are the smartest human beings alive. But who, we’re also told, took two years to figure out the pandemic was fake. A feat of intellectual genius that took your bin man about three days.

Nope. The whole thing is crackers. Go on then, pass me the Camembert.